I was very angry with Napoleon who had set up the Archduke and failed to support him. But the fact of the Archduke's assassination meant that the Court was in mourning, and there was no review in Hyde Park. I think Lord Derby was secretly relieved. He had been afraid that if John Brown had gone to the review the mob might have become dangerous.
While all this was happening, Napoleon was holding a great exhibition in Paris and heads of various states were invited there—Bertie among them.
Bertie was his usual gregarious self and his visit was considered to be a great success. When he was there he met the Sultan of Turkey and invited him to pay a visit to England sometime, to which invitation the Sultan responded with alacrity, and decided to come immediately.
I was not at all pleased because I could not remain in retirement while such visitors were in the country.
Alice and Louis were with me. Poor darlings, they were very sad, and still resentful over the Prussian War—such a disaster for them. However, I was glad to have Alice with me; she understood me better than any of the others did.
“The Prince of Wales invited the Sultan,” I said. “He is Bertie's responsibility and he must do the honors.”
That would be an excellent idea, said Lord Derby; but there would be occasions when it would be necessary for me to be present. We did not want to offend the Sultan.
So Bertie did the entertaining and, knowing Bertie, I hoped it was not too disreputable.
I went to Osborne and received the visitors there. The Sultan was charming, and as I had been warned that I must be friendly toward him, I offered to bestow the Order of the Garter upon him.
He was delighted when Bertie explained what a great honor it was and told him that it was rarely bestowed. Bertie's sense of the theatrical prevailed and it was decided that the Sultan should receive the Order on board the royal yacht.
Alice and her husband naturally must be present on such an occasion. It was July but the sea was choppy and it soon became clear that the Sultan was not feeling very well. Bertie said that perhaps it had not been such a good idea to have the presentation at sea—even so close to land and in July—and it would be as well to proceed as quickly as possible with the ceremony.
I had John Brown with me. He stood close beside me as always with that amused expression on his rugged honest face, which suggested that if anyone attacked me it would be the worse for them. I had often reproached him, told him I was in no danger, and that although I appreciated his care, on some occasions it was not necessary to show such bellicosity.
Bertie was right. We must get on with the ceremony as quickly as possible before the Sultan was ill.
I held out my hand for the ribbon—and then it became quite farcical. The first equerry turned to the second and said in a loud whisper, “The ribbon.” The second equerry whispered back in agitation that he thought the first equerry had it. I could see that someone had forgotten to bring it.
Prince Louis was standing close to me, and he was wearing the ribbon I had bestowed on him. Then I heard John Brown, “Stop mithering. Ye've nae brought the ribbon. This one will have to do.”
I saw his strong hand stretching out to take the ribbon Louis was wearing.
“Give him this one,” said Brown to me. “He'll nae ken the difference.”
I hesitated for half a second. Then I took it and gave it to the Sultan. Poor man, he was feeling too queasy to notice the little hitch.
I almost laughed aloud…something I rarely did then; and whenever I did it was usually due to something John Brown had said or done.
And so thanks to the ingenuity of my Highland servant, that little matter was satisfactorily concluded.
LORD DERBY WAS getting very old and I had noticed for some time that he was looking far from well, so I was not surprised when he came to me and told me he could no longer continue.
I understood perfectly, I said. The office of Prime Minister was scarcely a rest cure. He told me that he thought I should send for Benjamin Disraeli.
I did so with pleasure. So Mr. Disraeli came to Osborne to kiss my hand in the formal way and take on the Premiership. I felt an immediate response to him. There was something in his manner that appealed to me; he behaved as though he were spellbound, enchanted, not only by my position but by me personally. He was so gracious that he made me feel young again.
I knew certain things about him because I had made it my business to find out. I could not help comparing him with Lord Melbourne. Lord Melbourne had been an exceptionally handsome man and that had made him immediately attractive to me. I am afraid that in those days I was rather frivolous and impressed by a little wickedness. That was before Albert had changed me.
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.