## Chapter 136: The Many Faces of Politics (Part 1)
The rain was falling in a steady drizzle outside the coffee shop across from the Greenwich Police Station. The temperature difference between the indoors and outdoors had created a faint mist on the glass windows.
Arthur stirred his teacup, watching as the sugar cubes slowly dissolved in the pale red liquid.
His guest, arriving late, removed his hat and overcoat, revealing a pale pink waistcoat underneath and a weary expression.
Arthur smiled and asked, “Mr. Disraeli, judging by your soaked appearance, your speech in Hyde Park today wasn’t very successful?”
Disraeli, a man of pride, disliked being underestimated. His response was tinged with irritation.
“Mr. Hastings, if you invited me here just to mock me, then you can save yourself the trouble. But if you insist, I wouldn’t mind making another enemy. You may not know this, but I don’t have many friends, but I have more than my share of enemies.”
Arthur shrugged and smiled, “No, no, you’ve misunderstood. I’m not here to mock you, but rather to discuss matters of mutual interest. After all, you did help me move the other day. Even if it’s just for that, it’s only right to treat you to a meal.”
Disraeli’s face was filled with disbelief. He questioned, “If that’s the case, why didn’t you invite me to your home? You said you hired a French chef, I’d love to try his cooking.”
Arthur leaned back on the chair, placing his hand on his forehead. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t invite you to my home. You see, the French chef and my Nottingham-born valet are off to the theater, and I forgot my keys, so I can’t even get back home.
To make matters worse, I didn’t bring much money with me when I left, so I can’t afford a fancy restaurant. This is the best I could manage. I know the owner here, and he trusts my good credit, so he’s allowing me to run a tab.”
Arthur then frankly turned out his pockets, showing Disraeli that he only had three shillings. After deducting the fare home, he truly had nothing left.
Disraeli remained skeptical. “Even if the chef and the valet are at the theater, can’t the balding tutor open the door for you? Oh, right, I almost forgot to ask, you have a tutor, but what about your wife and children?”
Arthur took a sip of his tea, “That balding man isn’t my tutor; he’s the tutor I hired for all of humanity, even though he charges me three shillings a week. Besides, how did you know I have a family?”
Disraeli pulled open the chair opposite Arthur and surveyed the strange-talking Scotland Yard Inspector.
“You could have just said that the man with the receding hairline is your lodger. As for why I think you have a family, it’s due to your financial situation. While British society nowadays prefers later marriages and children, generally speaking, British men won’t mind getting married earlier if they’ve prepared financially and professionally.
In my opinion, you’ve become a Scotland Yard Inspector at such a young age, clearly successful in both career and income. Even if you want to make your life a bit more complicated, consider getting married, it’s not surprising.”
Arthur couldn’t help but smile at these words, “It seems I was right. You have a lot of dissatisfaction with this society, I felt it when I read your masterpiece, ‘Vivian Grey’. That explains why you want to run for Parliament.”
Disraeli choked on his tea, almost spitting it out.
He coughed repeatedly, using a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, while occasionally glancing at Arthur.
After all, anyone familiar with the British literary scene knows that the anonymous satirical novel “Vivian Grey” is his dark history. Because of this book, his partner, friend, and target of satire, Mr. Morley, almost took him to court.
Morley, highly influential in the publishing world, was even known as ‘the second most important figure in British publishing’. When Disraeli’s authorship was exposed, the literary review magazines “Blackwood’s” and “The Literary Gazette” ruthlessly criticized him as a clown who made ridiculous gestures for attention and publicity, mocking him as an insignificant nobody.
Disraeli couldn’t count how many labels the publishing world had slapped on him: arrogant, ignorant, hypocritical, liar, scoundrel.
He invested in a business, losing a whopping £7,000. He entered the literary world, only to be dealt such a heavy blow. Disraeli became extremely despondent during this period, even developing a severe mental illness.
He remembered that every time his illness flared up, his ears would be filled with a terrifying ticking sound. Unable to sleep, he could only relieve his emotions by writing in his diary.
——The first time I was hit so hard, my heart felt so weak, it’s so ridiculous and funny, I just want to die immediately. My ears are full of the ticking of clocks, like the sound of a bell wailing in a storm… I can barely think. I wander around the room, the sound gets louder and louder, deafening, like a roaring flood.
Arthur stared at this early victim of ‘cyberbullying’, watching his forehead sweat grow thicker, his lips turn pale, and his hand holding the handkerchief tremble slightly.
Arthur changed the subject, “To be honest, Mr. Disraeli, before meeting you, I thought you were really as despicable as those literary review magazines described. But now that I’ve met you, I think you’re a pretty good person. At least you were willing to help me move without asking for anything in return. You know, people who help others without expecting anything in return are quite rare these days.”
Disraeli was originally going to accuse Arthur of deceiving him into moving things, but when he heard this, he swallowed the complaints that were about to come out of his mouth.
Disraeli nodded, “That’s right, Mr. Hastings, you’ll know what kind of person I am once you get to know me. The writers of “Blackwood’s” and “The Literary Gazette” are just a bunch of ass-kissers for Morley. They have no idea what Morley did to me!
I invested a lot of money in the newspaper he founded, but it went bankrupt in less than half a year. Can you imagine? The second most important figure in British publishing, running a newspaper into bankruptcy, as if he didn’t have the resources and capabilities.
But when I first attacked him, all his publishing friends jumped out. He has money and the means to buy off “Blackwood’s” and “The Literary Gazette”, but he can’t manage a newspaper. Did I say anything wrong about him in “Vivian Grey”?
He wants to use this to destroy me, so his little dark history can sink to the bottom of the sea, but he’s dreaming! I must get elected to Parliament and give that idiot a taste of his own medicine! I want him to experience the same humiliation and anxiety that I have suffered!”
As soon as Disraeli finished speaking, he realized he had let something slip.
He quickly explained, “Mr. Hastings, don’t get me wrong, that’s not exactly what I meant.”
Arthur shrugged, putting down his teacup, “It doesn’t matter even if you meant it exactly. Scotland Yard police don’t have the right to vote. It’s not like you’re insulting me, even if you’re insulting Morley, I can’t do anything to you.”
Disraeli was stunned for a moment, then disappointment was evident in his expression. “So… you don’t have the right to vote?”
Arthur smiled, “Have I wasted your time?”
Disraeli sighed, loosening his collar for comfort. “How could you waste my time? It’s better that you don’t have the right to vote, then I can speak my mind! To be honest, I’ve been talking for so long in Hyde Park, my mouth is almost numb. It’s good to chat with you and change my mood. Don’t worry, I won’t insult you, and I’m not afraid that you won’t vote for me, we are all equal and fair.”
Arthur looked at him and smiled, “It seems that although you want to be a member of Parliament, you’re not used to playing this power game yet.”
Disraeli picked up an oyster, using the small knife on the table to pry open its shell, while replying.
Slurp~
He sighed, “Is that so? Well, I’ll take your good word for it.”
(End of Chapter)