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“He that receives, if he have gracious charity, is the equal of him that gives. But he who sells is the enemy of him who buys, and the seller constrains the buyer to be his foe. Herein lies the root of the curse that poisons cities, as the venom of the serpent is in his tail. And it must needs be a Lady set her foot on the serpent’s tail, and that Lady is Poverty. Already hath she visited King Louis of France in his Tower; but never yet entered among the Florentines, because she is chaste and will not put foot in a place of ill repute. Now the money-changer’s shop is an ill place, for it is there Bankers and Changers commit the most heinous of sins. Harlots sin in the brothels; but their sin is not so great as is that of the Bankers, and whosoever grows rich by banking and money-dealing.

“Verily I say unto you, Bankers and Money-changers shall not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven, nor yet bakers, nor dealers in drugs, nor such as practise the trade of wool, which is the boast of the City of the Lily. Forasmuch as they give a price to gold, and make a profit out of exchange, they are setting up idols in the face of men. And when they declare ‘Gold has a value,’ they tell a lie. For Gold is more vile than the dry leaves that flutter and rustle in the Autumn wind under the terebinths. There is nothing precious save the work of men’s hands, when God gives it His countenance.”

And lo! as he was meditating in this wise, Fra Giovanni saw that the Mountain side was torn open, and that men were dragging great stones from its flank. And one of the quarrymen was lying by the wayside, with a rag of coarse cloth for all covering; and his body was disfigured by bitter marks of the biting cold and scorching heat. The bones of his shoulders and chest showed all but bare beneath the meagre flesh; and Despair looked out grim and gaunt from the black cavern of his eyes.

Fra Giovanni approached him, saying:

“Peace be with you!”

But the quarryman made no answer, and did not so much as turn his head. So Fra Giovanni, thinking he had not heard, repeated:

“Peace be with you!”–and then the same words again for the third time.

At last the quarryman looked up at him sullenly, and growled:

“I shall have no peace till I am dead. Begone, cursed black crow! you wish me peace; that shows you are a glozing cheat! Go to, and caw to simpler fools than I! I know very well the quarryman’s lot is an utterly miserable one, and there is no comfort for his wretchedness. I hale out stones from dawn to dark, and for price of my toil, all I get is a scrap of black bread. Then when my arms are no longer as strong as the stones of the mountain, and my body is all worn out, I shall perish of hunger.”

“Brother!” said the holy man Giovanni; “it is not just or right you should hale out so much stone, and win so little bread.”

Then the quarryman rose to his feet and pointing,

“Master Monk,” said he, “what see you up yonder on the hill?”

“Brother, I see the walls of the City.”

“And above them?”

“Above them I see the roofs of the houses, which crown the ramparts.”

“And higher still?”

“The tops of the pines, the domes of the Churches and the Belltowers.”

“And higher still?”

“I see a Tower overtopping all the rest, and crowned with battlements. It is the Tower of the Podestà.”

“Monk, what see you above the battlements of that Tower?”

“I see nothing, brother, above the battlements save the sky.”

“But I,” cried the quarryman, “I see upon that Tower a hideous giant brandishing a club, and on the club is inscribed: OPPRESSION. Yea! Oppression is lifted up above the citizens’ heads on the Great Tower of the Magistrates and the City’s Laws.”