To a boy of fourteen thus reared, the Disraeli of 1867 was an astonishment and a revelation—­as the modern world would say, an eye-opener.  The House of Commons was full of distinguished men—­Lord Cranborne, afterwards Lord Salisbury; John Bright and Robert Lowe, Gathorne Hardy, Bernal-Osborne, Goschen, Mill, Kinglake, Renley, Horsman, Coleridge.  The list might be greatly prolonged, but of course it culminates in Gladstone, then in the full vigour of his powers.  All these people I saw and heard during that memorable summer; but high above them all towers, in my recollection, the strange and sinister figure of the great Disraeli.  The Whigs had laughed at him for thirty years; but now, to use a phrase of the nursery, they laughed on the wrong side of their mouths.  There was nothing ludicrous about him now, nothing to provoke a smile, except when he wished to provoke it, and gaily unhorsed his opponents of every type—­Gladstone, or Lowe, or Beresford-Hope.  He seemed, for the moment, to dominate the House of Commons, to pervade it with his presence, and to guide it where he would.  At every turn he displayed his reckless audacity, his swiftness in transition, his readiness to throw overboard a stupid colleague, his alacrity to take a hint from an opponent and make it appear his own.  The Bill underwent all sorts of changes in Committee; but still it seemed to be Disraeli’s Bill, and no one else’s.  And, indeed, he is entitled to all the credit which he got, for it was his genius that first saw the possibilities hidden in a Tory democracy.

To a boy of fourteen, details of rating, registration, and residential qualification make no strong appeal; but the personality of this strange magician, un-English, inscrutable, irresistible, was profoundly interesting.  “Gladstone,” wrote Lord Houghton to a friend, “seems quite awed with the diabolical cleverness of Dizzy, who, he says, is gradually driving all ideas of political honour out of the House, and accustoming it to the most revolting cynicism.”  I had been trained by people who were sensitive about “Political honour,” and I knew nothing of “cynicism”; but the “diabolical cleverness” made an impression on me which has lasted to this day.

What was Dizzy in personal appearance?  If I had not known the fact, I do not think that I should have recognized him as one of the ancient race of Israel.  His profile was not the least what we in England consider Semitic.  He might have been a Spaniard or an Italian, but he certainly was not a Briton.  He was rather tall than short, but slightly bowed, except when he drew himself up for the more effective delivery of some shrewd blow.  His complexion was extremely pale, and the pallor was made more conspicuous by contrast with his hair, steeped in Tyrian dye, worn long, and eked out with artificial additions.