The Merchant now entered a hall lighted by a copper lamp with twelve
wicks that were burning smokily. Eliezer the Jew was there, seated
before his scales. The windows of the house were walled up, because he
was an Unbeliever.

Fabio Mutinelli approached and thus accosted him:

"Eliezer, over and over again have I called you dog and renegade
heathen. There have been times, when I was younger and in the flush of
early manhood, I have cast stones and mud at folks going along the Canal
who wore the round patch of yellow sewn on their shoulder, so that I
may likely have struck one of your friends or perhaps yourself. I tell
you this, not to affront you, but out of fairness, at the same instant I
come to ask you to do me a very great service."

The Jew lifted his arm, which was as dry and gnarled as an ancient
vine-stock:

"Fabio Mutinelli, the Father which is in Heaven shall judge us, one and
the other. What is the service you are come to ask of me?"

"Lend me five hundred ducats for a year."

"Men do not lend without security. Doubtless you have learned this from
your own people. What is the security you offer?"

"You must know, Eliezer, I have not a denier left, not one gold cup, not
one silver goblet. Neither have I a friend left. One and all, they have
refused to do me the service I ask of you. I have nothing in all the
world but my honour as a merchant and my faith as a Christian. I offer