LORD B. In our party system, Madam, we live by the mistakes of our opponents.  The balance of the popular verdict swings ever this way and that, relegating us either to victory or defeat, to office or to opposition.  Many times have I trodden the road to power, or passed from it again, over ruins the origin of which I could recognise either as my own work or that of another; and most of all has it been over the disappointments, the disaffections, the disgusts, the disillusionments—­ chiefly among his own party—­which my great opponent has left me to profit by.  I have gained experience from what he has been morally blind to; what he has lacked in understanding of human nature he has left for me to discover.  Only to-day I learn that he has been in the habit of addressing—­as you, Madam, so wittily phrased it—­of addressing, “as though she were a public meeting,” that Royal Mistress, whom it has ever been my most difficult task not to address sometimes as the most charming, the most accomplished, and the most fascinating woman of the epoch which bears her name. (He pauses, then resumes.) How strange a fatality directs the fate of each one of us!  How fortunate is he who knows the limits that destiny assigns to him:  limits beyond which no word must be uttered.

(His oratorical flight, so buoyant and sustained, having come to its calculated end, he drops deftly to earth, encountering directly for the first time the flattered smile with which the Queen has listened to him.)

Madam, your kind silence reminds me, in the gentlest, the most considerate way possible, that I am not here to relieve the tedium of a life made lonely by a bereavement equal to your own, in conversation however beguiling, or in quest of a sympathy of which, I dare to say, I feel assured.  For, in a sense, it is as to a public assembly, or rather as to a great institution, immemorially venerable and august that I have to address myself when, obedient to your summons, I come to be consulted as your Majesty’s First Minister of State.  If, therefore, your royal mind have any inquiries, any further commands to lay upon me, I am here, Madam, to give effect to them in so far as I can.

(This time he has really finished, but with so artful an abbreviation at the point where her interest has been most roused that the Queen would fain have him go on.  And so the conversation continues to flow along intimate channels.)

QUEEN.  No, dear Lord Beaconsfield, not to-day!  Those official matters can wait.  After you have said so much, and said it so beautifully, I would rather still talk with you as a friend.  Of friends you and I have not many; those who make up our world, for the most part, we have to keep at a distance.  But while I have many near relatives, children and descendants, I remember that you have none.  So your case is the harder.

LORD B. Ah, no, Madam, indeed!  I have my children—­descendants who will live after me, I trust—­in those policies which, for the welfare of my beloved country, I confide to the care of a Sovereign whom I revere and love....I am not unhappy in my life, Madam; far less in my fortune; only, as age creeps on, I find myself so lonely, so solitary, that sometimes I have doubt whether I am really alive, or whether the voice, with which now and then I seek to reassure myself, be not the voice of a dead man.