She wrote to me frequently with regard to politics, in which she took
great interest:
GROSVENOR GATE,
_February 15, 1860_.
DEAREST DOROTHY—I was so glad to see you bright and strong this
morning, and I hope you will come to town very soon. You have no
idea of the excitement about this unpopular budget—a great
meeting at Lord Salisbury’s—Lord Derby spoke beautifully.
The Government consider themselves in danger; your young friend,
Dizzy, is in fine fighting form.
Most affectionately yours,
M. A. DISRAELI.
I have said that Lady Beaconsfield’s handwriting was the worst I ever
saw; but, on reflection, I think such a statement is inaccurate—my own
is worse.
When I lived in the country, in Sussex, I used at one time to educate a
few poor girls at a school which I had built for their benefit. When
their education had gone on as far as seemed necessary, I used to try
and find good places for them; many turned out treasures, a few did not
do me much credit. One, a very nice girl, I thought was likely to suit
the person to whom I sent her—a famous doctor. He asked her several
questions which she answered satisfactorily, but when she produced her
character, written by me, it was returned to her, after a brief perusal,
with these ominous words: “I cannot take you now, for I am sure this
letter must be a forgery—no lady could have written it.” The poor girl
came back to me crying, and not knowing quite what to do. By means,
however, of a personal interview, I was able to convince the doctor that
the letter was no forgery, and everything was put right.
At the dinners given by Lord and Lady Beaconsfield, the guests were for
the most part either politicians, or people connected with politics, to
which one might say the host devoted his whole life. Most of these
dinners, Lady Beaconsfield told me, were furnished by a caterer at a
fixed price of so much per head, and I well remember her declaring how
annoyed she was with my brother (who always accepted every invitation,
and invariably excused himself at the last moment on the grounds of
impending death) at his having, after the most solemn assurances, played
her his usual trick. “He might,” said she, “just as well have made me
throw a sovereign into the Thames,” for this was the price per head at
which her contract was made. They were not at all bad dinners from a
gastronomic point of view, though in these luxurious days I suspect they
would not be thought very much of. The Beaconsfields were in no way
luxurious people, nor did they care for art, which did not then excite
as much attention as to-day, when every one appears to be more or less
interested in house decoration, collecting, and the like.
Mr. Disraeli’s marriage to Mrs. Wyndham Lewis was of great use to him in
his political career, for, his own means being anything but
considerable, the fortune which was thus at his disposal saved him from
much trouble and worry; whilst Mrs. Disraeli, being absolutely devoted
to her husband, was always delighted to assist him in every possible
way. I well remember, however, his being very much annoyed at a remark
made by Mr. Bernal Osborne, which somehow got round to his ears. “After
all, Dizzy only likes his wife out of gratitude.” As a matter of fact
this was far from being the case, for, though fully appreciative of what
he owed to his wife, the great statesman was also completely devoted to
her. As a proof of Dizzy’s carelessness about money, and almost culpable
lack of mercenary precaution, I may add that to the best of my belief
(though he well knew that Lady Beaconsfield’s fortune must return to her
husband’s family after her death) he never took the trouble to insure
her life. He was indeed absolutely devoid of all calculating financial
instinct, though shrewd and clever enough in all matters which might in
any way assist his political career. I have already told how he
contrived to secure Lady Jersey’s support; in another way he managed to
conciliate Lord Lyndhurst, for, recognising how valuable the latter’s
aid would be, Dizzy, who stood high in a certain lady’s graces, forbore
from paying his court to her on perceiving that he was regarded as an
unwelcome intruder by his older rival. By this self-sacrificing
behaviour, he secured a most valuable political patron and ally.
Lord Beaconsfield’s long friendship with me was in a great measure
caused by his sincere affection and regard for my dear brother, the late
Lord Orford, with whom he was ever on the most intimate terms, as the
following graceful letter will show:—
2 WHITEHALL GARDENS, S.W.,
_December 28, 1876_.
MY DEAREST ORFORD—A little line to thank you for remembering
me. One likes to be remembered by those whom one never forgets.
I am here alone, at this dreary season, in consequence of the
confusion in those waters where we once passed happy hours. I
was going to pass my Xmas at Weston with our friends the
Bradfords, and then to Trentham for a few days, when my
Sovereign Lady appealed to me not to leave her at this moment,
and declared it an act of high imprudence for myself and Derby
to leave town at this conjuncture.
Our friends, the Turks, are better diplomatists than Europeans
in general, and the affair will probably be longer than the
common mind imagines. It requires one’s wits about one. I feel
as if sailing on a sea full of torpedoes. My profound conviction
is, that the Russians dread war, and never contemplated it
except with a crowd of allies. When the pinch comes they find
themselves quite isolated, and Mephistopheles Bismarck scarcely
suppresses his laughter when he beholds that gentle Faust, the
Emperor of Russia, struggling in his toils. But to get them out
of the scrape with honour, _Hic labor, hoc opus est_. There must
be a golden bridge, and if necessary, it must even be gilt:
every possible facility—perfume on the violet.
I hope you are well and tolerably happy.—Remember sometimes,
your affectionate