This man’s grandfather came to England with a goodly fortune, which he managed to increase as the years went by.  He had one son, Isaac, who nearly broke his parents’ heart in that he not only showed no aptitude for business, but actually wrote poems wherein commerce was held up to ridicule.  The tendency of the artistic nature to speak with disdain of the “mere money-grabber,” and the habit of the “money-grabber” to refer patronizingly to the helpless, theoretical and dreamy artist, is well known.  Isaac Disraeli was an artist in feeling; he must have been a reincarnation of one of those bookmakers of Venice who touched hands with Titian and Giorgione and helped to invest wisely the moneys the merchants of the Rialto made.  Never a Gratiano had a greater contempt for a merchant than he.  Just to get him out of the way, his parents packed Isaac off to Europe, where he acquired several languages, and some other things, with that ease which the Jew always manifests.  He dallied in art, pecked at books, and made the acquaintance of many literary men.

When his father died and left him a goodly fortune, he had the sense to turn the entire management of the estate over to his wife, a woman with a thorough business instinct, while he busied himself with his books.

Benjamin was the second child of these parents.  He had a sister older than himself, and two brothers younger.  Those philosophers who claim that spirits have their own individuality in the unseen world, and the accident of birth really does not constitute a kinship between brothers and sisters, will find here something that looks like proof.  Benjamin Disraeli bore no resemblance in mental characteristics to his sister or brothers; he did, however, possess the mental virtues of both father and mother, multiplied by ten.

When twelve years of age he exhibited that intense disposition for mastery which was through life his distinguishing trait.  The Jew does not outrank the Gentile in strength, but the average Jew surely does have the faculty of concentration which the average Gentile does not possess.  And that is what constitutes strength—­the ability to focus the mind on one thing and compass it:  to concentrate is power.

When Ben was sent to the Unitarian school at Walthamstow, aged fifteen, it was his first taste of school life.  Up to this time his father had been his tutor.  Now he found himself cast into that den of wild animals—­an English school for boys.  His Jewish name and features and his dandy ways and attire made him the instant butt of the playground.  Ben very patiently surveyed his tormentors, waited to pick his man, and then challenged the biggest boy in the school to single combat.  The exasperating way in which he coolly went about the business set his adversary’s teeth chattering before the call of “time.”  The result of the fight was that, even if “Dizzy” was not thoroughly respected from that day forth, no one ever called, “Old clo’!  Old clo’!”