‘Whatever may be his fate,’ said Astarte, in a tone of seriousness, ‘the English prince does not seem to me to be a person who could ever experience disgrace.’
‘No, no,’ quickly replied his faithful friend; ‘of course I did not speak of personal dishonour. He is extremely proud and rash, and not in any way a practical man; but he is not a person who ever would do anything to be sent to the bagnio or the galleys. What I mean by disgrace is, that he is mixed up with transactions, and connected with persons who will damage, cheapen, in a worldly sense dishonour him, destroy all his sources of power and influence. For instance, now, in his country, in England, a Jew is never permitted to enter England; they may settle in Gibraltar, but in England, no. Well, it is perfectly well known among all those who care about these affairs, that this enterprise of his, this religious-politico-military adventure, is merely undertaken because he happens to be desperately enamoured of a Jewess at Damascus, whom he cannot carry home as his bride.’
‘Enamoured of a Jewess at Damascus!’ said Astarte, turning pale.
‘To folly, to frenzy; she is at the bottom of the whole of this affair; she talks Cabala to him, and he Nazareny to her; and so, between them, they have invented this grand scheme, the conquest of Asia, perhaps the world, with our Syrian sabres, and we are to be rewarded for our pains by eating passover cakes.’
‘What are they?’
‘Festival bread of the Hebrews, made in the new moon, with the milk of he-goats.’
‘What horrors!’
‘What a reward for conquest!’
‘Will the Queen of the English let one of her princes marry a Jewess?’
‘Never; he will be beheaded, and she will be burnt alive, eventually; but, in the meantime, a great deal of mischief may occur, unless we stop it.’