The Shadow of Great Britain

653: Chapter 320 Disraeli’s Ambition 653: Chapter 320 Disraeli’s Ambition “That impeachment case?

You almost died in Liverpool, how can you expect me to speak for the Polish at this time?”

As he spoke, Disraeli glanced at the corner of Arthur’s eye.

Somehow, he suddenly began to loudly recite a chapter from “Revelation.”

“There was a white horse, its rider is called Faithful and True.

He judges and wages war in righteousness.

His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns with a name written that no one knows but himself.

He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God.

The armies of heaven were following him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean.”

At this, Disraeli’s tone abruptly paused, and he then asked, “Arthur, when the bullet from a Polish gunman nearly shattered your brain, did you see these visions?”

Faced with his friend’s nonsensical words, Arthur could only respond in kind.

“No, I saw only a boiling river of blood.

Along the edges of that boiling river, people being cooked shrieked loudly.

The Devil told me they were all tyrants who loved murder and plunder.”

“Next, I saw a group of dead souls caught in a violent wind, constantly smashing against the rocks, those who in life had indulged in lust and the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Beside that was a gray forest, formed from the Souls who had taken their own lives.

Within the forest lay gluttons, incapacitated and lying weak as debris and sewage fell from the sky.”

“Afterwards, I passed through the domain of the demon Plutus, who was brandishing a whip, urging a group to keep pushing mountainous boulders into each other, as punishment for their greed in life.”

“Fury gathered on the other side, where people were brawling and tearing at each other’s flesh, bloodied yet never ceasing.”

“At last, a monster named Geryon with a kind human face but secretly stinging others with a scorpion tail, carried me across a fiery expanse inhabited by heretics, telling me I had reached the end of my journey.”

“I saw the people there, all of them grotesque, some with heads twisted 180 degrees, some buried upside down in the earth, some bodies torn in half, merging into poisonous snakes…”

Disraeli trembled upon hearing this, interrupting Arthur, “Wait, why did you end up in that place?”

Arthur calmly took a sip of tea, “Because this place is specifically meant for imprisoning gamblers, pimps, counterfeiters…”

“You’re not one of them, are you?”

“Benjamin, I haven’t finished yet.

This place also holds corrupt officials.”

Hearing this, the Jewish lad couldn’t help but curl his lips, raising an eyebrow as he said, “Then you might see quite a few bigwigs there.”

“You would be mistaken,” Arthur lit a cigar, smoke billowing in the room, “The bigwigs usually disembark at the earlier stations.

Thus, only Alexander and a few others remained with me until here.”

“Ah?

What!

Alexander too?” Disraeli exclaimed.

“What else?”

Arthur pulled a Guinea from his pocket and flicked it into the high-stemmed glass in front of Disraeli, “I can’t swallow all those Gold Coins by myself, so I decided to stash the extra money inside his big belly.”

Upon hearing this, Disraeli drew in a sharp breath, covering his mouth and muttering, “Had I known being a policeman was so lucrative, why did I bother becoming a Member of Parliament?”

“Be content, Benjamin,” Arthur replied, “For Scotland Yard, such assignments are rare.

But if you could get into the Commons’ Public Works Committee, you would find opportunities to get rich all year round.

Even if you just sat on a chair without moving, those construction cases would grease your waistcoat thickly.”

“That’s impossible!”

Rising from his seat with one hand on the table, Disraeli emphatically said to Arthur, “You might have forgotten that your friend is a true-blue Jew!

I wouldn’t let pork fat touch me!

The only thing sticking to me would be construction funds.”

“Oh, sorry, Benjamin, I forgot that point,” Arthur replied apologetically, “Perhaps the few people I’ve been dealing with lately left such a strong impression that I forgot your Jewish identity.”

“Hmm?” Disraeli asked curiously, “Who have you met recently?”

“A diplomat who immigrated from the Hesse in Germany, who always stresses his British identity.

And another undeniable Jew, our great poet Heinrich Heine, always emphasizes that he is a genuine German.”

Upon hearing this, Disraeli’s expression suddenly became a bit strange, “Does Heine avoid acknowledging his Jewish identity?”

“Well…

it’s hard to say, but he mostly doesn’t take pride in being a Jew.”

“How do you know?”

“After I arrived in Liverpool, local officials and businessmen hosted a banquet for us.

A lady there greatly admired his collection of poems, so she took the opportunity to approach our temperamental Heinrich, flattering him by saying, ‘Mr.

Heine, you are a descendant of the same nation as Jesus.

If I were you, I would certainly take pride in that.’

“What did Heine say?”

“Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Of course.”

Arthur shook off some ash, “Heinrich replied, ‘If no one but Jesus were a descendant of that nation, I indeed would take pride in it.’”