Benjamin Disraeli was different. One could scarcely call him handsome. His skin was sallow, his eyes heavy-lidded, his nose prominent. I had always thought big noses were a sign of strength until Lord Melbourne had assured me that they were not. Disraeli had rather greasy hair that some said was dyed. What was so attractive about him was his manner, his way of expressing himself. He knew how to use words; he was gallant. Perhaps that was it. He made me feel that I was attractive, which I fear at that time of my life I was not. He knew just how to say the words that would make me feel that I was rather clever as well as attractive. It was a gift and Benjamin Disraeli certainly had it.

He was a good deal older than I. He had been born in '04—so that would make him some fifteen years my senior. He told me later that he was the second child of Isaac d'Israeli—Jewish, of course, and in comfortable circumstances—whose father had been an Italian Jew who had owned a prosperous business making straw bonnets. He said his family had been expelled from Spain by the Inquisition in 1492.

All this he told me as though he were unfolding a dramatic story; and I must confess I found it enthralling.

His father Isaac was, he told me, a Voltairean Freethinker, and he broke with Judaism, which meant that all his children were baptized into the Church of England.

“It was important to me, Ma'am,” he said, “though I did not realize it at the time. If I had remained a Jew, I could not have become a Member of Parliament at the time when I took my seat. It was not until '58, when I had been a Member for more than twenty years, that Jews were permitted into the House.”

That was what made conversation with him so absorbing. He introduced facts like that in such a way that one remembered them.

“I have always been impatient, Ma'am. I did not want to wait for fortune to come to me. I wanted to reach out and snatch it. When I was twenty years old I was appalled by my lack of success. I constantly reminded myself that Pitt was Prime Minister at the age of twenty-four. ‘And where is Disraeli?’ I would demand of myself. ‘Nowhere.’ ”

“But your success was inevitable, Mr. Disraeli,” I said.

“Your Majesty is gracious. I tried to make a fortune on the Stock Exchange and all went well for a time. Then I tried publishing a newspaper. That was a disaster. Then I decided to be a novelist. Vivian Grey, my first, had a fair success. But I offended a lot of people with that book.”

“People are always ready to be offended. I think they were probably jealous of your success.”

That was how our conversation ran. It was so much more interesting than that of most of my Prime Ministers had been. It reminded me so much of the chats I had with Lord Melbourne.

I knew Disraeli had mistresses before his marriage; but, of course, we did not discuss that side of his life, though he did tell me about his friendship with Wyndham Lewis and how when he had been his protégé, he had become friendly with Wyndham Lewis's wife.

“It was not love at first sight,” he said, “but it grew to deep love. Mary Anne once said that although I married her for her money, now I would marry her for love.”

“And did you marry her for her money, Mr. Disraeli?”

“I confess I considered her fortune.”

“Oh, how mercenary!” I found myself laughing. Since Albert's death I laughed so rarely. John Brown could make me smile; but I was actually laughing with Mr. Disraeli.

He loved to talk of Mary Anne and I began to feel that I knew her well. He told me how devoted she was and how she sat up when he was late at the House and had a cold supper waiting for him, no matter what time he came in.

They were friends as well as lovers.

“I understand so well,” I said sadly.

“Ma'am we have had something very rare in common—a happy marriage.”

How right he was!

He gave me a copy of Sybil, which I thought was very good indeed. I gave him a signed copy of Leaves.

He was constantly referring to me as a fellow author, which I had to admit I quite liked. I looked forward to his visits. It was like going back in time. I was remembering more and more of the days when I used to anticipate Lord Melbourne's visits with such pleasure. Now I looked forward to those of Benjamin Disraeli.

A certain savor had returned to life. I would not admit it but in my heart I knew it was there.


* * *

SUCH A HAPPY state of affairs could not be expected to last. William Gladstone—whom I could not like—was making a great deal of fuss about the disestablishment of the Irish Church. The government was against the measure and was heavily defeated by a majority of sixty-five.

I was at Windsor and when Disraeli called on me I was delighted as ever to see him, not realizing what news he brought.

He quickly told me how things had gone in the Commons. “And, Ma'am,” he added, “I have no alternative but to offer Your Majesty my resignation.”

“Resignation!” I cried. “Does that mean I shall have that dreadful man Gladstone here lecturing me?”

Disraeli lifted his shoulders and looked woeful.

“What is this nonsense about the Irish Church?” I demanded. “The Church throughout the Kingdom is associated with the Crown.”

“Mr. Gladstone thinks otherwise, Ma'am. And so do others since we have been so heavily defeated.”

“If I accept your resignation,” I said, “I shall be compelled to give your office to Mr. Gladstone and then the government would bring in the disestablishment. I think people should have plenty of time to think about such a step. No measure should be rushed through the House, which is what would happen if you resigned and I called in Gladstone.”

“Your Majesty could, of course, refuse to accept my resignation and dissolve Parliament.”

“That is what I will do. It will be some time before there can be an election and your government will remain in office until there is one.”

“That means, Ma'am, that I remain in office and we go to the country… say in six months' time.”

I had to be content with that. Six months is a long time in politics, and one never knows what will happen to affect fickle public opinion; and there was a possibility that in six months' time the government might be returned.

Mr. Disraeli had somehow persuaded me that it might be a good idea to show myself a little. I had not held a Drawing Room at Buckingham Palace since Albert died, but I decided to, and later I reviewed twenty thousand volunteers at Windsor Park and a few days later gave a party in the grounds of Buckingham Palace.

But I did not wish people to think that I was ready to undertake a round of engagements. In August I paid a visit to Switzerland, and to emphasize the fact that I wanted no fuss I traveled as the Duchess of Kent. Napoleon was most courteous and offered me his imperial train for my journey through France and in Paris I had a meeting with the Empress Eugénie. In Lucerne, however, I rented a villa near the lake, and there I enjoyed a very private holiday, which was very pleasant.

All the same I was glad to return to Balmoral; and it was particularly interesting to go back because I had asked Brown to look out for a little house for me…a simple homely little house. Balmoral was really a castle, and what I wanted was a house where I could live with the utmost simplicity.

I could trust Brown to choose the right place. With great sensitivity he had selected a spot that had particularly impressed Albert. It was Glassalt Shiel, which meant Darkness and Sorrow. How better interpret my mood! It was set among wildly beautiful scenery of almost forbidding grandeur where the Glassalt Burn tumbled down the mountainside into Loch Muick.

I called it my Widow's House for it was the only one that had not had the touch of Albert's hand. Osborne and Balmoral were his creations. Not so Glassalt Shiel.

Louise was with me and accompanied by one of the ladies—I think it was Jane Churchill—we set out for the place. The air was clear with a touch of frost—chilly for the first of October. We stopped for tea at Birkhill and John Grant joined us there with Arthur who had come from Geneva and had arrived in Ballater only a few hours before. Arthur got into the carriage with us and Grant joined Brown on the box.

I was so excited when we arrived at Glassalt Shiel. There were lights in the house as we were expected and the servants wanted to give us a good welcome.

It was such a compact little house and there seemed plenty of room in it for it was much bigger inside than it appeared from the outside. There was one staircase leading to the upper floor where there were several bedrooms—enough to accommodate the servants. On the ground floor were my sitting room, bedroom and the maids' room; and on the other side of the hall the dining room, a kitchen, steward's room, store closet, and another room for the menservants to sleep in. There were good stables and keeper's cottage where the gillies slept.

After we had dined Brown came in unceremoniously and announced that everyone was ready for the housewarming, implying that I should join them, which I did.

Our meal had been cleared away and the dining room was ready. There were nineteen of us altogether. Two of the men played the bagpipes and the rest began to dance reels. Brown said it would not be right if I did not dance with them. So I complied. How strange to dance again! I enjoyed it, remembering how excited I used to be about balls when I was very young—before Albert taught me that dancing was a useless and frivolous occupation.

So I danced the reels and these honest Scots saw nothing unusual in their Queen dancing with them.

When the first reel was over, Brown brought in what he called “Whiskey toddy.”

I declined but Brown was quite indignant. “Come on, woman,” he said, “you mun drink to the fire kindling.”

So I drank a little and Grant made a speech in which he called upon God to see that “our royal mistress, our good Queen, should live long to reign over us.”

They cheered me and drank my health in whiskey toddy and they all became very merry indeed.

I retired to my room soon after eleven o'clock, but I believe they continued with the dancing and singing until the early morning.

I lay in bed thinking of the past and dear Albert who would have loved this place. I believed he was watching over me and that he would bless my little Widow's House.

And with that comforting thought I slept.

I was still in Scotland when the election took place. Disraeli's government was defeated and the Liberals came in with a majority of one hundred and twenty-eight.

And so, I thought, that odious Mr. Gladstone will now be my Prime Minister.


* * *

I RECEIVED HIM coolly. The man irritated me. He talked in an authoritative way as though addressing a public meeting. His vehemence was overwhelming; it came out in a steady flow of forceful language. He was the sort of man who had no doubt that his ideas were the right ones, and one had the impression that he was determined to carry them out.

That he was a good man, I knew, for I made it my business to discover all I could about my Prime Ministers, I had so much to do with them that it was necessary for me to have a full acquaintance with their past as well as their present lives.

William Ewart Gladstone was the son of a Liverpool merchant who had immigrated to that city from Scotland. The father had been active in politics and besides being successful in business had sat in Parliament as a Tory for about ten years. Gladstone was sent to Eton and then Oxford where he had naturally soon distinguished himself in debate.

He was a man of conscience. At Eton his great friend had been Lord Lincoln, son of the Duke of Newcastle; and the Duke, impressed by Gladstone's amazing energy, eloquence, and outstanding qualities generally, offered to help him win the seat of Lewark for the Tories. In the Gladstone home Canning had been a hero. He was now dead but the Duke of Newcastle had remarked in public that Canning had been the most profligate minister the country had ever had, and young Gladstone thought it would be disloyal to the memory of Canning to accept help from a man who had maligned him.

His father told him not to be a fool. He would never make much progress in life if he allowed opportunities to slip out of his hands. Eventually Gladstone saw the point and won the seat. Ever since he had been climbing up the political ladder, and it was inconceivable that a man of his talent and forceful dedication could remain unnoticed.