“So,” cried one of the company—Luigi, the goodly butcher,—“they say he wanted to put a new tax on us; and that is the reason he broke up the Council today, because, good men, they were honest, and had bowels for the people: it is a shame and a sin that the treasury should be empty.”
“I told him,” said the smith, “to beware how he taxed the people. Poor men won’t be taxed. But as he does not follow my advice, he must take the consequence—the horse runs from one hand, the halter remains in the other.”
“Take your advice, Cecco! I warrant me his stomach is too high for that now. Why he is grown as proud as a pope.”
“For all that, he is a great man,” said one of the party. “He gave us laws—he rid the Campagna of robbers—filled the streets with merchants, and the shops with wares—defeated the boldest lords and fiercest soldiery of Italy—”
“And now wants to tax the people!—that’s all the thanks we get for helping him,” said the grumbling Cecco. “What would he have been without us?—we that make, can unmake.”
“But,” continued the advocate, seeing that he had his supporters—“but then he taxes us for our own liberties.”
“Who strikes at them now?” asked the butcher.
“Why the Barons are daily mustering new strength at Marino.”
“Marino is not Rome,” said Luigi, the butcher. “Let’s wait till they come to our gates again—we know how to receive them. Though, for the matter of that, I think we have had enough fighting—my two poor brothers had each a stab too much for them. Why won’t the Tribune, if he be a great man, let us have peace? All we want now is quiet.”
“Ah!” said a seller of horse-harness. “Let him make it up with the Barons. They were good customers after all.”