rty made to maintain the
exclusion of Jews from Parliament. Nobody showed more self-possession
and (except on two or three occasions) more perfect self-command in
the hot strife of Parliament than this suspected stranger. His
opponents learnt to fear one who never feared for himself; his
followers knew that their chief would not fail them in the hour of
danger. His very face and bearing had in them an impassive calmness
which magnetised those who watched him. He liked to surround himself
with mystery, to pose as remote, majestic, self-centred, to appear
above the need of a confidant. He would sit for hours on his bench in
the House of Commons, listening with eyes half-shut to furious
assaults on himself and his policy, not showing by the movement of a
muscle that he had felt a wound; and when he rose to reply would
discharge his sarcasms with an air of easy coolness. That this
indifference was sometimes simulated appeared by the resentment he
showed afterwards.

Ambition such as his could not afford to be scrupulous, nor have his
admirers ever claimed conscientiousness as one of his merits. One who
sets power and fame before him as the main ends to be pursued may no
doubt be restrained by pride from the use of such means as are
obviously low and dishonourable. Other questionable means he may
reject because he knows that the opinion of those whose good-will and
good word he must secure would condemn them. But he will not be likely
to allow kindliness or compassion to stand in his way; nor will he be
very regardful of truth. To a statesman, who must necessarily have
many facts in his knowledge, or many plans in his mind, which the
interests of his colleagues, or of his party, or of the nation, forbid
him to reveal, the temptation to put questioners on a false scent, and
to seem to agree where he really dissents, is at all times a strong
one. An honest man may sometimes be betrayed into yielding to it; and
those who know how difficult are the cases of conscience that arise
will not deal harshly with a possibly misleading silence, or even with
the evasion of an embarrassing inquiry, where a real public interest
can be pleaded, for the existence of such a public interest, if it
does not justify, may palliate omissions to make a full disclosure of
the facts. All things considered, the standard of truthfulness among
English public men has (of course with some conspicuous exceptions)
been a high one. Of that standard Disraeli