Indifference to money--Death of Isaac Disraeli--Purchase of
Hughenden--Mrs. Brydges Willyams of Torquay--An assignation with
unexpected results--Intimate acquaintance with Mrs.
Willyams--Correspondence--Views on many subjects--The Crown of
Greece--Louis Napoleon--Spanish pedigree of Mrs. Willyams.
[Sidenote: PURCHASE OF HUGHENDEN]
'Adventures are to the adventurous:' so Ixion had written in Athene's
album. Nothing is more commonplace than an ordinary Parliamentary
career. Disraeli's life was a romance. Starting with the least promising
beginning, with a self-confidence which seemed like madness to everyone
but himself, his origin a reproach to him and his inherited connections
the least able to help him forward on the course which he had chosen, he
had become, at a comparatively early age, by the mere force of his
personal genius, the political chief of the proudest aristocracy in the
world. His marriage had given him independence for the time, but his
wife's income depended on her life, and a large part of it had long to
be expended in paying the interest of his debts. Like his own Endymion
he had no root in the country. The talents which he had displayed in
Parliament would have given him wealth in any other profession. But he
had neglected fortune for fame and power, and was not clear of his early
embarrassments even when first Chancellor of the Exchequer. Being the
leader of the country gentlemen, he aspired to be a country gentleman
himself, to be a magistrate, to sit in top boots at quarter sessions
and manage local business. Part of his ambition he attained. In 1847 he
became member for his own county, and was so popular that he kept his
seat without a contest as long as he remained in the House of Commons;
but for several years after he represented Buckinghamshire his
connection with the soil was no more than nominal. Fortune, however, was
again to stand his friend in a strange manner. He received a large sum
from a private hand for his 'Life of Lord George Bentinck,' while a
wealthy Conservative millionaire took upon himself in addition the debts
to the usurers, the three per cent. with which he was content being
exchanged for the ten per cent. under which Disraeli had so long been
staggering. Isaac Disraeli lived long enough to see his son realise the
dreams which he had himself long regarded with indifference or
provocation. Dying in 1848, he left the remainder of the family fortune
to be divided among his children. Benjamin Disraeli discharged his last
filial duties in re-editing his father's works and prefixing to them an
interesting biography of him. The portion which came to him was not
considerable, but it was sufficient to enable him to purchase the manor
of Hughenden, in the immediate neighbourhood of Bradenham, and Mrs.
Disraeli raised in the park a handsome monument to the old man, as if to
fasten the name and fame of the Disraelis upon the ground. Neither,
however, would the estate have been bought or the monument erected upon
it but for another singular accident, as romantic as the rest of his
history.
At Mount Braddon, at Torquay, there resided an elderly widowed lady
named Mrs. Brydges Willyams. She was of Jewish birth, daughter and
heiress of a certain Mendez da Costa, who traced his origin, like
Disraeli, to a great family in Spain. Her husband, one of the
Willyamses of Cornwall, who was a man of some note there, had died in
1820. His wife was left without children; she had no near relations, and
with a large fortune at her own disposal. She was reputed, because
perhaps she lived much in retirement, to be of eccentric habits. Being
vain of her race, she was attracted by Disraeli's career, and she was
interested in his writings. A Spanish Jewish origin was common to
herself and to him, and some remote connection could, I have heard, be
traced between the House of Lara, from which Disraeli descended, and her
own, Mendez da Costa. At last, at the beginning of 1851, she wrote to
him, professing general admiration and asking for his advice on some
matter of business.
[Sidenote: A ROMANTIC ADVENTURE]
Men whose names are before the world often receive letters of this kind
from unknown correspondents. Disraeli knew nothing of Mrs. Willyams, and
had no friends at Torquay whom he could ask about her. He threw the
letter in the fire and thought no more of it. The lady persevered.
Disraeli happened about the same time to be on a visit to Monckton
Milnes at Frystone; one of the party was a Devonshire man, and Disraeli
asked him if he knew anything of a mad woman living in Torquay named
Willyams. The gentleman, though not personally acquainted with Mrs.
Willyams, was able to assure him that, though eccentric, she certainly
was not mad. The lady, when the first Great Exhibition was opened, wrote
again, pressing for an interview, and appointing as a place of meeting
the fountain in the Exhibition building. The Disraeli of practical life
was as unlike as possible to the heroes of his own novels. His
mysterious correspondent might be young and beautiful or old and ugly.
In either case the proposal could have no attraction for him. His
person was well known, and an assignation at so public a place could not
pass unnoticed. In his most foolish years he had kept clear of
entanglements with women, and did not mean to begin. He was out of town
when the letter arrived. He found it when he returned, but again left it
unnoticed. A third time, however, the lady wrote, and in more pressing
terms appointed another hour at the same place. The perseverance struck
him as singular. He showed the note to two intimate friends, who both
advised him not to neglect a request which might have meaning in it. He
went. By the side of the fountain he found sitting an old woman, very
small in person, strangely dressed, and peculiar in manner; such a
figure as might be drawn in an illustrated story for a fairy godmother.
She told him a long story of which he could make nothing. Seeing that he
was impatient she placed an envelope in his hands, which, she said,
contained the statement of a case on which she desired a high legal
opinion. She begged him to examine it at his leisure. He thrust the
envelope carelessly in his pocket, and supposing that she was not in her
right mind thought no more about the matter. The coat which he was
wearing was laid aside, and weeks passed before he happened to put it on
again. When he did put it on the packet was still where it had been
left. He tore it open, and found a bank note for a thousand pounds as a
humble contribution to his election expenses, with the case for the
lawyers, which was less absurd than he had expected. This was, of
course, submitted to a superior counsel, whose advice was sent at once
to Torquay with acknowledgments and apologies for the delay. I do not
know what became of the thousand pounds. It was probably returned. But
this was the beginning of an acquaintance which ripened into a close
and affectionate friendship. The Disraelis visited Mount Braddon at the
close of the London season year after year. The old lady was keen,
clever, and devoted. A correspondence began, which grew more and more
intimate till at last Disraeli communicated freely to her the best of
his thoughts and feelings. Presents were exchanged weekly. Disraeli's
writing-table was adorned regularly with roses from Torquay, and his
dinners enriched with soles and turbot from the Brixham trawlers. He in
turn provided Mrs. Willyams with trout and partridges from Hughenden,
and passed on to her the venison and the grouse which his friends sent
him from the Highlands. The letters which they exchanged have been
happily preserved on both sides. Disraeli wrote himself when he had
leisure; when he had none Mrs. Disraeli wrote instead of him. The
curious and delicate idyl was prolonged for twelve years, at the end of
which Mrs. Willyams died, bequeathing to him her whole fortune, and
expressing a wish, which of course was complied with, that she might be
buried at Hughenden, near the spot where Disraeli was himself to lie.
The correspondence may hereafter be published, when a fit time arrives,
with the more secret papers which have been bequeathed to the charge of
the executors. I have been permitted a hasty perusal of these letters.
Disraeli tells Mrs. Willyams of his work in Parliament, of the great
people that he falls in with, of pomps and ceremonies, grand
entertainments, palaces of peers and princes, such things as all women,
old or young, delight to hear of. More charming are pictures of his life
at Hughenden, his chalk stream and his fish, his swans and his owls, and
his garden, which he had made a Paradise of birds. Now and then his
inner emotions break out with vehemence. The Indian Mutiny and the
passions called out by it shocked him into indignation; although in his
allusions to persons with whom he was either in contact or in collision
there is not a single malicious expression. A few extracts follow,
gathered at random.
[Sidenote: CORRESPONDENCE WITH MRS. WILLYAMS]
'What wondrous times are these,' he writes in 1861. 'Who could have
supposed that the United States of America would have been the scene of
a mighty revolution? No one can foresee its results. They must, however,
tell immensely in favour of an aristocracy.'
In 1862 came the second exhibition at South Kensington.
'This,' he wrote, 'is not so fascinating a one as that you remember when
you made me an assignation by the crystal fountain, which I was
ungallant enough not to keep, being far away when it arrived at
Grosvenor Gate. But though not so charming it is even more wonderful.
One was a woman--this is a man.'
In the session of the same year he had been overworked, and Mrs.
Willyams had prescribed for him.
_Hughenden_: _September_ 2, 1862.--'I am quite myself again; and as I
have been drinking your magic beverage for a week, and intend to pursue
it, you may fairly claim all the glory of my recovery, as a fairy cures
a knight after a tournament or a battle. I have a great weakness for
mutton broth, especially with that magical sprinkle which you did not
forget. I shall call you in future after an old legend and a modern poem
"the Lady of Shalot." I think the water of which it was made would have
satisfied even you, for it was taken every day from our stream, which
rises among the chalk hills, glitters in the sun over a very pretty
cascade, then spreads and sparkles into a little lake in which is a
natural island. Since I wrote to you last we have launched in the lake
two most beautiful cygnets, to whom we have given the names of Hero and
Leander. They are a source to us of unceasing interest and amusement.
They are very handsome and very large, but as yet dove-coloured. I can
no longer write to you of Cabinet Councils or Parliamentary struggles.
Here I see nothing but trees or books, so you must not despise the news
of my swans.'
Here follows an historical incident not generally known:--
_December_ 9, 1862.--'They say the Greeks, resolved to have an English
king, in consequence of the refusal of Prince Alfred to be their
monarch, intend to elect Lord Stanley. If he accepts the charge I shall
lose a powerful friend and colleague. It is a dazzling adventure for the
House of Stanley, but they are not an imaginative race, and I fancy they
will prefer Knowsley to the Parthenon, and Lancashire to the Attic
plains. It is a privilege to live in this age of rapid and brilliant
events. What an error to consider it a utilitarian age. It is one of
infinite romance. Thrones tumble down, and crowns are offered like a
fairy tale; and the most powerful people in the world, male and female,
a few years back were adventurers, exiles, and demireps. _Vive la
bagatelle!_ Adieu. D.'
_February_ 7, 1863.--'The Greeks really want to make my friend Lord
Stanley their king. This beats any novel. I think he ought to take the
crown; but he will not. Had I his youth I would not hesitate even with
the earldom of Derby in the distance.'
_March_ 21, 1863.--'The wedding [of the Prince of Wales] was a fine
affair, a thing to remember. After the ceremony there was a splendid
_déjeuner_ at Windsor. The Queen was very anxious that an old shoe
should be thrown at the royal pair on their departure, and the Lord
Chamberlain showed me in confidence the weapon with which he had
furnished himself. He took out of his pocket a beautiful white satin
slipper which had been given him for the occasion by the Duchess of
Brabant. Alas! when the hour arrived his courage failed him. This is a
genuine anecdote which you will not find in the "Illustrated London
News."'
In 1863 Poland revolted, encouraged by the results of the Crimean war,
which had enfeebled Russia, by the French campaign for the liberation of
Italy, and by the supposed sympathy of England with oppressed
nationalities. Louis Napoleon knew that his own throne was undermined,
and was looking for safety in some fresh successful adventure. England
had refused to join him in the recognition of Southern independence in
America. Poland was another opportunity. The two extracts which follow
deserve particular attention. Disraeli had known the French Emperor in
London and did not trust him.
_October_ 17, 1863.--'The troubles and designs of the French Emperor
are aggravated and disturbed by the death of Billault, his only
Parliamentary orator and a first-rate one. With, for the first time, a
real Opposition to encounter, and formed of the old trained speakers of
Louis Philippe's reign, in addition to the young democracy of oratory
which the last revolution has itself produced, the inconveniences,
perhaps the injuries, of this untimely decease are incalculable. It may
even force by way of distraction the Emperor into war. Our own Ministry
have managed their affairs very badly, according to their friends. The
Polish question is a diplomatic Frankenstein, created out of cadaverous
remnants by the mystic blundering of Lord Russell. At present the peace
of the world has been preserved not by statesmen, but by capitalists.
For the last three months it has been a struggle between the secret
societies and the Emperor's millionaires. Rothschild hitherto has won,
but the death of Billault may be as fatal to him as the poignard of a
Polish patriot, for I believe in that part of the world they are called
"patriots," though in Naples only "brigands."'
_November_ 5, 1863.--'The great Imperial sphinx is at this moment
speaking. I shall not know the mysterious utterances until to-morrow,
and shall judge of his conduct as much by his silence as by his words.
The world is very alarmed and very restless. Although England appears to
have backed out of this possible war there are fears that the French
ruler has outwitted us, and that by an alliance with Austria and the aid
of the Italian armies he may cure the partition of Poland by a partition
of Prussia; Austria in that case to regain Silesia, which Frederick the
Great won a century ago from Maria Theresa, France to have the Rhine,
and Galicia and Posen to be restored to Poland. If this happens it will
give altogether a new form and colour to European politics. The Queen is
much alarmed for the future throne of her daughter; but as the war will
be waged for the relief of Poland, of which England has unwisely
approved, and to which in theory she is pledged, we shall really be
checkmated and scarcely could find an excuse to interfere even if the
nation wished.'
[Sidenote: SPANISH QUARTERINGS]
Disraeli's arms and motto have been a subject of some speculation. The
motto, 'Forti nihil difficile,' has been supposed to have been
originated by himself, as an expression of his personal experience. The
vanity, if vanity there was in the assumption of such a bearing, was the
vanity of ancestry, not the vanity of a self-made man. When he told the
electors at Aylesbury that his descent was as pure as that of the
Cavendishes, he was not alluding to Abraham, but to his Castilian
progenitors. While leading the aristocracy of England he claimed a place
among them in right of blood. Mrs. Willyams descended from a similar
stock. She desired to quarter her coat with the bearings of the Mendez
da Costas, and Disraeli undertook to manage it for her. He had to use
the help of 'ambassadors and Ministers of State.' He laid under
contribution the private cabinet of the Queen of Spain, and gave himself
infinite trouble that the poor old lady might have the panels of her
carriage painted to her satisfaction. Among the many letters on the
subject there is one which explains the arms of Beaconsfield.
_July_ 23, 1859.--'The Spanish families never had supporters, crests, or
mottoes. The tower of Castile, which I use as a crest, and which was
taken from one of the quarters of my shield, was adopted by a Lara in
the sixteenth century in Italy, where crests were the custom--at least
in the north of Italy--copied from the German heraldry. This also
applies to my motto. None of the southern races, I believe, have
supporters or crests. This is Teutonic. With regard to the coronet, in
old days, especially in the south, all coronets were the same, and the
distinction of classes from the ducal strawberry leaf to the baron's
balls is of comparatively modern introduction.'
When the harlequin's wand of Pitt converted Warren, the club waiter,
into an earl, the Heralds' College traced his descent for him to the
Norman Fitzwarren. Robert Burns was content to take his patent of
nobility from a more immediate source. Disraeli doubtless had a right to
use the bearings of the Laras if he cared about such things. But a
Spanish pedigree at best was a shadowy sort of business, and one could
rather wish that he had let it alone.