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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 BEQUEST OF 
 
 Alice R. Hilgard 
 
/^ 
 
 ^<A-y 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
"Alas for lovers! Pair by pair 
 
 The Wind has blown them all away; 
 
 The younj? and yaro, the fond and fair; 
 
 Where are the Snows of Yesterday?" 
 
IF I 
 WERE KING 
 
 BY 
 
 JUSTIN HUNTLY McCarthy 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
Copyright, igoi, by Robert Howard Russell 
 
 GIFT 
 
 ritlNTeO IN THK UNITED STATES OP AMKRiCA 
 
 E-N 
 

 DEDICATION 
 
 To Her 
 Through Whom and For Whom 
 This Book was Written 
 ^' The Loveliest Lady this side of Heaven." 
 
 XXL XII. MCML 
 
 iviS'?8999 
 
If I were king ah love, if I were king! 
 
 What tributary nations would I bring 
 
 To stoop before your sceptre and to swear 
 
 Allegiance to your lips and eyes and hair. 
 
 Beneath your feet what treasures I would flings-- 
 
 The stars should be your pearls upon a string, 
 
 The world a ruby for your finger ring, 
 
 And you should have the sun and moon to wear 
 
 If I were king. 
 
 Let these wild dreams and wilder words take wing. 
 
 Deep in the woods I hear a shepherd sing 
 
 A simple ballad to a sylvan air. 
 
 Of love that ever finds your face more fair. 
 
 I could not give you any godlier thing 
 
 If I were king. 
 
IF T WERE KING 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN THE FIRCONE TAVERN 
 
 In the dark main room of the Fircone Tavern the 
 warm June air seemed to have lost all its delicacy, 
 like a degraded angel. It was sodden through and 
 through, as with the lees of wine; it was stained and 
 shamed with the smells of hams and cheeses; it was 
 thick and heavy as if with the breaths of all the 
 rogues and all the vagabonds that had haunted the 
 hostelry from its evil dawn. Such guttering lights 
 and glimmering flames as lit the place for there 
 was a small fire on the wide hearth in spite of the 
 fine weather peopled the gloom with fantastic 
 quivering shadows as of lean fingers that unfolded 
 themselves to filch, or clenched themselves to stab 
 in the back. But its patrons seemed to like the 
 place well enough in spite of its miasma, and Master 
 Robin Turgis, the fat landlord, drowsy with his own 
 wine and dripping from the heat, surveyed them 
 complacently, and wallowed as it were in the rattle 
 
 9 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 and clink of mug and can, the full-throated laughter 
 and the shrill chatter, crisply emphasized by oaths, 
 which assured him of the Fircone^s popularity with 
 its intimates. Master Kobin's intelligence was lim- 
 ited; his wit was simple; the processes of his mind 
 moved easily along the lines of least resistance. The 
 Burgundians might be hammering with mailed fists 
 at the walls of Paris; the fire-new crown of Louis 
 the Eleventh might be falling from the royal fore- 
 head: it mattered not a jot to dishonest Kobin so 
 long as the Fircone brimmed with company. 
 
 There was enough company in the room on this 
 evening to content even his wish. It was not the 
 kind of company that a wise man would desire to 
 keep, but it delighted the innkeeper, for it drank 
 deeply and spent freely, and in Robin's view it was 
 of no more concern to him how the money that 
 changed hands was come by than it was how the 
 profound potations might affect the brains and stom- 
 achs of his clients. If any officer of the law had 
 questioned him as to his association with a certain 
 mysterious Brotherhood of the Cockleshells whose 
 plunderings and pilferings were the pride of the 
 Court of Miracles and the fear of citizens with strong 
 boxes, he would have shrugged his fat shoulders and 
 shaken his round head and disowned all knowledge 
 
 10 
 
IN THE FIRCONE TAVERN 
 
 of any such unlawful corporation. Yet his face 
 wrinkled with smiles as his glance rested amiably 
 upon the bodily presences of certain illustrious mem- 
 bers of the brotherhood, wild men in withered frip- 
 pery, wine-stained to the very bones. 
 
 They were five in number, and four of them were 
 huddled round a table in the cosiest corner of the 
 room, the corner that was sheltered from the heat of 
 the fire by the high-backed settle, the corner that was 
 nearest to the main door if one desired as one often 
 did to slip out in a hurry, and to the red-curtained 
 windows, if one desired as one seldom did a 
 mouthful of fresh air. Robin Turgis knew them all, 
 Rdmired them all, feared them all, and yet he held 
 head against them because his Beaune wine was so 
 adorable, and because he could keep his own counsel. 
 Slender Rend de Montigny, in a jerkin of rubbed 
 and faded purple velvet, with his malign, Italianate 
 face and his delicate Italianate grace; rotund Guy 
 Tabarie, bluff, red and bald; Casin Cholet, tall and 
 bird-like, with the figure of a stork and the features 
 of a bird of prey; Jehan le Loup, who looked as 
 vulpine as his nickname; these Robin Turgis eyed 
 and catalogued with a kind of pride. It was a fear- 
 some privilege for the Fircone to boast such patron- 
 age. On the settle, with his face to the fire, Colin de 
 
 U 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Cayeulx sprawled in a drunken sleep, forgetting and 
 forgotten, a harmless looking, good-natured looking 
 knave who was neither harmless nor good-natured. 
 
 For every man of the gang there was a woman, 
 and there was a woman over, who was easily the 
 central star of the flaunting galaxy. The shabby 
 bravery of the men was matched by the shabby 
 bravery of five out of the six women. Gaudy, paint- 
 ed, assertive strumpets with young, fair, shameless 
 faces worthy Jills of the ill-favoured Jacks who 
 cuddled them Jehanneton, the fair helm-maker; 
 Denise, Blanche, Isabeau, and Guillemette, the land- 
 lord's daughter, who consorted gaily enough with 
 these brightly-plumaged birds of a rogue's paradise. 
 But the sixth woman was a bird of quite another 
 feather. 
 
 Over all the clatter this woman's voice rose sud- 
 denly as clear as the call of a thrush, and the hot 
 space seemed to cool and the hot air to clean as she 
 sang. She who sang was a girl of five and twenty, 
 whom it had pleased to clothe her ripe womanhood 
 in a boy's habit, that clasped her fine body as close 
 as a second skin, and she might have passed for a 
 man no otherwhere than in a madhouse. She looked 
 very charming in the stained and faded daintiness 
 of her male attire. She wore a green velvet doublet 
 
 12 
 
m THE FIRCONE TAVERN 
 
 and green woollen hose, with a scarlet girdle and 
 pouch about her waist, and a scarlet feather stuck 
 defiantly in her green cap, beneath which her long 
 fair hair tumbled in liberal confusion about her 
 shoulders. She sat on the edge of a table swinging 
 one shapely leg loose and strained upon its fellow 
 while she nursed her lute as if it had been a baby, 
 and carolled as if there were no other work in the 
 world to do than to sing. The men and women who 
 sat and sprawled around the table kept quiet, listen- 
 ing to her and staring at her; sleepy Colin pricked 
 his ears; Robin Turgis was alert to hear, for he knew 
 that it was worth while to listen when Huguette du 
 Hamel chose to sing. Robin Turgis knew all about 
 her. Her gentle blood was wild blood, and in spite 
 of her birth and her name she had drifted on the 
 stream of strange pleasure to be the idol of the Fir- 
 cone's shrine. Her voice was sweet and the tune 
 had a tender, appealing grace, with a little minor 
 wail in it that brought tears into the singer's eyes, 
 and she mouthed the words as if she found them 
 sweet as honey. And this is what she sang: 
 
 "Daughters of pleasure, one and all, 
 Of form and feature delicate. 
 Of bodies slim, and bosoms small, 
 (With feet and fingers white and straight, 
 
 13 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 Your eyes are bright, your grace is great 
 To hold your lovers' hearts in thrall ; 
 
 Use your red lips before too late, 
 Love ere love flies beyond recall." 
 
 Her voice dropped and her fingers tinkled over 
 the strings. Ren^ de Montigny turned his dark, 
 well-featured face in a sweeping leer that seemed 
 to taste the familiar graces with gusto. "Devilish 
 good advice, Dollies," he shouted, and as he spoke 
 he hugged the nearest girl close to him, and tilting 
 up her chin with his free hand, kissed her noisily. 
 The girl squealed a little at his roughness; the other 
 pairs laughed and clasped after his example, only 
 the singer, unheeding, lifted her sweet voice again, 
 and this time there was a savour of gall in the sweet- 
 ness of the honey: 
 
 "For soon the golden hair is grey. 
 
 And all the body's lovely line 
 In wrinkled meanness slipped astray; 
 
 The limbs so round and ripe and fine 
 Shrivelled and withered; quenched the shine 
 
 That made your eyes as bright as day: 
 So, ladies, hear these words of mine, 
 
 Love, ere love flutter far away." 
 
 14 
 
IN THE FIRCONE TAVERN 
 
 The drift of the music seemed sadder than before, 
 and there was a little silence when the last words 
 floated away into the blackened rafters, a silence 
 broken by one of the girls. 
 
 "Enn^, that was a sad song, Abbess," Isabeau 
 sighed, and her face seemed to have paled beneath its 
 false colours and the lines about her mouth and eyes 
 to have grown older in surrender to inevitable 
 thoughts. She whom the girl called Abbess laughed, 
 and her mirth sounded harshly after the dreamy 
 Bweetness of her song. 
 
 "Master Francois Villon made it for me t'other 
 day," she answered. " * You will grow old. Idol,' he 
 said, * and I make you this song to teach you true 
 things.' " 
 
 Guy Tabarie, whose red hair bunched out like lit- 
 tle flames from the fiery sun of his countenance, 
 clapped his hands to the girl's waist and thrust his 
 face near to hers. " Kiss me and forget it," he hic- 
 coughed. The girl gave importunacy a little push 
 which sent him staggering back to his seat. " I have 
 no kisses for any Jack of you all but Frangois," she 
 said, while the others roared at the man's discom- 
 fiture. " Ah, there is no one of you that can write 
 songs like him, or make one sad as he can in the 
 midst of gladness." 
 
 15 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 The girl whom purple-coated Ren^ had kissed 
 so rudely shivered a little. " A strange reason for 
 liking a man," she whispered, "that he make you 
 Bad." She glanced wistfully round at her compan- 
 ions: to the faces of the women the influence of the 
 Bong had lent an unwonted softness, but had brought 
 no touch of tenderness to those of the men. Jehan 
 le Loup banged his fist heavily on the table in furious 
 protestation till the cans and flagons rattled. 
 
 "Is this a Court of Love?" he grunted, baring his 
 yellow tusks in a swinish rage. " There are other 
 rooms for love-making," and he jerked his thumb 
 towards the roof. "We are here for drinking; we 
 are here for dicing; to the devil with smocks and 
 sonnets." 
 
 He jumbled the ivories lustily as he growled and 
 the familiar jingle banished unfamiliar fancies. He 
 slapped the spotted cubes on the table and as they 
 rolled into equilibrium eager eyes counted them, and 
 fingers eager or reluctant pinched or pushed at coins. 
 The spell of the music was broken. The melodious 
 Abbess, with eyes now glittering and tearless, swung 
 her supple body from table to bench, thrust herself 
 a place among the players, shouted to Robin Turgis 
 to bring more wine, and spreading some silver on 
 th<^ dingy board surrendered to speculatior Nobody 
 
 tie 
 
IN THE FIRCONE TAVERN 
 
 heeded the faint clink which told that a hand 
 troubled the latch of the street door; nobody heeded 
 the faint creaking which showed that it was being 
 softly opened; nobody heeded the man who put his 
 head gently through the opening and looked 
 thoughtfully around him. The new-comer was a 
 grim-visaged fellow, somewhere near the edge of 
 middle age. He was dressed in the sober habit of a 
 simple burgess, and he used the long fold that hung 
 from his cloth cap very dexterously to hide his face. 
 He peered into the obscurity of the room with a 
 disquieting smile that deepened in its unpleasing 
 expression as its owner surveyed the noisy fellowship 
 in the corner, and nodded his head as he seemed to 
 identify its members. Confident that nobody marked 
 him he stealthily entered the room, and holding the 
 door ajar, he motioned to one who still stood with' 
 out to enter. The summons was answered by the 
 entrance of another figure, capped and habited like 
 the first, who slipped in swiftly and furtively, and 
 made at once for the farthest and loneliest angle of 
 the room without looking to right or left, while his 
 herald, after closing the door as noiselessly as possi- 
 ble, followed quickly in his footsteps. If Master 
 Robin, dancing attendance upon his clamourous cus- 
 tomers, could have divined the identity of the new- 
 
 II 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 comers whose advent he regarded so indifferently} 
 his purple face would have paled and his stomach 
 failed him at the thought that the Fircone sheltered 
 the baleful presence of the king and of his malign 
 satellite, Tristan PHermite. 
 
 The two strangers seated themselves at a small 
 table in the very pole of the room to the place where 
 the Abbess and her friends were busy, and the sec- 
 ond of the pair, drawing a little apart the dark- 
 coloured fold of cloth that almost concealed his fea- 
 tures, looked around him curiously. 
 
 "Is this the eyrie?" he whispered, and his com- 
 panion answered him in the same low t:?ne, "This is 
 the Fircone Tavern, sire." The other's finger was 
 lifted to his lip at once in warning. "Hush, gossip, 
 hush," he muttered. "No title now, I beg of you. 
 Here I am not Louis of France, but a simple sober 
 citizen like yourself. I suppose we must take some- 
 thing for the good of the house? " His henchman 
 promptly replied that such action was indispensable. 
 But Louis still looked doubtful. " Will the liquor 
 be very detestable," he asked, inserting two thin 
 fingers in the black pouch at his belt. Tristan shook 
 his head. " Nay, you can get good wine here if you 
 know how to ask for it and how to pay for it." 
 
 "No one knows better than I how to ask for 
 
 18 
 
IN THE FIRCONE TAVERN 
 
 anything," chuckled the king. " Or worse, how to 
 pay for it," Tristan sneered. The king scowled at 
 him. "Then, why do you keep my service?" he 
 snapped. Tristan shrugged his shoulders. " Some 
 dregs of devotion, I suppose. Here stands Master 
 Innkeeper." For by this time Robin Turgis was at 
 their elbow, scanning them narrowly with his small, 
 pig-like eyes that could make little, however, of the 
 well -muffled faces. He waited on their order with 
 a kind of ferocious submission, draining his rank 
 forehead with a sweep of his dirty palm. 
 
 *' Friend," said Louis, sniffing sardonically at the 
 too odoriferous personality of the taverner, "you be- 
 hold here two decent cits who have turned a penny 
 or twain in a bargain, and have a mind to wet their 
 whistles in consequence. Have you aught to offer 
 that is good alike for purse and palate? " 
 
 Robin Turgis nodded his round head and fondled 
 his round stomach. "We have a white wine of 
 Beaune," he said unctuously, as if he were tasting 
 the wares he commended, "at two sols the flagon 
 that is noble drinking." 
 
 The king's sense of economy shivered at the sum 
 as if it had been a wound. 
 
 "Pasques-Dieu!" he stammered. "So it should 
 be at the price." Robin Turgis remained unmoved: 
 
 19 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Tristan clinched the business. " Bring it," he said 
 decisively, and as the landlord shambled away 
 towards his cellar, Tristan met the king's condemna- 
 tory frown squarely. 
 
 " I wear out my hands and feet in your service," 
 he said, " I want to save my throat and stomach." 
 
 Louis made no answer and was mournfully silent 
 until the obese landlord returned with the much- 
 vaunted vintage, which he set down on the table with 
 a brace of goblets. Louis fumbled with reluctant 
 fingers in his pouch, extracted the exact amount nec- 
 essary for payment and dropped it into the fat paw 
 of Kobin Turgis. But Robin lingered and Louis 
 looking at him in surprise met the admonishing 
 glare of Tristan. " Give him a penny for himself," 
 Tristan whispered, and the king, with an unwilling- 
 ness he was at no pains to conceal, added the de- 
 manded drink-money to the other coins, and eyed 
 the departing back of the landlord with well-defined 
 aversion. "You are generous with other people's 
 pennies, friend," he snapped at his companion, but 
 Tristan, paying no heed to his querulousness, filled 
 the two cups with the clear golden liquid and thrust 
 one of them under the nose of the sulky monarch. 
 Its fine dry fragrance soothed Louis; he took a deep 
 sip and was mollified; another and he had forgiven 
 
 20 
 
IN THE FIRCONE TAVERN 
 
 if not forgotten his generosity. He winked at Tris- 
 tan amiably over the rim of the goblet. "This is 
 seeing life, friend Tristan," he murmured, content- 
 edly, stretching his thin legs in delicious ease. But 
 Tristan was in no holiday humour. 
 
 "Let's hope it mayn't be seeing death, friend 
 Louis," he snorted. "There are a couple of rogues 
 in that covey who would spit you or split you or slit 
 you for the price of a drink." 
 
 Louis laughed affably. " And no such cheap 
 bargain," he commented, " seeing what wine costs 
 here. But this is an interesting business." 
 
 Tristan would concede nothing to the king's good- 
 humour. "Where's the interest?" he asked. "A 
 few bullies, bawds and bonarobas boozing together. 
 You can keep the same company at court only a 
 shade cleaner and not be out of pocket for the 
 privilege either." 
 
 The king's mouth puckered in appreciation of 
 some memory. He leaned forward and touched Tris- 
 tan's sleeve. 
 
 "Gossip Tristan, there is at my court a scholar 
 who told me an Eastern tale." 
 
 " Pray God it be a gay one such as your majesty 
 loves." 
 
 "Hush, man; no 'Majesty' here. 'Tis of an 
 
 23 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Eastern King, one Haroun, surnamed, as I shall be 
 surnamed, The Just." 
 
 Tristan grunted sceptically, but Louis, ignoring 
 the ejaculation, went on. 
 
 " It was his pastime to go about Bagdad of nights 
 in disguise, and mingling with his people learn much 
 to the advantage of the realm. I am following his 
 example, and I expect to learn much in my turn." 
 
 Tristan looked pityingly at the complacent king. 
 " You are likely to learn how unpopular you are, 
 which I could have told you without this trouble; 
 and you will be lucky if you do not get your throat 
 cut into the bargain." 
 
 Something almost like a smile disturbed the famil- 
 iar composure of the king's wrinkles. He took 
 another sip of the wine and his affability expanded. 
 " You are always a bird of evil omen," he chirped. 
 "Be bright, man; look at me. The Burgundian 
 Leaguer is at my gates; my throne sways like a rock- 
 ing-chair, yet I don't pull a sad face." 
 
 "It's a good thing* that somebody is pleased," 
 Tristan commented. " Yes," said Louis, opening out 
 his thin hands and studying their palms attentively, 
 " I am pleased " Tristan interrupted him rough- 
 ly. " Pleased that the Burgundians threaten you 
 outside the walls of Paris; pleased that Thibaut 
 
 22 
 
IN THE FIRCONE TAVERN 
 
 d'Aussigny bullies you inside the walls of Paris; 
 pleased that your soldiers are mutinous; pleased 
 that your citizens are sullen; by my faith, here are 
 four royal reasons for a royal pleasure." 
 
 Louis shook his head playfully at his servant's 
 grumbling. " Gossip Tristan," he asked, " do you 
 know why I have come to this hovel to-night? I do 
 not walk abroad like a king-errant in mere idleness 
 of mind. I have come to learn what company my lord 
 the Grand Constable keeps." Tristan^s shaggy eye- 
 brows arched in surprise as the king continued: "Our 
 good Olivier assures us that our dear Thibaut d'Aus- 
 signy has taken it into his head of late to walk the 
 streets by night and to haunt strange taverns such 
 as this same Fircone, I am plagued with a woman- 
 ish curiosity, Tristan, and I thought I would peep 
 over Messire Thibaut's shoulder and have an eye on 
 his cards." 
 
 Tristan chuckled. "The Grand Constable bears 
 you a grudge since you chose to turn a kind eye on 
 the girl of Vaucelles.^ 
 
 " She was a wise virgin to dislike Thibaut," mused 
 the king. "Was she a foolish virgin to mistrust 
 your majesty? " questioned Tristan. Louis shrugged 
 his shoulders. " She is a proud piece, gossip. When 
 I told her that she took my fancy she flamed into a 
 
 88 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 red rage that chastened me. But if she's not for 
 me she's not for Thibaut either." "The Grand 
 Constable is a bad enemy," Tristan commented. The 
 king replied at random. 
 
 "Tristan, I had a strange dream last night. I 
 dreamed that I was a swine rooting in the streets 
 of Paris, and that I found a pearl of great price in 
 the kennel. I picked it up and set it in my crown '' 
 
 " A crowned pig," Tristan interrupted. " 'Tis like 
 a tavern sign." Louis did not seem to resent the 
 interruption. 
 
 " My good gossip, in a dream nothing seems 
 strange. Well, as I said, I set this pearl in my crown 
 and the light of it seemed to fill all my good city of 
 Paris with glory so that I could see every street 
 and alley, every tower and pinnacle, more clearly 
 than in a summer's noon. And then methought that 
 the pearl weighed so heavy upon my forehead that 
 I plucked it from its place and cast it to the ground, 
 and would have trodden it under foot when a star 
 shot swiftly from Heaven and stayed me." 
 
 The king looked eagerly at his companion, who 
 seemed wholly uninterested in the narrative of 
 the royal vision. " Dreams and stars, stars and 
 dreams," he sneered. " Leave dreams to weaklings, 
 sire." Louis frowned. "Don't sneer, gossip, but 
 
 24 
 
IN THE FIRCONE TAVERN 
 
 instruct who are these people?" and the sharp, lean 
 face of the king thrust itself forward a little, bird- 
 like, from the nest of its hood, in the direction of the 
 gamblers. His companion shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Some of the worst cats and rats in all Paris," he 
 answered. "The men belong to a fellowship that 
 is called the Company of the Cockleshells, and bab- 
 ble a cant of their own that bafifles the thief -takers. 
 
 If your majesty " but here a warning kick from 
 
 Louis made him wince and change his words " if 
 you wished to savour rascality these are your blades. 
 The women are trulls. Yonder she-thing in the 
 man's habit is Huguette du Hamel, a wild wench, 
 whom men call the Abbess for her nunnery of light 
 o' loves. There be four of her minions with her now, 
 Jehanneton la belle Heaulmi^re as they name her, 
 Denise the slipper-maker, Blanche and Isabeau. 
 Oh, they are delectable doxies! " 
 
 King Louis pursed his thin lips in austere censure. 
 ** They shall be reproved hereafter," he said. " Who 
 are the men?" 
 
 " Worthy Adams of such pestilent Eves," Tristan 
 answered. "That slender fellow in the purple 
 jerkin is one Ren^ de Montigny, of gentle birth, and 
 a great breaker of commandments. He with the red 
 hair is Guy Tabarie; they are sworn brothers in 
 
 25 
 
IF 1 WERE KING 
 
 bawdry and larceny. The ferret-faced knave who 
 is tickling the girl's knee is Jehan le Loup, Bullies 
 and bawds, pandars and parasites: to enumerate 
 their offenses would be to say the Decalogue back- 
 ward." 
 
 "You have a pithy humour, gossip," and Louis 
 grinned. " Our gallows shall be busy anon." 
 
 Tristan was about to open his mouth in approval 
 of a sentiment so pleasing to his ears when his words 
 and his purpose were alike arrested by a sound of a 
 voice singing outside the tavern door. 
 
 The voice was a man's voice, something rough and 
 strained for fine music, and yet with a kind of full 
 and florid sweetness that carried the words clearly 
 through the red-curtained windows. They leeemed 
 to make a complaint of Fortune: 
 
 ^ Since I have left the prison gate 
 
 Where I came near to say good-bye 
 
 To this poor life that needs must fly 
 From the malignity of Fate, 
 
 Perchance she now will pass me by 
 Since I have left the prison gate." 
 
 If the king pricked his ear to listen, and even Tris- 
 tan moved a little in his lethargy, the effect of the 
 
 26 
 
'One Francois Villon, scholar, poet, drinker, drabber, blabber, good 
 at pen, point and pitcher." 
 
IN THE FIRCONE TAVERN 
 
 song upon the company of gamblers was instant and 
 pronounced. The Abbess leaped to her feet, crying 
 out: " It is the voice of Frangois! " " It is indeed 
 his own unutterable pipe," agreed Ren^ de Montigny, 
 sweeping his winnings into his pouch. Robin Turgis 
 raised his hands in a comical despair as he muttered: 
 " Here is the devil out of hell again." All the men 
 and women were looking eagerly at the door. 
 
 " Who is this? " asked Louis of Tristan, " whose 
 coming seems so to flutter these night-birds? " 
 
 "The strangest knave in all Paris," Tristan an- 
 swered. " One Francois Villon, scholar, poet, 
 drinker, sworder, drabber, blabber, good at pen^ 
 point, and pitcher. In the Court of Miracles the^f 
 call him the King of the Cockleshells. Judge hin^ 
 for yourself." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 As Tristan spoke the tavern latch rattled, the 
 tavern door was flung noisily open, and the king's 
 gaze rested on a strange figure framed in the entry. 
 The man was of middle height, spare and slight and 
 lean; his thin, eager face was bronzed with the suns 
 and winds of a generation, and lined with the stern 
 ciphers of malign experiences. His dark, straight 
 hair was long and unkempt; the finer lines of his 
 cheeks and chin were blurred with the uncropped 
 growth of a week-old beard; his eyes were bright and 
 quick; his glance restless and comprehensive. A 
 cunning reader of features would have found a home 
 for high thoughts behind the fine forehead, the lines 
 of infinite tenderness upon the mobile lips, the light 
 of some noble conflagration in the wild eyes. He 
 was dressed in faded finery of many colours, so 
 ragged and patched and hostile that he had very 
 much the air of a gaudy scarecrow. His ruined cloak 
 was tilted by a long sword; his disordered thatch was 
 crowned by a battered cap grotesquely adorned with 
 a cock's feather. In his leathern belt a small vellum 
 bound book of verses kept company with a dagger. 
 
 28 
 
'A cunning reader of features would have found a home for high 
 thoughts behind the fine forehead, the hues of infinite tenderness 
 upon the mobile lips, the light of some noble conflagration in the 
 wild eyes." 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 For all his whimsical appearance the king's keen 
 eyes could note a something gallant in the carriage 
 of the scamp, could spy out qualities of manhood be- 
 neath the battered bravery. He poised for a moment 
 on the threshold in a fantastic attitude of salutation 
 ere he slammed the door behind him and strode for- 
 ward to meet his friends. 
 
 "Well, Hearts of Gold, how are ye?" he cried 
 joyously as he advanced with head thrown back and 
 open hands extended. " Did ye miss me, lads; did ye 
 miss me, lasses? " 
 
 Abbess Huguette was at his side in an instant, 
 with her arms about his neck fondling him and fawn- 
 ing upon him. " Surely I missed you," she whispered. 
 " Where have you been, little monkey? " 
 
 Master Frangois looked at her for a moment with 
 a curious pity. Then gently extricating himself from 
 her embrace he called out, " Give me a wash of wine 
 for my throat's parched with piping." 
 
 Every man thrust his own mug towards Master 
 Francois, beseeching him to drink of it, but he waved 
 them all aside imperially. " Nay, I will have my 
 own," he said. " Have we no landlord here? Master 
 Robin, come hither." 
 
 Robin Turgis, who had kept apart up to now, sur- 
 veying the new-comer with no excess of favour, 
 
 29 
 
IF 1 WERE KING 
 
 moved slowly forward with his thumbs in his girdle 
 and a sour smile on his fat cheeks. Master Fran- 
 cois addressed him sternly, twitching as he did so 
 the landlord's greasy cap from his pate and sending 
 it flying down the room. " Why do you not salute 
 gentry when they honour your pot-house? A mug 
 of your best Beaune, Master Beggar-maker, to drink 
 damnation to the Burgundians." 
 
 Robin Turgis made no motion to obey, but his 
 small eyes seemed to grow smaller as they stared. 
 " What colour has money now-a-days, Master Fran- 
 cois? " he asked doggedly. In a moment the brown, 
 dirty hand of the poet was clapped to his dagger 
 and there was something of a wolfish snarl in his 
 voice as he answered menacingly, " The colour of 
 blood sometimes." But the landlord, unabashed and 
 undismayed, stood his ground. 
 
 " None of your swaggering, Master Frangois," he 
 said sturdily. " There is such a thing as a king in 
 France and that king's name is writ fair on his coin- 
 age. Show me a Louis XI. and I will show you my 
 Beaune wine." 
 
 The face of Master Frangois flushed under its 
 grime, and he fiddled at his dagger nervously, as one 
 uncertain whether to laugh or cry at the dilemma 
 which confronted him. Huguette and Montigny 
 
 30 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 
 
 alike had dipped their hands into their pouches for 
 money to pay the poet's score when to the amaze- 
 ment of Tristan the king forestalled their kindnesses. 
 Rising to his feet with creditable alacrity he ad- 
 vanced towards Master Frangois and saluted him 
 with a gracious wave of the hand. " Will you let me 
 be of some small service to you," he began politely, 
 and as Villon turned to stare at him in surprise he 
 continued: "Will you honour me by drinking that 
 Beaune wine our host brags of at my expense? " 
 
 Villon's astonishment had not unnerved his clutch 
 at opportunity. Here was a god out of a machine, 
 proffering cool liquor to dry gullets. Master 
 Frangois gave back the salutation with a mien of 
 splendid condescension, while the rest of the com- 
 pany glared at the burgess who thus thrust himself 
 upon them, and Tristan, cursing the king for his 
 temerity, felt for a hidden dagger. 
 
 Villon's patronizing wave of the hand was mag- 
 nificent in its effrontery, and his words matched his 
 gesture nobly. 
 
 " You are a civil stranger, and I will so far honour 
 you." Louis bowed. " I left my purse under my pil- 
 low this morning " a roar of laughter saluted the 
 ancient jape "and this ungentle fellow denies 
 me credit. How rarely we meet with an ale-draper 
 who is also a gentleman." 
 
 31 
 
IF 1 WERE KING 
 
 With an unmoved countenance Louis listened to 
 yillon's words. " Yet the sale of a thing so noble 
 ought to beget a kind of nobility in the vendor," he 
 said with great gravity; then turning to Robin Tur- 
 gis, whose mouth was gaping at this colloquy, he 
 bade him bring a flagon of his best, and as he did 
 so he tendered him a silver coin for which Robin 
 extended his fat fingers and extended them too late. 
 For at the sight of the silver the eyes of Master Fran- 
 cois had glistened, and his lean, brown hand, swift 
 and agile as a hawk, had swooped between the king 
 and the publican, and had secured the coin, which 
 he promptly held up and surveyed in an apparent 
 ecstasy of admiration. 
 
 " Is this the good king's counter? " he asked, and 
 as he did so he plucked off his shabby bonnet and 
 paid the exalted coin a profound obeisance. " Well, 
 God bless his majesty, say I, for I owe him my pres- 
 ent liberty. There was a gaol-clearing when he came 
 to Paris, and as I happened to be in gaol at the 
 time through an error of the law " here he paused 
 to leer knowingly at his comrades, who yelled com- 
 mendation " they were good enough to kick me into 
 the free air. Will you add to your kindness, old 
 gentleman " and here Master Frangois spun round 
 and solemnly saluted his unknown entertainer ^' by 
 
 32 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 allowing me to guard and cherish this token of our 
 dear monarch in memory of this notable event? " 
 
 Louis' fortitude could not prevent him from mak- 
 ing something of a wry face as he hastily answered, 
 " By all means." He beckoned discreetly to Robin 
 Turgis, who, making a wide circle round Master 
 FrauQois, stole to the king's side, received from him 
 another coin and hastened away to bring the drink 
 it paid for. 
 
 From his corner Tristan surveyed the episode with 
 a grim enjoyment. " Master Villon, Master Villon," 
 he murmured to himself, "you'll be sorry for thiSj, 
 very sorry indeed." And in his mind's eye he trans- 
 ferred the fantastic figure, posturing and grimacing 
 before Louis, to the end of a long rope hanging from 
 a high gallows. Master Francois, ignorant of the 
 immediate irony of existence, wafted a kiss airily 
 from the tips of his fingers to his patron. " You are 
 a very obliging old gentleman," he said approvingly. 
 
 Louis frowned slightly. "You harp on my age, 
 sir," he said. "Yet you are yourself no chicken." 
 This mild reproof seemed to irritate Villon's friends 
 more than it irritated Villon. The men manifested 
 a marked inclination to hustle so questioning a citi- 
 zen; the women cackled at him angrily. Casin Cholet 
 bluntly proposed to lend the cit a slap on the chops; 
 
 33 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 and Huguette enquired with every emphasis of ini' 
 politeness: "What's his age to you, sobersides?" 
 But Villon quietly waved his turbulent companions 
 into tranquility. "Patience, damsels," he said 
 blandly. " Patience, good comrades of the Cockle- 
 shell. If our friend is inquisitive at least he has 
 paid his fee," and as he spoke he hid his face for a 
 moment behind the huge mug of Beaune wine which 
 Robin Turgis at that moment handed to him. Much 
 refreshed by his mighty draught he resumed briskly: 
 " For three and thirty years I have taken toll of life 
 with such result as you see. A light pocket is a 
 plague, but a light heart and a light love make 
 amends for much." And as he spoke he slapped his 
 pocket whose emptiness gave back no jingle, 
 drummed lightly on his bosom and nodded gallantly 
 to the admiring womenkind. " You are a philos- 
 opher," said the king. "You are a little angel," 
 cried the Abbess, flinging her arms round the poet 
 in an enthusiastic hug. The girl's homage seemed 
 little to Villon's taste, for he disengaged himself 
 swiftly from the embrace, saying as he did so: 
 "Gently, Abbess, gently! My shoulders tingle and 
 my sides ache too sorely for claspings." 
 
 Villon's manner was so decisive and his meaning 
 so obvious that the curiosity of the gang burned 
 
 34 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 keenly and found voice in Ren^ de Montigny, who 
 asked what ailed him with commendable solicitude. 
 Villon shook his head, applied himself again to the 
 cannakin, and emerged from it with a most melan- 
 choly expression of countenance. "You behold in 
 me, friends," he sighed, " a victim of love," and his 
 visage showed so lugubrious that it sorely tempted 
 Louis to laugh, and hotly moved Huguette to anger, 
 for she raged up to Villon, challenging the meaning 
 of his speech. Villon gently cooled her impatience. 
 *'Hush, hush, my girl! There are many kinds of 
 love, as you ought to know well enough. I am a 
 rogue and a vagabond, no less, and so sometimes I 
 love you and other such Athanasian wenches; Isa- 
 beau there and Jehanneton." 
 
 At this mention of her novices' names the Abbess 
 turned on the two girls fiercely. " You minxes," she 
 cried. " Do you make eyes at my man? " The pair 
 shrank back from her fury, but Master Villon, who 
 seemed suddenly to have fallen into a meditative 
 mood, rambled on in a kind of reverie, as indifferent 
 to the Fircone and all his surroundings as if he were 
 a lonely shepherd tending his sheep on a lonely hill- 
 side. 
 
 " But also I am, Heaven forgive me, a jingler of 
 rhymes, with the stars for my candles and the roses 
 
 35 
 
IF 1 WERE RUNG 
 
 for my toys, and singers of songs sometimes love in 
 another fashion. And so it has chanced to me for 
 my sins and to my sorrow." 
 
 Villon's chin had dropped upon his breast; the 
 cock's feather drooped dismally; the singer seemed 
 quite chapfallen. Huguette, tired of glaring at her 
 offending minions, again turned her scornful atten- 
 tion to her dejected lover. " Cry-baby! " she sneered 
 scornfully, pointing with derisive finger at Master 
 Francois, in whose eyes indeed the close observer 
 could discern the threatening of tears. Jehanneton 
 came sidling round to Villon, piqued by natural curi- 
 osity, and the desire to vex Huguette. " Tell us your 
 love-tale, Francois," she pleaded, and her pleading 
 found an immediate supporter in Louis. The 
 Arabian nature of his adventure enchanted him, and 
 he had a child's taste for a story. " May I support 
 the lady's prayer," he said, "unless a stranger's 
 presence distresses you? " 
 
 Villon turned to him with a mocking laugh. 
 " Lord love you, no," he answered. " I have long 
 since forgotten reticence and will discourse of my 
 empty purse, my empty belly, and my empty heart to 
 any man. Gather around me, cuUions and cut- 
 purses, and listen to the strange adventure of Master 
 Frangois Villon, clerk of Paris." 
 Joyous applause greeted his speech. Jehan le Loup, 
 
 36 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 seizing upon an empty barrel tliat stood in a corner, 
 trundled it forward, and standing it on one end in- 
 vited Villon to take his seat upon this whimsical 
 throne. The poet sprang lightly upon the perch thus 
 provided for him, and sat there with his legs crossed, 
 holding his long sword against his knees with both 
 hands. The men and women gathered about him, 
 like bees about a rose-bush. Huguette placed herself 
 on a stool at his feet. Jehanneton flung herself full 
 length on the ground and stared up into his face. 
 Robin Turgis straddled a bench at some distance 
 and grinned. Louis seized the opportunity to whis- 
 per behind his hand to Tristan that he found the 
 fellow diverting, to which Tristan replied gruffly 
 that he for his part found him a dull ape. Louis 
 might have argued the point but his interest was 
 claimed by the voice of Villon, who, being com- 
 fortably installed on his wine-cask, was beginning 
 his promised narrative. A philosopher would have 
 discerned something pathetic in the picture of the 
 ragged rascal thus girdled about with blackguards 
 of a baser sort, his lean body quivering, his eager 
 face alive with emotions, mockery on his lips and 
 sorrow in his eyes: to the sardonic king it afforded 
 nothing more and nothing less than amusement. 
 "You must know, dear Devils and ever-beautiful 
 
 37i 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 Blowens, that three days ago, when I was lying in 
 the kennel, which is my humour, and staring at the 
 sky, which is my recreation I speak, honest citizen, 
 but in parable or allegory, a dear device with the 
 schoolmen I saw between me and Heaven the face 
 of a lady, the loveliest face I ever saw." 
 
 Here the poor Abbess, indignation overcrowding 
 her borrowed mannishness, began to sniffle and to 
 assert that the speaker was a faithless pig, but Vil- 
 lon, unheeding her whimpers, went on with his tale. 
 
 " She was going to church God shield her but 
 she looked my way as she passed, and though she 
 saw me no more than she saw the cobble-stone I 
 stood on, I saw her once and for ever. We song- 
 chandlers babble a deal of love, but for the most 
 part we know little or nothing about it, and when 
 it comes it knocks us silly. I was knocked so silly 
 that ^well, what do you think was the silly thing 
 I did?" 
 
 Villon turned his alert face to each member of his 
 audience, and his derisive mouth belied the sadness 
 of his eyes. 
 
 " Emptied a can for oblivion," Montigny suggested. 
 Blanche was no less practical. 
 
 " Kissed a wench for the same purpose," she cried. 
 " The times that I've been wooed out of my name! " 
 
 38 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 " Picked the woman's pocket/'Casin Cholet hinted, 
 wagging his shock head wisely, while Jehan le Loup, 
 with a hideous leer, sniggered : " Got near her in the 
 crowd and pinched her," and suited the action to 
 the word with finger and thumb on Blanche's plump 
 shoulder. 
 
 Master Frangois dissipated all this roguish phi- 
 losophy with a contemptuous gesture. 
 
 " La, la, la," he chirruped. " Sillier than all these. 
 I followed her into the church." 
 
 The silence of astonishment fell upon the audience. 
 Only Colin de Cayeulx had sufficient presence of 
 mind to formulate his amazement in a prolonged 
 whistle. Louis crossed himself repeatedly under his 
 gown. " You are not a church-goer, sir? " he ques- 
 tioned sourly. Villon answered him sweetly. 
 
 " No, old Queernabs, unless there's an alms-box 
 to open or a matter of gold plate to pilfer." Guy 
 Tabarie hurriedly interrupted him with a warning 
 cry of " Cave! " and a significant glance at the stran- 
 gers, but Villon derided his fears. 
 
 " Nonsense," he cried, leaning forward and play- 
 fully slapping Louis on the back with his sword. 
 " This good Cuffin has a friendly face and can take a 
 joke. Can't you, old rabbit? " 
 
 Louis winced and then grinned as Tristan gasped 
 
 39 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 in anger. " I thank Heaven I have a sense ot 
 humour," he said, with a sly glance at his compan- 
 ion. Villon went on with his story. 
 
 "Well, I sprawled there in the dark, with my 
 knees on the cold ground, and all the while the 
 sound of her beauty was sweet in my ears, and the 
 taste of her beauty was salt on my lips, and the pain 
 of her beauty was gnawing at my heart, and I prayed 
 that I might see her again." 
 
 At this point Huguette, who had been following 
 the narrative with a feline ferocity, caught up a 
 wine-jug and made to throw it at the poet's head, 
 but was dexterously disarmed by Guy Tabarie be- 
 fore the vessel had time to quit her fingers. Sulkily 
 she plumped herself down on her stool again, while 
 Villon, quite unconscious of the averted peril, ram- 
 bled on dreamily. 
 
 "And the incense tickled my nostrils and the 
 painted saints sneered at me, and bits of rhymes and 
 bits of prayers jigged in my brain and I felt as if I 
 were drunk with some new and delectable liquor. 
 And then she slipped out and I after her. She took 
 the Holy Water from my fingers." 
 
 Villon's voice sank reverently and Huguette took 
 advantage of the pause. 
 
 " I wish it had burned you to the bone," she 
 
 40 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 interrupted spitefully. Mkster Villon shook his 
 head. 
 
 " It burned deeper than that, believe me. Outside, 
 on God's steps, stood a yellow-haired, pink-faced 
 puppet who greeted her and they ambled away to- 
 gether, I on their heels. Presently they came to a 
 gateway and in slips my quarry, and as she did so 
 she turned to her squire and I saw her face again 
 and lost it, for the tears came into my eyes." With 
 a heavy sigh he turned to Louis. "I suppose you 
 wonder why I talk like this, but when my heart's in 
 my mouth I must spit it out or it chokes me." 
 
 " I have learned to wonder at nothing," Louis an- 
 swered sagely. Villon picked up the dropped thread 
 of his tale. 
 
 "I saluted the gallant and begged to know the 
 lady's name. He took me for a madman, but he told 
 me." 
 
 In a second Huguette was on her legs again and 
 nestling her eager face close to that of Villon as 
 she whispered coaxingly: 
 
 ^* What was the lady's name, dear Frangois? " 
 
 Master Frangois looked into her watchful eyes 
 with a wise smile. 
 
 " Be secret, sweet," he murmured. " It was Her 
 Majesty, the Queen." A wild roar of laughter from 
 
 41 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Villon's friends greeted this sally, and the fury it 
 brought to Huguette's face. Louis, royally angered, 
 made as if to rise in protest, but the heavy hand of 
 Tristan fell on his shoulder and restrained him, and 
 Villon, noticing his irritation, waved him down with 
 a pacifying gesture. 
 
 " Now, now, my rum duke," he cried, "your loyalty 
 need not take fire. It was not her majesty, but her 
 name I shall keep to myself, though it is written on 
 my shoulders in fair large blue and black bruises." 
 
 This statement stirred a murmur of surprise in 
 the gathering. "Did the pink and gold popinjay 
 beat you?" Montigny asked, interpreting the gen- 
 eral curiosity. 
 
 " No, no," Villon answered. " It came about thus. 
 We tinkers of verses set a price on our wares that 
 few find them worth, yet with the love-fever in my 
 veins I wrote rhymes to this lady and sent them to 
 her fairly writ on a piece of parchment that cost me 
 a dinner." 
 
 " Did you think she would come to your whistle 
 like a bird to a lure?" Louis enquired playfully. 
 Villon sighed again. 
 
 " In this kind of madness a minstrel thinks him- 
 self a new Orpheus who could win a woman out of 
 hell with his music. But I got my answer oh, I 
 got my answer." 
 
 42 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 He dropped suddenly into a moody silence, which 
 was not to the taste of the fellowship who were 
 interested in the adventure. Montigny, leaning for- 
 ward, gave Villon a clap on the back which made 
 him shrink, and shouted "What was the answer? " 
 
 Villon began to laugh, a loud, mirthless laugh 
 that had no human warmth in it. 
 
 "A fellow like a page boarded me here three 
 days ago. He asked me if I had sent certain verses 
 to a certain quarter. If so I was to follow him at 
 once. I followed like a sheep with my heart drum- 
 ming till we came to a quiet place, and there four 
 boobies with yard-long cudgels fell upon me. I was 
 taken unawares, I had no weapon but my jack- 
 dagger, the blows were raining upon me as fast as 
 acorns fly in a high wind, so I thought it no shame to 
 take to my heels. The varlets pursued me, full cry, 
 till I led them to a part of Paris where their lives 
 would not have been worth a minute's purchase and 
 they had to stay their chase. But I have been rarely 
 drubbed and roundly basted, and my poor back and 
 sides are most womanishly tender. I go abroad no 
 more without Excalibur." He tapped his sword hilt 
 as he spoke. Huguette glared fiercely up at him. 
 
 " Will it teach you not to play the fool again? " 
 she asked, with a vicious snap of her white teeth. 
 
 43 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 "It will teach me not to play the fool again," 
 Villon answered sadly. " The mark of the beast is 
 upon me and I shall dream no more dreams." He 
 shook himself as if he were trying to shake away 
 clinging memories and extended his empty can 
 to Montigny, saying: "I'm thirsty again. More 
 liquor." 
 
 As Montigny filled up for his leader, Louis com- 
 mented, " You drink more than is good for your 
 health, sir." Villon rounded on him angrily, with 
 flushed face and shining eyes. 
 
 "Mind your own business!" he shouted, and the 
 rest shouted with him applaudingly. " What can a 
 man do but drink when France is going to the devil, 
 with the Burgundians camped in the free fields 
 where I played in childhood, and a nincompoop sits 
 on the throne and lets them besiege his city? " The 
 rascals laughed. Tristan whispered to himself, 
 " You'll be sorry you spoke. Master Villon." The 
 king propounded a problem. " No doubt you could 
 do better than the king if you wore the king's shoes?" 
 
 Villon rolled about on his barrel in an ecstasy of 
 entertainment. " If I could not do better than Louis 
 Do-Nothing, Louis Dare-Nothing, having his occa- 
 sions and advantages, may Huguette there never 
 kiss me again." 
 
 U 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 His boon companions laughed. Huguette whis- 
 pered sulkily, " Perhaps she never will." 
 
 Isabeau came sidling and bridling up to Louis, 
 wheedling like a cat as she said : " Our Frangois has 
 made a rhyme of it, sir, how he would carry himself 
 if he wore the king's shoes." 
 
 Louis was always ready for any kind of gallantry. 
 He put his arms around the girFs slim body and 
 drew her on to his knee. " Has he, indeed, pretty 
 minion?" he said. "May we not hear it, Master 
 Poet? " 
 
 Villon, with mock modesty, had tried to restrain 
 Isabeau from speaking of the work, but now he 
 changed his tune. "You may; you shall; for 'tis a 
 true song, though it would cost me my neck if it 
 came to the king's ears, very likely. But you are 
 not tall enough to whisper in them, so here goes." 
 
 With a shout Villon sprang to his feet, draped his 
 tattered cloak closely about him, struck a com-* 
 manding attitude, and began to recite with great 
 solemnity. Louis scooped his claw-like fingers be- 
 hind his ear, that he might hear the better the words 
 that fell from the wild poet's mouth: 
 
 " All French folk, whereso'er ye be, 
 
 [Who love your country, soil and sand. 
 
 45 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 From Paris to the Breton sea, 
 And back again to Norman strand, 
 
 Forsooth ye seem a silly band, 
 Sheep without shepherd, left to chance - 
 
 Far otherwise our Fatherland 
 If Villon were the King of France! " 
 
 Louis glanced grimly at Tristan; the rogues 
 rubbed their hands and chuckled. Villon smiled 
 in pride and went on: 
 
 " The figure on the throne you see 
 
 Is nothing but a puppet, planned 
 To wear the regal bravery 
 
 Of silken coat and gilded wand. 
 Not so we Frenchmen understand 
 
 The Lord of lion's heart and glance, 
 And such a one would take command 
 
 If Villon were the King of France! '^ 
 
 The king's face was a study in sardonics. Tristan 
 was poppy-red with rage. The gang applauded and 
 Villon glowed with their applause. 
 
 " His counsellors are rogues, Perdie! 
 
 While men of honest mind are banned, 
 To creak upon the Gallows Tree, 
 Or squeal in prisons over-mann'd; 
 
 46 
 
1 
 
 "God! Where the Oriflamme should stand 
 If Villon were the King of France!" 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 We want a chief to bear the brand, 
 And bid the damned Burgundians dance; 
 
 God! Where the Oriflamme should stand 
 If Villon were the King of France! " 
 
 Mugs and cans clattered approval. The rhymer's 
 eyes widened as he drew breath to blow forth the 
 envoi of his ballade. 
 
 " Louis the Little, play the grand; 
 
 Buffet the foe with sword and lance; 
 'Tis what would happen, by this hand, 
 If Villon were the King of France! " 
 
 A roar of enthusiasm came from the full throats 
 of the band. Montigny slapped Villon on the back 
 with a " Well crowed, Chanticleer! " Huguette flung 
 her arms around him and hugged him as she cried 
 passionately: " I forgive you much, for that light in 
 your eyes." 
 
 But the poet seemed weary after so much heat. 
 He pushed the girl away and drooped on his hogs- 
 head. The rogues rattled away to their table again, 
 and Villon was left alone with Louis, who ques- 
 tioned him drily: "You call yourself a patriot, I 
 suppose? " 
 
 Villon had recovered sufficient energy to drain a 
 
 47 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 mug of wine. He turned to the king, passing his 
 hand over his forehead. " By no such high-sounding 
 title," he answered. " I am but a poor devil with a 
 heart too big for his body and a hope too large for 
 his hoop. Had I been begotten in a brocaded bed, I 
 might have led armies and served France; have loved 
 ladies without fear of cudgellings, and told kings 
 truths without dread of the halter, while as it is, I 
 consort with sharps and wantons, and make my com- 
 plaint to a dull little buzzard like you, old noodle! 
 Oh, 'tis a fool's play and it were well to be out of it." 
 
 "You won't have long to worry," Tristan muttered 
 to himself under his breath, and found great comfort 
 in the thought. Louis merely said : "You are senten- 
 tious!" 
 
 Villon took him up swiftly. " The quintessence of 
 envy, no less. I have great thoughts, great desires, 
 great ambitions, great appetites, what you will. I 
 might have changed the world and left a memory. 
 As it is I sleep in a garret under the shadow of the 
 gallows, and shall be forgotten to-morrow, even by 
 the wolves I pack with. But this is dry thinking; 
 let's to drinking! " As he spoke Villon rose to join 
 his comrades, when his quick eye noted that Robin 
 Turgis had fallen asleep on his bench. Villon 
 skipped lightly toward him, dexterously unhooked 
 
 i8 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 his bunch of keys from his girdle, and, with a trium- 
 phant gesture, made on tiptoe for the cellar door, 
 which he unlocked and through which he disap- 
 peared. Louis looked after him with an acid 
 smile. Tristan leaned forward and plucked at the 
 king's sleeve. "Shall I hang him to-morrow?" he 
 asked, hoarsely. The king turned, musing, to his 
 henchman. "We shall see! He is a loose-lipped 
 fellow, but he might have been a man. He has set 
 me thinking of my dream. I was a swine rioting in 
 the streets of Paris and I found a pearl well, well. 
 Let us kill the time with cards till Thibaut d'Aus- 
 signy comes." Tristan produced a pack of cards 
 from his pouch and laid them on the table. "Do 
 you think he will come? " he asked. 
 
 " He does not expect to find me here, I promise 
 you," Louis answered. " He would not come if he 
 did. Barber Olivier is to warn me of his coming." 
 As he spoke the inn-door opened a little and the king, 
 hearing the click of the catch, asked: " Is that he? " 
 
 Tristan glanced round over his shoulder. The 
 door was pushed partly open, and an old, stooped 
 woman was peeping curiously into the room. Tris- 
 tan shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " No, sire," he snarled, " another old woman." 
 
 By this time the king had arranged the cards to 
 
 _ id 
 
IF 1 WERE KING 
 
 his satisfaction. He made an imperative gesture to 
 his companion to seat himself and in a few seconds 
 had forgotten everything else in the excitement of 
 the game. Meanwhile the old woman, having 
 pushed the doer wide open, came softly into the 
 room. She was a quiet, mild-faced creature, one of 
 those human shadows who suggest without tragedy 
 faded youth and withered comeliness. She was 
 very poorly but very neatly dressed, in worn grey 
 and rusty black, and the linen folds about her 
 lined face were scrupulously clean. She looked 
 anxiously around her, shading her eyes with her 
 hand, in the dim light of the tavern, unable to dis- 
 cern much but evidently eager to discern something. 
 
 Ken^ de Montigny, tired of teasing Isabeau, sud- 
 denly looked up and caught sight of the old woman 
 as she stood, very helpless and wistful, peering about 
 her. An impish spirit floated leaf -like on the surface 
 of his mind. He rose to his feet and danced towards 
 her in a fantastic manner, sweeping her a profound 
 salutation as he approached her. 
 
 "Your pleasure, sweet princess?" he said with 
 mock deference. 
 
 The old woman turned her wrinkled visage up to 
 his in wonder. 
 
 ^^ Is Master Frangois Villon in this company, sir? " 
 he faltered. 
 
 50 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 9 
 
 Montigny treated her to another profound bow. 
 
 " Sweet creature," he simpered, " I kiss your hand 
 and inquire." 
 
 He turned to his companions at the table and hia 
 eye rested mockingly on the bowed figure of Hu- 
 guette. After Master Villon had told his tale Hu- 
 guette had been glum enough, and her comrades 
 finding her snappish wisely left her to herself. She 
 had pulled a pack of cards from her scarlet pouch; 
 she had been spelling out her fortune silently, and 
 the death card insisted itself again and again with 
 grim pertinacity. With a sense of despair that was 
 strange to her airy nature she had bowed her face 
 on her arms and was sobbing softly to herself. 
 Montigny was not a man to be touched by a woman's 
 sorrow. He mockingly gesticulated over her bent 
 shoulders as he cried to the others in a false whteper, 
 
 " There is a beautiful woman at the door, beseech- 
 ing our Frangois." 
 
 The moment these words fell on Huguette's ears, 
 they stung her into life and activity. She leaped 
 to her feet in a flash. 
 
 " What do you say? " she raged, and then, seeing a 
 woman's form a few feet away from her, she rushed 
 towards the stranger furiously while the others rose 
 in eager expectation of some new excitement 
 
 61 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 *^What do you seek here?" she asked fiercely of 
 the old woman, and then as she saw the pitiful 
 wrinkled face staring up at her, she started back 
 in surprise. 
 
 The old woman, misinterpreting the sex of her 
 questioner from the dress that Huguette wore, be- 
 gan apologetically. 
 
 " Asking your pardon, young gentleman," and for 
 a moment her words were drowned in a shout of de- 
 lighted laughter, as the listening rogues appreciated 
 the blunder she had made. 
 
 ^^ Asking your pardon, young gentleman, I seek 
 Master Frangois Villon." 
 
 Huguette snapped at her impatiently, " Seek him 
 and find him." Then turning to Ren^, she cried, 
 ^^Montigny, you beast!" and with her hand on her 
 dagger, made hotly for him. 
 
 Montigny, grinning like a delighted monkey, 
 skipped for safety, dodging her around the table, 
 while the others perceiving a victim in the bewil- 
 dered old woman, joined hands in a ring and began 
 dancing wildly around her, singing a ribald song. 
 The old woman, as frightened and timid as a mouse 
 might be if it suddenly found itself the centre of 
 a circle of dancing cats, stood still. 
 
 At this moment the cellar door opened, and 
 
 52 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 iuaster Frangois reappeared, carrying in his arms a 
 large jug of wine. Perceiving that the landlord still 
 lay in his heavy sleep, he smiled delightedly to him- 
 self, closed the cellar door softly and placed his 
 booty in the corner of the fireplace nearest to the 
 settle. The noise of the tumult attracted him from 
 his successful plunder, and looking up, he became 
 aware of what was happening. In a second his con- 
 tented mien changed, and dashing into the dancing 
 crowd, he struck Jehan le Loup a heavy blow with 
 the bunch of keys, which felled him to the ground 
 like a log. In a moment the cluster of rascals 
 dissipated, and Villon caught the old woman in his 
 arms. 
 
 " Damn you, chubs! " he shouted at them. " It's 
 my mother." Then as he drew the trembling old 
 woman towards the fireplace, he whispered in her 
 ears, " Don't be frightened, mammy, they meant no 
 harm.'' 
 
 A certain hang-dog air of contrition was on the 
 faces of most of the members of the gang as they 
 stood apart and eyed the mother and son shame- 
 facedly. Guy Tabarie, who had a wholesome dislike 
 to quarrels, slipped quietly into the cool street to 
 seek pleasure in some place where the atmosphere 
 might be less stormy. 
 
 53 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 Robin Turgis wakened from his heavy sleep, 
 clapped his hand instinctively to his girdle and found 
 that his keys were missing. 
 
 "My keys! my keys!" he shouted "where are 
 my keys? " And then, catching sight of them where 
 they lay by the prostrate form of Jehan le Loup, he 
 rushed forward and secured them greedily. 
 
 By this time Jehan le Loup had recovered the 
 senses which Villon's swinging blow had knocked 
 out of him and was crawling slowly into a sitting 
 posture. He glared ferociously at Master Francois 
 and his evil right hand stole to the pommel of his 
 dagger. 
 
 " You have cracked my crown, curse you," he 
 grunted, and then swiftly sprang to his feet with the 
 bare blade in his hand and rushed at his assailant. 
 But Villon was too alert to be taken unawares. He 
 had not time to draw his sword, but in a second he 
 had snatched a spit from the fire and extending it 
 scientifically kept Jehan le Loup at arm's length. 
 Huguette seized Jehan by the dagger arm, 
 
 " She is his mother! " she said angrilyc " You all 
 had mothers, I suppose? Let him alone! '' 
 
 Jehan le Loup unwillingly sheathed his weapon; 
 Huguette dragged him back to the table; Villon re- 
 placed the spit, which had somewhat burned his 
 
 54 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 fingers, and sat down by his mother's side on the 
 settle, in peace. 
 
 " Did they frighten you, mammy? " he whispered. 
 "But they meant no harm. Boys and girls, girls 
 and boys." 
 
 The old woman put her arms tightly about him. 
 Villon grimaced. Her loving touch was as painful 
 as a hostile one to his bruised body, but he made no 
 attempt to repress her embrace. 
 
 " Come home, Frangois," she said. " Come home. 
 Where have you been these three days? " 
 
 Villon caressed the old woman very tenderly, as 
 he answered: 
 
 " Very busy, mammy state secrets. Mum's the 
 word. How did you find me out? " 
 
 " They told me at the Unicorn," the old woman 
 Haid, " that I might find you here." 
 
 Villon made a gesture of contempt. 
 
 " Oh, the Unicorn is no longer fashionable. They 
 want payment on the nail there, confound them! 
 Besides, this is nearer the walls and we can hear 
 the Burgundians shouting. It is as good as a relish 
 with our wine." 
 
 Mother Villon shook her grey head sadly. 
 
 "Come away," she entreated. "Xou have had 
 wine enough.'' 
 
IF 1 WERE KING 
 
 (Villon contradicted her instantly. 
 
 " Never in my life, mammy. I have a fool's head 
 and always get into my altitudes too soon." 
 
 Then, seeing the look of disappointment that made 
 her grey old face look greyer still, he added, " I can 
 not come home just now, mammy, but there is some- 
 thing I can do for you. Do you remember when I 
 was a little child " 
 
 Something in the words made him stop suddenly. 
 The hideous contrast between the phrase and the 
 place wherein he was, between the mother who fon- 
 dled him and the wild men-savages and women-sav- 
 ages who were his daily friends and who were drink- 
 ing and dicing behind him at the other side of the 
 settle, came upon him like a great wave of pain and 
 knocked the mirth out of him. He turned away from 
 his mother and repeated to himself dismally, " God! 
 when I was a little child! " The mother's pity, the 
 mother's protection immediately asserted them- 
 selves. 
 
 " You were the prettiest child woman ever bore," 
 she said, softly. 
 
 Villon turned towards her again, while he tried to 
 wink the tears out of his eyes. 
 
 " You used to sing me to sleep," he said, and as he 
 spoke he rocked her slowly backward and forward 
 
 56 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 in his arms, while lie crooned the words of that old 
 nurse's song which has soothed so many generations 
 of French children to sleep, " Do, do, Tenfant do, 
 Penfant dormira tantot." 
 
 " Well, mammy, your dutiful son has made a song 
 for you to sing yourself to sleep with. I went to 
 church the other day. Oh, on my honour, I did " 
 this was in reply to a startled look of surprise that 
 flooded the old woman's face " and a prayer came 
 into my head a prayer for you to say to our Lady." 
 
 The old woman kissed him fondly on the forehead. 
 
 " My love bird," she said, and as she spoke a boy- 
 ish look that had long been absent from Villon's 
 face came back to it for a moment. 
 
 " Here it is," he said. " Listen." And he whispered 
 to her the verses he had made, while the old woman 
 crossed herself reverentially. 
 
 " Lady of Heaven, Queen of Earth, 
 Empress of Hell, I kneel and plead 
 You pity, by the holy birth. 
 The humblest Christian of the Creed; 
 I cannot write; I cannot read; 
 I am a woman poor and old. 
 But in the Church, where I behold 
 The gates of Paradise, I cry 
 Woman to woman, make me bold 
 In thy belief to live and die." 
 
 57 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " There, mammy, there is a pretty prayer for you." 
 
 Mother Villon was dissolved in tears and sobbed 
 on his shoulder. 
 
 " You should have been a good man," she said. 
 
 Villon stroked her hair very gently. 
 
 " We are as Heaven pleases, dear." He paused for 
 a moment, then suddenly remembering the silver 
 coin which he had confiscated from the king, he 
 dipped his fingers into his pouch and produced it. 
 
 " Here is something for you, mammy," he said, and 
 as the old woman, with a faint flush on her worn 
 cheeks, seemed about to protest, he insisted. " Oh, 
 yes. Take it, take it. It was honestly come by, and 
 you will spend it more honestly than I should." He 
 forced the coin into her lean, brown hand, and added, 
 " Now run away, mammy, and pray yourself to sleep. 
 You shall see me soon, I promise you." 
 
 He led her gently across the tavern floor to the 
 door, which he opened for her. As she turned to go, 
 she looked up to him and repeated two lines of his 
 prayer: 
 
 " Woman to woman, make me bold 
 In thy belief to live and die." 
 
 As the door closed and Villon turned to come back 
 to his seat, Jehan le Loup, who had been eyeing him 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 and who was eager to pay off the score of his cracked 
 crown, rose to his feet, dragging Isabeau with him, 
 and barred his passage. 
 
 " Kiss a young mouth for a change," he said, and 
 thrust the girl against the poet. Villon brushed 
 them both aside. 
 
 "Go to the devil," he said angrily, and passed 
 them. Once again Jehan's hand sought his weapon 
 and once again he was restrained. 
 
 " He is in one of his bad moods," said Isabeau. 
 " Leave him to himself," and she drew her reluctant 
 companion back to the table, while Villon seated 
 himself in a corner of the settle, staring into the fire. 
 
 At the moment the tavern door was thrust open 
 violently and Guy Tabarie rushed into the room, his 
 great moon face sweating, his eyes bulging, his 
 fringe of crimson locks flaming out from the egg- 
 shell dome of his bald head, his mighty belly sway- 
 ing with a passion of excitement. 
 
 "Friends!" he shrieked, at the top of his voice, 
 "there's a fight at Fat Margot's between two 
 wenches. They are stripped to the waist and at it 
 hammer and tongs. Como and see for the love of 
 God!" 
 
 The whole band was afoot in an instant, clamantly 
 agog. Guy Tabarie turned as he finished speaking 
 
 5& 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 and rushed through the open door into the shining 
 moonlit street. The rest trailed after him, wander- 
 ing stars in the tail of a dishonourable comet, shout- 
 ing, screaming, laughing, pushing, panting, eager for 
 the promised sport. 
 
 " I'll crown the victor! " cried Montigny as he ran 
 and " I'll console the vanquished! " shouted Jehan 
 le Loup, as he brought up the rear of the road and 
 vanished, clattering, into the night. Only Huguette 
 remained of all the fellowship, and she turned in- 
 stinctively to Villon when he crouched over the 
 dying fire. 
 
 " Will you come, Frangois? " she whispered softly. 
 Villon lifted his head for a moment from his hands 
 to signify a refusal. 
 
 " Nay, I am reading.'' 
 
 Huguette blazed out at him a fierce " You lie! " 
 which failed to move the poet from his melancholy 
 resolve. 
 
 " A man may read without book," he said. " Go 
 your ways, girl, and skelp both the hussies! '' He 
 drooped into a dejected heap again, oblivious of the 
 girl, who looked at him half sadly, half angrily for 
 an instant, and then disappeared in her turn into 
 the causeway, calling upon her knavish heralds to 
 wait for her. 
 
 .ISO 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS VILLON 
 
 Robin Turgis, shutting the door after her with a 
 sigh of satisfaction, retired to his own quarters to 
 seek sleep until custom should return. Louis and 
 Tristan, deep in their cards, paid little heed to any- 
 thing else. 
 
 " Your barber tarries," Tristan said, after a pause. 
 
 " The game makes amends," Louis answered. 
 
 " You are winning, sire," Tristan grunted. The 
 king chirruped merrily. 
 
 " My grandsire will be remembered longer than 
 most kings for the sake of these wasters and winners 
 that they made to soothe his madness." 
 
 But even as he spoke his mirth faded, for a turn 
 of Fortune gave Tristan an opportunity. 
 
 " My game, sire! " he said, and swept the stakes 
 into his pocket. 
 
 The king fell into a frowning silence as Tristan 
 dealt the cards again, and scrutinized his new hand 
 with a sombre care, as if the fate of Empire de- 
 pended upon it. Scarcely a sound disturbed the 
 heavy quiet of the room. Master Francois Villon 
 glooming in his settle corner, sucked a long noiseless 
 draught from his stolen jug and meditated drear- 
 ily. Between wine and weariness his head was be- 
 ginning to swim. His head felt as heavy as lead and 
 his brain as light and foolish as a wind-tumbled 
 
 61 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 feather. Two women's faces danced before his eyes, 
 one proud and beautiful and young, the other 
 humble and pitiful and old, and he tried his best to 
 shut both of them out of his senses. Vaguely he tried 
 to shape a ballade, a noble ballade in honour of all 
 things good to eat. He had got at least an excellent 
 overword. " A dish of tripe's the best of all." He 
 mouthed the line with a relish, but his eyes were 
 seeing straws and his stubbled chin scraped his 
 breast. There came a click at the latch, but he did 
 not heed it. He would scarcely have heeded a Bur- 
 gundian cannon shot; he had drifted into a lumpish 
 doze. And yet the way of the world depended, for 
 him, upon that lift of a latch. 
 
CHAPTER m 
 THE COMING OF KATHERINE 
 
 1 HE door opened and a woman entered the room, 
 a woman closely muffled after the fashion adopted 
 bj discreet ladies when they walked abroad in Paris 
 in the fifteenth century. She was followed by an 
 armed serving-man to whom she turned and spoke 
 in a whisper as she paused upon the threshold. 
 
 " You are sure this is the place? " she asked, and 
 the man answered 
 
 " Sure! " 
 
 " Wait outside! " the muffled lady commanded, and 
 the servant with an obeisance stepped back into the 
 street. The woman looked cautiously about her, only 
 her bright eye showing over the lifted fold of her 
 cloak. Villon was hidden from her while he sat; 
 there was no one in her view save the two men 
 playing cards. She came cautiously forward and 
 (touched Tristan, who was nearest to her, on the 
 shoulder. He swung round, with hooded face, to an- 
 swer the challenge, and as he did so Louis took 
 advantage of his turned back to examine Tristan's 
 hand, which he had laid upon the table, and to sub- 
 stitute a card from his own hand for one of his 
 adversary's. 
 
 63 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " Has Master Francois Villon been here to-night? '* 
 the woman asked. Her voice was full and sweet, and 
 Tristan knew it well though he listened unmovably. 
 She had lowered her cloak enough to allow him a 
 glimpse of a young, lovely face, but he needed no 
 glimpse to assure him. 
 
 " Yonder he squats by the hearth," he answered, 
 masking his own voice with hoarseness and jerking 
 his thumb towards the settle. The girPs eyes 
 followed the signal and saw for the first time the 
 huddled figure on the bench. " I thank you," he 
 said simply, and moved away into the background, 
 her eyes fixed on the crouching form, her fingers 
 clasped nervously, waiting an impatient patience 
 upon resolution. 
 
 Tristan leaned hurriedly over to the king. 
 
 " Zounds, sire! do you know who that was? " 
 
 Louis, smiling at his adopted cards, answered care- 
 lessly, "Some bonaroba who took you for a gull," 
 but Tristan's next words pricked him from his in- 
 difference. 
 
 "It was your majesty's kinswoman, the Lady 
 Katherine de Vaucelles." 
 
 The king rose cautiously to his feet. 
 
 "Oh, ho, Oh, ho!" he chuckled. "Does lovely 
 Katherine come to meet Thibaut? " 
 
 ^ She seeks FrauQois Villon, sire.'' 
 
'Tis your Majesty's kinswoman, the Lady Katherine de Vaucelles. 
 
THE COMING OF KATHERINE 
 
 The king started. 
 
 " Is she the girl he spoke of? Do we catch her 
 tripping? " 
 
 Louis looked at the motionless figure of the girl, 
 then his gaze travelled rapidly around the room. 
 Behind him was a doorway. Soundlessly he opened 
 it, saw that it gave on to a dark passage, motioned 
 Tristan through it, bade him in a whisper to wait 
 in the darkness. As Tristan disappeared the girl 
 seemed to make up her mind and moved slowly 
 across the floor toward the dozing poet. The king 
 watched her narrowly as he, too, began to move, 
 skulking among the shadows flong the wall. His 
 goal was the distant space behind the settle, where 
 his cunning mind discerned a good listening place 
 for to listen was Louis^ passion. The king's oread 
 was cat-quiet ^the king's breath was mouse-still; for 
 a moment he paused at the street-door as if about to 
 pass out, but seeing that he was unnoticed he drifted 
 unheeded through obscurity to his haven and nestled 
 there just as the girl, bending forward, touched the 
 sleeper firmly on the shoulders and then drew back, 
 defiantly abiding by her temerity. 
 
 Villon moved uneasily, as if resenting the inter- 
 ruption to his slumbers that the firm touch had dis- 
 turbed, and he grumbled sullenly, without looking 
 up, " What is it? '' 
 
 '65 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Tne woman bent towards him again and whispered 
 
 "A word with you." 
 
 Villon rose wearily to his feet, and as he did so 
 the woman drew back towards the open centre of the 
 room, which now appeared to her to be empty. Hep 
 nerves were too highly strung to note anything sur- 
 prising in the disappearance of the two visitors. If 
 she thought of them at all it was only to be glad that 
 they had gone their ways and left the place so 
 lonely. Villon followed her almost unconsciously, 
 too sleepy for wonder. Suddenly the woman threw 
 off the folds that muflBed her face and the vision that 
 had haunted him flashed on his frightened eyes, the 
 vision so proud, so beautiful and young. He crossed 
 himself as he questioned in a voice that sounded 
 strangely alien to him, " Are you real? " 
 
 "Do I look like a ghost?" the fair woman an- 
 swered. 
 
 In an ecstasy of joy Villon fell on his knees as he 
 seldom kneeled in prayer, while he gasped, 
 
 "If this be a dream, pray Heaven I may never 
 wake." 
 
 The girl drew from her bosom a little piece of 
 folded parchment and held it out towards him. 
 
 " You wrote me these verses. My elders tell me 
 that poets say much and mean little; that their oath* 
 
 66 
 
THE COMING OF RATHERINE 
 
 are like gingerbread, as hot and sweet in the mouth 
 and as easily swallowed. Are you such a one? " 
 
 Villon rose to his feet. He knew that this ex- 
 quisite presence was flesh and biood; that her speech 
 was human speech. He answered her very gravely 
 " My words are life. I love you! " 
 " Just because I show a smooth face? " 
 A great wave of rapture swept over the poet's soul 
 and his brain seemed as busy with words as a hive 
 with bees. He spoke slowly like a man inspired. 
 
 " Because you are the loveliest she alive. If all my 
 dreams of loveliness had been pieced together into 
 one perfect woman she would have been like you. 
 All my life I have read tales of love and tried to find 
 their secret in the bright eyes about me ^tried and 
 failed. I might as well have been seeking for the 
 Holy Grail. But when I saw you the old Heaven 
 and the old Earth seemed to shrivel away and I 
 knew what love might mean, and God-like desire 
 and God-like surrender. The world is changed by 
 your coming, all sweet tastes and fair colours and 
 soft sounds have something of you in them. I eat 
 and drink, I see and hear in your honour. The people 
 in the street are blessed because you have passed 
 among them. That stone on the ground is sacred, 
 for your foot has touched it; or the dusty booth at 
 
 67 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 the corner^ which your sleeve has brushed in passing. 
 I love you! All philosophy, all wisdom, religion, 
 honour, manhood, hope, beauty lie in those words 
 I love you! " 
 
 The girl looked at him with wide eyes, quite fear 
 less, much astonished, as a brave maid might look 
 at some wild beast of the woods that came in her 
 way. But the purport of his words seemed to please 
 her, for she answered him quickly and readily. 
 
 " Well, I have come to you to put your protesta- 
 tions to the proof. If you meant every word you said, 
 every syllable, every letter, you can serve me well. 
 If not, good-night and good-bye." 
 
 And with these words she moved a little as if 
 she were ready to say farewell to him then and there. 
 Villon put forward an appealing hand that stayed 
 her. 
 
 " I wrote with my heart's blood," he protested, and 
 even a green girl could not fail to read the truth 
 in his voice. Now she came close to him, speaking 
 very low but very distinctly. 
 
 " Listen. I am one of the Queen's ladies; Thibaut 
 d'Aussigny, the Grand Constable of France, loves me 
 a little and my broad lands much. He wil!: that I 
 should marry him. He tried to force me to his will, 
 to shame me to his pleasure, and so I hate him, and 
 
 68 
 
THE COMING OF KATHERINE 
 
 so should you, for it was he who gave you your 
 beating." 
 
 Villon, who had been listening to her in wonder, 
 started as if he had been struck anew, 
 
 " Oh, it was he? " he interrupted. The girl came a 
 little closer, became a little more confidential. 
 
 " He gave your rhymes to me and told me how you 
 had been treated. When I read them I said ^here, if 
 a poet speaks truth, is the one man in France who 
 can help me." 
 
 Villon drew himself back with a little shiver of 
 intelligence. The fumes of wine, the fumes of wonder 
 were drifting away from him, leaving him face to 
 face with naked, amazing reality. 
 
 " Why not your yellow-haired, pink-faced lover?" 
 he asked. Katherine frowned disdain. 
 
 " Noel le Jolys is a man many women might love, 
 but I love no man; I only hate Thibaut d'Aussigny. 
 Do you understand? " 
 
 " I begin to understand," Villon answered, sadly. 
 
 The girl came nearer to Villon. Her face was 
 very pale in the dim light, and a fleeting image of the 
 moon in clouds teased his fancy. Her lips were as 
 red, he thought, as the ruby of a bishop's ring, and 
 her eyes out-starred Venus. So it was he who 
 trembled and not the maiden who was saying 
 
 69 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 strange unmaiden-like words in a clear, steel-like 
 whisper. 
 
 "Kill Thibaut d'Aussigny. You are a skillful 
 swordsman, they say. You are little better than an 
 outlaw. You say you love me more than life. Kill 
 Thibaut d'Aussigny! " 
 
 Villon looked at her queerly. To save his life he 
 could not keep his face from quivering. He was 
 eating his heart and it tasted very bitter, and his 
 own voice sounded far away to him, like a voice 
 heard in a dream. 
 
 " So that you and Noel what's his name may live 
 happily ever after? '' 
 
 Katherine drew back from him, a little scorn in her 
 eyes and on her lips. 
 
 " Are you less eager to serve me than you were? " 
 
 The question struck him in the breast like the 
 stroke of a sword. He remembered his golden vows 
 and his golden verses, and sickened at his shadow of 
 disloyal doubt and anger. 
 
 " No, by Heaven, but I've been dozing and dream- 
 ing, and I've got to rub the sleep out of my eyes and 
 the dream out of my heart. Tell me how to serve 
 you." 
 
 She was reassured on the instant and neared him 
 again confidently. 
 
 ro 
 
THE COMING OF KATHERIJXE 
 
 "Thibaut d'Aussigny comes here to-night. He 
 has come here before in disguise, for I have had 
 him followed. I think he means to betray the king 
 to Burgundy, so you will serve France as well as me. 
 How do such men as you kill each other? " 
 
 Villon looked at her ironically out of the corner 
 of his eyes; answered her ironically out of the corner 
 of his mouth. He saw himself as she saw him, and 
 was sadly entertained at the sight. 
 
 " Generally in a drunken scuffle. Will you wait 
 here till he comes, pretty lady, for I never saw him? 
 Then leave the rest to me." 
 
 Something in his voice, though it was firm and 
 clear, seemed to touch the girPs ear more than any 
 word he had yet uttered. A new curiosity seemed 
 to lurk in her eyes and there was almost a sound of 
 pity in her speech. 
 
 "You love me very much?" she asked softly. 
 Villon drew himself up proudly and answered her 
 proudly. 
 
 " With all the meaning that the word can have in 
 Paradise." 
 
 A faint shade of colour came into the woman's 
 pale, pure cheeks. 
 
 " You didn't expect to be taken at your word? " 
 
 Villon smiled brightly and his eyes were dancing, 
 though his heart was heavy enough. 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 '< I didn't hope to be, I will try to be worthy of the 
 honour/' 
 
 The girPs eyes shone with wonder. 
 
 **You love and laugh in the same breath," she 
 asserted. 
 
 Villon made a deprecatory gesture with his hands, 
 half in protest, half in approval. 
 
 " That is my philosophy." 
 
 This view of life seemed to astonish her not a 
 little. She caught her breath for a moment, then 
 suddenly glided close to him. 
 
 " If you wish," she said in an even whisper, '^ you 
 
 may kiss me once." 
 
 All the blood in the man's heart seemed to turn to 
 fire and flame into his face as he turned towards her, 
 making as if he would take her face in his hands and 
 seal his soul upon her mouth. Then he sharply 
 flung himself away from her. 
 
 " Nay, I can fight and if needs must die in your 
 quarrel, but if once I touched your lips ^that would 
 make life too sweet to adventure." 
 
 The woman's face had flushed a little at her offer: 
 it now paled again. 
 
 "As you will," she said, and as she spoke there 
 came the noise of shouting, singing and trampling 
 feet outside. The poet dropped in a moment from 
 
 72 
 
THE COMING OF KATHERINB 
 
 the dizzy pinnacle of dreamland to the *calm valley 
 of a commonplace world. 
 
 " These are my friends returning," he said. " They 
 mustn't see you. Come this way." As he spoke he 
 caught her hand and drew her across the room to the 
 stairs that led to the upper gallery. On the gallery 
 he bade her wait. 
 
 " Here you can see without being seen. When he 
 comes, show him to me. Then you can reach the 
 street by this passage." 
 
 Even as he spoke the main door was dashed open 
 and the wild rout foamed into the room, bubbling 
 .with exhilaration, Huguette leaping like a bubble on 
 the eddies of their enthusiasm. Louis and Tristan 
 took advantage of the confusion to emerge from their 
 hiding places and resume their seats at their table. 
 
 "That was rare sport while it lasted," Colin 
 shouted. 
 
 " It didn't last long enough," Jehan yelled. 
 
 "Things took a different turn when you came, 
 Abbess," Montigny said, patting the girl on the 
 back approvingly. Huguette shook her long hair 
 out of her eyes and laughed as she turned down her 
 rolled-up sleeves. 
 
 " I did as Francois bade me and basted both the 
 jades. Wine, landlord, wine! Mj arms ache,'' 
 
 73 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Robin Turgis was prompt; flagons and pipkins 
 rattled as the men and women gathered round their 
 table and renewed their drinking and dicing with 
 fresh zest from the scuffle they had just witnessed. 
 Guy Tabarie laughed one of his long fat laughs as 
 he lingered over memory's picture of the way 
 Huguette had trussed and trounced each of the 
 amazons. " Lord, how they squeaked and wriggled ! " 
 he said unctuously. 
 
 Louis whispered to his companion. 
 
 "Our mad poet may do me a good turn, Gossip 
 Tristan." 
 
 Even as he spoke the inn door opened and a man 
 entered a small man, plainly clad, with his hood 
 about his face. He glanced about him anxiously till 
 he caught sight of Louis and Tristan, for whom he 
 made immediately. Villon, craning over the balus- 
 trade, saw him and touched the girl on the arm to 
 call her attention to the new-comer. 
 
 " Is that he? " he whispered. The girl shook her 
 head. 
 
 " No, no. Thibaut is a big man. Yet that figure 
 seems familiar." 
 
 The stranger came to the table and stooped be- 
 tween Louis and Tristan. Louis looked up and 
 grinned recognition of his barber, Olivier le Dain. 
 
 74 
 
THE COMING OF KATHERINE 
 
 " He is coming, sire," Olivier said. 
 
 " You are sure? " 
 
 "We dogged his footsteps all the way, till I 
 slipped ahead. Here he comes! " 
 
 With finger on lip Olivier glided through the door 
 behind which Tristan had been concealed a few mo- 
 ments before. The king rubbed his hands and 
 chuckled. Even Tristan looked pleased. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 ENTER THIBAUT 
 
 Once again the door swung on its hinges admit- 
 ting a very tall, powerful man, dressed like a com- 
 mon soldier, his brawny bulk panoplied in steel and 
 leather. He glanced about hira as he entered, ex- 
 changed looks with Ren^ de Montigny and came 
 down to the settle, where he flung his vast body with 
 a clatter while he called to the landlord in a bulPs 
 bellow to bring him some wine. 
 
 Katherine leaning and looking gave a little gasp. 
 " That is he! " she breathed into Villon's ear. 
 Villon gave an involuntary sigh, partly indeed 
 of satisfaction at the thought that his quarry was 
 before him, a very vast and royal stag for a hunter's 
 hand to threaten, but partly too of exquisite regret. 
 It had been very sweet to crouch there in the dark- 
 ness of the stairway so close to the one fair woman 
 of all the world, to feel her breath upon his cheek, 
 almost to hear her heart-beats, to know that once 
 if only for once they were alone together and allied 
 in a common purpose, to feel the touch of her soft 
 gown, to know that if he chose he could touch her 
 hair with his outstretched hand. Those seconds 
 
 76 
 
ENTER THIBAUT 
 
 of strange intimacy seemed to be worth all the rest 
 of his life and now they had come to an end. Now 
 he had to show that he deserved them. " Good," he 
 said, and leaving her side he softly descended the 
 stairs, crept cat- foot across the tavern floor and in- 
 sinuated himself dexterously into the society of his 
 friends, who were by this time far too mad and 
 merry to show any surprise at his sudden re-appear- 
 ance, or to question whence he came. Only one of 
 the fellowship was away from the board Ken^ de 
 Montigny, who had risen as soon as the soldier had 
 taken his seat by the fireplace, and had come down to 
 greet him in a seemingly careless, off-hand fashion. 
 Villon dexterously moving from friend to friend 
 managed to niche himself by the back of the settle 
 where he could catch some of the words that passed 
 between Montigny and the stranger, whose meeting 
 was also the subject of unsuspected scrutiny on the 
 part of the unassuming burgesses who sat apart and 
 to whom no one now gave heed. 
 
 " A fine evening, friend," Montigny said affably. 
 
 " Pretty fine for the time of year," the soldier 
 answered. " How :s your garden, friend? " 
 
 Montigny smiled whimsically. 
 
 "Very salubrious, if it were not for the shooting 
 stars." 
 
 77 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Then as the soldier stared at him he hastened to 
 explain. 
 
 " My quip. The shooting star was a Burgundian 
 arrow a cloth-yard long which came winging its 
 way over the walls at noon and made itself at home 
 in my garden. Here is what the arrow carried." 
 
 He pulled from his pouch a small piece of parch- 
 ment folded and sealed, and handed it to the seem- 
 ing soldier. The disguised constable took the mis- 
 sive and scanned it narrowly. 
 
 "The seal has not been tampered with," he said 
 to himself. Ren6 caught him up with a noble ges- 
 ture of indignation. 
 
 " I never read other people's letters," he protested. 
 
 Thibaut shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "It would have profited you little if you had," 
 he said, as he broke the seal and turning aside 
 stooped a little to read by the faint fire light what 
 the letter said. It was couched in words that seemed 
 commonplace enough, but Thibaut knew their secret 
 meaning, knew that the Duke of Burgundy would 
 do all that he asked, give him a duchy, give him the 
 girl he coveted, all that he might ask for or lust for 
 if he would only play the traitor and deliver Louis 
 into the Duke of Burgundy's hands. As this was 
 precisely what Thibaut was resolved to do, a pleased 
 
 78 
 
ENTER THIBAUT 
 
 smile played over his lips as he tossed the parch- 
 ment into the glowing ashes and watched it wither 
 into nothingness. He turned to Montigny, who was 
 watching him attentively. 
 
 " Oan you command some safe rogues of your kid- 
 ney who think better of Burgundian gold than of 
 the fool on the throne? " 
 
 Montigny answered him behind his hand. " Aye. 
 I know of half a dozen stout lads who would pilfer 
 the king from his palace of the Louvre if they were 
 paid well enough for the job," and he jerked his 
 thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his 
 carousing comrades. Thibaut nodded approval. He 
 thrust some gold into Montigny's ready palm, 
 whispered to him to meet him again to-morrow, and 
 as Montigny rejoined his friends he turned to leave 
 the tavern. 
 
 To his surprise he found himself confronted by 
 Villon, who feigning intoxication barred his passage 
 with an air of great hilarity. " You walk abroad 
 late, honest soldier," he hiccoughed. 
 
 " That's my business," Thibaut answered, trying 
 to pass, but Villon still delayed him. 
 
 "Don't be testy. Come and crack a bottle." 
 
 " I've had enough, and you've had more than 
 enough," Thibaut growled. "Go to bed!" 
 
 79 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Villon's false good humour changed in a clap. 
 
 " You're a damned uncivil fellow, soldier, and 
 don't know how to treat a gentleman when you see 
 one." 
 
 Thibaut began to lose patience. 
 
 " Get out of the way! " he said, and gave Villon a 
 little push with his open hand that made him stag- 
 ger. Villon's voice rose to a yell. 
 
 " I will not get out of the way! How do I know 
 you are an honest soldier? How do I know that you 
 are a true man?" 
 
 As Villon's voice rose the altercation attracted 
 the attention of the revellers. Montigny glided to 
 Villon's side and whispered him. 
 
 "Let him alone, Francois; he's not what he 
 seems." 
 
 " Seems! Who cares what he seems? " Villon 
 shouted. "It's what he is I want to know. Per- 
 haps he's not an honest soldier at all. Perhap's he's 
 a damned Burgundian spy! " 
 
 Thibaut lifted his hand to crush Villon, but the 
 poet's naked dagger menaced him and he paused. 
 
 " Fling this drunken dog into the street," he com- 
 manded angrily. Villon's friends snapped at him 
 furiously. Villon flung back the phrase. 
 
 "Drunken dog, indeed! You are a lying, ill- 
 
 80 
 
ENTER THIBAUT 
 
 favoured knave! Keep the door, friends, this rogue 
 has insulted me. Pluck out your iron, soldier!'' 
 
 In a moment the whole pack were between 
 Thibaut and the door, every woman a fury, every 
 man a fighter, every man with the exception of 
 Ren^ de Montigny, who, dexterously disentangling 
 himself from the mass of his companions, made for 
 the side door and slipped out of it unheeded in the 
 confusion. It was his intention to alarm the watch 
 and intervene for the protection of his powerful 
 patron, and with this purpose in his mind he disap- 
 peared into the darkness of the street and ran as fast 
 as his legs could carry him. 
 
 In the meantime the quarrel at the Fircone raged 
 hotter. Thibaut, glaring at his enemies as a bull 
 might glare at barking dogs, asked savagely of the 
 poet who was brandishing his sword: 
 
 " Who the devil are you?" 
 
 Villon flung has head back defiantly and 
 flourished his sword. 
 
 " I am FrauQois Villon, and my sword is as good 
 as another man's." 
 
 The moment the name fell on Thibaut's ears the 
 giant gave a giant's laugh. 
 
 " Are you Frangois Villon? " he thundered. " Lend 
 me a cudgel, some one," and he looked around as if 
 
 81 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 seeking for the weapon he asked for. Villon 
 snatched up a mug and flung the heel taps in the 
 soldier's face, spotting his cheeks with drops of 
 crimson that trickled on to his breast plate. With a 
 choking cry of rage Thibaut dragged his sword into 
 the air. 
 
 " You fool," he hissed, " I'll kill you! " 
 
 " We shall see," Villon answered gallantly, as he 
 stood on guard alert and wary. 
 
 For a moment the he-rascals and she-rascals held 
 their breath. The great figure in the shining steel 
 seemed so to dominate the slight frame of their 
 favourite that anything like an equal contest be- 
 tween the two men seemed little less than ridicu- 
 lous. What skill of Villon's could hope to avail 
 against the mighty sweep of that huge soldier's 
 weapon? Suddenly the swift spirit of Huguette 
 solved the problem. Springing forward with the 
 delicate agility of a young panther, she poised, 
 opinionative, between the opponents. 
 
 " Fair play! " she screamed. " This is David and 
 Goliath," and as she spoke she pointed with one 
 hand at Villon while with the other she struck with 
 hep open palm a ringing blow on the cuirass of 
 Villon's antagonist. " Let them fight it out with 
 sword and lantern in the dark." 
 
 82 
 
ENTER THIBAUT 
 
 A loud shout of applause greeted the girPs sug- 
 gestion. That fantastic form of duello was not un- 
 familiar to the free companions of the Court of 
 Miracles, and Villon himself, eager as he was for 
 the combat, was keen enough to see how well this 
 way might work for the surety of his purpose. Skill, 
 inches, tricks of fence, all things were equal when 
 men fought as shadows in shadowland. 
 
 " What do you say, Goliath? " he laughed, and the 
 grim face of Thibaut smiled responsive. 
 
 " As you please," he said, serenely confident in his 
 strength and length of arm. " It is all one to me." 
 Then suddenly looking round on the leering, sullen 
 faces about him, a wolfish girdle of ferocity, he 
 caught back his agreement and held it for a moment. 
 " On this condition," he added. " When there is an 
 end of you, there is an end of the quarrel. Your 
 friends here must agree to that." 
 
 Villon agreed on the instant. He was all for 
 ridding the world of Thibaut, but he wanted to do 
 it himself for the sake of the wLite girl crouching on 
 the stairway. 
 
 " I promise," he said, " for myself and for them," 
 and turning to the girl, he insisted, " Promise, 
 Huguette; swear it! " 
 
 " I swear it," Huguette answered. 
 
 83 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " That is settled," said Villon. " Now, friends, 
 make a ring and dowse the glim." 
 
 In another instant, the preparations for the com- 
 bat were afoot, Robin Turgis, angrily protesting 
 against the desecration of his orderly hostelry and 
 shouting wild words about summoning the watch, 
 was promptly overpowered by Jehan le Loup, who 
 forced him on to a bench and kept him there with 
 a dagger's point at his throat. The women huddled, 
 screaming and excited, on the stairway a little be- 
 low the place where Katherine crouched, holding 
 her breath and peeping through the railings. The 
 men stood behind tables and on benches, while Casin 
 Cholet and Colin de Cayeulx dived into the land- 
 lord's quarters and reappeared bearing each in his 
 hand a lighted lantern. While these preparations 
 were being hurried toward, Tristan, full of alarm, 
 leaned forward and plucked at the king's mantle. 
 
 " This must be put a stop to, sire," he whispered; 
 but the king shook his head with a grim smile of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " On the contrary, gossip," he answered, " which- 
 ever of these rascals kills the other, does the state 
 a service and saves the hangman some labour." 
 
 Villon crossed the room and came close to where 
 Thibaut waited sullen. " I think I shall square our 
 
 84 
 
ENTER THIBAUT 
 
 reckoning, Master Thibaut," he whispered. The 
 giant stared at him. " You know me? " he gasped. 
 " Your varlets thumped me yesterday," Villon an- 
 swered. " I shall tickle you to-day. Turn, turn 
 about, friend Thibaut." 
 
 Even as he spoke Guy Tabarie puffed out the last 
 candle left alight in the room, which was plunged 
 instantly into almost total darkness. Even the 
 faint moonlight that had come through the window 
 was swiftly veiled by Huguette, who drew the crim- 
 son curtains close together. The dim light from the 
 fire only seemed to accentuate and intensify the 
 darkness through which the two lanterns burned, 
 pale planets of yellow fire, in the hands of Casin and 
 Colin. Villon snatched the one and Thibaut took 
 the other. There was a moment of intense silence; 
 then the voice of Huguette cried out of the black- 
 ness: "Are you ready?" 
 
 Both combatants cried, "Yes!" in the same 
 breath, and in the next the battle began. 
 
 No stranger fight had ever been fought within 
 those walls before, or even perhaps within the walls 
 of Paris. In the dense obscurity the two antago- 
 nists groped for each other, alternately guided and 
 baffled by the light of the lanterns, as their holder 
 lifted his light suddenly in the air or dexterously 
 
 85 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 concealed it under the fold of his mantle. Every 
 now and then the swords would meet with a clash, 
 there would be a hurried exchange of thrust and 
 blow, and then the adversaries would drift back 
 again to grope and gleam and seek each other anew, 
 their lanterns flashing and disappearing like ac- 
 centuated glow-worms, anr^ their blades now shining 
 in sudden illumination like streaks of blue lightning 
 across the blackness and now invisible even to those 
 who held them in their hands. 
 
 Tristan had in vain endeavoured to persuade the 
 king to leave before the preliminaries for the fan- 
 tastic strife had been completed, but Louis was firm 
 in his determination to remain. 
 
 " I would not miss this for the world, man," he 
 had insisted. All his childlike delight in the ad- 
 venturous was being sated to the full this evening, 
 and there was no happier man at that moment in the 
 kingdom than the man who by strange fortune was 
 its king. 
 
 The fight persisted for some minutes that seemed 
 like hours to more than one of the anxious specta- 
 tors. Now the room would be steeped in the deep- 
 est silence, and now, as the revealed lantern glowed 
 and the naked weapons met, some woman^s scream 
 or some man's suppressed oath would fill the place 
 with a sense of watching, eager humanity. 
 
 86 
 
ENTER THIBAUT 
 
 Suddenly, when the tension of watcher and 
 watched was keenest, there came a mighty crashing 
 at the door and a voice shouted loudly a summons 
 to open in the king's name. 
 
 Tristan knew well enough what the summons 
 meant. " It is the watch, sire," he whispered to the 
 king. 
 
 Thibaut too, groping for his nimble antagonist 
 and beginning to despair of crushing the man, heard 
 and understood the summons. He was tired of the 
 baffling struggle. 
 
 " Open the door! " he shouted noisily, and the cry 
 stirred Villon to a more vehement assault. He 
 sprang like a cat at the gian'^^ flashed the lantern 
 dazzlingly in his eyes, and as Tliibaut, furious, made 
 a wild lunge at him, Villon dexterously swung his 
 lantern on to his enemy's sword point and in another 
 second had driven his own blade into Thibaut's side. 
 
 " Not so fast, rat-catcher! " he shouted exultantly, 
 and as Thibaut fell with a heavy crash of rattling 
 armour on the floor, the door was dashed open and 
 the armed watch poured in with blazing torches, 
 filling the room with light and armoured men. 
 Francois, after a moment's glance of triumph at the 
 fallen giant, sprang round and glanced up at the 
 gallery. 
 
 8T 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Katherine, standing, leaned over the balustrade 
 and flung a knot of ribbon to her champion, who 
 caught it as it skimmed through the air, pressed it 
 to his lips and thrust it into the bosom of his jerkin. 
 In another moment Katherine had disappeared and 
 Villon found himself roughly held in the strong 
 grasp of two soldiers, while the captain of the watch 
 surveyed the scene with some astonishment, and the 
 rogues were overawed by the bills of the new-comers. 
 
 " What is this tumult? " the captain deii^anded. 
 Villon answered him airily, smiling over the crossed 
 pikes that penned him. 
 
 " A fair fight, good captain, conducted according 
 to the honourable laws of sword and lantern." 
 
 The captain of the watch turned his attention to 
 Thibaut, who, assisted by one of the soldiers, had 
 raised himself upon one elbow and was glaring vin- 
 dictively at Villon. 
 
 " Who is this man? " he asked. 
 
 A desire for revenge got the better of the wounded 
 man's discretion. 
 
 " I am Thibaut d'Aussigny," he gasped. " I am 
 the Grand Constable." 
 
 A little shiver of surprise and alarm ran round 
 the room at the sound of that dreaded name. The 
 captain of the watch kneeled in salutation. 
 
 88 
 
ENTER THIBAUT 
 
 " Monseigneur," he said, " how did this happen? " 
 Thibaut's senses were running away from him 
 with his running blood, but malignity overcrowed 
 weakness for a moment. He pointed at Villon. 
 " Take that fellow and hang him on the nearest lan- 
 tern,'' and as he spoke he swooned. Promptly the 
 captain turned towards his prisoner. "Take that 
 fellow outside and hang him," he commanded curtly. 
 Villon glanced wildly about for a way to escape and 
 saw none. His friends gave a groan of sympathy, 
 but they could do no more, for the soldiers overawed 
 them. Huguette flung her arms about him, sobbing. 
 The grasp of his captors tightened and Villon shiv- 
 ered at the clasp. Suddenly the little insignificant 
 burgess at the table rose and advanced towards the 
 soldier. 
 
 " Stop, sir," he said imperatively. " That young 
 gentleman is my affair." The soldier turned angrily 
 upon the interfering citizen. 
 
 " Who are you," he growled, " who dare to inter- 
 fere with the king's justice? " 
 
 The citizen pulled his heavy cap from his head and 
 revealed the wrinkled, eager visage that was so well 
 known and so well feared. 
 
 " I am the king's justice," he said simply, while 
 Tristan behind him cried " God save the king! " and 
 
 89 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 the astonished soldier bent the knee in homage. 
 Villon, staring, dumfounded, caught the humour of 
 the situation and could not hold his tongue. 
 
 " The king! Good Lord! " he said, and punctuated 
 his comment with a prolonged whistle. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 J4jNG LOUIS loved roses. All that was royal in his 
 nature went out to the royal flower; whatever desire 
 of beauty lay hidden in his heart found its gratifica- 
 tion in its splendid colours, in its splendid odours. 
 The Greeks believed that the red rose only came into 
 being on the fair day when Venus, seeing Ascanius 
 slumbering on a bed of white roses, pressed hands- 
 ful of the blossoms to her lips, and the pale petals 
 blushed into their crimson loveliness beneath the 
 kisses of the goddess. Louis the Eleventh knew 
 nothing of the legend, but the red rose was his fancy 
 and a corner of the royal garden was dedicated to 
 its service. In the oldest part of the palace, hard 
 by the grey and ancient tower where the king loved 
 to out-watch the stars and to brood over strange 
 wisdom, overlooked by a terrace whose very steps 
 were littered with petals, the caressed earth glowed 
 into a very miracle of roses. Every shade of red 
 that a rose can wear was represented in that daz- 
 zling pleasaunce, from the faint pink that surely 
 the lips of divinity had scarcely brushed to the smil- 
 ing scarlet that suggested Aphrodite's mouth, from 
 
 91 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 the imperial purple of a Caesar's pomp to the crim- 
 son so deep that it was almost black, black as the 
 congealed blood on the torn thigh of Adonis. Here, 
 when the stars eluded or deceived him. King Louis 
 would come, creeping down the winding stairs of his 
 tower, with the names of saints upon his thin lips, 
 to breathe the sunlit or moonlit fragrance of his 
 roses, to seek a little rest for his restless mind, a 
 little quiet for his unquiet heart. 
 
 On the morning after his visit to the Fircone 
 Tavern King Louis sat in his rose garden and snuffed 
 the scented air with pleasure, while his keen eyes 
 shifted from a scroll of parchment on his knee to 
 the face of one who stood beside him, and spoke in a 
 low voice, pointing as he spoke to marks and figures 
 on the outspread parchment. The king's companion 
 was an old man in a furred gown, whose countenance 
 was seamed with years and study, and whose eyes 
 seemed always to be gazing at objects that others 
 could not see. In his right hand he held a large 
 sphere of crystal, and whenever the king lapsed into 
 silent study of his scroll the sage would lift the 
 shining globe and gaze into its glassy depths with 
 an air of exaggerated wisdom. 
 
 From one of these moments of abstraction the 
 king suddenly looked up, and immediately the 
 
 9a 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 astrologer's glance swung from the sphere to the 
 face of Louis. 
 
 " You know the aspect of the planetary bodies," 
 said the king, " and you know of the strange dream 
 that I have dreamed three nights running." 
 
 The sage inclined his head gravely. The king had 
 told him of the dream in all its particulars at least 
 a dozen times that morning. It seemed to be mixed 
 up with the sunlight and the scent of the roses; to 
 be a portion of the chorus of the birds. But he 
 listened to the narrative with the same air of sur- 
 prised attention that he had offered to its first 
 recital. 
 
 " I dreamed that I was a swine rooting in the 
 streets of Paris, and that I found a pearl of great 
 price in the gutter. I set it in my crown and it 
 filled all Paris with its light. But it seemed to 
 grow so heavy for my forehead that I cast it from 
 me and would have trodden it into the earth, but 
 that a star fell from heaven and stayed me, and I 
 awoke trembling." 
 
 The king's nasal voice droned through the 
 familiar repetition; then he suddenly turned his 
 head with a kind of bird-like alacrity upon the as- 
 trologer and asked sharply: "Well, what do you 
 make of it? " 
 
 93 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 The astrologer shook his head. "The stars are 
 bright," he said slowly, " but their brightness is be- 
 wildering to mortal eyes and it is hard to read be- 
 tween the lines of their effulgence. Dreams are 
 dim, and it is difficult for mortal minds to interpret 
 their obscurity." 
 
 The king frowned. " I know well enough," he 
 said, "that stars are bright and that dreams are 
 dim, but your wisdom is clothed and housed and 
 nourished for deeper knowledge than this. Inter- 
 pret my dream for France as Joseph interpreted the 
 vision of the Egyptian." 
 
 With an unmoved face the astrologer scanned the 
 crystal. " Thus I seem to read the riddle of your 
 dream, sire," he answered. " There is one in the 
 depths who, if exalted to the heights, might do you 
 great service and who yet might irk you so greatly 
 that you would seek to cast him back again into the 
 depths from which he rose. The stars seem to speak 
 of such a coming, and, as it seems to me, this 
 stranger should have potent influence for good for a 
 period of seven days from this day. I have sought 
 and sought in vain to see something of this man in 
 the crystal. I only see confusedly great crowds of 
 people, pageants and masques, and movings of many 
 soldiers, battle and bloodshed, and great victory for 
 
 94 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 France and then a star falls from heaven and all 
 the vision vanishes." 
 
 The king was silent for a moment; then with an 
 imperative gesture he dismissed the astrologer, who 
 entered the tower and climbed the winding stairs 
 to the room where he pursued his occult studies. 
 The king walked restlessly up and down, indiffer- 
 ent to the roses, thinking only of the stars. 
 
 " If Frangois Villon were the king of France," 
 he muttered. " How that mad ballad maker glowed 
 last night. Fools are proverbially fortunate, and a 
 mad man may save Paris for me as a mad maid 
 saved France for my sire." 
 
 A heavy tread behind him stirred him from his 
 meditations. Turning, he beheld the companion of 
 his adventure of the previous evening. 
 
 "Well, Tristan?" he questioned apprehensively, 
 for Tristan had the evil smile on his face which 
 he always wore when he had news of any disagree- 
 able kind to impart. 
 
 "The bird has flown, sire," he said. "Thibaut 
 d'Aussigny's wound was much slighter than we 
 thought last night. After we carried him to his 
 house, he made his escape thence in disguise, and 
 has, as I believe, fled from Paris to join the Duke 
 of Burgundy." 
 
 95 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 The king shrugged his shoulders indifferently. 
 
 " I wish the duke joy of him," he said. " He is 
 more dangerous to my enemy when he is on my 
 enemy's side. Where are the rascals of last night? " 
 
 "The tavern rabble are in custody of Messire 
 Noel." 
 
 " And my rival for royalty? " 
 
 " Barber Olivier has charge of him. I would have 
 hanged the rogue out of hand." 
 
 " Your turn will come, gossip, never doubt it. But 
 the stars warn me that I need this rhyming raga- 
 muffin. There is a tale of Haroun al Raschid " 
 
 Tristan stifled a yawn and a sneer. " Another 
 tale, sire," he said with something like piteous pro- 
 test, for the king's tales did not always entertain 
 Tristan. 
 
 Louis went on, however, indifferent to his com- 
 panion's feelings: 
 
 " How he picked a drunken rascal from the streets 
 and took him to his palace. When the rascal woke 
 sober, the courtiers persuaded him that he was the 
 Caliph, and the Commander of the Faithful found 
 great sport in his behaviour. I promise myself a 
 like diversion." 
 
 Tristan stared in surprise. This form of enter- 
 tainment was new to him and did not seem to be 
 particularly amusing. 
 
 96 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 " Are you going to let him think he is king, 
 sire? " he asked. 
 
 A queer smile wrinkled the king's malign face. 
 
 " Not quite," he said. " When he wakes, he is to 
 be assured that he is the Count of Montcorbier and 
 Grand Constable of France. His antics may amuse 
 me, his lucky star may serve me, and his winning 
 tongue may help to avenge me on a certain froward 
 maid, who disdained me. Send me here Olivier." 
 
 Tristan bowed gravely and turned on his heel. In 
 his heart he was inclined to a kind of contempt for 
 the monarch's humours. When there was a chance 
 of hanging a man, it seemed to him a waste of time 
 to play the fool in this fashion. The cat and mouse 
 policy was never Tristan's way. He was ever for the 
 dog's way with the rat. 
 
 Louis resumed his restless walk with his hands 
 folded behind him and his head thrust forward as 
 if he were scanning the ground for some lost object. 
 His mind was busy revolving many thoughts. He 
 knew very well how precarious his position was, 
 how unpopular he was witli his people, how strong 
 were the forces that the Duke of Burgundy had 
 arrayed against him, how little he could count upon 
 the allegiance of the people of Paris if once the 
 enemy were able to put a foot within the walls of 
 
 97 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 the capital city. He was very ambitious, he was 
 very confident, he was very brave, and yet he felt 
 that ambition, confidence and courage were not 
 enough at that crisis to give his throne support. The 
 superstitious side of his nature turned restlessly to 
 the unknown and his spirit dived into crystals or 
 soared among the spinning planets, struggling for 
 occult enlightenment. To the superstitious, trifles 
 are the giants of destiny, and the king's escapade 
 of the previous evening had taken a firm hold on 
 his fancy. The picturesque blackguard who had 
 mouthed so gallantly his desire to reign over France 
 and save her would in any case have tickled the 
 king's taste for the eccentric, but when the en- 
 counter with the poet came upon the heels of the 
 king's strange dream and was followed by the vague 
 prognostications of the star-gazer, the business 
 loomed majestic in his eyes. He had always before 
 his mind the memory of the radiant, saintly maiden 
 who had come like a messenger from heaven to help 
 his father when his father's fortunes seemed to be in 
 the very dust, and it was in all seriousness that he 
 permitted himself to hope and almost to believe that 
 some such succour might be vouchsafed him from the 
 fantastic rhymester who had so lately hectored him 
 in th<> Fircone Tavern. As the king lifted his eyes 
 
 98 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 a fairer form than that of Villon's was impressed 
 upon his consciousness and yet the sight only served 
 to strengthen the current of the king's thoughts. 
 
 A very beautiful girl, tall, stately, imperious, was 
 coming down one of the roseways with her arms full 
 of the great crimson blossoms. If the king had been 
 a scholar in the learning of the Greeks he would have 
 compared the girl to some one of the glorious god- 
 desses of the Hellenic Pantheon. As it was, he was 
 merely aware in a fierce way that the girl was very 
 beautiful, that her beauty appealed to him very 
 keenly, and stirred in him a keen sense of resent- 
 ment at his slighted homage. This girl, whom 
 Thibaut d'Aussigny wanted to marry, this girl 
 whom the king coveted, this girl whom the mad poet 
 worshipped, what part would she play in the fan- 
 tastic comedy which was gradually shaping itself 
 in the distorted mind of Louis? Katherine de 
 Vaucelles saw the king, and dropped him a stately 
 curtsey. 
 
 " Where are you going, girl? " Louis asked. 
 
 She answered quietly, " To her majesty, sire, who 
 bade me gather roses." 
 
 " Give me one," said the king, and then as the girl 
 handed him one of the longest and reddest of her 
 splendid cargo, the king lightly swaying the flower, 
 
 99 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 brushed the girPs flower face with it and surveyed 
 her mockingly. 
 
 " You are a pretty child," he said. " You might 
 have had a king's love. Well, well, you were a fool. 
 Does not Thibaut d'Aussigny woo you? " 
 
 " He professes to love me, sire, and I profess to 
 hate him." 
 
 " He was sorely wounded last night in a tavern 
 scuffle." 
 
 The girl gave a little cry of disappointment. 
 
 " Only wounded, sire? " 
 
 The king laughed heartily. 
 
 " Your solicitude is adorable. Be of cheer. He 
 may recover. And we have clapped hands on his 
 assassin. He shall pay the penalty." 
 
 Katherine drew a little nearer to the king. Her 
 eyes were very eager, and there was eagerness in 
 the tones of her voice. 
 
 " Sire, I bear this man no malice for hurting 
 Thibaut d'Aussigny." 
 
 " You are clemency itself. It would never do to 
 have a woman on the throne. But to hurt a great 
 lord is to hurt the whole body politic. He shall 
 swing for it." 
 
 The girl frowned slightly. 
 
 "This man should not die, sire. Thibaut was a 
 traitor, a villain " 
 
 too 
 
'To her Majesty, sire, who bade me gather roses. 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 Louis' mirth deepened but he kept the gravity of 
 his speech. 
 
 " Take care, sweeting, lest you wade out of your 
 depth. But you women are fountains of compassion. 
 If this knave's life interests you, plead for it to my 
 lord the Grand Constable." 
 
 The girl made a gesture of despair. 
 
 "Thibaut is pitiless," she said. Her mouth hard- 
 ened as she thought of the man she hated and of 
 her own failure to thrust him from her path, but it 
 softened again on the next words of the king. 
 
 "Thibaut is no longer in office. Try your luck 
 with his successor." 
 
 She leaned forward beseechingly. 
 
 " His name, sire? " 
 
 Louis looked at her thoughtfully. 
 
 " He is the Count of Montcorbier," he said. " He 
 is a stranger in our court, but he has found a lodg- 
 ing in my heart. He came under safe conduct from 
 the South last night. He is recommended to me 
 highly by our brother of Provence. I believe he 
 will serve me well, and I am sure he will always 
 be lenient to loveliness." 
 
 The king smiled affably as the ready lies slipped 
 smoothly from his lips. He was amusing himself 
 immensely with the threads of the fairy tale he was 
 spinning. 
 
 101 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " You shall have audience with him." The king 
 paused. He caught sight on the steps of the dark 
 familiar figure of the royal barber, who was ap- 
 proaching him deferentially. He called to him: 
 
 " Olivier, by and by, when my Lord of Mont- 
 corbier takes the air in the garden, bring this lady 
 to him. You understand? " 
 
 He turned to Katherine again and once more 
 tickled her chin with the swaying rose. 
 
 " Now, go, girl, or my wife and your queen will 
 be wanting her roses." 
 
 Katherine again saluted the king and went slowly 
 up the steps into the palace. Louis watched her as 
 she went, watched her until she was out of sight, 
 and then turned sharply upon his servant. 
 
 " Well, goodman barber, what of Francois 
 Villon?" 
 
 "A pot of drugged wine last night sent him to 
 sleep in a prison. This morning he woke in a palace, 
 lapped in the linen of a royal bed. He has been 
 washed and barbered, sumptuously dressed and 
 rarely perfumed. He is so changed that his dearest 
 friend would not know him again. He does not 
 seem to know himself. He carries himself as if he 
 had been a courtier all his days." 
 
 The king chuckled. 
 
 102 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 " I have little doubt that when the jackass wore 
 the lion's skin he thought himself the lion. But is 
 he not amazed? " 
 
 " Too much amazed, sire, to betray amazement. 
 His attendants assure him, with the gravest faces, 
 that he is the Grand Constable of France. I believe 
 he thinks himself in a dream, and, finding the dream 
 delicate, accepts it." 
 
 " Kemember," said Louis, " to keep to the tale. 
 This fellow came here from Provence last night. 
 None must know who he is save you and I and 
 Tristan. Blow it about to all the court that he is 
 the Count of Montcorbier, the favourite of our 
 brother of Provence, and now my friend and coun- 
 sellor. I have a liking for you, Olivier, as you know, 
 and Tristan and I are very good friends, but neither 
 of your heads are safe on their shoulders if this sport 
 of mine be spoiled by indiscretions." 
 
 Olivier bowed deeply. 
 
 " I cannot speak for Tristan, sire," he said, " but 
 I can speak for myself. The God Harpocrates is 
 not more symbolical of silence than I when it is my 
 business to hold my tongue." 
 
 " It is well," said Louis. "I will answer for Tris- 
 tan. Have this fellow sent to me here." 
 
 With another reverence Olivier left the king and 
 
 103 
 
IF 1 WERE RING 
 
 ascended the steps into the palace. The king sniffed 
 pensively at the rose which Katherine had given 
 to him. The perfume seemed to sooth him and he 
 mused, sunning himself and feeding his fancy with 
 the entertainment which playing with the lives of 
 others always afforded to him. 
 
 " This Jack and Jill shall dance to my whimsy 
 like dolls upon a wire. It would be rare sport if 
 Mistress Katherine disdained Louis to decline upon 
 this beggar. He shall hang for mocking me. But 
 he carried himself like a king for all his tatters and 
 patches, and he shall taste of splendour." 
 
 Glancing up at the terrace he perceived the re- 
 turning figure of Olivier le Dain, and guessed that 
 his henchman was serving as herald to the new 
 Grand Constable. Behind Olivier came a little clus- 
 ter of pages, and behind them again the king could 
 see a shining figure in cloth of gold. 
 
 " Here comes my mountebank," he said to him- 
 self, " as pompous as if he were born to the purple." 
 He moved swiftly to the door of the tower 
 and entered it, disappearing as the little procession 
 descended the steps into the Rose Garden. There 
 was a little grating in the door of the tower, a little 
 grating with a sliding shutter, and through this 
 grating the king now peered with infinite 
 
 104 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 entertainment at the progress of the comedy himself 
 had planned. Olivier had spoken truly when he said 
 that Master Villon had been greatly changed. The 
 barber's own handiwork had so cleansed and shaved 
 his countenance, had so trimmed and readjusted his 
 locks that his face now shone as different from the 
 face of the tavern-haunter as the face of the moon 
 shines from the face of a lantern. He was as 
 sumptuously attired as if he were a prince of the 
 blood royal: the noonday sun seemed to take fresh 
 lustre from his suit of cloth of gold, the air to be 
 enriched by his perfume, the world to be vastly the 
 better for his furs and jewels. Though it was plain 
 that the tricked-out poet was in a desperate dilemma 
 he managed to bear himself with a dignity that 
 consorted royally with his pomp. Olivier bowed 
 low to the figure in cloth of gold. 
 
 " Will your dignity deign to linger awhile in this 
 rose arbour? " he asked. 
 
 The gentleman in cloth of gold looked at him in 
 wonder. In truth, the gentleman in cloth of gold 
 was ih a very bewildered frame of mind. He had 
 seen but now a clean and smooth-shaven face in the 
 mirror, with elegantly trimmed hair, and he tried to 
 associate the image in the mirror with his own 
 familiar face, unwashed, unkempt, unshaven. He 
 
 105 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 eyed the splendid clothes that covered him and his 
 memory fumbled in perplexity over the horrors of 
 a dingy, filthy wardrobe, ragged, wine-stained and 
 ancient. He looked at the solemn pages who 
 stood about him with golden cups and golden flag- 
 ons in their hands, and he tried to remember how 
 he had escaped from the society of Master Eobin 
 Turgis into this gilded environment. His head 
 ached with the endeavour and he abandoned it. 
 Olivier repeated his question, and at last Villon 
 found words, though his voice sounded strange and 
 hollow on his ears, and hard to command. 
 
 " My dignity will deign to do anything you sug- 
 gest, good master Blackamoor," he answered, but 
 to his heart he whispered that it was better to hu- 
 mour these strange satellites whose persons he found 
 it impossible to reconcile with any memories of the 
 real world as he knew it. The barber bowed defer- 
 entially. 
 
 " I shall have to trouble you presently with cer> 
 tain small cares of state," he said. 
 
 Villon beamed on him benignly. He was wonder- 
 ing what his interlocutor was talking about, but he 
 felt that it was the course of the wise man to betray 
 no wonder. The conditions were, indeed, bewilder- 
 ing, but also they were not disagreeable, and it was 
 as well to take them cheerfully. 
 
 106 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 " No trouble, excellent myrmidoii," he answered. 
 "These duties are pleasures to your true man." 
 
 Olivier bowed anew. 
 
 " His majesty will probably honour you with his 
 company later." 
 
 Villon beamed again, and again his wonder found 
 words which seemed to him to make the most and 
 the best of the situation. Perhaps in this singular 
 region of dreams he was the king's man and the 
 king's friend. At least it could do no harm to as- 
 sume such friendship when his solemn companion 
 seemed to take it for granted. 
 
 " Always delighted to see dear Louis. He and I 
 are very good friends. People say hard things of 
 him, but believe me, they don't know him." 
 
 He was trying his best to piece together the dis- 
 ordered fragments of his memory and to explain to 
 himself how it came to pass that he was on terms of 
 friendship with the king. His head was dizzy and 
 heavy and he felt like a man in a dark room who 
 was groping to find the door handle. The voice of 
 the barber interrupted these mental struggles. 
 
 " May we take our leave, monseigneur? " 
 
 Villon's face lighted. He felt that it would be 
 pleasanter for him to be alone while he was attempt- 
 ing to regain control of his faculties, more espe- 
 
 107 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 cially as he noted that the pages had placed their 
 golden cups and flagons on the marble table and 
 that his instinct assured him that these precious 
 vessels sheltered no less precious wine. 
 
 " You may, you may," he assented, and then as 
 the barber made to depart, Villon's mood changed 
 and he caught him by the sleeve and drew him 
 confidentially toward him. 
 
 " Stay one moment," he murmured. " You know 
 this plaguy memory of mine what a forgetful fel- 
 low I am. Would you mind telling me again who 
 I happen to be? " 
 
 No look of surprise stirred the barber's face; there 
 came no change in his extreme complaisance. 
 
 " You are the Count of Montcorbier, monseig 
 neur," he answered, gravely. "You have just ar- 
 rived in Paris from the Court of Provence, where 
 you stood in high favour with the king of that coun- 
 try, but your favour is, I believe, greater with the 
 King of France, for he has been pleased to make you 
 Grand Constable. It is his majesty's wish that you 
 contrive to remember this." 
 
 Villon laughed a laugh which he tried hard to 
 make hearty and natural, but with indifferent 
 success. 
 
 " Of course, it was most foolish of me to forget. 
 
 108 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 x<ow, I suppose, good master Long-toes, that a per- 
 son in my exalted rank has a good deal of power, 
 influence, authority, and what not? " 
 
 " With the king's favour, you are the first man in 
 the realm." 
 
 Villon gave a gasp of gratification. The dream 
 was growing in glory. 
 
 " Quite so. And does my exalted position carry 
 with it any agreeable perquisite in the way of 
 pocket money? " 
 
 "If you will dip your finger in your pouch " 
 Olivier suggested, pointing a thin forefinger at Vil- 
 lon's jewelled belt. 
 
 Villon thrust his fingers into the pocket that hung 
 from it and brought them out again loaded with 
 great golden coins, bright and clear from the mint, 
 that gleamed joyously in the sunlight. He gave a 
 little cry of delight as he let them run in a shining 
 stream from hollowed hand to hollowed hand, and 
 contemplated their jingle and glitter with the de- 
 light of a new Midas. But the first thought that 
 welled up in his heart to welcome this strange 
 wealth was bravely unselfish. 
 
 " Gold counters, on my honour. Dear drops from 
 the divine stream of Pactolus. Good sir, will you 
 straightway despatch some one you can trust with 
 
 109 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 a haudful of these broad pieces to the Church of the 
 Celestins and inquire of the beadle there for the 
 dwelling of Mother Villon, a poor old woman, sorely 
 plagued with a scapegrace son? Let him seek her 
 out she dwells in the seventh story and therefore 
 the nearer to the Heaven she deserves and give 
 her these coins that she may buy herself food, 
 clothes and firing." 
 
 He was too confused to reason clearly with his 
 situation, but he felt sure that whoever he was and 
 wherever he was in this amazing dream of his, the 
 poor old woman whom he loved so well must needs 
 be in it and might benefit by this gift of fairy gold. 
 
 Olivier bowed deferentially. 
 
 " It shall be done," he said, transferring the great 
 gold discs to his own pocket. Then pointing to a 
 small golden bell which one of the pages had placed 
 upon the table, he added, "If there be anything your 
 dignity should desire, he has only to strike upon this 
 bell." 
 
 " You are very good," Villon responded solemnly, 
 and on the phrase Olivier and the pages withdrew 
 into the palace with every sign of the most profound 
 respect The king at his peep-hole was pleased to ob- 
 serve that his commands were being obeyed most 
 strictly and that no hint of any secret mirth, no 
 
 iio 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 obvious consciousness of a hidden joke marred for 
 one moment the monumental gravity of the parts 
 which Olivier and the pages had to play. 
 
 As soon as Villon found himself alone he looked 
 cautiously around him, comprehending in his as- 
 tonished glance the grey walls of the palace, the 
 moss-grown terrace, the petal-strewn steps, the old^ 
 stern tower with its ominous sun dial, and the 
 wealth of wonderful roses all about him, making the 
 air a very paradise of exquisite colours and exquisite 
 odours. He shut his eyes for a few seconds and then 
 opened them sharply as if expecting to find that the 
 scene had vanished shadow-like into thin impalpable 
 air, but castle and terrace, tower and roses remained 
 as they had been, very plain to the poet's astonished 
 senses. Tiptoeing cautiously across the grass, he 
 reached a marble seat which stood beneath a bower 
 of roses and seemed to be protected by a great ter- 
 minal statue of the god Pan, which had been given 
 as a present to Louis by an Eastern prince who had 
 carried it from Athens. Pressing his hand to his 
 forehead, Villon tried to recall the events of the 
 evening before, which for some fantastic reason 
 seemed to lie long centuries behind him. He could 
 remember dimly an evil looking cell with straw 
 upon the floor and chains upon the walls; he could 
 
 111 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 recall the sullen faces of unfriendly gaolers. One of 
 these gaolers he remembered had thrust a mug of 
 wine into his hand and bade him drink surlily, and 
 he had drunk greedily, as was his way when free 
 drink was offered to him, and drinking, drank ob- 
 livion sudden and complete. 
 
 But why he had gone to a dungeon? His senses 
 ached as he asked himself this, and faint pictures 
 began to piece themselves together out of the epi- 
 sodes of the dead night. He saw again the squalid 
 walls of the Fircone Tavern and his mind jumped 
 back to his recitation of the ballad and his fierce 
 sense of indignation at the humiliation of Paris, 
 girdled by a wall of hostile Burgundians and 
 governed by an impotent king. Then came the 
 vision of an angePs visit and a prayer that had more 
 of devil than angel in it, and then came a quarrei, 
 and a fight in darkness shattered by the flaming 
 torches of the watch and Thibaut's huge body lying 
 on the ground a huddled heap of shining armour. 
 He remembered the ribbon that had been flung to 
 him from the gallery and thrust his hand into the 
 bosom of his vest of cloth of gold and found the 
 token there, its glossiness of white and gold soiled 
 by its touch of the floor. Then came his capture, 
 his contumelious march through the gloomy streets, 
 
 112 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 his taste of an unknown prison, his taste of poppied 
 wine, and then sleep. 
 
 His next consciousness was that he was lying on 
 a soft bed instead of on a truss of straw, and that 
 the darkness about him was not the darkness of the 
 cell. Suddenly someone drew a curtain and in a 
 second the place where he lay filled with a soft light 
 and showed that to Villon which astonished him 
 as much as if the gates of Paradise had parted be- 
 fore him and shown him the shining lines of the 
 hosts of Heaven. He remembered that he was lying 
 in a stately bed, nestled in snowy linen beneath a 
 coverlet of crimson silk. He remembered that the 
 bed stood in a gorgeous room, heavy with magnifi- 
 cent tapestry and roofed with a carved and painted 
 ceiling that glittered with gilt and stars. Curtains 
 of purple velvet admitted the daylight through win- 
 dows on which rich armorial bearings glowed in col- 
 oured glass. Soft and delicate odours impregnated 
 the atmosphere and tender strains of delicate music 
 stole wooingly on the senses from the strings of a 
 distant lute. 
 
 Then there came, so kindly memory assured him, 
 an obsequious man in black, with no less obsequi- 
 ous attendants, and singular ceremonies of bathing, 
 perfuming and hair dressing and a putting on of 
 
 113 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 sweet linen and furred raiment and jewels, and all 
 the ceremonials for the transfiguration of a ragged 
 robin into the likeness of a mighty lord. On the top 
 of all this preparation rose the sun of a splendid 
 banquet, served in ware of gold and silver and 
 waited on by the same obsequious figure in black 
 and the same respectful pages. Then followed the 
 summons to walk into the air, the procession 
 through quiet corridors on to the cool grey terrace 
 and the final installment in the scented solitude of 
 the rose garden. Villon was head-sick and heart- 
 sick with the effort to put so much of the past to- 
 gether. He felt as if in some strange titanic way he 
 had ruined a world and was suddenly called upon by 
 Providence to piece the fragments together and 
 make all whole again. He tapped his forehead 
 wonderingly. 
 
 " Last night I was a red-handed outlaw, sleeping 
 on the straw of a dungeon. To-day I wake in a royal 
 bed and my varlets call me monseigneur. There are 
 but three ways of explaining this singular situation. 
 Either I am drunk or I am mad or I am dreaming. 
 If I am drunk, I shall never distinguish Bordeaux 
 wine from Burgundy a melancholy dilemma. Lefs 
 test it." 
 
 The marble table stood but a little way from him. 
 
 lU 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 The golden vessels that stood upon it had served him 
 at that morning meal which was still an immediate 
 excellent memory, and he remembered how his at- 
 tendants had told him that one held wine of Bor- 
 deaux and one wine of Burgundy. He rose and 
 crept across the soft grass to the table and lifted one 
 of the golden flagons gingerly, sniffed at it fear- 
 fully and poured some of its contents carefully into 
 a golden goblet. Lifting it cautiously to his lips, he 
 tasted it judiciously. A ripe, warm, royal flavour 
 rewarded him. 
 
 "By Heaven!" he cried; "no nobler juice ever 
 rippled from Burgundian vineyards." 
 
 He drained the cup and set it down to fill another 
 from the companion vessel and to repeat the cere- 
 mony of sniffing, tasting and swallowing. Again 
 the desire of his palate was pleased and pacified. 
 He reflected as he sipped and swallowed. 
 
 "This quintessence of crushed violets ripened 
 no otherwhere than in the valleys of Bordeaux. 
 Ergo, I am not drunk. I do not think I am mad, 
 neither, for I know in my heart that I am poor Fran- 
 cois Villon, penniless Master of Arts, and no will o' 
 the wisp Grand Constable. Then I am dreaming, 
 fast asleep in the chimney-corner of the Fircone 
 Tavern, having finished that flask I filched, and 
 
 115 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 everything since then has been and is a dream. The 
 coming of Katherine, a dream. My fight with 
 Thibaut d'Aussigny, a dream. Then the king 
 popping up at the last moment, like a Jack-in-the- 
 Box a dream. These clothes, these servants, this 
 garden dreams, dreams, dreams. I shall wake 
 presently and be devilish cold and devilish 
 hungry, and devilish shabby. But in the mean- 
 time, these dream liquors make good drinking." 
 
 He was about to fill himself another cup when 
 a shadow fell at his feet, the shadow of Olivier le 
 Dain standing before him with his air of emphasized 
 respect, which was beginning to pall upon the trans- 
 figured poet. 
 
 " Your dignity will forgive me, but it is the king's 
 wish you should pass judgment on certain pris- 
 oners." 
 
 Villon stared at him. 
 
 I? And here?" 
 
 " Such is the king's pleasure." 
 
 " What prisoners? " 
 
 " Certain rogues and vagabonds, mankind and 
 womankind, taken brawling in the Fircone Tavern 
 last night." 
 
 Villon stroked his chin thoughtfully. An idea 
 seemed to take command of his confused mind. Here 
 
 116 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 was a chance to learn something of the reality that 
 lay at the core of all this mystery of roses and wine 
 and fine raiment. He leaned forward curiously and 
 almost whispered to the attendant barber, 
 
 "Tell me, is Master FrauQois Villon, Master of 
 Arts, rhymer at his best, vagabond at his worst, 
 ne'er-do-well at all seasons, and scapegrace in all 
 moods, among them?" 
 
 Olivier smiled complacently as those in office are 
 accustomed to smile at the humours of great men. 
 
 " Your dignity is pleased to jest. Shall I send you 
 the prisoners? " Villon caught at the offer sharply. 
 
 " Can I do with them as I wish? " 
 
 " Absolutely as you wish. Such is the king's 
 will." 
 
 Villon leaned back in resigned surrender to an 
 astonishing situation. He had dreamed strange 
 dreams in his days and nights, but never a dream 
 like this dream. 
 
 " Set a thief to try a thief," he philosophized. 
 ^^Well, bring them in." 
 
 Olivier bowed and disappeared silently along the 
 rose alley by which he had come. When he was 
 alone again Villon slapped his forehead resound- 
 ingly, as if he hoped to scare his senses back into 
 sanity by violent assault. 
 
 117 
 
IF 1 WERE KING 
 
 *^ Oh, my poor head," he moaned. "Am I awake? 
 Am I asleep? What an embroglio! " 
 
 A sense of dislike to his respectful attendant 
 surged up through his perplexity. " That damned 
 follow in black is confoundedly obsequious," he mut- 
 tered. " I wonder if I could order him to be hanged ; 
 he has a hanging face." 
 
 Even as this kind reflection came into his head^ 
 his meditations were disturbed by the tramp of many 
 feet and the rattle and clank of weapons, and a 
 small company of soldiers came wheeling round into 
 the rose garden from the side of the palace, guarding 
 a number of men and women, in whom Villon in- 
 stantly recognized his familiar friends of the Fir 
 cone Tavern. At the head of the soldiers marched 
 a dapper gentleman, courtier-soldier or soldier- 
 courtier, a thing of silk and steel, half dandy, half 
 man-at-arms, exquisitely attired and flagrantly 
 aware of his own attractions. He, too, was familiar 
 to the poet, for he was no other than the pink and 
 white gentleman whom he had seen acting as escort 
 to Katherine on the day when he first beheld her, 
 and whose name, as he had learned on the previous 
 evening from Katherine's own lips, was Noel le 
 Jolys. 
 
 "The puppet who dangles after my lady," he 
 grumbled to himself. " He jars the dream." 
 
 118 
 
*'Am I awake? Am I asleep? What an embroglio." 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 Villon felt profoundly sorry for his imprisoned 
 playfellows, and profoundly hostile to the pink and 
 white gentleman. His friends looked so wretched, 
 so woebegone, so bedraggled, while their captor 
 looked so point-device and self-satisfied that Villon 
 felt a fierce indignation burn within him over the 
 injustices of the world. 
 
 " How hang-dog my poor devils look and how 
 dirty,'' he thought to himself, as the soldiers ranged 
 their prisoners in a line before him at the base of 
 the terrace, and their prinked and fragrant captain 
 came trippingly forward and saluted Villon, pre- 
 senting to him at the same time a piece of paper, 
 covered with writing. 
 
 " My lord," he said, dapperly, "here are the names 
 of these night birds." 
 
 Villon took the paper and looked straightly into 
 the young man's eyes. 
 
 " Have we ever met before?" he asked. 
 
 Noel le Jolys made a deprecatory gesture. 
 
 "Alas! no," he said. "Your lordship has swept 
 into court like an unheralded comet. You shall tell 
 us' tales of Provence to please our ladies." 
 
 Still gravely looking at him, Villon questioned 
 him again. 
 
 " Messire Noel, if you and I had a mind to pluck 
 
 119 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 the same rose from this garden, which of us would 
 win?" 
 
 The affable fribble's intelligence appeared to be 
 baffled. 
 
 " I do not understand jou," he protested. 
 
 Villon shrugged his shoulders. " Never mind," he 
 said, seating himself again on the marble seat and 
 looking at the familiar names on the piece of paper. 
 
 " Send me hither Rend de Montigny." 
 
 He was fairly convinced by this time that he was 
 not wandering in the labyrinths of a dream, that he 
 really was awake, but that for some reason which 
 he was unable to fathom, he had been thus strangely 
 transmuted into the semblance of splendour and 
 authority. 
 
 " The popinjay fails to recognize me," he said to 
 himself; " so may my bullies," and as he thought, 
 Rend de Montigny was pushed forward by a couple 
 of soldiers and stood sullenly defiant before him. 
 
 Villon leaned forward, oddly interested in the gro- 
 tesque turn of things which put him in this position 
 with his old companion and fellow-scamp. 
 
 " You are " he questioned. 
 
 Montigny answered angrily, 
 
 " Rend de Montigny, of gentle blood, fallen on un- 
 gentle days." 
 
 120 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 " Through no fault of your own, of course? " 
 
 " As your grace surmises, through no fault of my 
 own. I am poor, but, I thank my stars, I am honest." 
 
 This remark, which was made aloud for the benefit 
 of all and sundry, provoked a roar of laughter from 
 Guy Tabarie which was promptly converted into a 
 groan as an indignant soldier smote him into silence 
 by a lusty blow on the back. Villon caught him 
 up on the assertion. 
 
 " Since when, sir? Since last night? " 
 
 " I do not understand your grace." 
 
 " When Jason was a farmer in Colchis he sowed 
 dragons' teeth and reaped soldiers. What do you 
 grow in your garden. Sire de Montigny? " 
 
 Montigny gave a little start of surprise but his 
 answer came prompt. 
 
 " Cabbages." 
 
 Villon shook his head. "Arrows, Master Ren^, 
 Burgundian arrows, most condemnable vegetables. 
 Have a care! 'Tis a pestilent crop and may poison 
 the gardener. Stand aside." 
 
 Rend de Montigny stared at his interlocutor in a 
 paroxysm of amazement. Here was his dearest 
 secret loose on the lips of his questioner. It was the 
 first time that he had ventured boldly to gaze into 
 the face of authority and Villon returned his gaze 
 
 121 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 
 
 defiantly. But there was no recognition in Montig- 
 ny's eyes. He could see nothing in common between 
 the splendid gentleman who now addressed him and 
 the ragged rhymester who shared so many squalid 
 adventures with him, and in an instant he averted 
 his head respectfully. 
 
 " If your grace will deign," he pleaded, stretching 
 out his hands in entreaty, but Villon was inexorable. 
 
 "Stand aside," he repeated, and Montigny protest- 
 ing was dragged back to his place with his fellows 
 while Villon read the name of the next rogue on the 
 list, which happened to be that of Guy Tabarie. 
 
 By this time Villon's spirit had entered into a 
 very complete appreciation of the humours of the 
 situation. Having realized that his identity w^as 
 safe even from the keen eyes of Ren^ de Montigny, 
 he felt assured that he might defy the indifferent 
 scrutiny of his less alert companions. And though 
 he made use of the long pendant fold of his cap to 
 conceal in some measure his countenance, he was 
 now so confident of his safety that he was prepared 
 to greet each prisoner with composure. 
 
 Guy Tabarie cut a piteous figure as he tottered 
 across the grass, rudely propelled by the violence of 
 the soldier who escorted him tweaking him by the 
 ear, and fell, a quaking mountain of flesh, at the feet 
 
 122 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 of tile man whom he believed to be the Grand Con- 
 stable of France. With piteous gesticulations and 
 trembling fingers, the red, gross man knelt and at- 
 tempted to plead for mercy. Villon eyed him 
 sternly though he found it hard to restrain liis 
 laughter. 
 
 "You come with clean hands? " he asked, and Guy 
 answered, babbling, his words tumbling from him, 
 incoherent and confused, holding out his huge paws 
 like a schoolboy reproved for want of soap and 
 water: 
 
 " As decent a lad, my lord, as ever kept body and 
 soul together by walking on the straight and nar- 
 row path that leads to " 
 
 He had stuttered thus far when Villon interrupted 
 him. 
 
 " The gallows. Master Tabarie." 
 
 Guy^s bulk quivered in piteous negation. 
 
 " No, no; I have the fear of God in me as strong 
 as any man in Paris." 
 
 Villon leaned over a little nearer to his victim and 
 breathed a question into his ear: 
 
 " Do you know the Church of St. Maturin, Master 
 Tabarie? " 
 
 The little pig-like eyes of Tabarie widened in sur- 
 prise and he stammered a " No, my lord," that was 
 
 123 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 in itself a flagrant confession of shameful knowl- 
 edge. Villon wagged his head wisely. 
 
 " Master Tabarie, Master Tabarie, your memory 
 is failing you. Why, no later than the middle of 
 March last you broke into the church at dead of 
 night and pilfered the gold plate from the altar. 
 The fear of God is not very strong in you." 
 
 If Master Tabarie had been listening to the words 
 of a wizard, he could not have been more astonished. 
 
 " Saints and angels! " he cried aloud. " This Grand 
 Constable is the devil himself! My lord, I was led 
 astray; my lord, I was not alone " 
 
 Villon had had enough entertainment from his fat 
 companion. 
 
 He made a sign, and instantly a soldier swooped 
 upon the grovelling figure, twitched him to his feet 
 and drew him apart, stuttering furious protestations 
 of innocence. 
 
 Villon looked at the list in his hand, and this time 
 he called for two names, "Colin de Cayeulx and Casin 
 Cholet," and as he spoke, the two knaves were 
 pushed forward towards him. Villon drew the pair 
 a little way apart and stood between them, eyeing 
 their roguish faces on which false affability strug- 
 gled with a very real fear. 
 
 " Are you good citizens, sirs? '^ he asked, and Colin 
 immediately answered him: 
 
 124 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 " I am loath to sing my own praises, but I can 
 speak frankly for my friend here. The king has no 
 better subject, and Paris no more peaceable burgess 
 than Casin Cholet." 
 
 As he spoke he waved Casin Cholet a warm salu- 
 tation, and Cholet responded to his praises with a 
 friendly grin and yet more friendly words: 
 
 " If I have any poor merits, I owe them all to this 
 good gentleman's example. I have followed his lead, 
 halting and humble. ^ Keep your eye on Colin de 
 Cayeulx,' I have ever said to myself, * and learn how 
 a good man lives.' " 
 
 The two men leered at each other across Villon^ 
 hoping that their praises of each other might have 
 due effect upon the great lord who seemed so conde- 
 scending to them. Villon smiled. 
 
 " You are the Castor and Pollux of purity? Do 
 you remember the night of last Shrove Tuesday and 
 the girl you carried off to Fat Margot's and held to 
 ransom? " 
 
 The effect of his words upon the two men was 
 startling. The ugly episode loomed up in their mem- 
 ories and they shivered to find it known. In a sec- 
 ond the simulated friendship of bandit for bandit 
 vanished and the two men glared at each other with 
 the ferocity of fighting dogs as they hurled accusa- 
 tion and denial at each other: 
 
 125 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 *' That was Colin's adventure! " 
 
 " That was Casin's enterprise! " 
 
 " I deplored it." 
 
 " I had no hand in it." 
 
 Forgetting their respect for authority in the fury 
 of their antagonism, they struck angrily at each 
 other across their questioner and were for grappling 
 in close combat when Villon made a signal and they, 
 in their turn, were dragged back raging into the 
 ranks of their fellow prisoners. 
 
 There was only one left now Jehan le Loup 
 who stood with folded arms and lowering brows, 
 surveying the efforts of his comrades. Villon made 
 a sign, and the man was dragged into his presence. 
 Villon clapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 " You seem a brisk, assured fellow for a man in 
 duress." 
 
 The friendly demeanour of the great man cheered 
 the prisoner and he answered bluffly: 
 
 " My good conscience sustains me." 
 
 Villon's demeanour was still amicable as he put 
 his next question in a voice that came only to Je- 
 han's ears. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. How did Thevenin Pensete 
 come to his death? " 
 
 The muscles of Jehan le Loup's face twitched for 
 
 126 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 a moment, but he clinched his fingers tightly to 
 restrain himself and answered with a surly 
 impassability, 
 
 " How should I know, my lord? " 
 
 Villon drew him nearer and spoke lower still. 
 
 " Who better? That nasty quarrel over the cards, 
 the high words and a snatch for the winnings, a 
 tilted table, an extinguished taper, a stab in the 
 dark and a groan. Exit Thevenin Pensete. Your 
 dagger doesn't grow rusty! " 
 
 Jehan's grey face grew greyer and uglier, but he 
 kept his countenance. 
 
 " Monseigneur," he answered, " I loved him like a 
 brother." 
 
 "As Cain loved Abel," Villon said. He made a 
 sign, and Jehan le Loup was taken back to his 
 fellows. 
 
 So far Villon had been suflficiently diverted. He 
 had played upon the terrors of his friends, he had 
 bewildered them to the top of his desire. He now 
 foresaw the possibility of sport more delicate as his 
 glance fell upon the group of girls who clustered 
 together like frightened birds at the foot of the 
 statue of Pan. He made a sign to Messire Noel, and 
 the gilded exquisite drew near, 
 
 "Bring me hither those four gentlewomen," he 
 commanded. 
 
 127 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 The fop's face lengthened with amazed disappro- 
 bation. 
 
 -^Gentlewomen, messire? Those four doxies?" 
 
 Villon reproved him. 
 
 " They are women, good captain, and you and I 
 are gentlemen, or should be, and must use them 
 gently." 
 
 Messire Noel frowned and his hand made a gesture 
 in the direction of his sword-hilt; then he remem- 
 bered the folly of quarrelling with so great a man^ 
 and contented himself with shrugging his shoulders 
 as he questioned, 
 
 " And the demirep in the doublet and hose? " 
 
 " Let her stay for the present," Villon answered, 
 and in obedience to a sign from Noel the four girls 
 came timidly forward with downcast eyes, while 
 Huguette remained apart, leaning composedly 
 against the image of Pan and surveying the scene 
 with a good-humoured indifference. 
 
 When the girls were close to him, Villon spoke: 
 
 " Well, young ladies, what is this trade of yours 
 that has brought you into trouble? " 
 
 Jehanneton dropped a curtsey. 
 
 " I make the caps that line helmets." 
 
 Isabeau followed quickly, 
 
 *' I am a lace weaver. Enn^, an honest trade." 
 
 128 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 Blanche came next, 
 
 " I am a slipper maker." 
 
 Denise ended the catalogue. 
 
 " And I a glover." 
 
 Mischief danced in Villon's eyes. 
 
 " No worse and no better. A word in your ear." 
 He whispered something into each girPs ear in turn, 
 and as he did so, each girl started, drew back, looked 
 confused, laughed and blushed. 
 
 It is ever to be deplored that the worthy Dom 
 Gregory, whose ecclesiastical history of Poitou is 
 the source of so much curious information concern- 
 ing Villon, should have omitted, from a mistaken 
 sense of delicacy, to chronicle precisely what it was 
 that the poet whispered in the ears of each of the 
 girls. All he condescends to record in his crabbed, 
 canine Latin, is that Villon showed such intimate 
 acquaintance with certain physical peculiarities or 
 whimsical adventures private to each damsel that 
 she believed the speaker's knowledge to be little less 
 than supernatural. Literature of the skittish sort 
 must deplore the monastic reticence, but history can 
 do no more than accept it and leave imagination to 
 fill in the blank as best it pleases. 
 
 All history is certain of is that the girls gathered 
 together, chatting like sparrows, each speaking 
 rapidly: 
 
 129 
 
IF 1 WERE KING 
 
 "The gentleman is a wizard. Why, he told 
 me " 
 
 "Enn^, a miracle; he reminded me " 
 
 " Why, he knows " 
 
 " What do you think he said? " 
 
 Each girl was whispering to the other what Vil- 
 lon had told her, when Villon interrupted them. 
 
 " Young women, young women, the world is a 
 devil of a place for those who are poor. I could 
 preach you a powerful sermon on your follies and 
 frailties, but, somehow, the words stick in my gul- 
 let. Here is a gold coin apiece for you. Go and 
 gather .yourself roses, my roses, to take back to 
 what. Heaven pity you! you call your homes.'' . 
 
 Jehanneton gave a little gasp of surprise. 
 
 "Are we free? " 
 
 Villon answered her sadly, 
 
 "Free? Poor children! Such as you are never 
 free. Go and pray Heaven to make men better, for 
 the sake of your daughter's daughters." 
 
 His extended hands were full of gold pieces, but 
 they were soon emptied by the eager girls who 
 pounced upon them. Then they left him with many 
 curtsies and salutations and drifted away delight- 
 edly into the mazes of the rose garden. 
 
 Villon turned to look at the men prisoners, who 
 were anxiously scanning his actions. 
 
 130 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 " As for these gentlemen," he said to Noel, " let 
 them go where they will, but first give them food 
 and drink and a pocketful of money." 
 
 The effect of his words was almost as paralyzing 
 upon the rogues as it was upon Messire Noel. It 
 pleased the one as much as it displeased the other. 
 
 Noel looked the contempt he did not venture to 
 express. The men rushed forward, choking with 
 gratitude. 
 
 " God save you, sir." 
 
 "Your Excellency is of a most excellent excel- 
 lence." 
 
 " Long live the Grand Constable! " 
 
 " A most rare Constable." 
 
 Villon waved them away. 
 
 " Go your ways," he said, " and if you can, mend 
 them." 
 
 Shouting and dancing for joy, the men took ad- 
 vantage of his permission and disappeared in their 
 turn among the alleys of the rose garden, seeking 
 and finding the wandering women and vanishing 
 with them in due course into the labyrinths of 
 Paris. 
 
 Villon turned to Noel. 
 
 " You may dismiss your soldiers,^' he said. " At- 
 tend me within call," and as Noel obeyed him, he 
 
 131 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 advanced to where Huguette was standing, with a 
 smile of scornful indifference still on her fair face. 
 
 Villon asked himself as he went: 
 
 " Why, in God's name, does the world appear so 
 different to-day? Is it the thing they call the better 
 self, or merely this purple and fine linen? " 
 
 What he said when he came to the girl was, 
 
 " Fair mistress, you have a comely face and you 
 make it very plain that you have a comely figure. 
 Why do you go thus? " 
 
 The girl shrugged her green shoulders and shifted 
 the balance of her body from one green leg to the 
 other, as she answered impudently, 
 
 " For ease and freedom, to please myself, and to 
 show my fine shape to please others." 
 
 Last night this girl had been his own familiar 
 friend; to-day she lay leagues away from his fairy 
 greatness. There was pity in his next speech. 
 
 " Are you a happy woman, mistress? " 
 
 " Happy enough," she answered as she snapped 
 her fingers defiantly, " when fools like you don't clap ' 
 me into prison for living my life in my own way." 
 
 " I may be a fool, but I did not clap you into 
 prison. Heaven forbid ! " 
 
 A curious look came into the girl's eyes, and 
 she drew a little nearer to him. Her voice was a 
 
 132 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 caress; the tenor of her hands was a caress; every 
 supple curve of her alluring body caressed. She 
 seemed to coax him, cat-like, as she whispered: 
 
 "Your voice sounds familiar, Monseigneur. Had 
 I ever the honour to serve you? " 
 
 Villon drew away from her. He felt suddenly 
 body-sick and soul-sick; sorry for the woman, sorry 
 for himself. 
 
 "Who knows?" he answered. The girl laughed 
 and turned aside. 
 
 "Who cares? What are you going to do with 
 me?" 
 
 " Set you free, my delicate bird of prey. Those 
 wild wings were never meant for clipping and 
 caging. Is there anything I can do to please you? " 
 
 On the instant her enticement shifted; all her be- 
 ing was a tremulous entreaty. 
 
 " What has come to Master Frangois Villon? " 
 
 " Why do you ask? " 
 
 " He was with us when we were snared last night. 
 But he did not share our prison and he is not with 
 us now. Does he live? " 
 
 Villon hesitated for a moment before speaking. 
 
 " He lives. He is banished from Paris, but he 
 lives." 
 
 Huguette clasped her hands in gratitude. 
 
 133 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 "The sweet saints be thanked!'' she said; and 
 there was that in her voice which made the simple 
 words sound very sincere to Villon's ears. 
 
 "What do you care for the fate of this fellow?" 
 
 " As I am a fool, I believe I love him." 
 
 " Heaven's mercy! Why? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you, Messire. A look in his eyes, a 
 trick of his voice the something the nothing that 
 makes a woman's heart run like wax in the fire. He 
 never made woman happy yet, and I'll swear no 
 woman ever made him happy. If you gave him the 
 moon, he would want the stars for a garnish. He 
 believes nothing; he laughs at everything; he is a 
 false monkey and yet, I wish I had borne such a 
 child." 
 
 There was a sudden pain at Villon's heart, as if 
 the girl's fingers had seized it and squeezed it, but 
 he replied lightly: 
 
 " Let us speak no more of this rascal. He believes 
 more and laughs less than he did. He is so glad to 
 be alive that his forehead scrapes the sky and the 
 stars fall at his feet in gold dust. Paris is well rid 
 of such a jackanapes." 
 
 " You are a merry gentleman." 
 
 "I would be more gentle than merry witH you. 
 Will you wear this ring for my sake? Fancy that 
 
 134 
 
THE VOICES OF THE STARS 
 
 it comes from Master Frangois Villon, who will al- 
 ways think kindly of your wild eyes." 
 
 " Let me see your face," she requested, but Villon 
 denied her. He signed to Noel le Jolys, where he 
 stood apart, and the young soldier came hurriedly 
 to him. 
 
 "Captain," he said, "give this lady honourable 
 conduct." 
 
 He moved away and left the pair together the 
 mannish woman and the womanish man, looking at 
 each other, the man in admiration and the woman 
 In veiled disdain. 
 
 " You are a comely girl," Noel afl&rmed roundly. 
 
 Huguette laughed. 
 
 " This is news from no-man's land." 
 
 Noel spoke lower. 
 
 " Where do you lodge? " 
 
 Huguette was a woman of business in an instant. 
 She flashed in NoePs face the ring the Grand Con- 
 stable had given her as she answered. 
 
 "At the sign of the Golden Scull, hard by the 
 Fircone. Will you visit me? " 
 
 Noel clapped his hands together. 
 
 " As I am a man, I will." 
 
 A good understanding being thus established, the 
 pair drifted away together and were soon lost to 
 sight. Villon looking after them mused: 
 
 135 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " Heaven forgive me, I am becoming a most pitiful 
 loud preacher. Every rogue there deserves the gal- 
 lows, but so do I, no less, and I have not swallowed 
 enough of this court air to make me a hypocrite. 
 Well, all this justice is thirsty work, and, mad or 
 sane, sleeping or waking, let me drink while I can." 
 
 He returned to the golden flagons, poured out a 
 full cup of Burgundy, watched it glow in the sun- 
 light, and lifted it to his lips. 
 
 "To the loveliest lady this side of heaven!" he 
 said for a toast, but ere he touched his lips to the 
 cup, he lowered it again. 
 
 Olivier le Dain had come on to the terrace, and 
 with Olivier there came a lady. 
 
 " By heaven," Villon cried, " my eyes dazzle, for 
 I believe I see her! " 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 GARDEN LOVE 
 
 O N the terrace the fair girl leaned and looked over 
 at the garden and its golden occupant. To the eyes 
 of Villon her beauty had never seemed rarer, and the 
 wild passion which had prompted him to spin his 
 very soul into song burnt with a new, delicious 
 strength of hope. He stared at her as a worshipper 
 might stare at some sudden vision of a long dreamed 
 of goddess, and as he stared, Olivier descended the 
 steps, soft-footed, and came and stood before him. 
 
 "My lord, there is a lady there who desires to 
 speak with you." 
 
 Villon turned his gaze unwillingly from the gra- 
 cious apparition above him to the sombre servitor. 
 
 " I desire to speak with her," he said earnestly, 
 and again his eyes travelled in the direction of the 
 lady. 
 
 Olivier came close to him and touched him re- 
 spectfully on the wrist. 
 
 " Remember, my lord," he said, very softly, " that 
 you are Francois of Corbeuil, Lord of Montcorbier, 
 Grand Constable of France, newly come to Paris from 
 the Court of His Majesty of Provence. Remember 
 
 137 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 this as if it were written in letters of gold upon 
 tables of iron. Forget all else. The king com- 
 mands it." 
 
 The words sounded dully enough on Villon's 
 brain, absorbed as he was in the contemplation of 
 his queen, but at least they served to convince him 
 of what he had already begun to assure himself, that 
 for some purpose or other King Louis wished him 
 well and granted him golden chances. 
 
 Francois of Corbeuil, Count of Montcorbier, stood 
 in a very different relation to the Lady Katherine 
 from that of the lowly poet and gaolbird who had 
 rhymed and sighed and battled in the Fircone Tavern 
 last night. 
 
 " The king shall be obeyed," he said gravely, and 
 Olivier, turning, made a sign to Katherine, who de- 
 scended the steps slowly. As she reached the last 
 step, Olivier saluted Villon and the lady profoundly 
 and, mounting the steps, vanished within the palace. 
 
 The man and the woman were left alone in the 
 i-ose garden. Villon felt a sudden strange sensation 
 at his heart, exquisite pain and exquisite pleasure, 
 and he clasped his hands together. 
 
 " I am awake," he assured himself; " no dream 
 could be as fair as she." 
 
 Even at the thought, Katherine flung herself 
 
 138 
 
GARDEN LOVE 
 
 swiftly at his feet, divinely gracious in her surrender 
 of dignity as she kneeled to him with uplifted im- 
 ploring hands and eyes. 
 
 "My lord," she cried, "will you listen to a dis- 
 tressed lady? " 
 
 Villon stooped and caught her white fingers and 
 drew her to her feet. 
 
 " Not while the lady kneels," he said gently, and 
 he looked with a strange apprehension into the 
 frank, bright eyes of Katherine. Would she know 
 him for what he was, he wondered. He read no rec- 
 ognition in her sweet eyes. Katherine returned his 
 gaze, unflinchingly regarding him as a great lady 
 might regard some stranger her equal of whom she 
 could ask a favour. 
 
 " She does not know me," Villon's delight cried 
 in his heart, and at the thought his spirit fluttered 
 with fierce exaltation. The Lord of Moncorbier, who 
 was Grand Constable of France, might say many 
 things that were denied to the lips of Francois 
 Villon. 
 
 Katherine pleaded warmly: 
 
 " There is a man in prison at this hour for whom 
 I would implore your clemency. His name is Fran- 
 cois Villon. Last night he wounded Thibaut d'Aus- 
 signy " 
 
 139 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Villon smiled a contented smile. 
 
 " Thereby making room for me," he suggested. 
 
 Katherine went on unheeding: 
 
 " The penalty is death. But Thibaut was a traitor 
 sold to Burgundy." 
 
 " Did this Villon fight him for his treason? " 
 
 " No. He fought for the sake of a woman. He 
 risked his life with a light heart because a woman 
 asked him." 
 
 " How do you know all this? " 
 
 " Because I was the woman. This man had seen 
 me, thought he loved me, sent me verses '^ 
 
 " How insolent! " 
 
 " It was insolence and yet they were beautiful 
 verses. I was in mortal fear of Thibaut d'Aussigny. 
 I went to this Villon and begged him to kill my 
 enemy. He backed his love tale with his sword and 
 he lies in the shadow of death. It is not just that 
 he should suffer for my sin." 
 
 Villon turned suddenly upon the beautiful sup- 
 pliant. A thought had come into his brain so whim- 
 sical and so fantastic that it made him as dizzy for 
 an instant as if the smooth grass beneath him had 
 yawned into a sheer and evil precipice. 
 
 " Do you by any chance love this Villon? " 
 
 A little wave of disdain rippled over the girPs 
 calm face. 
 
 140 
 
GARDEN LOYE 
 
 " Great ladies do not love tavern braves. But I 
 pity him, and I do not want him to die, though, in- 
 deed, life cannot be very dear to him if he would 
 fling it away to please a woman." 
 
 She had held a rose in her hand, and as she spoke 
 she flung it from her in dainty symbolism of the life 
 which the poor tavern poet had risked so bravely 
 for her sake. A mad resolve came into Villon's mind. 
 If he was, indeed, all that this woman thought him 
 to be, all that those with whom he had spoken had 
 assured him he was, now was his chance to play the 
 lover to his heart's desire. If the Grand Constable 
 had the power to pardon, surely the Grand Constable 
 had also the right to woo. She had drawn a little 
 way from him and he followed her up, standing so 
 close to her that with a little movement he might 
 have kissed her on the cheek. 
 
 "Even when you are the woman? If I had stood 
 in this rascal's shoes, I would have done as he did for 
 your sake." 
 
 The girl gave a joyous cry. 
 
 " If you think this, you should grant the poor 
 knave his freedom." 
 
 Villon flung his hands apart with a magnificent 
 gesture of liberation. 
 
 "That broker of ballads shall go free. Your 
 
 141 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 prayer unshackles him and we will do no more than 
 banish him from Paris. Forget that such a slave 
 ever came near you." 
 
 The lady dropped him a magnificent curtsey, and 
 her cheeks glowed with gratitude. 
 
 " I shall remember your clemency." 
 
 She made as if she would leave his presence, but 
 his boldness waxed within him as a fire waxes with 
 new wood, and he caught her lightly by the wrist. 
 
 " By Saint Venus, I envy this fellow that he 
 should have won your thoughts. For I am in his 
 case and I, too, would die to serve you! " 
 
 Surprise flamed in the girPs eyes, surprise and 
 amusement mingled. 
 
 " My lord, you do not know me," she laughed, and 
 her laughter was as fresh and merry as a milkmaid's 
 in the meadows. 
 
 " Did he know you? Yet when he saw you he loved 
 you and made bold to tell you so." 
 
 Her forehead wrinkled prettily in a little protest- 
 ing frown. 
 
 " His words were of no more account than the 
 wind in the eaves. But you and I are peers and the 
 words we change have meanings." 
 
 Villon caught his breath. The Lord of Montcor- 
 bier was, indeed, wardered by very different stars 
 
 142 
 
GARDEN LOVE 
 
 from the fellow of the Fircone. He saluted her 
 banteringly. 
 
 " Though I be newly come to Paris I have heard 
 much of the beauty and more of the pride of the 
 Lady Katherine de Vaucelles/' 
 
 A little fire burned in the girPs pale cheeks, and 
 she flung her head back scornfully. 
 
 " I am humble enough as to my beauty, but I am 
 very proud of my pride." 
 
 Villon, leaning forward with entreating hands, 
 pleaded with beseeching lips. 
 
 " Would you pity me if I told you that I loved 
 you?" 
 
 Katherine laughed, and the music of her laughter 
 seemed to wake faint echoes among the roses as if 
 every blossom were a magic bell with a fairy hand 
 at the clapper. 
 
 " Heaven's mercy," she said. " How fast your 
 fancy gallops. I care little to be flattered and less to 
 be wooed, and I swear that I should be very hard to 
 win." 
 
 She turned to mount the steps as she spoke, as 
 if she had said all that she wanted to say, but Villon 
 delayed her with imploring protest. 
 
 " I have more right to try than your taproom 
 bandit. I see what he saw; I love what he loved.'' 
 
 143 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 Again the girPs laughter brightened the summer 
 air. 
 
 " You are very inflammable." 
 
 Villon caught at her words. 
 
 " My fire burns to the ashes. You can no more stay 
 me from loving you than you can stay the flowers 
 from loving the soft air, or true men from loving hon- 
 our, or heroes from loving glory. I would rake the 
 moon from heaven for you." 
 
 The girl swayed her head daintily, as a queen rose 
 might in a realm of roses. There was something like 
 pity in her eyes, but laughter lingered on her lips. 
 
 " That promise has grown rusty since Adam first 
 made it to Eve." She eyed him in silence for a second 
 time, deriding his sighs with a smile : then " There is 
 a rhyme in my mind," she cried, " about moons and 
 lovers," and she began to declaim, half muse, half 
 minx, some lines that had pleased her, to tease the 
 importunate stranger. 
 
 " Life is unstable. 
 
 Love may uphold; 
 Fear goes in sable, 
 
 Courage in gold. 
 Mystery covers 
 
 Midnight and noon, 
 Heroes and lovers 
 
 Cry for the moon.'^ 
 
 144 
 
'Mystery covers 
 
 Midnight and noon; 
 Heroes and lovers 
 
 Crv for the moon." 
 
GARDEN LOVE 
 
 As the first words of the verse fell from her lips, 
 Villon's heart leaped and his eyes brightened for he 
 knew the sound. They were part of the rhymes him- 
 self had sent her on that very parchment which had 
 cost him first a dinner and then a drubbing. He 
 had fancied the words and the rhymes when he wrote 
 them, but now they seemed to sound on his ears with 
 the married music of all the falling waters and all 
 the blowing winds of the world. It was a shining 
 face that he turned to the girl as he jeered, denying 
 the thought in his heart: 
 
 " What doggerel ! " 
 
 The girl flashed scorn at him. 
 
 " Doggerel ! It is divinity," she insisted, flinging 
 a kiss from her finger-tips in Godspeed, as it were, 
 to the banished ballad-maker, as she moved a little 
 further up the steps. Villon followed her. Let come 
 what might come, he was the maid's equal for the 
 moment and would press his suit if he died for it. 
 
 " Tell me what I may do," he said, " to win your 
 favour." 
 
 The girPs smiling face grew graver as she looked 
 down on the imploring poet. 
 
 " A trifle," she said lightly, as a child might bid for 
 a doll; and then, as Villon's eyes glowed questions, 
 her voice rang out like the call of a clarion. " Save 
 France! " she trumpeted. 
 
 145 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 Villon caught fire from both her moods. 
 
 " No more? " he said, and though the sound of his 
 voice jested, the look in his eyes was earnest. 
 
 The girl responded to jest and earnest royally. 
 
 " No less. Are you not Grand Constable, chief of 
 the king's army? There is an enemy at the gates of 
 Paris, and none of the king's men can frighten him 
 away." She pointed out where, in the distance, be- 
 yond the walls of Paris, the pitched tents of the 
 enemy fluttered their hostile flags. Her bosom 
 heaved with great desire. " Oh, that a man would 
 come to court! For the man who shall trail the ban- 
 ners of Burgundy in the dust for the king of France 
 to walk on, I. may perhaps have favours." 
 
 Villon looked at her as men must have looked at 
 Joan of Arc when she bade them rise up and strike 
 for France. 
 
 " You are hard to please," he said, but his heart 
 was full of joy at the thought of trying to please 
 her. If he could do this thing! 
 
 The girl answered his words and not his thoughts. 
 
 " My hero must have every virtue for his wreath, 
 every courage for his coronet. Farewell." 
 
 By this time she had reached the terrace and she 
 made to enter the palace. Villon called to her 
 longingly: 
 
 146 
 
GARDEN LOVE 
 
 " Stay! I have a thousand things to say to you." 
 
 The girl smiled denial. 
 
 " I have but one," she said, " and I have said it 
 long since. Farewell." 
 
 Villon made a dash for audacity. 
 
 " I will follow you," he said, and he moved to do 
 so, but the girPs lifted finger stayed him. 
 
 " You may not," she said peremptorily. " I go to 
 the queen." And so with a swift salutation, gracious 
 as the dip of a dancing wave, she entered the palace 
 and left him standing there, dazed and ardent, as 
 a man might be who had just been vouchsafed the 
 vision of an angel. He murmured to himself her 
 words as he slowly descended the steps to the 
 ground, 
 
 " Oh, that a man would come to court," and on 
 that text he wove the hopeful commentary of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 "Why should I not deserve her? Last night I 
 was only a poor devil with a rusty sword and a single 
 suit. To-day all's different. I am the king's friend, 
 it would seem, a court potentate, a man of mark. 
 What may I not accomplish? This finery smiles like 
 sunlight and the world will warm its hands at me." 
 
 He was exquisitely pleased with himself, ex- 
 quisitely pleased with the world that held him and 
 
 X47 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Katherine. He forgot, as lovers always will for- 
 get, that there was any one else in the world save 
 himself and his beloved, and he was so wrapped 
 in his sweet contemplations that he did not hear the 
 tower door gently open, did not hear the soft, creep- 
 ing footsteps of the king as he came out of his hiding 
 place and shuffled across the soft grass toward his 
 plaything. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE ANSWER TO BURGUNDY 
 
 A TOUCH on the shoulder roused Villon from his 
 honeyed meditations, and he turned with a start to 
 find the sable figure of the king at his side and the 
 sinister visage smiling upon him. 
 
 " Good afternoon, Lord Constable," Louis .said 
 amiably, and as Villon dropped respectfully on his 
 knee, he questioned: 
 
 " Does power taste well? " 
 
 "Nobly, sire. On my knees let me thank your 
 majesty." 
 
 " Nonsense, man; I'm pleasing myself. You sang 
 yourself into splendour. * If Frangois were the king 
 of France,' eh? " 
 
 Villon rose with voice and gesture of apologetic 
 entreaty. 
 
 " Your majesty will understand " 
 
 Louis brushed his apologies aside blandly. 
 
 " Perfectly. My good friend, you captivated me. 
 With what a flashing eye, with what a radiant fore- 
 head, with what a lofty carriage you thundered your 
 verses at me. * There,' I said to myself, Ms a real 
 
 149 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 man, a man with a mission, a man who may serve 
 France.' " 
 
 " Sire, that has been my hunger's dream of 
 plenty." ' 
 
 Louis clasped his thin arms across his chest and 
 hugged himself affectionately. 
 
 "Well, I couldn't very well make you king, you 
 know, and I wouldn't if I could, for I have a fancy 
 for the task myself. But I owed you a good turn and 
 your own words prompted the payment. ' This poor 
 devil shall taste power,' I said. * I will make him 
 my Grand Constable ' " 
 
 Villon's joy was so great that he was unable to 
 hear the king out, but interrupted him with enthus- 
 iastic promises. 
 
 " Sire, I will serve you as never king was served." 
 
 Louis went on unheeding, and his quiet, monot- 
 onous words fell on the hot brain of the poet and 
 chilled it. 
 
 "I will make him my Grand Constable for a 
 week." 
 
 If Louis had jerked a dagger into Villon's side, he 
 could not have more surely hurt his victim. 
 
 " A week, sire? " Villon gasped, almost unable to 
 realize the meaning of the king's words. 
 
 Louis turned upon him and snarled at him: 
 
 150 
 
"Did your vanity credit a permanent appointment?' 
 
THE ANSWER TO BURGUNDY 
 
 " Good Lord, did your vanity credit a permanent 
 appointment? Come, friend, come, that would be 
 pushing the joke too far! '' 
 
 All the sunlight seemed to have gone out of the 
 world, all the scent out of the roses. Villon could 
 only repeat to himself: " A week! " and stare vacant- 
 ly at the king. The king emphasized his offer, lin- 
 gering over it lovingly. 
 
 " Even so. One wonderful week, seven delirious 
 days." He paused for an instant as he counted. 
 " One hundred and sixty-eight heavenly hours. It's 
 the chance of a lifetime. The world was made in 
 seven days. Seven days of power, seven days of 
 splendour, seven days of love." 
 
 Villon gave a groan of despair for his golden 
 hopes. 
 
 " And then go back to the garret and the kennel, 
 the tavern and the brothel ! " 
 
 Louis' malign smile deepened. He came closer to 
 the poet and tapped him on the chest with his lean 
 forefinger. He was enjoying himself immensely. 
 
 " No, no, not exactly." he hummed. " You don't 
 taste the full force of the joke yet. In a week's time 
 you will build me a big gibbet in the Place de Gr^ve, 
 and there your last task as Grand Constable will 
 be to hang Master Francois Villon." 
 
 151 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 If the world had been colourless and scentless be- 
 fore, it was now no better than a hideous heap of 
 ashes. If Villon had run up a heavy reckoning with 
 the king at the Fircone Tavern, must he wipe out the 
 score with his life-blood? Villon fell at the king's 
 feet with extended hands and agonized, beseeching 
 eyes. 
 
 " Sire, sire, have pity! " 
 
 The king looked down on him in disdain. 
 
 " Are you so fond of life? Are you so poor a thing 
 that you prize your garret and your kennel, your 
 tavern and your brothel so highly? " 
 
 Villon bowed his head. 
 
 " I was content yesterday." 
 
 The king surveyed the cowering figure with grow- 
 ing contempt. 
 
 "Can you be content to-day? Please yourself. 
 There is still a door open to you. You can go back 
 to your garret this very moment if you choose. Say 
 the word and my servants shall strip you of your 
 smart feathers and drub you into the street." 
 
 Villon buried his face in his hands. " Your ma- 
 jesty, be merciful!" he implored. 
 
 The king's scorn blazed out: 
 
 " You read Louis of France a lesson, and Louis of 
 France returns the compliment. I took you for true 
 
 152 
 
THE ANSWER TO BURGUNDY 
 
 gold and I am afraid that you are only base metal. 
 You mouthed your longing for the chance to show 
 what you could do. Here is your chance! Take it 
 or leave it. But remember that I never change my 
 mind. You may have your week of wonder if ynu 
 wish, but if you do, by my word as a king, you shall 
 swing for it." 
 
 Villon rose to his feet and caught at his throat as 
 if the grip of the rope were at that very moment 
 closing about it. He choked as he spoke. 
 
 " In God^s name, sire, what have I done that you 
 should torture me thus? " 
 
 The king snapped his answer: 
 
 " You have mocked a king and maimed a minister. 
 You can't get off scot free." 
 
 Villon's bewildered thoughts forced themselves 
 into words. He spoke not so much to the king as 
 to himself, desperately trying to decide. 
 
 " Heaven help me! Life, squalid, sordid, but still 
 life, with its tavern corners and its brute pleasures 
 of food and drink and warm sleep, living hands to 
 hold and living laughter to gladden me or a week 
 of cloth of gold, of glory, of love and then a shame- 
 ful death!" 
 
 He flung himself on the marble seat and crouched 
 there, shuddering. 
 
 The king patted him on the back. 
 
 153 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 ** Pray, friend, pray, to help your judgment! " 
 
 He had taken off his black velvet cap and ran his 
 eye over the little row of metal saints which en- 
 circled it as if he were meditating to which particu- 
 lar patron he should recommend his Grand Con- 
 stable to address himself. As he did so, Olivier le 
 Dain came through the garden and moved swiftly to 
 the king's side. 
 
 " Sire," he said, " the Burgundian herald, Toison 
 d'Or, attends under a flag of truce with a message 
 for your majesty." 
 
 Louis turned to his barber. 
 
 " We will receive him here, Olivier, in this green 
 audience chamber. We need the free air when we 
 hold speech with Burgundy." 
 
 As Olivier left the royal presence a little thing 
 happened which meant much to four people. Kath- 
 erine came on to the terrace with Noel le Jolys. She 
 had a lute in her hand and she touched its chords 
 lightly, seeking to make an air for words as she 
 idled the time with her wooer. Louis saw her, 
 though Villon did not, for he was huddled in a heap 
 on the marble seat with his head in his hands trying 
 to control his whirling thoughts. A new demon of 
 mischief entered the king's heart. 
 
 "How," he thought, "if my lady Virtue, who 
 
 154 
 
THE ANSWER TO BURGUNDY 
 
 flouted me, could be lured to love this beggar-man? " 
 He ambled across to where Villon lay and tapped 
 him on the shoulder. Villon turned to him a face 
 drawn and white with agony. 
 
 " One further chance, fellow," said the king. " If 
 the Count of Montcorbier win the heart of Lady 
 Katherine de Vaucelles within the week, he shall 
 escape the gallows and carry his lady love where he 
 pleases." 
 
 " On your word of honour, sire? " 
 " My word is my honour. Master Francois. Well? " 
 At this very moment it pleased heaven that 
 Katherine, sitting on the terrace and smiling at the 
 adoration in Noel le Jolys' eyes, seemed to find the 
 air she sought and began to sing. The tune was 
 quaint and plaintive, tender as an ancient lullaby, 
 the words were the words of the tortured poet, and 
 as he heard them a new hope seemed to come into his 
 heart. 
 
 "Life is unstable. 
 Love may uphold; 
 Fear goes in sable, 
 Courage in gold. 
 Mystery covers 
 
 Midnight and noon, 
 Heroes and lovers 
 Cry for the moon.'' 
 
 155 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 "Well," said the king; "you cried for the moon; 
 I give it to you." 
 
 " And I take it at your hands! " Villon thundered. 
 " Give me my week of wonders though I die a dog's 
 death at the end of it. I will show France and her 
 what lay in the heart of the poor rhymester." 
 
 Louis applauded, clapping his thin hands together 
 gleefully. 
 
 " Spoken like a man! But remember, a bargain's 
 a bargain. If you fail to win the lady, you must, 
 with heaven's help, keep yourself for the gallows. 
 No self-slaughter, no flinging away your life on some 
 other fooPs sword. I give you the moon, but I want 
 my price for it." 
 
 Villon's blood now ran warm again in its chan- 
 nels, and he answered stoutly: 
 
 " Sire, I will keep my bargain. Give me my week 
 of opportunity, and if I do not make the most of it 
 I shall deserve the death to which you devote me." 
 
 Even as he spoke the air was stirred with a cheer- 
 ful flourish of trumpets and the quiet garden was in- 
 vaded by Tristan I'Hermite and a company of sol- 
 diers, escorting a tall and stately gentleman, whose 
 gorgeous tabard proclaimed him to be Toison d'Or, 
 the herald of the Duke of Burgundy. The news of 
 his coming had run through the palace, and the 
 
 156 
 
THE ANSWER TO BURGUNDY 
 
 terrace was suddenly flooded with courtiers and 
 ladies eager to hear what the enemy's envoy had to 
 say and what answer the king would send back to 
 him. Louis seated himself on the marble seat anigh 
 the image of Pan and drew Villon down beside him. 
 
 " Listen well to this man's words, my Lord Con- 
 stable," he whispered, and then turning to the 
 gleaming figure of the herald, he demanded: 
 
 " Your message, sir? " 
 
 Toison d'Or advanced a few feet nearer to the mon- 
 arch and spoke in a ringing voice. 
 
 " In the name of the Duke of Burgundy and of his 
 allies and brothers-in-arms assembled in solemn 
 leaguer outside the walls of Paris, I hereby summon 
 you, Louis of France, to surrender this city uncon- 
 ditionally and to yield yourself in confidence to my 
 master's mercy." 
 
 The king folded his hands over his knees and in- 
 clined his head a little, like an enquiring bird. 
 
 " And if we refuse. Sir Herald? " 
 
 The herald answered promptly: 
 
 " The worst disasters of war, fire and sword and 
 famine, much blood to shed and much gold to pay 
 and for yourself no hope of pardon." 
 
 ** Great words," the king sneered. 
 
 The herald replied proudly: 
 
 157 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " The angels of great deeds." 
 
 Villon had been sitting listening as a man listens 
 in a dream, almost unconscious of what was taking 
 place. Among the ladies on the terrace Katherine 
 stood conspicuous in her youth and beauty, and to 
 her his eyes were turned in worship. The quarrels 
 of great princes, the destinies of France were for the 
 moment indifferent to him. He forgot his high de- 
 sires of empire, his swelling belief in his real mission. 
 He was only conscious that a great prize lay tempt- 
 ingly within his grasp, that he might win his hearths 
 desire. Louis interrupted his reverie: 
 
 " The Count of Montcorbier, Constable of France, 
 is my counsellor. His voice delivers my mind. 
 Speak, friend, and give this messenger his answer." 
 
 He touched Villon on the arm and Villon turned 
 to him in astonishment. "As I will, sire? " 
 
 The king caught him up impatiently. 
 
 " Yes, go on, go on. ' If Villon were the king of 
 France.' " 
 
 Villon leaped to his feet and advanced toward the 
 herald. A wild exultation filled his veins with fire. 
 He felt as if he were the lord of the world, as if his 
 hands held the scales that decided the destinies of 
 nations. He had always dreamed of the great deeds 
 he would do, and now great deeds were possible to 
 
 158 
 
THE ANSWER TO BURGUNDY 
 
 him, and at least he would try to do them. He looked 
 straight into the herald^s changeless face, but his 
 heart shrined Katherine as he spoke. 
 
 " Herald of Burgundy, in God^s name and the 
 king's, I bid you go back to your master and say 
 this : Kings are great in the eyes of their people, but 
 the people are great in the eyes of God, and it is the 
 people of France who answer you in the name of this 
 epitome. The people of Paris are not so poor of 
 spirit that they fear the crojik of the Burgundian 
 ravens. We are well victualled, we are well armed; 
 we lie snug and warm behind our stout walls; we 
 laugh at your leaguer. But when we who eat are 
 hungry, when we who drink are dry, when we who 
 glow are frozen, when there is neither bite on the 
 board nor sup in the pitcher nor spark upon the 
 hearth, our answer to rebellious Burgundy will be 
 the same. You are knocking at our doors, beware 
 lest we open them and come forth to speak with our 
 enemy at the gate. We give you back defiance for 
 defiance, menace for menace, blow for blow. This is 
 our answer ^this and the drawn sword. God and 
 St. Denis for the King of France! " 
 
 As he spoke, he drew his sword and flashed it aloft 
 in the sunlight. There was contagion in his burning 
 words, and every soldier present bared his blade and 
 
 159 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 pointed it to heaven while Villon's cry was repeated 
 upon a hundred lips. As Toison d'Or turned and left 
 the presence, Katherine came swiftly down the steps 
 and flung herself at Villon's feet. 
 
 " My Lord," she said. " With my lips the women 
 of France thank you for your words of flame." 
 
 Louis leaned forward, smiling sardonically. 
 
 " Mistress, what does this mean? " he questioned. 
 
 The girl rose to her feet, looking into Villon's face 
 with eyes that mirrored the admiration shining in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " It means, sire, that a man has come to court! " 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 A WORD WITH DOM GREGORY 
 
 IT is a thousand pities that the materials for build- 
 ing up a practical presentment of the real life-story 
 of Master Francois Villon are so slight, that in the 
 historical sense they might almost be said to be non- 
 existent. We know, indeed, a little of Master Fran- 
 cois' early days, partly from some confessions which 
 must at all times be interpreted with a liberal sense 
 of humour and glossed with an infinite deal of good 
 nature, and partly from stray records made by those 
 who do not seem to have held the vagrant poet very 
 warm in their hearts. But of his life in those days 
 of which this chronicle deals, there is little to find 
 where there is much to seek. 
 
 The silence of Commines may be explained in a 
 thousand ways, possibly professional jealousy of one 
 minister for another, who in so short a space of time 
 did so much and so well, possibly ignorance of the 
 real facts of the case, for it is fairly certain that 
 King Louis kept his jape and its sequel very much 
 to himself, possibly because Commines felt that his 
 cold spirit was scarcely equal to the proper record- 
 ing of so whimsical and oriental an adventure. 
 
 161 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 Good Master Clement Marot, when he took it upon 
 himself, generations after our poet was dust and 
 ashes, to edit our poet's writings, said much in praise 
 of the singer but said little, no doubt because he 
 knew little, of the poet's life. 
 
 And the great creator of Pantagruel and Gar- 
 gantua, the immeasurable Alcofribias Nasier, whom 
 the world loves or hates as Rabelais, in what he 
 contributed to our knowledge of Frangois Villon 
 has only to use a weather-worn and moss-grown 
 phrase made confusion jet worse confounded. 
 
 We should be at a deadlock, indeed, if it were not 
 for Poitou and its Abbey of Bonne Aventure, whose 
 library is luckily rich in historical manuscripts of 
 the period, and richest of all in that priceless manu- 
 script of Dom Gregory, which, treating in general 
 of the ecclesiastical history of Poitou in the fifteenth 
 century, dealt so particularly and so liberally 
 with the life of Master Francois Villon, because Mas- 
 ter Frangois Villon in his old age was so excellent 
 a patron of the church. , We say dealt advisedly, 
 for time has treated somewhat scurvily the fair skins 
 of parchment upon which the good Dom Gregory 
 recorded his thoughts and his opinions at consider- 
 able length as the rich setting of the facts, too few 
 in number, with which he condescended to enlighten 
 
 162 
 
A WORD WITH DOM GREGORY 
 
 posterity. Many pieces of parchment are missing 
 from the roll of his record, and, unhappily, the great- 
 est gap in the story is precisely at that point where 
 our hero found himself so suddenly and so strangely 
 taken into favour by his king, and so suddenly and 
 so strangely smiled upon by his mistress. We have 
 indeed some admirable homiletics of the worthy 
 friar's in praise of the conduct and carriage of Mas- 
 ter Francois Villon at the time of his unexpected 
 exaltation. After a gracious invocation of man^ 
 saints and angels, the very elect of the company of 
 heaven, Dom Gregory, in a fine spirit of rectitude, 
 proceeds to applaud the Count of Montcorbier for the 
 high example he set to his fellow-men. Here, in 
 effect says the worthy churchman, was a man who, 
 having passed the flower of his life in squalor and all 
 manner of ignobilities, still kept in a sense the white- 
 ness of his soul and allowed the brightness of the 
 celestial flame to burn, faintly indeed but unextin- 
 guished, on the altar of his heart. How many men, 
 asks Dom Gregory, glowing with a pious gratifica- 
 tion, how many men who in humility have dreamed 
 that they might under serener stars and happier 
 auspices do great deeds and win honourable 
 honours, would, if put to the proof, show them- 
 selves as splendid in prosperity as they dreamed 
 
 163 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 themselves in adversity? Master Frangois Villon, 
 he goes on to say, is the loveliest example known to 
 him of a man, who, having always believed in him- 
 self with a great belief, did, on being put to the 
 test, prove that his belief was founded, not on the 
 shifting sands of vanity and vain glory, but on the 
 solid granite of good faith and the inestimable 
 doctrines of the church. 
 
 From all this we gather dimly, as one discerns 
 objects in a mist, that Master Frangois Villon, as 
 Count of Montcorbier, proved himself to be little 
 less than equal to the high opinion of himself which 
 he had confided all unwittingly into the ear of his 
 masquerading sovereign. But the pages in which 
 Dom Gregory sets forth at length exactly all that 
 Master Frangois Villon did and said and thought 
 during the period of his astonishing probation, are 
 unfortunately lost to the Abbey of Bonne Aventure, 
 and, in consequence, to the world. No less than six 
 folios consecrated by the careful pen of Dom Gre- 
 gory to this memorable epoch have vanished from 
 the priceless manuscript. The custodian of the Ab- 
 bey library will tell you with tears in his eyes that 
 these pages disappeared during the storm and stress 
 of the French Kevolution, but travellers in France 
 are too well aware of the readiness of ecclesiastical 
 
 164 
 
A WORD WITH DOM GREGORY 
 
 custodians to attribute all things evil to the time of 
 the great upheaval, to pay any serious attention to 
 this particular allegation. However it happened, 
 the pages are lost, and there, as far as we are con- 
 cerned, is an end of them. 
 
 But in a way we are able to piece together fromi 
 Dom Gregory's later statements, and from certain 
 traditions which still linger here and there in the 
 highways and byways of Poitou, enough material 
 to enable us to ascertain with something like suffi- 
 cient accuracy, what it was that Master Frangois 
 Villon did accomplish as Count of Montcorbier in 
 those seven days of splendour which his mocking 
 king accorded to him. We know for certain that the 
 king found him an admirable counsellor, cool, wary 
 and judicious, and that during the period of his min- 
 istry, Louis followed his advice with a faith which, 
 if it were founded indeed upon a superstitious ad- 
 herence to the edicts of the stars, proved itself to 
 be thoroughly justified by his Lord Constable's com- 
 mon sense, foresight and astonishing knowledge of 
 human nature. We know, too, that he proved him- 
 self no less skilled as a soldier than as a statesman, 
 as capable of pre-eminence in the arts of war as in 
 the arts of peace. His knowledge of Caesar's Com- 
 mentaries and his natural inclination to strategy, 
 
 165 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 interpreted by an eloquent tongue fired by a ready 
 mother wit, earned liim tlie ear and won iiim tlie 
 heart of the king's great captains and wrung from 
 ! them at first a reluctant but finally such a delighted 
 adherence as their sires had been compelled to sur- 
 render to the Maid of Orleans. 
 
 Yet while our poet was playing these two parts, 
 he managed his affairs so dexterously that he seemed 
 to the general eye to be playing but one part, and 
 that the part of the dazzlingly magnificent courtier. 
 If his mornings were given to consultation with the 
 king and the king's chief soldiers, if his forenoons 
 were devoted to the confirming of edicts and the 
 promulgations of laws all tending to alleviate the 
 condition and lighten the load of the people of Paris, 
 his afternoons and evenings and shining summer 
 nights were entirely surrendered to the glittering 
 pleasures and pastimes of a man of ease. We hear 
 of entertainment after entertainment, banquet and 
 ball and masquerade, pageant and play and pastime, 
 each one of which seemed to be the last word of 
 wealthy ingenuity until it was eclipsed by its still 
 more splendid successor. And it was this part of 
 which the Count of Montcorbier chose to make the 
 most with a very special purpose. He caused, it 
 seems, many emissaries of his to quit Paris and find 
 
 166 
 
A WORD WITH DOM GREGORY 
 
 shelter within the Duke of Burgundy's lines, pre- 
 tending to be deserters from the waning cause of the 
 king, each of whom had the same tale to tell to the 
 credulous ears of the enemy; namely, that the king's 
 new favourite was a wastrel and a fool, who had no 
 better purpose in life than the rhyming of madrigals, 
 the tuning of lutes, the draining of flagons, and the 
 pressing of ladies' fingers in the dance. All of which 
 produced, we are assured, upon the mind of the Duke 
 of Burgundy the very effect desired by Villon and led 
 to results which luckily we are enabled to know 
 more of, as Dom Gregory's manuscript happily re- 
 sumes continuity on the seventh day of Master Fran- 
 cois' week of wonder. 
 
 We further learn for Dom Gregory, though a 
 churchman, seems to have a kindly spot in his heart 
 for the ways of lovers that during those seven days, 
 the friendship of Villon and Katherine grew apace 
 and that the whole court watched with interest, and 
 Monsieur Noel le Jolys with an ever-increasing fury, 
 the growth of a great and beautiful passion. But 
 it seems that Master Villon, whether from fear to 
 risk too soon or from a desire to leave the loveliest 
 moment of his reign to the last, made no attempt 
 directly to declare himself or directly to learn how 
 
 167 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 high he stood in the Lady Katherine's heart until 
 the very day which was the last day upon which it 
 was possible for him to assure his own salvation. 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 On the seventh day of Villon's week of wonder, 
 his glory was at its greatest. No fairer day had 
 graced that radiant month of June and no more 
 splendid pageantry had adorned the illustrious reign 
 of the new Grand Constable. Mimic battles, foun- 
 tains running wine, free doles of food, fantastic 
 pageants, grotesque dances, all the gorgeous mum- 
 mery that the fifteenth century delighted in was 
 offered in profusion to please the fancy and win the 
 hearts of the people of Paris. But the crowning 
 triumph was the great festival which the Grand 
 Constable gave with the king's permission in the 
 king's own rose garden, the magnificent mascarado 
 in the Italian manner, to which all who were asso- 
 ciated with the court were summoned. This revelry 
 which began at sunset was intended to overtop all 
 possible courtly ceremonials in the splendour of its 
 equipment, the lavishness of its display, the richness 
 and profusion of its hospitality. 
 
 It was near to the hour of sunset when Villon sat 
 with the king in the little room in the grey tower 
 from which the king loved to follow the movements 
 
 169 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 of the heavenly bodies. On the table by which thv^ 
 king and Villon were seated lay a large chart of the 
 country in the immediate neighbourhood of Paris, 
 and in front of the table stood three of the king's 
 most trusty commanders, the Lord du Lau, the Lord 
 Poncet de Kivi^re and the Lord of Nantoillet. 
 
 Villon had been explaining to the king and to his 
 military advisers a scheme which had been grow- 
 ing in his mind throughout the week for the con- 
 fusion of the enemy, a scheme for which the gorgeous 
 entertainment to be given that evening was to serve 
 as a golden mask. Villon touched a point on the 
 map which represented a spot very familiar to him, 
 a little dip in the swelling land, where he used to 
 play as a child and gather wildflowers and hide him- 
 self, and imagine that he was a bandit or a great 
 captain or a fairy prince any one of the thousand 
 illusions of childhood at its play. 
 
 " There, sire," he said. " If we can lure the Bur- 
 gundians to that hollow, the day is ours. The slop- 
 ing ground above it will mask a thousand men." 
 
 Poncet de Riviere leaned forward questioningly. 
 
 " Are you sure of the lay of the land? " 
 
 Villon answered positively: 
 
 " Sure. I played truant there when I was no high- 
 er than your sword belt." 
 
 170 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 Nantoillet spoke as a man who weighs his words: 
 
 " The scheme seems feasible, sire.'' 
 
 Villon glanced up from the table in humourous 
 apology. 
 
 " You may think me a raw soldier," he said; " yet I 
 have practised strategy all my days." 
 
 Du Lau answered him approvingly: 
 
 " My lord, you reason like a seasoned veteran." 
 
 Pleased with the praise Villon turned to the king. 
 
 " Sire, I have blown it abroad that your majesty 
 feasts to-night. While the Duke of Burgundy be- 
 lieves us to be carousing, we shall make a sortie from 
 St. Anthony's gate. Our horses' hooves will be muf- 
 fled, no spur shall jingle, and no bridle clink. We 
 will steal through the night like shadows. At the 
 cross road some few of us will make an attack upon 
 the enemy's left and beat a retreat. This will tempt 
 him into our ambuscade and as I believe end in his 
 rout. At nine, my lords. Farewell." 
 
 He raised his hand in dismissal; the three cap- 
 tains saluted the king and his minister and passed 
 out of the presence. As they descended the winding 
 stairs, du Lau said to his companions : 
 
 " I do not know your hearts, my lords, but I love 
 this soldier of fortune." 
 
 Nantoillet answered cordially: 
 
 171 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " God knows where he came from and God knows 
 where he will go to, but I would ride with him to 
 the world's end." 
 
 "My father," said Poncet de Riviere, "told me 
 often of the Maid of Orleans and her power with 
 bearded men. He must be of her kindred, for he wins 
 me against my will." 
 
 As the sound of their feet died away in the depths 
 of the tower, Villon turned to the king. 
 
 " If the Duke of Burgundy falls into my trap," he 
 said; " men will call me a great captain. Yet it is no 
 more than remembering the shape of a meadow 
 where I played in childhood. Strange that an 
 urchin's playground should become a Golgotha of 
 graves and glories." 
 
 The king clapped him playfully on the shoulder. 
 
 " Where did you learn wisdom? " 
 
 " In the school of hope deferred. When I was 
 what I was, I still believed that this dingy carcass 
 swaddled a Roman spirit. In the pomp of my pallet 
 I dreamed Olympian dreams. And the dreams have 
 come true." 
 
 " You are an amazing fellow. Here in a week, you 
 have made me more popular than I made myself 
 since my accession. In court, in camp, in council, 
 men are pleased to call you paragon." 
 
 172 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 " I am a man of the people and I know what the 
 people need. A week ago the good people of Paris 
 were disloyal enough. I repeal the tax on wine and 
 to-day they clap their hands and cry 'God save 
 King Louis ' lustily. A week ago your soldiers were 
 mutinous because they were ill fed, worse clothed, 
 and never paid at all. I feed them full, clothe them 
 warm, pay them well, and to-day your majesty has 
 an army that would follow me to the devil if I whis- 
 tled a marching tune." 
 
 " But in the meantime, your sands are running 
 out. Is your heart failing? Is your pulse flagging? " 
 
 " Not a whit. I have been translated without 
 discredit from the tavern to the palace, and if the 
 worse comes to the worst, I may say with the dying 
 Caesar, ' Applaud me.' " 
 
 The king grinned sardonically. 
 
 "Will the worse come to the worst?" he piped, 
 "How is your suit with the Lady Katherine? " 
 
 Villon's smile lingered still on his lips as he an- 
 swered: 
 
 " Sire, no wise man boasts that he knows the heart 
 of a woman, and yet, I hope for the best." 
 
 " But if you fail," the king persisted. 
 
 Villon's smile grew more philosophical. In his 
 heart he felt fairly confident, but spoke cautiously. 
 
 173 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " Why, then, when the housewife moon kindles her 
 pale fire on the hearth of heaven to-morrow, I shall 
 be quiet enough. But either way you have given 
 me a royal week, and I have made the most of it, 
 lived a thousand lives, eaten my cake to the last 
 sweet crumb and have known the meaning of king- 
 ship.'' 
 
 Louis laughed. 
 
 " You speak as if you had reigned for a century." 
 
 Villon's sententious mood deepened. 
 
 " A man might live a thousand years and yet be no 
 more account at the last than as a great eater of 
 dinners. Whereas to suck all the sweet and snuff 
 all the perfume but of a single hour, to push all 
 its possibilities to the edge of the chessboard, is to 
 live greatly though it be not to live long, and an end 
 is an end if it come on the winged heels of a week 
 or the dull crutch of a century." 
 
 Louis leaned back and looked at his companion in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Pray heaven this philosophy may sound as fine 
 when your neck is in the halter." 
 
 "Your majesty's wit and my wish run nose and 
 nose in a leash." 
 
 Louis changed the subject as if there were more 
 important matters in the world than the life, loves 
 and death even of a Grand Constable. 
 
 174 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 " Messire Noel brings me a new astrologer to-night. 
 The heavens seem in a conspiracy of confusion, the 
 stars are all a tangle! My dream of a star falling 
 from heaven defies divination." 
 
 Villon looked at him pityingly. 
 
 " Do you never tire of these sky doctors? " he 
 questioned. 
 
 Louis frowned, as he always frowned at any hint 
 of disbelief in the science of the stars. 
 
 " Don't jest, master poet," he said, " but ply your 
 suit with proud Kate, for I swear if you fail, you 
 shall hang to-morrow. Now leave me, for I must 
 work while you play," and he bent over a chart 
 and seemed to forget all else in his profound con- 
 templation. 
 
 Villon looked at him for a moment in silence and 
 then went out of the room and descended the steps, 
 opened the little door, and passed into the garden. 
 The summer sun was dying in a splendid riot of 
 colour among the rose trees. Its last rays, falling on 
 the face of the god Pan, illuminated his fantastic fea- 
 tures and seemed to lend them the life of an ironic 
 leer. The warm air was rich with the blended odours 
 of a thousand blossoms, and from the palace, faint 
 and far off, came the sound of joyous voices. It was 
 almost the moment when the rose garden was to be 
 thrown open to the royal guests. 
 
 175 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Villon pulled a rose fro9i a bush by his hand and 
 gazed into its crimson heart as if he sought to read 
 there the secret which all flowers hold but which no 
 flower has ever yet betrayed to the longing eyes of a 
 poet. He leaned against the statue of Pan and 
 mused pensively. 
 
 " The petals of my reign are falling from me full 
 of life, full of colour to the end. Shall I win this 
 wonderful woman? Am I mad to hope it? If I lose, 
 it is a short shrift and a long rope at the end of a 
 dazzling dream." 
 
 He shivered as he thought and cast the rose he 
 held away from him. 
 
 " How cold the June air seems, and these roses 
 smell of graves." He paused a little till his hopes 
 took heart again. " But if I win, how will it be, I 
 wonder, to marry my heart's desire, to grow old 
 sedately, to live again with the children on my knee, 
 a little Francois here more honest than his father, a 
 little Katherine there less comely than her mother! " 
 
 He flung out his hands as if he were dismissing the 
 phantoms of his fancy. 
 
 " Run away, my dear dream children to your play- 
 ground of shadows where you belong, for your father 
 may be hanged to-morrow, and he fights for love and 
 life to-night." 
 
 176 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 Villon's reflections were fluttered by a sudden 
 blare of music, and a gaudy fellow in a pursuivant's 
 coat made his appearance on the top of the terrace 
 and rattled blast after blast from his brazen trum- 
 pet. In obedience to the long-looked-for signal, a 
 many-coloured crowd of revellers gushed from the 
 palace and flowed like a glowing wave of merry- 
 making down the steps and into the walks and alleys 
 of the rose garden. All the strange figures that 
 a freakish fancy could suggest leaped and danced 
 and shouted in a rapture of mirth satyrs and follies, 
 clowns and devils wheeled wildly by, waving 
 torches, clashing cymbals, or screaming at the top 
 of their voices, while sedater spirits, masked and 
 muffled in mantles of sombre hue, moved through 
 the tumultuous throng and found their abated pleas- 
 ure in mystification and intrigues. 
 
 Villon had a mask in his girdle. He put it on and 
 pushing into the press allowed himself to drift hither 
 and thither with the eddying currents of pleasure. 
 His fantastic imagination took fire from the strange 
 shapes and sounds about him. The sense of being 
 in a dream, which had never deserted him from the 
 first moment of his awakened consciousness in the 
 rose garden, clung closely about him on this night, 
 and the jocund figures around him fiitted by as 
 unreal as the phantoms of a noon-tide sleep. 
 
 177 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Suddenly his attention was arrested by the sound 
 of a voice that seemed familiar to him. A man 
 habited like a pilgrim from the Holy Land, in long 
 hood and gabardine of grey, and with the pilgrim's 
 cockleshell on his shoulder, had met another masker, 
 habited like himself. The pair were exchanging 
 salutations, in a speech that the speakers might well 
 assume to be unknown to any person in the royal 
 garden. The speech, however, jingled very famil- 
 iarly on Villon's ear, for the man was talking in the 
 amazing jargon which the worshipful company of 
 cockleshells had devised for the better furtherance of 
 their thievish purposes, and it appealed to Villon as 
 intimately as a song that is learned in childhood. 
 
 The first pilgrim questioned the other. 
 
 " What do you carry in your scrip? '* 
 
 And the second answered: 
 
 '' I carry a cockleshell." 
 
 The first pilgrim questioned again: 
 
 *' What do you carry in your hand? ^ 
 
 And the second responded: 
 
 '' A foot of steel." 
 
 Yet again the first speaker queried: 
 
 " Will you drink the king's health?*^ 
 
 And the answer came decisively: 
 
 ^ In a flagon of Burgundy." 
 
 178 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 Whereat the two pilgrims saluted and parted and 
 went their several ways and were swallowed up in 
 the motley masquerade. 
 
 Villon's curiosity was piqued to the quick. 
 
 " How in heaven's name," he asked himself, " does 
 it come to pass that people speaking the thieves' 
 lingo of the Court of Miracles find themselves at a 
 feast in the rose garden of King Louis? " 
 
 He set himself to try and track down one or the 
 other of the mysterious pilgrims, but neither of them 
 was to be found. His wanderings brought him back 
 to the fair space at the foot of the terrace protected 
 by the image of the god Pan. The place was desert- 
 ed; the revellers had drifted elsewhere. A lute lay 
 on the marble seat. Villon seated himself and tak^ 
 ing up the instrument was touching it carelessly, 
 when a light step on the grass arrested him, the 
 sweetest voice in the world sounded in his ears, and 
 he found himself addressed by the Lady Katherine 
 de Vaucelles, who was attended by a number of fair 
 court ladies. 
 
 "I am the voice of these ladies to pray for a 
 favour." 
 
 Villon bowed low. 
 
 " My ear is all obedience,^' he said, ** and my heart 
 all homage." 
 
 179 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 ** You are a poet, my lord," said Katherine, " and 
 this is an eve which should please a poet. Rhyme 
 us a rhyme which shall match this night of summer.'* 
 
 Villon sighed a little. 
 
 "No rhyme ever rhymed was worth a beam of 
 summer sun or summer moon; but I have lingered 
 in Provence where every man is a nightingale, and I 
 caught there the fever of improvisation. What shall 
 I rhyme about? " 
 
 Katherine laughed as she pointed to her attendant 
 ladies. 
 
 "Your suitors are women; therefore, nothing bet- 
 ter nor worse than love." 
 
 " The burden of the world," Villon said. " Sigh, 
 my lute, sigh." 
 
 He let his fingers ripple over the strings, waking 
 the faint wail of a plaintive minor. In a moment or 
 two he began to recite, touching every now and then 
 a chord on his lute to emphasize the words he spoke 
 
 "I wonder in what Isle of Bliss 
 
 Apollo's music fills the air; 
 In what green valley Artemis 
 
 For young Endymion spreads the snare? 
 Where Venus lingers debonair: 
 
 The Wind has blown them all away 
 And Pan lies piping in his lair 
 
 Where are the Gods of Yesterday? 
 
 180 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 ** Say where the great Semiramis 
 
 Sleeps in a rose-red tomb; and where 
 The precious dust of Caesar is, 
 
 Or Cleopatra's yellow hair: 
 Where Alexander Do-and-Dare; 
 
 The Wind has blown them all away 
 And Kedbeard of the Iron Chair; 
 
 Where are the Dreams of Yesterday? 
 
 ** Where is the Queen of Herod's kiss, 
 
 And Phryne in her beauty bare; 
 By what strange sea does Tomyris 
 
 With Dido and Cassandra share 
 Divine Proserpina's despair; 
 
 The Wind has blown them all away 
 For what poor ghost does Helen care? 
 
 Where are the Girls of Yesterday? 
 
 ^' Alas for lovers! Pair by pair 
 
 The Wind has blown them all away: 
 
 The young and yare, the fond and fair: 
 
 Where are the Snows of Yesterday? " 
 
 The little group whom he addressed lingered in a 
 gracious silence for a short space. Singer and lis- 
 teners seemed to be in an exquisite isolation of 
 moonlight and soft odours. Katherine murmured 
 pensively to herself: 
 
 " Where are the snows of yesterday? " 
 
 Her eyes were shining like summer stars, her 
 
 181 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 parted lips made Villon think of ripe pomegranates, 
 her mind was wandering in the Islands of the Blest 
 with the lovers and ladies whom Villon had praised. 
 Villon dismissed melancholy with a jest: 
 
 "Sweet ladies," he said; "my song is sung. Do 
 not let it dishearten you, for, believe me, it will snow 
 again next year and lie white and light on the graves 
 of dead lovers. Yesterday is dead, and to-morrow 
 comes never." 
 
 He drew very close to Katherine and whispered 
 the end of his sentence in her ear: 
 
 " Let us live and love to-day." 
 
 Katherine gave a little start as she dropped from 
 cloudland and looked at him. He drew back and 
 turned to the others. 
 
 " Fair ladies," he said; " shall we go to the great 
 hall where the Italian players gambol?" 
 
 The women gathered about him, thanking him for 
 his song, and then fluttered away like brilliant birds, 
 up the steps to the terrace. As they did so a figure 
 in a pilgrim's gown came from the scented gloom of 
 one of the rose alleys, paused for a moment as if un- 
 decided as to his course, and then proceeded to cross 
 the space of moonlit grass. He did not heed Kath- 
 erine, standing in the shadow, till he almost touched 
 her. Then he glanced at her, and with a stifled 
 
 182 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 exclamation hurried past, plunged into the darkness 
 of an opposite alley, and disappeared. Katherine 
 gave a little cry that was almost a cry of fear, and 
 ran swiftly to where Villon stood apart at the foot of 
 the steps awaiting her pleasure. 
 
 "My lord!" she cried, and he, turning, swiftly 
 responded : 
 
 "My lady!" 
 
 " This masking kindles fancies. I thought but 
 now that the eyes of Thibaut d'Aussigny glared on 
 me from under a pilgrim's hood." 
 
 Villon frowned. 
 
 "A villainous apparition. For the news is that 
 he lies dead in the camp of Burgundy." 
 
 Katherine gave a little shudder. 
 
 " I always hated him ; almost feared him. If he be 
 dead, I hope he will not haunt me. Ah! I tingle 
 to-night like a lute that is tuned too high." 
 
 " Let us think of no evil things to-night," Villon 
 responded. " Will you watch the players? " 
 
 Katherine shook her head. 
 
 " Nay, I am more in a mood for moonlight than 
 candlelight." 
 
 Villon looked at her in silence, a silence of sec- 
 onds that seemed to both of them like the silence of 
 hours. The hearts of both were houses of sweet 
 
 183 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 hopes, and the brains of both were hives of happy 
 thoughts. 
 
 " May I ask you a question? " Villon said, and the 
 girl answered: 
 
 " Surely." 
 
 " Are you content with me? " 
 
 " You have done much." 
 
 " I have more to do. For seven days I have wres- 
 tled with greatness as Jacob wrestled with the 
 angels; I have made the king popular, the Parisians 
 loyal, the army faithful " 
 
 " Then why do you linger here where courtiers 
 feast and ladies dance? " 
 
 Villon's voice swelled proudly as he answered: 
 
 " I want the Duke of Burgundy to believe that the 
 king's favourite is a zany, and the king's court an 
 orgy, where the king's honour melts like a pearl in 
 a pot of vinegar. But our swords are tempered in 
 wine and sharpened to dance music, and to-night we 
 ride." 
 
 The girl sighed. " I would that I were a man that 
 I might ride with you." 
 
 Villon came close to her and peered into her eyes. 
 
 " I ride in your honour. Heaven has been very 
 good to me, and I serve France serving you. Per- 
 haps I serve both for the last time." 
 
 " For the last time? " she repeated. 
 
 184 
 
IF 1 WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 " Even so, my sweet Lady Echo. Those far away 
 lanterns warn me that I may die to-morrow. Some 
 of us will be dreaming our last dreams by sunrise. 
 I may be one of those heavy sleepers." 
 
 " Why, you may die if you ride on the king's busi- 
 ness, but so may I who sit at home and eat my 
 heart." 
 
 " For whom? " 
 
 " I will tell you that to-morrow." 
 
 Villon touched her lightly on the wrist and point- 
 ed to the grey tower on whose weather-beaten wall 
 the quaint old dial showed plainly in the bright 
 moonlight, with its wise Latin inscription: "Dum 
 Spectas, Fugit Hora, Carpe Diem." 
 
 " There is no time like now time. That dial there 
 is as wise as the wisest." And he rapidly rendered 
 the antique maxim into a running rhyme: 
 
 " Observe how fast time hurries past, 
 
 Then use each hour while in your power; 
 For comes the sun but time flies on. 
 Proceeding ever, returning never." 
 
 Katherine tried to laugh. 
 
 " This was old wisdom when Noah sailed the seas," 
 she said, and drew a little apart from him. Villon 
 followed her. 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " Well, let to-morrow tell to-morrow's story. To- 
 night I feel like a happy child in a world of make- 
 believe. To-night we are immortal, you and I, wan- 
 dering forever in this green garden under those in- 
 different stars, breathing this rose-scented air, spell- 
 ing the secret of the world." 
 
 " You may say what you please to-morrow," she 
 whispered, but Villon would not have it so. 
 
 " Alas, no! To-morrow I shall be mortally sober; 
 to-night I am divinely drunk drunk with star wine, 
 flower wine, song wine. The stars burn my brain; 
 the roses pierce my flesh; the songs trouble my soul. 
 To-night, if I dared, I would ease my heart." 
 
 The girl spoke so faintly that only a lover's ears 
 could hear the words: 
 
 " You may say what you please to-night." 
 
 Villon caught at his heart as if to keep it in the 
 compass of his breast. 
 
 " If I were to die to-morrow, I would tell you this 
 to-night: I love you. These are easy words to say, 
 yet my heart fails as I say them, for their meaning 
 is as full and musical as the Bell of Doom. Men 
 are such fools that they have but one name for a 
 thousand meanings, and beggar the poor love-word 
 to base kitchen usages and work-a-day desires. But 
 I would keep it holy for the flame which it some- 
 
 186 
 
*'If I were to die to-morrow, I should tell you this to-night. I love 
 you." 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 times pleases heaven to light in one heart for the 
 worship of another. I never knew what love was 
 till I saw a girPs face on a May morning and wisdom 
 stripped the rind from my naked heart. The God in 
 me leaped into being to greet the God in your eyes. 
 I love you. This is what I would say if I were to die 
 to-morrow." 
 
 He was very close to her now, and his eyes were 
 looking into her eyes. She answered him frankly: 
 
 " If you were to die to-morrow, I might tell you 
 this much to-night. A woman may love a man be- 
 cause he is brave, or because he is comely, or because 
 he is wise, or gentle for a thousand thousand rea- 
 sons. But the best of all reasons for a woman loving 
 a man is just because she loves him, without rhyme 
 and without reason, because heaven wills it, because 
 earth fulfils it, because his hand is of the right size 
 to hold her heart in its hollow." 
 
 The lovers' hands were closely clasped, the lovers' 
 lips were very near to meeting. Only the god Pan 
 smiled and sneered as if he knew that sometimes 
 lovers' lips fail to meet even when the space between 
 fervent mouth and mouth is no bigger than a rose- 
 leaf. 
 
 " Katherine," Villon whispered, and drt*w her 
 closer to him. Love, happiness, life were coming to 
 his arms as to a shrine. 
 
 187 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 In the sudden bliss that had come upon both the 
 lovers they paid no heed to a footstep upon the ter- 
 race, till a voice struck like a sword-stroke across 
 their ecstasy, the voice of Noel le Jolys. 
 
 " Where are the lovers of yesterday? " Noel said 
 mockingly as he slowly descended the steps to join 
 them. 
 
 There was a red rage in Villon's heart, but he 
 bridled it as he turned upon the interloper con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " Your pink and white lady-bird," he said to Kath- 
 erine, and then waving his hand at Noel with a 
 gesture of disdain and dismissal, chanted at him: 
 
 " Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home." 
 
 NoePs pink face flushed a poppy red and his white 
 hand went to his sword hilt. There was courage in 
 the foppish substance, and he would clearly have 
 rejoiced to try his chance in a passage-at-arms. 
 
 "My lord," he said, "I will measure word and 
 sword with you at any season, but now I seek prom- 
 ised speech with this lady." 
 
 Villon laughed at his menace. 
 
 " While I have better business in hand, you shall 
 know only the smooth of my tongue and the flat of 
 my falchion. Compass your swelling heart lest you 
 play the lion before a lady." 
 
 188 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 The two men eyed each other like angry dogs, 
 eager to spring at each other's throats. Katherine 
 dropped her restraining hand on Villon's arm. 
 
 " My lord," she whispered, " he has importuned me 
 for audience. I will speak with you again ere you 
 ride." 
 
 Villon turned to her. 
 
 " We ride at nine, remember," he said in a low 
 voice; and then in a louder tone, looking at Noel, he 
 added mockingly, " Till then I shall busy myself in 
 writing my last will and testament, and bequeathing 
 a thousand nothings to a thousand nobodies to puz- 
 zle posterity. You shall taste of my bounty, Messire 
 Noel," and he began to improvise derisively; 
 
 " To Messire Noel, named the neat 
 By those who love him, I bequeath 
 A helmless ship, a houseless street, 
 A wordless book, a swordless sheath, 
 An hourless clock, a leafless wreath, 
 A bed sans sheet, a board sans meat, 
 A bell sans tongue, a saw sans teeth, 
 To make his nothingness complete." 
 
 Noel shrugged his shoulders and turned his back. 
 He was very irate, but he was resolved to show noth- 
 ing but indifference. 
 
 189 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 "Do you leave me nothing?" Katherine whis- 
 pered, and Villon answered: 
 
 " Now and always the heart of my heart." 
 
 He turned on his heel and glided into the liquid 
 darkness of the rose alley, alone with exquisite 
 thoughts. 
 
 Katherine turned to Noel haughtily. 
 
 "Well?" she said. 
 
 " I have always to seek you nowadays," Noel pro- 
 tested. 
 
 Katherine tossed her head, and her tresses trem- 
 bled like leaves in the moonlight. 
 
 " The world is not yet so old that the wooing must 
 be done by women." 
 
 " I am out of favour," Noel complained, " since a 
 fellow from nowhere plays the fool in high places." 
 
 Katherine's eyes showered scorn upon him. 
 
 " I do not hate you for railing at him, but it does 
 not help me to love you." 
 
 Noel caught at the word. 
 
 " You loved me once," he asserted. 
 
 She shook her head pityingly. 
 
 "We played with great words as children play 
 with coloured balls. It is easy to say ^ I love you,' 
 and often very sweet; yet the coloured balls roll into 
 the corner, and the child forgets them when the 
 moon of childhood wanes." 
 
 190 
 
IP I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 A wistful irritation puckered Noel's smooth coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " You have outgrown me? " he questioned. 
 
 Katherine drew away from him till the moonlight 
 that shone between them lay wide and white. She 
 answered quietly: 
 
 " My soul was in bud a week ago. To-day it is in 
 blossom." 
 
 Noel threw up his arms impatiently. 
 
 " God have mercy! What can this fellow do that 
 is denied to me? Can he stride a horse, or fly a hawk 
 better? show a brighter sword in quarrel, or tune a 
 smoother lute in calm? Can he out-dance me, out- 
 drink me, out-courtier me, out-soldier me? No, no, 
 no! And must I now believe that he can out-love 
 \ne?" 
 
 Katherine, weary of the controversy, began to 
 uscend the steps to the palace. She spoke as she 
 mounted: 
 
 " When a man comes to court, it is worth while 
 to be a woman. You will learn that some day. Sir 
 Noel, if you grow to be a man." 
 
 Noel retorted: 
 
 "It is no great blazon to be the favourite of a 
 king. Gentlemen who brag little may do much. The 
 old love may outlast the new." 
 
 191 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Katherine frowned at his mystery. 
 
 " You speak like a scented Sphinx, but I am too 
 idle for enigmas. Farewell ! " and she vanished into 
 the palace. 
 
 Noel looked after her fretfully: 
 
 " Why are the women all sunflowers to this scara- 
 mouch?" he asked himself querulously. "Well, 
 there are other women, and a wise man gathers the 
 nearest grapes." 
 
 A flagon and cup stood on the table by the marble 
 seat. Noel poured himself out some wine and drank 
 it, seeking consolation. His duty called him shortly 
 to the service of the king, but he lingered in the 
 garden on the chance of a hoped-for meeting. 
 
 " I shall be revenged," he said to himself, " if my 
 astrologer plays his part and tells the weak king 
 that this Lord of Montcorbier is his evil spirit." 
 
 His thoughts were busy with the events of the past 
 week; if Katherine had been disdainful, the girl 
 Huguette had been kind, and the Golden Scull had 
 found the dainty soldier a frequent visitor. It was 
 Huguette who, after listening to Noel's complaints 
 of the Grand Constable, had suggested to him, in 
 apparent artlessness of heart, that he could play 
 upon the king's superstitions through a new astrol- 
 oger and had promised to find him a star-gazer who 
 
 192 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 would say anything and everything that Messire 
 Noel wished to have said. The scheme had appealed 
 to Noel, and this very evening he expected Huguette 
 to bring the astrologer to him, to which end he had 
 entrusted her with a password which would admit 
 strangers into the royal garden. 
 
 As he mused, a figure 'in a pilgrim's gown came 
 cautiously out of the shadows into the moonlight 
 behind him and stood for a moment watching him. 
 The god Pan could see the face that smiled under 
 the pilgrim's hood a girPs face, with bright eyes 
 framed in golden hair, but when the girl saw Noel, 
 she slipped a mask over her face, drew her pilgrim's 
 gown closely about her slim body, and tip-toed 
 lightly across the grass to touch Noel on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 Noel turned with a start, and faced, as he believed, 
 a masquerading palmer. 
 
 "May I vend you a benevolence, gentleman?" 
 Huguette asked, disguising her voice in an unfamil- 
 iar gruffness. 
 
 Noel waved aside importunacy. 
 
 " Pass your ways, pilgrim. I am in no mood for 
 motley." 
 
 He turned away, but the persistent pilgrim fol- 
 lowed him. 
 
 193 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 '*Are you in a maid's mood, or a mood for a 
 maid? " 
 
 Noel stopped impatiently. 
 
 " Are you pander as well as pilgrim? I wait for a 
 woman." 
 
 The pilgrim's pertinacity was not to be baffled. 
 
 " Is she tall or short, young or old, dark or fair, 
 sweet or sour? " 
 
 Noel answered whimsically: 
 
 " She is of the colour of the chameleon, of the age 
 of the ancient world, of the height of any man's 
 heart, and as bitter-sweet as a crushed quince." 
 
 The girl pulled off her mask and threw back hep 
 hood. 
 
 " Is she of my feet, favour, years and savour? " 
 
 The moment he saw her face Noel gave a cry of 
 delight. 
 
 " You are welcome, witch," he shouted, " for you 
 bring the best love in the world! " 
 
 He sprang to catch the girl in his arms, but she 
 repulsed him gently. 
 
 " Hush! I am no love-monger now, no gallantry 
 girl, but a most politic plotter. The world spins like 
 a potter's wheel to shape the vessel of our enter- 
 prise. We have a wizard ready for your king. Will 
 Louis come?" 
 
 194 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 Noel nodded decisively. 
 
 " As linnet to looking-glass. He is greedy of star- 
 wisdom. Does your astrologer know his lesson? " 
 
 " He is parrot-perfect. When all is quiet, give an 
 owPs cry thrice, and a friend will bring him. He 
 will warn the king against his Grand Constable; he 
 will praise Tristan, applaud Olivier, and commend 
 Messire Noel le Jolys." 
 
 Noel chuckled. 
 
 " Then I shall be king of the castle, and you shall 
 have a great gold chain and pearls as big as a virgin's 
 tears." 
 
 Noel did not detect the scorn in Huguette's voice, 
 as she answered with apparent amiability: 
 
 " You know the way to win a woman." 
 
 " I am no jingling rhyme-broker, I thank heaven ! " 
 Noel cried. " I pay my way." 
 
 He caught Huguette in his arms as he spoke and 
 sought to kiss her, but she avoided him dexterously. 
 
 " I will kiss you when you win," she cried. 
 
 Noel would have pushed his suit further, but at 
 that moment the great clock of the palace chimed 
 the half-hour and struck upon his memory as well as 
 upon his ear. He knew that the king expected him 
 and he abandoned his love-making reluctantly. 
 
 " You are indeed a politician," he sighed. " I must 
 wait on the king." 
 
 195 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 He opened the door of the tower and stood for a 
 moment looking regretfully at the girl, who smiled 
 at him temptingly, then he passed in and drew the 
 door behind him. 
 
 The moment he had disappeared, the girPs bearing 
 changed. Her face and gesture blazoned a world of 
 contempt for her courtier lover. 
 
 "Fool, dunce, dolt, ass, peacock, buzzard, owl!'* 
 she stormed. Then her rage faded and she turned 
 sadly on her heel as another man's name came into 
 her heart and fluttered to her lips. " The world is as 
 sour as a rotten orange since Francois went into 
 exile." 
 
 Her glance fell on the lute which lay on the mar- 
 ble seat where Villon had left it. She took it up and 
 began to thrum it pensively, whispering to herself 
 the words of Villon's song: 
 
 " Daughters of Pleasure, one and all, 
 Of form and features delicate," 
 
 she murmured to herself. As she did so, Villon, 
 weary of wandering in the rose alleys, came into the 
 moonlit space and saw the cloaked and hooded figure 
 where it sat. In a moment his mind recalled the 
 strange greetings he had overheard between the two 
 pilgrims. 
 
 196 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 " There is another of those pilgrims," he said to 
 himself, determined now to solve the mystery. He 
 crossed the grass quickly to the figure's side and 
 saluted it. 
 
 " Hail, little brother." 
 
 Huguette leaped to her feet and answered lightly? 
 
 " Hail, little sister." 
 
 " Why little sister? " Villon asked in some aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 The masked pilgrim answered him smartly: 
 
 " If I am a brother of yours, you must need be a 
 sister of mine. But you talk out of the litany." 
 
 " What harm," Villon retorted, " if you give me 
 responses? " 
 
 Huguette shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I will give you no more than good-bye," she said, 
 and turned to leave him, but Villon caught her by 
 the arm. 
 
 "You shall not show me your heels till I show 
 myself your face," he insisted. 
 
 Before the girl could prevent him, he had flung 
 back her hood and snatched the mask from her face. 
 To his amazement he found himself looking on the 
 fair, familiar face of Huguette, and in astonishment 
 he cried her name. The girl, astounded at being 
 recognized, came close to him. 
 
 197 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " Who are you? " she asked. 
 
 For answer, Villon unmasked. 
 
 Huguette looked closely into his face, at first 
 without any sign of recognition, then suddenly the 
 knowledge came to her and she caught him in her 
 arms with a cry of joy. 
 
 " Frangois, you dear devil, where have you been 
 this thousand years? They said you were banished. 
 How brave you are! Where did you steal so much 
 splendour? Are you cutting purses? Are you pluck- 
 ing mantles? " 
 
 Villon tried to stay her questions. 
 
 " What are you doing here. Abbess? " 
 
 " The fair fool Noel has taken a week-long fancy 
 to me, and I am making an age-long fool of him. 
 Kiss me," she urged, putting her face very near to 
 Villon's. Villon drew back his head. 
 
 "You should keep your kisses for the fair fool 
 Noel." 
 
 Huguette drew away from him angrily. 
 
 " When you were as lean as a cat and as ragged 
 as a sparrow, you were not so nice a precisian. Has 
 some great lady bewitched you? Can you only woo 
 in silk and win in velvet? If the kernel be sweet, 
 what does the husk matter? Heaven's pity! Why 
 should a woman love you?" 
 
 198 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 Villon took no notice of her petulance but re^ 
 peated his question: 
 
 " What are you doing here, Abbess? '' 
 
 The girPs rage was as short as a summer's shower. 
 She turned again to him, fondling him. 
 
 " Well, I cannot shut the door of my heart in your 
 smooth face. Ken^ de Montigny has a great game 
 afoot, and you are back in time to share in it." 
 
 " What game? " Villon asked. 
 
 Huguette answered: 
 
 " The fair fool Noel, advised by me, has persuaded 
 the king to see an astrologer here to-night when the 
 gardens are quiet. Noel believes that the astrologer 
 will advise the king to fling his Grand Constable out 
 of the window and call Messire Noel in at the door, 
 but the comrades of the cockleshell really mean 
 much more mischief. When once we get the king 
 within reach of our fingers, we mean to snap him up 
 and carry him out of Paris, willy nilly, and sell him 
 to the Duke of Burgundy." 
 
 Villon caught his breath. 
 
 "A great game!" he cried. "But who is this 
 astrologer? " 
 
 "Thibaut d'Aussigny," she answered, "who pre- 
 tends to be dead, but who lives for this revenge." 
 
 Villon leaped to his feet. He remembered what 
 Katherine thought she had seen. 
 
 109 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 ^^ Then it was he! " he said. 
 
 Huguette went on with her story. 
 
 " Noel is to give us the signal by crying an owPs 
 cry thrice." 
 
 Villon was revolving many thoughts in his mind 
 and he hardly heeded her. 
 
 " This adventure of the astrologer might be turned 
 to my advantage. Here is a chance in a thousand," 
 he muttered to himself, as he paced restlessly on the 
 grass. " I have but to close my eyes and shut my 
 ears and the good Thibaut carries the good Louis to 
 the good Burgundy to-night, and there can be no 
 hanging to-morrow." 
 
 The girl followed after him, catching at his sleeve 
 to stay him. 
 
 " What are you talking about? " 
 
 Villon went on, unheeding her, whispering to him- 
 self: 
 
 " If they cut Gaffer Louis' throat between them, 
 the world were rid of a crooked-witted king, and I 
 free to win Katherine, hold Paris, be the first man in 
 France " 
 
 " Frangois, speak to me," Huguette pleaded, but 
 she pleaded in vain. 
 
 " One would say I were a fool to let such occasion 
 slip through my ten commandments. But I have 
 
 200 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 learned a thing called honour, which I must not lose 
 for the sake of my lady." 
 
 Huguette flung herself in front of him and stopped 
 his restless walk. 
 
 " Frangois! Frangois! " 
 
 " Yes, child, yes." 
 
 " What does it matter to you what they do with 
 the fool king? " 
 
 " Abbess, I must have a finger in this pie. Abbess, 
 for the old sake's sake, will you keep me a secret? " 
 
 The girl looked Tip at him lovingly. 
 
 " I will always do your bidding." 
 
 " I have a mind to play my part in this enterprise. 
 I am the king of the Cockleshells and I have returned 
 to authority. Give me your pilgrim's gown, girl, and 
 mind, not a word to the brotherhood. I want to take 
 friend Thibaut by surprise." 
 
 As he spoke, he pulled off the pilgrim's gown, and 
 Huguette stood before him in her familiar boy's 
 dress of green. 
 
 " Hide among the roses until the sport begins," he 
 cried. 
 
 The girl flung her arms about him. 
 
 " Dear Frangois ! " she cried, and then ran swiftly 
 away from him and disappeared into the rose-scented 
 night. 
 
 201 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Yillon looked after the girl as she ran. 
 
 " The girl is as fleet as a hare and as wild witted,'' 
 he said to himself. Then he flung Huguette from his 
 thoughts and faced the great problem. 
 
 "How does the balance go?" he asked himself, 
 and he weighed the air with his hands as if their 
 cups held the precious things he spoke of. 
 
 "In the one hand, a great king's life; in the other, 
 a poor poet's honour. King, beggar, beggar, king." 
 
 He paused a moment, looking down the long lane 
 of infinite possibilities. He owed nothing to Louis 
 after all. Louis had made him the plaything of a 
 shameless trick; had thrust honour upon him in 
 mockery; had tantalized him with a dream of a 
 dream. Ere another sunset, if a woman's heart were 
 not his for the winning, he would be swinging, grisly 
 enough, with his tongue through his teeth, and the 
 ravens wheeling about his ears, upon the Paris gal- 
 lows. It was but to let Thibaut d'Aussigny play 
 out his play and snare the old black fox, and then 
 Villon had Paris to himself, was absolved from all 
 penalty, might in the light of the new love the people 
 had for him, do, or at least try to do, pretty much 
 as he pleased with the kingless kingdom. It was a 
 dazzling prospect. 
 
 " Why not?" he asked himself. Then, in a moment, 
 
 202 
 
IF I WERE TO DIE TO-MORROW 
 
 the reasons why not rose up against him not to 
 be cheated, not to be banished. He had given his 
 word; he had sworn fealty to the fantastic monarch 
 who had played with him and to whom he owed at 
 least the realization of great dreams and the golden 
 chance of winning his heart's desire. He had given 
 his word. That would not have meant much to him 
 eight days ago when he lived in a sick atmosphere 
 of lies and dodges and tricks and meannesses, where 
 the lips were as ready to deceive as the fingers to 
 filch, and where a successful falsehood was almost 
 as much applauded as a successful theft. But now, 
 as he had said, he had learned a thing called honour; 
 the whole meaning of life had been changed for him 
 in the sunshine of a fair girPs favour, and what was 
 but yesterday possible, probable, even pleasant, was 
 to-day surely impossible. He murmured her name to 
 himself " Katherine ! " as a charm against hor- 
 rible temptation, and his heart strengthened under 
 the spell. 
 
 He turned to enter the tower, but as he did so the 
 tower door was pushed out against him and he found 
 himself face to face with Noel le Jolys. Noel started 
 in astonishment at the sight of his rival, but Villon 
 caught him by the wrist. The poor popinjay was too 
 brave a bird to be Thibaut d'Aussigny's decoy-duck. 
 
 2oa 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " Messire Noel," he said ; " I have a word to say 
 in your ear," and he drew him inside the tower and 
 stood with him for a moment in the darkness, whis- 
 pering speech that made NoePs pulse beat fast. Then 
 Villon left him and sped swiftly up the winding 
 stairs that led to the king's room, while Noel, left 
 alone, pushed open the door again and passed out 
 into the garden, his head dizzy with strange news. 
 Placing his hands like a shell about his mouth, he 
 gave the cry of an owl three times with a little in- 
 terval between each cry, and then softly withdrew 
 again into the tower, and in his turn raced with a 
 throbbing heart up the narrow steps that led to the 
 king's chamber. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 UNDER WHICH KING? 
 
 J- HE rose garden seemed to be as quiet as a church- 
 yard. No sound was heard save the faint soughing 
 of the evening wind among the rose bushes, no sight 
 resembling humanity visible save the face of Pan 
 looking down mockingly upon the crimson blossoms 
 that girdled him. Yet in a few seconds it became 
 plain that the god Pan was not the only occupant 
 of the garden. Through quiet alleyways, cloaked 
 and cowled figures came stealing, six in number 
 men with pilgrims^ cloaks about their shoulders, and 
 pilgrims' hoods upon their heads men who carried 
 cockleshells upon the sleeves of their gabardines 
 all converging through the dark walks of the garden 
 to a common centre, and that centre the grassy space 
 before the king's watch tower. The six figures hud- 
 dled together at the base of the image of Pan. One 
 of them who seemed to be their leader, a man of 
 giant form, spoke, and the voice was the voice of 
 Thibaut d'Aussigny. 
 
 " Are we all here? " he asked. 
 
 The nearest pilgrim to him answered with the 
 voice of Ren6 de Montigny. 
 
 205 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 " Aye, and ready to gather the royal rose of this 
 garden." 
 
 As he spoke there came a faint click at the latch 
 of the tower door. Thibaut waved his companions 
 apart. 
 
 " Keep close," he said, and four of the pilgrim 
 forms disappeared swiftly into the spaces of shadow. 
 Only Thibaut and Ren^ remained, standing masked 
 and attentive, their eyes fixed upon the tower door. 
 It opened and Noel le Jolys emerged, followed by 
 the slight, hunched figure in faded black velvet for 
 whom the eyes of the conspirators were so eager. 
 Noel advanced questioning: 
 
 " Is the star-gazer here? " 
 
 Ren^ de Montigny answered him glibly as a show- 
 man patters the praise of his wares. 
 
 " Aye. He is the wonder of the world. He can 
 read the stars more easily than a tapster the score 
 on his shutter. He can spell you the high luck and 
 the low. Bohemian, Egyptian, Arabian wisdom 
 have no mysteries for him." 
 
 As Ren^ ceased, the royal figure with a sweeping 
 gesture of his hand made a sign of dismissal to Noel, 
 who bowed respectfully and withdrew into the tow- 
 er. The king then beckoned to the mighty figure 
 in the palmer's weed, and Thibaut advanced slowly 
 
 206 
 
UNDER WHICH KING? 
 
 until he was within touch of his prey, when he sud- 
 denly flung out his great hand and caught his enemy 
 by the throat, gripping him into silence while his 
 right hand bared and brandished a dagger. The 
 figure in black dropped under his grasp, trembled 
 and gasped, but the hand of Thibaut was too strong 
 upon him and he could not speak or cry out. Thibaut 
 hissed at him: 
 
 " Sire, I can decipher your destiny. Do not speak 
 or I will kill you! " 
 
 He pressed the point of the dagger close to the 
 captive's neck and smiled to see him shudder. 
 
 " I am Thibaut d'Aussigny, sire, whom you 
 thought to be dead, but who lives to prison you." 
 
 As he spoke his companions emerged from the 
 gloom and gathered around Thibaut and the king, a 
 little menacing circle of determined men. 
 
 " You are in the toils. Silent you are still a man; 
 give tongue and you are simple carrion. You must 
 come to the knees of Burgundy. You shall be the 
 Duke's footstool ! " 
 
 The cowering black figure wriggled and quivered 
 as if every one of Thibaut's words were a stroke of a 
 whip that cut into his flesh; his eager hands clawed 
 piteously at Thibaut's grasping arm, until his very 
 agony of terror aroused the contempt of his captor. 
 
 207 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 He pushed the king from him contemptuously, and 
 the king dropped on the ground a black and helpless 
 heap of fear. 
 
 " Can a king be such a cur? Burgundy won't hurt 
 you if you do as he bids you, I won't hurt you if 
 you do as I bid you." 
 
 The black figure rocked, a pitiable bundle of ter- 
 rors, apparently sobbing plaintively. Thibaut sick- 
 ened at such shameless fear. 
 
 " Stop crying," he growled. 
 
 Reii6 de Montigny, who had been watching keenly 
 the actions of the prisoner, interrupted: 
 
 " He seems to be laughing," he said. 
 
 Thibaut gave a cry of astonishment and stooped 
 down over the prostrate man, who greeted him with 
 a prolonged and hearty peal of laughter, which stag- 
 gered the giant like a blow in the face. At that 
 moment the tower door was flung open and Tristan 
 appeared. 
 
 " The king! " he cried in a voice of thunder. 
 
 In another moment, as if by magic, the little gar- 
 den space was girdled by the archers of the Scottish 
 Guard, strong hands made sure of the baffled con- 
 spirators, and to their astonishment Louis himself 
 made his appearance through the open doorway, his 
 malign face smiling in the moonlight. 
 
 208 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 THE DEATH OF A WANTON 
 
 1 HE sham king leaped to his feet, still laughing, 
 flung off the black cap with its little row of leaden 
 saints and the rusty black mantle which mimicked 
 the king's habit, and stood delighted and defiant 
 before Thibaut, the Frangois Villon who thus a 
 second time had crossed his path. 
 
 "Well, friend, what has the wizard told you?'' 
 Louis asked blandly. 
 
 Villon swayed with laughter as he pointed to the 
 bewildered giant. 
 
 " Wonders, sire," he answered. " I have not 
 laughed so heartily since I attained greatness." But 
 even as he spoke Thibaut had recovered his wits. He 
 might be defeated but he would not be unavenged. 
 
 " You shall laugh no more! " he shouted, wrench- 
 ing himself free from restraint, and he sprang at his 
 enemy with lifted dagger. 
 
 From behind the shadow of the statue of Pan 
 there came a warning shriek, and swiftly between 
 Villon and Thibaut a slim green figure darted and 
 slim green arms clasped Villon around the neck. 
 The dagger of Thibaut drove deep into the soft body 
 of Huguette. 
 
 209 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 With a curse Thibaut turned and, sweeping aside 
 the archers who tried to stop him, disappeared down 
 the nearest alley. Noel le Jolys, drawing his sword, 
 rushed in pursuit, followed by several soldiers. Vil- 
 lon held the bleeding body of the girl in his arms, 
 and tried his best to stanch the wound which was 
 staining the green jerkin a dull red, but the girl pro- 
 tested faintly, pushing his ministering hand away. 
 
 " Let me alone; I am done for," she gasped. 
 
 Olivier was by her side in an instant, eyeing the 
 wound with the professional interest of the surgeon- 
 barber and looking from it to the girl's pale face 
 Villon's gaze questioned him. Olivier shrugged his 
 shoulders and shook his head. Villon knew that the 
 wound was mortal, and his own blood seemed like 
 water within him. He carried the girl across the 
 grass to the marble seat and rested her on it, the 
 red stain on the green coat growing wider and wider 
 as they moved. 
 
 "Courage, Abbess, courage, lass," he whispered, 
 fighting with his horror and his sorrow as he moaned 
 to himself: " That any one should die for me! " 
 
 The girPs arms clung closer about his neck and 
 her lips moved faintly. He stooped close to her to 
 catch her words. 
 
 "This is a strange end, Francois. I always 
 
 210 
 
THE DEATH OF A WANTON 
 
 thought I should die in a bed. Here is another kind 
 of battlefield. Give me drink." 
 
 *^ Some water," Villon cried to Olivier, who stood 
 a little apart from the pair with the resigned look of 
 the physician who knows that his art is of no avail. 
 
 Huguette protested faintly. 
 
 " Not water. Wine. I have ever loved the taste 
 ol it, and 'tis too late to change now." 
 
 Olivier filled a cup from the flagon on the table 
 ^!?d was for lifting it to the girl's lips, but her feeble 
 hand repulsed him and she pleaded to Villon: 
 
 " 'Give it to me, Frangois." 
 
 Villon took the cup from the barber's hand, lifted 
 ft to the dying girl's lips, and she drank greedily. 
 The strong wine gave her for a moment something 
 of its own false strength, and she struggled to her 
 feet, Villon rising with her and supporting her. 
 
 "Your health, Frangois. I suppose I have been 
 a great sinner. Will God forgive me? " 
 
 Villon stifled a heavy groan, but he was sworn to 
 console her if he could, and, indeed, he believed his 
 words of consolation. 
 
 " He understands his children." 
 
 The heavy head drooped its golden curls upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "You always were hopeful," she said brokenly, 
 
 211 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Then suddenly clasping him tightly, she cried: 
 " Many men have taken my body; only you ever took 
 my heart. Give me your lips." 
 
 Villon's spirit was troubled. It seemed to him 
 that his lips were bound to wait for that kiss of his 
 lady's, and yet the dying girl loved him and he had 
 loved the dying girl after a fashion, and he could not 
 refuse her now. He bent to grant her prayer, when 
 suddenly she shook herself free from his arma^and 
 began to sing faintly the words of the song he had 
 made for her: 
 
 " Daughters of Pleasure, one and all. 
 
 Then she caught her breath with a sob and slipped 
 to the last lines of the verse: 
 
 " Use your red lips before too late, 
 Love ere love flies beyond recall." 
 
 She shook her head back in a wild peal of laughter: 
 then she gave a great cry and fell forward. Villon 
 caught her, looked in her face and knew that she was 
 dead, and that the best of his old bad life lay dead 
 with her. 
 
 Olivier in obedience to an order of the king's, 
 gave a signal and the girl's body was swiftly 
 wrapped in a soldier's cloak and laid gently upon a 
 pair of crossed halberds. As this was being done, 
 
 212 
 
THE DEATH OF A WANTON 
 
 Noel le Jolys came panting back with a red sword 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Thibaut d'Aussigny is dead, sire," he said; " my 
 hand was the hand that finished him." 
 
 Then as his eyes fell on the dead body, they shone 
 with sudden tears. , Villon went up to him and 
 touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 " I leave this dead woman in your hands," he said, 
 " for I think you had a kindness for her. See that 
 she has Christian burial." 
 
 Noel bowed his head and followed in silence the 
 girPs body. The garden was left to Louis and Villon, 
 Tristan and Olivier, and the handful of captured 
 rogues who stood apart, strongly guarded and 
 stripped of their pilgrims' garb, gazing amazed at 
 Louis and his double. Villon, silent too, looked after 
 the little group that bore away the dead girPs body. 
 His mind was a warfare of wild memories. 
 Strange recollections of times and places with Hu- 
 guette came crowding up and beating piteously upon 
 his brain. He thought of what he had been, and 
 groaned; of what he was now, and his soul cried out 
 as in prayer in the name of Katherine. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 A VIRGIN'S TEARS 
 
 '1 HE king's hand fell upon his shoulder and shat- 
 tered his meditations. 
 
 " Are you so dashed by the death of a wanton? " 
 the king asked mockingly. 
 
 Villon turned upon him in a noble rage. 
 
 " She had God's breath in her body, sire," he said. 
 Then drawing his hand across his forehead as if to 
 dissipate the sad fancies that oppressed him, he 
 went on: 
 
 " I have been John-a-Nods for the moment, sire; 
 now I am Jack-a-Deeds again. The hour for battle 
 is at hand." 
 
 Louis shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " You have done me a good turn, gossip," he said, 
 "and may ask any grace of me except your life. 
 That depends on your lady." 
 
 Villon looked over at the corner where his old 
 boon companions were huddled together, the miser- 
 able centre of a circle of soldiers. 
 
 " Sire," he said ; " grant me the lives of those ras- 
 cals. They shall ride with me and fight for France 
 to-night. It is better than making them play bob- 
 apple on the evil tree." 
 
 214 
 
A VIRGIN'S TEARS 
 
 The king whispered a few words to Tristan, and 
 Tristan very reluctantly gave the order of libera- 
 tion. The comrades of the Cockleshell were freed of 
 their bonds and bade to stand apart, under guard 
 and out of earshot, to wait on destiny for future 
 commands. At this moment Louis, glancing up- 
 wards, caught sight between the flower vases on the 
 terrace of a gleam of crimson, the crimson silk of a 
 woman's robe. It betrayed the presence of Kath- 
 erine de Vaucelles, who had come hard upon the 
 hour of nine to seek for her lover, but who paused 
 irresolute at the head of the stairs, noting the pres- 
 ence of the king. Louis beckoned to her amicably, 
 and she began slowly to descend the staircase. Louis 
 came over to Villon and whispered in his ear: 
 
 " Here comes your lady. I think your love-fruit 
 is ripe and you need not stand on tip-toe to pick it." 
 
 Villon answered him with burning eyes : 
 
 " Sire, I believe I have won the rose of the world." 
 
 Louis chuckled like an enraptured raven. 
 
 " The Count of Montcorbier is luckier than Fran- 
 cois Villon. But the lady has a high mind and a 
 fierce spirit. She may not relish the deception, par- 
 don the cheat his lie!" 
 
 Something in the king's words struck upon Vil- 
 lon's fiery hopes like a stream of ice-cold water and 
 
 2X5 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 seemed to quench them. He was like a man who, 
 long playing at blind-man's-buff, suddenly has the 
 bandage plucked from his eyes and stands dazzled 
 and blinking in the sunlight. After all, he was not 
 the Count of Montcorbier; after all, he was not the 
 Grand Constable of France; after all, he was only 
 a masquerading beggar who had won the heart of a 
 lady under false colours; who had triumphed by fly- 
 ing a false flag. In all those seven splendid days 
 this simple thought had never come to him. His 
 whole soul had been so taken captive by the fascina- 
 tion of the part he had been permitted to play that 
 he forgot he was playing a part, and allowed his 
 fancy to believe that a week-long dream would en- 
 dure forever. Now he knew himself and what he 
 had done and what he must do. A divine farce had 
 turned to sudden tragedy. He turned to the king 
 with a groan. 
 
 " Cheat, lie," he repeated. " Sire, those words fling 
 me from my fooPs paradise. Kill me if I fail to win 
 her, but I will tear this mask from my face, this 
 falsehood from my heart." 
 
 Louis grinned at him. 
 
 " Please yourself. Win her or swing. Either way 
 contents me." 
 
 As he spoke, he turned away. Katherine had 
 
 216 
 
A VIRGIN'S TEARS 
 
 descended the steps and was moving across the grass 
 to greet her hero, who stood with clasped hands in 
 the moonlight like a man struck dumb. Katherine 
 was carrying in her hands a crimson scarf fringed 
 with gold, and she lifted it to him as she spoke. 
 
 " Wear this with my prayers. With it, I give you 
 my hand and heart. You shall carry my plighted 
 troth with you into the battle. Let me tell my love 
 to all the world." 
 
 Swiftly and lightly she threw it about his neck 
 before he could find words, but now he spoke: 
 
 "Wait, wait! You must say no more until you 
 know me." 
 
 The girPs eyes widened with surprise. 
 
 " Do I not know you? " 
 
 Villon thrust his face forward very close to hers. 
 
 " Look into my face," he said. " Look well. Do 
 you see nothing there that reminds you of other 
 hours? " 
 
 Katherine smiled divinely. 
 
 " Of happy hours in this rose garden." 
 
 Villon insisted fiercely: 
 
 "No, no! Of a dark night, a tavern, a cloaked 
 woman, a sordid fellow dreaming sottishly by the 
 fire, a prayer, a love-tale and a promise, a crowd of 
 bullies and wantons, a quarrel, a fight with sword 
 
 217 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 and lantern in the dark, a breast knot of ribbon 
 flung from a gallery " 
 
 Katherine recoiled a little, with a horror in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " What are you trying to tell me? " she asked. 
 
 Villon dropped on his knees with a groan. 
 
 " Here is the knot of ribbon which you flung to 
 me in the Fircone Tavern. Oh, pity me! I am Fran- 
 cois Villon." 
 
 Katherine pressed her hands to her forehead. 
 
 " I can hear what you say, but it makes no mark 
 on my brain." 
 
 Villon's words ran fast from him: 
 
 " I am Francois Villon and yet no longer he, for 
 my old evil self is dead. I am Frangois Villon who 
 served you with his sword, who praised you with his 
 pen, and who loves you with all his soul." 
 
 The girPs whole body shook with fear as she 
 answered : 
 
 " It isn't true! It isn't true! I don't believe you." 
 
 Villon sprang to his feet. 
 
 " Whatever my fate is," he cried, " you shall know 
 the truth." 
 
 Turning to where the released conspirators stood 
 apart, he called to them peremptorily: 
 
 " Guy! Ren^! All of you, come here! " 
 
 218 
 
"I am Frangois Villon and yet no longer he, for my old evil self is 
 dead." 
 
A VIRGIN'S TEARS 
 
 Amazed to be thus summoned in their own names 
 by so great a personage as the Grand Constable of 
 France, the thieves crept forward timidly and, in 
 obedience to Villon's commanding gestures, gath- 
 ered about him as he turned to them, pressing his 
 face near to their faces, and cried: 
 
 " Look at me closer closer. Don't you know 
 Frangois Villon in spite of this new spirit shining 
 in his eyes? " 
 
 Ren^ de Montigny gave a cry of recognition. 
 
 "I should never have known you. You are so 
 strangely changed." 
 
 Guy Tabarie endorsed him. 
 
 " Still, 'tis his dear old countenance." 
 
 Katherine watching the scene in sick despair, 
 turned piteously to the king. 
 
 " Sire, sire, is this true? " 
 
 Louis, who had been watching all with unmiti- 
 gated satisfaction, answered fleeringly: 
 
 " Mo^ true, pretty mistress. You disdained me 
 for this." 
 
 With blazing eyes and trembling hands Katherine 
 moved across the grass to where Villon stood. 
 
 " Pitiful traitor, why did you live this lie? '^ 
 
 Villon pleaded desperately: 
 
 " I loved you." 
 
 219 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Katherine's anger flamed into a great fire. 
 
 "Do not shame the sweet word. I hate you! To 
 think the face that I have learned to love should 
 mask so base a heart! " 
 
 Then as Villon drew a little closer to her, in an 
 agony of entreaty, she struck out at him vith both 
 hands, beating him on the breast in an unconquer- 
 able fury. Villon bowed beneath the blow while 
 she raged at him: 
 
 " You have stolen my love like a thief, you have 
 
 crucified my pride. I hate you! Go back to the 
 
 dregs and lees of life, skulk in your tavern, forget, 
 
 what I shall never forget, that so base a thing as 
 
 -you ever came near me! " 
 
 The king was by her side in an instant and whis- 
 pering into her ear: 
 
 "Is this the course of true love?" 
 
 She swung upon him in scorn. 
 
 " Sire, you have wreaked a royal revenge upon a 
 woman. There are no tears in my eyes yet, but I 
 pray they will come that I may weep myself clean 
 of this memory." 
 
 With clasped hands and set lips she moved away 
 from Louis and stood apart in the moonlight, a fixed 
 and rigid figure of despair. Louis stepped to where 
 Villon stood in stricken anguish and whispered to 
 him: 
 
 220 
 
A VIRGIN'S TEARS 
 
 t 
 
 "I am afraid you will hang to-morrow, Master 
 Villon." 
 
 Villon threw back his head defiantly. 
 
 " I should be glad to greet the gallows now, but 
 I have a deed to do before I die." 
 
 As he spoke the great bell of the palace beat out 
 the first stroke of the hour of nine. It roused the 
 wounded spirit in his soul. He moved to where 
 Katherine stood and spoke to her: 
 
 " I dreamed that love through which I have been 
 born again could lift me to your lips. The dream 
 is over. But you bade me serve France, and I ride 
 and fight for you to-night." 
 
 While he spoke the Lords of Lau, of Kivi^re and 
 of Nantoillet in panoply of war came from the 
 palace with their immediate followers. The garden 
 began to fill with the picked men of the enterprise 
 hurrying on the summons of the warning bell to fol- 
 low their leader on his sortie. Villon's pages 
 brought the armour of the Grand Constable and 
 began to buckle it upon him. While this was being 
 done, he turned and spoke to his brothers-in-arms : 
 
 "Comrades, let each man carry himself to-night 
 as if the fate of France depended upon his heart, 
 his arm, his courage. Strike for the mothers that 
 bore you, the wives that comfort you, the children 
 
 221 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 that renew you the women that love you." For a 
 moment his voice quailed and almost failed him. 
 There were happy men there, no doubt, whom 
 women loved. But he rallied in a breath and his 
 voice rang out valiantly again : "Forward in God's 
 name and the king's! " 
 
 And every soldier present echoed him: 
 " Forward in God's name and the king's! " 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 THE REDE OF FIVE RIDING ROGUES 
 
 FhROUGH the silent streets of Paris a slender 
 line of steel moved slowly ^the thread of which Mas- 
 ter FranQois Villon was the needle pricked to sew 
 the realm of France together. The Grand Constable 
 rode at the head with the Lords of Lau, of Rivi(re, 
 and of Nantoillet, and somewhere at the tail rode 
 the five released rascals and babbled beneath their 
 breaths as they rode. For the order to keep silence 
 did not count until the gates of Paris were reached 
 and began to turn on their hinges to let Villon's ad- 
 venturers forth. Every man of the ruffians had a 
 stout sword swinging at his girdle; every man of 
 them sported a steel cap upon his head; every man 
 of them felt his heart pulsing with rare emotions 
 and his brain busy with strange thoughts. Ren^ de 
 Montigny spoke first the thing that filled his mind. 
 
 " It must be a devil of a business," he reflected, 
 " to be bullied like that by a beauty. Blood, but she 
 is beautiful, and blood, but she can bellow." 
 
 Guy Tabarie chuckled fatly. " I have been bul- 
 lied so many times by grey-faced drabs that I would 
 take my trouncing patiently from such a pair of 
 
 223 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 lips. It was meat and drink to look at her and think 
 thoughts.'' 
 
 Jehan le Loup frowned sourly. " Had I been Mas- 
 ter Frangois and black Louis not been by I should 
 have tried to mend my luck with a cudgel. At best 
 and worst she would have had something to curse 
 for after a lusty thumping." 
 
 Casin Cholet licked his lips. "I shall think of 
 her," he said, " when next I meet with a sweetheart. 
 With a little wit your honest rascal can be as happy 
 as a king. In the dark all fur is of the same colour." 
 
 Colin de Cayeulx yawned. " What are we going 
 a-riding for? " he questioned. " I would sooner have 
 stayed in the king's rose garden and filled my belly 
 as we did last week when the great lord in gold 
 tissue pitied us. And to think that it was no more 
 than Frangois after all! I could jam my dagger 
 between his shoulder-blades for making such a ninny 
 of me." 
 
 " I knew him all the time," Guy Tabarie was be- 
 ginning when Ken^ de Montigny silenced him with 
 a ringing clip on the nearest ear which nearly un- 
 saddled the fat rogue. " You lie, Mountain, you lie," 
 he whispered. " Do you think that if he cheated me 
 your pig's eyes could read the riddle? No, no, he 
 fooled us fairly and he fooled us well, but he treated 
 us kindly and we can afford to cry quits." 
 
 224 
 
THE REDE OF FIVE illDING ROGUES 
 
 " A strange thing," mused Colin, " that a trifle of 
 hair less on a man's chin and a trifle of dirt less on 
 a man's cheek, with some matter of clean linen and 
 a smooth jerkin, can make such a difference." 
 
 " Not at all," said Ren^ de Montigny, " we are all 
 the same at the core, every man-jack and woman-jill 
 of us, hungering, thirsting, lusting, just after the 
 same fashion. 'Tis only the coat that counts." 
 
 " 'Tis you who lie now," grunted Tabarie. " There's 
 no gold tissue in the world that would make you as 
 cunning as Frangois. You would never have done 
 as he did if the king had made you the pick of the 
 litter." 
 
 Ren^ whistled through his teeth. "May be so, 
 may be not," he said. " No man can tell what he 
 may do till he is given his chance to test his mettle. 
 Oh opportunity, golden opportunity! If I were 
 Francois Villon I would shape an image of gold in 
 your name and praise you for a saint." 
 
 " I wonder what that girl will say," mused Taba- 
 rie, " if our Frangois comes back with the Duke of 
 Burgundy in his pocket! " 
 
 " I wonder what she will say," sneered Jehan le 
 Loup, " if he trundles back feet foremost with a hole 
 in his body and half a head." 
 
 " Whatever happens is sure to vex her," said 
 Casin Cholet. " Women are made that way." 
 
 225 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " Our poor minions will be lonely to-night," said 
 Colin. 
 
 "I doubt it," said Ren6 de Montigny drily, and 
 then he sighed a little. " Poor Abbess! " 
 
 Sudden tears smeared Tabarie's fat cheeks. 
 
 " She was a brave wench if ever," he snivelled. 
 " Through wellfare or illfare she was always the 
 same, and would share board and blanket with a 
 friend though his pouch were as barren as Sarah's 
 body." 
 
 " It was ten thousand pities," said Ren^, " that she 
 fell so love-sick for Francois. Did he give her some 
 philtre, some elixir, do you think? FranQois is a 
 fine fellow though, I'll not deny it, but he's had the 
 devil's own luck, and by our patron St. Nicholas 
 there be others as fine as he." 
 
 As he spoke the great gate of the city yawned 
 noiselessly, and stealthy and silent the hope of Paris 
 glided into the darkness and was swallowed up by 
 the night. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 THE BANNERS OF BURGUNDY 
 
 L HE yellow dawn, rippling over Paris, found her 
 streets strangely silent, strangely quiet. A few 
 good citizens were abed, but most good citizens were 
 abroad on that kindly June morning, for there was 
 business doing outside the walls of Paris which 
 tempted every man inside the walls to those walls, 
 and that business was the battle that was raging, 
 and had raged since nightfall, between the troops of 
 King Louis on one side under the Grand Constable 
 of France, and the troops of the Duke of Burgundy 
 and his allies on the other. Paris might have been 
 that strange city of slumber told of by the wanderer 
 in the Arabian tale, or that poppied palace where 
 the sleeping beauty and her court lay waiting the 
 coming of the hero. If Asmodeus whisking his 
 way on the wings of the wind with any astonished 
 travelling companion in tow had paused over Paris 
 and unroofed it for the benefit of his fellow-voyager, 
 most of the rooms would have been found as empty 
 as the streets. 
 
 But there was one spot in the city an open place 
 by the river, between an ancient gate and the 
 
 227 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 church of the Celestins which was alive and busy 
 with a strange activity of its own. It was empty 
 enough and the windows of its houses stared vacant- 
 ly upon its emptiness, but there were two men in 
 possession of its tranquillity who had been toiling 
 hard at a singular piece of work. They were putting 
 the finishing touches to the erection of a tall, gaunt 
 gallows with its steps and platform, which occupied 
 a space midway between the gateway and the grey 
 old Gothic church. In curious contrast to the sin- 
 ister grimness of the gibbet, there rose opposite to it 
 on the side of the church a dais, richly draped with 
 royal velvet, splendidly spangled with fleur-de-lis 
 and brave with armourial bearings. 
 
 The two men who were working at the gallows 
 having finished their job, came out into the open 
 space and stretched themselves. One was a tall, 
 thin, grave, poplar-tree of a man, clad in sad-col- 
 oured clothes and conspicuous for a long rosary of 
 enormous beads which he carried around his neck 
 and which from time to time he handled with osten- 
 tatious sanctimony. The other was as complete a 
 contrast to his companion as could be desired by the 
 humorous painter. He was a plump, spry little fel- 
 low, brightly dressed and bubbling over with merry, 
 roguish spirits, which formed the most fantastic foil 
 
 228 
 
THE BANNERS OF BURGUNDY 
 
 to the lugubriousness of his fellow-worker. Any 
 good citizen of Paris, arising belated, if any such 
 there may have been, and hurrying to the walls to 
 know how things went for the king's cause, would 
 have recognized readily enough in these two strange 
 opposites two of the most dreaded of the myrmidons 
 of Tristan I'Hermite, no less than his two chief hang- 
 men, Trois-Echelles and Petit-Jean. Trois-Echelles 
 was the long, cadaverous hangman; Petit- Jean was 
 the stout, droll hangman, but when it came to a push 
 and a pinch, both were hangmen and hung in the 
 same manner, if not with the same manners. Petit- 
 Jean pulled a flagon of wine from under the platform 
 of the gallows, lifted it to his lips, drained a mighty 
 draught, sighed with satisfaction, and held out the 
 bottle to his brother craftsman. 
 
 " Drink and be merry." 
 
 Trois-Echelles, making gestures of protestation 
 with his head but taking the bottle with his hand 
 none the less, drew a deep draught from its throttle 
 and sighed as sadly as his friend sighed gladly. 
 
 " I will drink but I cannot be merry. What's the 
 good of building a noble gallows if nobody looks at 
 it? One might as well be building a church." 
 
 Petit-Jean laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 " All Paris is on the walls watching the battle. 
 Lucky Paris! " 
 
 229 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Trois-Echelles laughed ill-humoredly. 
 
 " Not so lucky if we don't win the battle." 
 
 Petit-Jean was complacent. 
 
 " Whichever wins will need us to hang the losers. 
 Look at the bright side, man." 
 
 Trois-Echelles fumbled his beads furtively. 
 
 " I've lost heart, I tell you. I haven't hanged a 
 man for a week." 
 
 As he mourned over this melancholy retrospect, 
 the door of a little house hard by the church opened 
 and an old woman, propping herself on a crutch 
 stick, came hobbling slowly across the open space 
 towards the church. Petit-Jean knew her well 
 enough, for they both lodged in the same house and 
 both on the same floor of attics. He knew she was 
 the mother of the greatest scapegrace in all Paris, 
 a rascal named Frangois Villon, who had disap- 
 peared, Heaven alone knew where, to the old lady's 
 great despair. He saluted her good humoredly. 
 
 " Good morrow to your nightcap, mother. Have 
 you found your lost sheep? " 
 
 Mother Villon shook her head wistfully. 
 
 " They say he is banished, but he has sent me 
 money, bless him! though I touch none of it, lest 
 it be badly come by." 
 
 Trois-Echelles stopped fumbling his beads and 
 advanced towards her, extending his hand. 
 
 230 
 
THE BANNERS OF BURGUNDY 
 
 " Give it to me to spend on masses? " he asked 
 sanctimoniously. 
 
 Petit-Jean danced between them. 
 
 " Lend it to me for drink money," he urged. 
 
 The old woman paid no heed to their proposals. 
 Her tired eyes had caught sight of the grim struc- 
 ture in wood which usurped a place in a familiar 
 scene. She shaded her eyes and peered at it, asking: 
 
 " For whom do you build this gallows? " 
 
 The glum hangman answered gloomily: 
 
 " Oddly enough, we don't know. * Make me a gal- 
 lows here,' says the Constable, Mn the open place, 
 and sieges for the king and his courtiers.' " 
 
 Mother Villon, her simple curiosity easily satis- 
 fied, dropped her informant a curtsey and hobbled 
 slowly up the steps into the church. 
 
 Petit- Jean stretched himself again and yawned. 
 
 " I'll to sleep and dream of hanging a king." 
 
 Trois-Echelles put a lean finger to his lean chin, 
 
 " Treason, friend, if Tristan heard you." 
 
 Petit-Jean's eyes twinkled. 
 
 " Well, let's say an archbishop," he said. 
 
 Trois-Echelles nodded approvingly. 
 
 " An archbishop ought to make a good end." 
 
 His mind pleased itself with the picture of so 
 high a dignitary of the church in his full canonicals 
 
 231 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 coming under his tender care and being exhorted 
 by his pious counsels. 
 
 The two hangmen climbed on the platform of the 
 grisly erection, and, calmly indifferent to the nature 
 of their bed, were in a few moments fast asleep 
 and snoring as merrily as if every man in the world 
 had been hung and there was nothing else for them 
 to do but to take it easy for the rest of their days. 
 
 The hard weariness of work and the easy weari- 
 ness of wine had made them so heavy-headed that 
 their slumbers were not disturbed by the sound of 
 footfalls, though the footfalls echoed strangely loud 
 in the lonely deserted place the footfalls of a wo- 
 man, swift and impatient, the footfalls of a man 
 swiftly pursuing. In another moment the woman 
 and the man came into the open space, now bright 
 and shining with the risen sun. The woman was 
 Katherine de Vaucelles; the man was Noel le Jolys. 
 
 As Katherine entered the silent square, she paused 
 for a moment a few paces from the church, and turn- 
 ing, looked at her silent follower. 
 
 " Why do you follow me? " she asked, and Noel 
 le Jolys, who had dogged her footsteps from the 
 palace, answered her briskly: 
 
 " You should not walk unguarded. Therefore I 
 shadow you." 
 
 232 
 
THE BANNERS OF BURGUNDY 
 
 Katherine scorned him. 
 
 " You may well play the shadow, for you cast no 
 shadow of your own. The streets are very idle 
 the streets are very quiet. I would sooner have 
 my loneliness than your company. Let me pass to 
 my prayers." For Noel had glided between her and 
 the church, and stood barring her passage defer- 
 entially. 
 
 " For your lover? " he asked, and Katherine 
 flashed at him: 
 
 " You have a small mind to ask, yet I have a great 
 mind to answer. My prayers are for a brave gen- 
 tleman whom I shall never see again." 
 
 As she spoke, the cup of her heart seemed to run 
 over with red tears, and the bitter waters trembled 
 in her eyes. Her thoughts wandered over the long 
 white night and her sleepless sorrow, and her vigil 
 by the window, looking out into the rose garden, and 
 her tired eyes straining in vain through the dark 
 for any sight, and her tired ears straining in vain for 
 any sound of the battle in which the lord of her 
 heart was risking his life. For she knew it now; 
 she had learned it through those age-long hours of 
 agony, that he whom she called her enemy was the 
 lord of her heart, that in spite of all her rage at 
 tb^ cheat that had been put upon her, she loved, 
 
 233 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 not the great noble who had done so much to 
 save France no, nor the ragged poet who had 
 lent her his sword-arm and his sword, but just the 
 man, by whatever name he might be called and in 
 whatever way of life his wheel of fortune might 
 spin, whose hand had proved to be of the right size 
 to hold her heart in its hollow. The Katherine 
 of yesterday seemed to be dead and buried, to have 
 died a fiery death of fierce thoughts, fierce agonies, 
 fierce exultations, and from that travail a new Kath- 
 erine had come into being with cleansed eyes to see 
 the world truly and with a cleansed soul to know a 
 great souPs truth. 
 
 Noel watched her silence but it meant nothing to 
 him, and he tripped into her high thoughts cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 " I am a brave gentleman," he said, patting him- 
 self approvingly upon the breast. " I slew Thibaut 
 d'Aussigny last night. The king has taken me back 
 into favour. If I played the fooPs part yesterday, 
 I can play the wise man's part to-morrow. I was a 
 bubble and a gull and a dunce, if you like, but I 
 meant no harm to the king, and the king smiles on 
 me. Cannot you do the like?" 
 
 Katherine came out of her dream and stood upon 
 the earth again, and disdained him. 
 
 234 
 
THE BANNERS OF BURGUNDY 
 
 " No, for you envy a great spirit and your envy 
 makes you a base thing." 
 
 Noel protested pettishly: 
 
 " He is no man-angel. He is made of Adam's clay 
 like the rest of us." 
 
 Katherine's thoughts had wandered slwslj from 
 her escort; her mind's eyes were busy with waving 
 banners, the shock of meeting lances, the glitter of 
 steel coats and the beating of steel upon steel. 
 Through all the melley, her fancy spied one shining 
 figure in bright armour like, so it seemed to her, 
 Archangel Michael or Archangel Gabriel, riding in 
 the pride of the fight with a smile on his lips, sor- 
 row in his heart, and a token of white ribbon be- 
 tween his breast-plate and his breast. 
 
 She answered, not NoePs words, but her thoughts: 
 
 " My pride has the right to hate him, but I think 
 he is still my souPs man." 
 
 Noel was about to speak again, when he suddenly 
 fell back and doffed his bonnet. Perched on the 
 steps of the church stood the stooped sable figure of 
 the king, just coming from his matinal devotions. 
 In the shadow behind him stood his shadows Tris- 
 tan and Olivier. 
 
 Katherine, her attention swerved by NoePs 
 glance, turned and swayed a reverence to Louis as 
 
 235 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 he slowly descended the steps. The king surveyed 
 them sardonically. 
 
 " Good morning, friends," he said. Then turning 
 to Noel, he ordered, " Take the top of your speed to 
 St. Anthony's gate and bring hot news of he 
 battle." 
 
 Noel bowed and sped on his errand. Katherine 
 requested : 
 
 " Have I your majesty's leave? " 
 
 Tristan and Olivier withdrew themselves dis- 
 creetly apart, under the shadow of the gallows, that 
 building of all human buildings which was most 
 dear to their hearts and most sacred in their eyes. 
 
 Louis came very close to the pale girl and whis- 
 pered: 
 
 " Are you so hungry for your devotions that you 
 cannot waste some worldly words on me? Are you 
 still angry with me for the trick I played on you? " 
 
 Katherine's pale face flushed a little as she 
 answered : 
 
 " It is wasted spirit to be angry with a king." 
 
 Louis grinned. 
 
 " You are as pat with your answers as a clerk at 
 matins. Could you give me your heart now if I 
 bent my knee? " 
 
 Katherine stifled a great sigh. 
 
 236 
 
THE BANNERS OF BURGUNDY 
 
 " I lost my heart last night; I have not found it 
 again." 
 
 Louis flung up his hands in contemptuous amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 " The fellow was a fool to blab so glibly. I would 
 have carried the jest farther. But he stood on the 
 punctilio and would not win you without con- 
 fession." 
 
 The girl's heart swelled. 
 
 " I am glad he had so much honour," she said, and 
 the shining figure in the bright armour seemed more 
 archangel-like than ever. 
 
 Louis looked at her intently, tickling his chin with 
 his forefinger. 
 
 " If you wait in the church for his homecoming, 
 you will see how the jest ends," he said. 
 
 Katherine made the king a profound reverence 
 and slowly entered the church, every pulse of her 
 body pleading in prayer for her lost lover. She 
 scarcely heeded an old, bowed woman who tottered 
 out, propped on a crutch stick, and who dropped the 
 great lady a respectful curtsey as she passed and 
 went her ways into the silent streets. So the two 
 women in the world whom Villon loved met for the 
 first time. 
 
 Louis, left alone, beckoned to Tristan and Olivier, 
 who hurried down to him. 
 
 237 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 " There goes a brave lady, gossips, a fair lady, a 
 chaste lady. She sails in the high latitudes of love 
 and deserves to find the Fortunate Islands. Are 
 there not better things to do with Master Villon 
 than to hang him? " 
 
 Olivier protested: 
 
 " This Villon is such a damnable double dealer 
 that the ass-headed populace loves him better than 
 you." 
 
 The king's visage soured. 
 
 " That is enough to hang him. Yet I have a kind 
 of liking for the fellow, and my dream troubles me 
 the star that fell from heaven." 
 
 Tristan commented bluffly: 
 
 " Hang the rascal while you can and thank 
 heaven you are well rid of him." 
 
 Even as he spoke the world seemed suddenly to be 
 full of many noises and many voices. From beyond 
 the gate on the ways that led to the city walls came 
 the clamour of hoarse shouts and cries and the thud- 
 ding din of running feet. From the other side, from 
 the street that led to the Louvre, came the ordered 
 tramp of soldiers. 
 
 Olivier interpreting one interruption, said: 
 
 " The people are coming from the walls." 
 
 And Tristan interpreted the other. 
 
 238 
 
THE BANNERS OF BURGUNDY 
 
 " The queen, sire," he announced. 
 
 Through the narrow space that led into the open 
 square there came a line of soldiers escorting a num- 
 ber of splendidly caparisoned litters the car- 
 riages of the queen and the queen's chief ladies. 
 Louis advanced to the first litter, and extending his 
 hand, assisted the queen to descend and conducted 
 her with an elaborate display of polite affection to 
 the gorgeous dais by the side of the church, where 
 they sat side by side on the small thrones that had 
 been prepared for them. The ladies and gentlemen 
 of the court ranged themselves in their places behind 
 the royal pair and the Scottish archers formed a 
 solid force in front. Through the open gateway came 
 a few running, shouting enthusiasts, outstrippers of 
 the mass of citizens who were returning from the 
 walls. Even the heavy sleep of Trois-Echelles and 
 Petit-Jean was not proof against all this tumult. 
 They awoke, rubbed their eyes, then climbing 
 briskly to their feet, leaned over the platform on the 
 handrails of the gallows and surveyed the scene with 
 interest. 
 
 Noel le Jolys pushed his way through the crowd 
 about the gateway and advanced to the king. 
 
 " Sire," he said, " the latest message from the bat- 
 tle: The day is wholly ours. The Grand Constable 
 
 239 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 returns in triumph. You can hear his music 
 now." 
 
 Louis nodded. 
 
 " It is very well," he affirmed gravely. 
 
 Through the gateway the crowd of people was 
 pouring thick and fast, shouting and cheering and 
 filling the square in front of the dais with a throng 
 of enthusiastic men, women and children, all wav- 
 ing their arms, flinging flowers and yelling welcomes 
 at the topmost pitch of their lungs. The sound of 
 military music and the tramp of marching men could 
 be heard approaching louder and louder. 
 
 Five girls had forced their way to the very front 
 row of the throne and were applauding and shouting 
 with the rest. These were the light ladies of the 
 Fircone, Isabeau, Jehanneton, Denise, and Blanche 
 with Guillemette, fat Robin Turgis' fat daughter. 
 They were all in a state of great excitement, for their 
 lovers had vanished over night and their Abbess had 
 disappeared like a dream, and they knew not what 
 had become of them. They had little fear for theilf 
 lovers, for the good gentlemen of the Fellowship of 
 the Cockleshell had a way of diving into the deep 
 waters of existence at intervals in order to escape 
 the too attentive eye and the too particular finger 
 of the law, and the girls had a vague idea of some 
 
 240 
 
THE BANNERS OF BURGUNDY 
 
 great scheme on hand which might easily result in 
 trouble for the brotherhood. As for their Abbess, 
 they were none too sorry to be free from her some- 
 what decisive authority, and they chattered and 
 babbled like birds escaped from a cage. 
 
 By this time the advance guard of the army began 
 to pour in through the narrow mouth of the gateway 
 and to form a line in front of the populace, thus 
 leaving a wide open space between the assembled 
 people and the seated king. From every window 
 heads were thrust and hands extended waving scarfs 
 of silk or scattering flowers. The blare of the sol- 
 diers' music grew louder and louder, the tramp of 
 horse and men came nearer and nearer, and then, 
 when the cheering was at its shrillest and the rain 
 of flowers thickest, Villon rode in through the gate- 
 way on his great warhorse with his five ruffians close 
 at his heels. Villon's lifted hand gave the signal 
 for a halt and he leaped lightly off his horse and 
 advanced towards the king, a glorious figure to the 
 eyes of the crowd in his shining armour with a scar- 
 let coif upon his helmet. If for a moment his glance 
 rested on the gaunt skeleton of the gallows there 
 came no change in the proud composure of his face. 
 Immediately behind him followed the faithful raga- 
 muffins, each of whom bore vivid signs in slung arm, 
 
 241 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 swathed leg or bandaged forehead of the lusty work 
 he had done in the king's name upon the king's en- 
 emies. But the slings and swathes and bandages 
 were of no common sort, but splendid bits of silk of 
 many colours, bearing fantastic devices and rich in 
 threads of gold and silver. 
 
 As Villon and his fantastic escort strode towards 
 the presence, Noel interposed indignantly. He 
 stretched a pair of protecting arms wide out to ward 
 off from the king the approach of so singular a 
 deputation, while he demanded angrily: 
 
 " In heaven's name, sir, who are these scarecrows 
 who flaunt their tatters in the presence of the 
 king? " 
 
 The king nursed his chin with an amused smile as 
 Villon answered: 
 
 " The scarecrows are rogues who have fought like 
 gentlefolk and these rags are the banners of the 
 enemy." 
 
 Even as he spoke the rapscallions stripped the 
 pieces of silk from arm and leg and forehead, shook 
 them out into such semblance of their original shape 
 as battle had left to them and flung them with a 
 gesture of imperial pride on the ground at the foot 
 of the dais. 
 
 " Well answered," said Louis regally, while two 
 pursuivants pounced swiftly upon the bits of silk, 
 
 242 
 
''Louis of France, we bring you these silks for your carpet. 
 
THE BANNERS OF BURGUNDY 
 
 and gathering them up with reverential fingers, laid 
 them upon the railing in front of the king's chair to 
 be examined with loving care by the queen. 
 Standing erect, Villon addressed the king: 
 " Louis of France, we bring jou these silks for 
 your carpet. An hour ago they wooed the wind 
 from Burgundian staves and floated over Burgun- 
 dian helmets. I will make no vain glory of their 
 winning. Burgundy fought well, but France fought 
 better, and these trophies trail in our triumph. To 
 a mercer's eyes these bits of tissue are but so many 
 squares of damaged web. To a soldier's eye, they 
 cover crowded graves with honour. To a king's eye, 
 they deck one throne with lonely splendour. When 
 we h^re, who breathe hard from fighting, and ye, 
 who stand there and marvel, are dust, when the 
 king's name is but a golden space in chronicles grey 
 with age, these banners shall hang from Cathedral 
 arches and your children's children's children, lifted 
 in reverent arms, shall peep through the dim air at 
 the faded colours, and baby lips shall whisper an 
 echo of our battle.'' 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GALLOWS^ 
 
 As Villon ended a great peal of music came from 
 the church, the magnificent music of a Te Deum 
 Laudamus; while from the soldiers who choked the 
 archway, a glowing sea of steel, there rose one com- 
 mon cry of " God save the Grand Constable! " 
 
 Olivier leaned over and whispered to the king; 
 
 " They cheer him, sire." 
 
 Louis waved him impatiently aside, and leaning 
 over the railing, spoke: 
 
 " My Lord Constable, and you, brave soldiers, the 
 King of France thanks you for your gift. Victory 
 was indeed assured you by the justice of our cause. 
 My Lord of Montcorbier, you may promise these 
 brave fellows that their sovereign will remember 
 them." 
 
 Swiftly Villon turned and addressed the motley 
 throng behind him: 
 
 " In the king's name, a gold coin to every man who 
 fought and a cup of wine to every man, woman and 
 child who wishes to drink the king's health." 
 
 The king smiled wryly. 
 
 " Ever generous," he said. 
 
 244 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE GALLOWS 
 
 " To the end, sire," Villon answered, with an ironic 
 salutation, which Louis answered by an ironic 
 question. 
 
 " What have you now to do? " 
 
 Villon saluted the king again. 
 
 " My latest duty, sire," he answered, and once 
 again he turned to address the multitude: 
 
 " Soldiers who have served under me, friends who 
 have fought with me, and you, people, whom I have 
 striven to succour, listen to my amazing swan song. 
 You know me a little as Count of Montcorbier, Grand 
 Constable of France. I know myself indifferently 
 well as Frangois Villon, Master of Arts, broker of 
 ballads and somewhile bibber and brawler. It is 
 now my task as Grand Constable of France to de- 
 clare that the life of Master Frangois Villon is for- 
 feit and to pronounce on him this sentence, that he 
 be straightway hanged upon yonder gibbet." 
 
 His words fell like the beat of a passing bell upon 
 the ears of an absolutely silent crowd and for some 
 few year-long seconds the silence brooded over the 
 place. The five wantons on the fringe of the crowd 
 caught at each others' fingers and gasped. Was that 
 splendid gentleman their old friend, Frangois Vii- 
 lon? As for the five rogues who knew the secret, 
 they had begun to laugh at Villon's first words, but 
 the laughter dried upon their lips as he ended. 
 
 245 
 
IF 1 WERE KING 
 
 From the church suddenly the exultant music of 
 the Te Deum ceased to swell and in its place crept 
 forth upon the silent air the awful notes of a 
 Miserere. The king had been at the ear of the organ- 
 ist that morning and had planned his effects well. 
 The melancholy music stirred the people to murmurs 
 of surprise and protest. 
 
 Guy Tabarie, flourishing his notched and bloody 
 sw^ord, thrust his round body forward. 
 
 " What jest is this? " he asked. 
 
 And Villon answered him: 
 
 " Such a jest as I would rather weep over to-mor- 
 row than laugh at to-day. For the pitcher breaks at 
 the welPs mouth this very morning. Messire Noel, 
 to you I surrender my sword. I like to believe that 
 it has scraped a little shame from its master's coat.'' 
 
 He drew his great war-sword and handed it to 
 Noel le Jolys, who, for one of the few times in his life, 
 astonished into forgetfulness of courtly etiquette, 
 had been staring, open-mouthed, at the astonishing 
 revelation that had just been made to him. The gleam 
 of the war-worn weapon recalled him to himself and 
 he took it from the hands of the doomed man with a 
 grave courtesy which meant something more than 
 the official fulfillment of a formal duty. Noel le 
 Jolys was a soldier and his eyes paid homage to a 
 brave man. 
 
 246 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE GALLOWS 
 
 Villon turned to Tristan. 
 
 "Master Tristan, perform your office upon this 
 self-doomed felon." 
 
 With great alacrity, Tristan moved towards Vil- 
 lon, but his motion was met by such angry murmurs 
 from the crowd, and not from the crowd alone, but 
 from the soldiers who had followed Villon to victory, 
 that even he shrank back instinctively before its 
 menace. There came cries from a thousand throats, 
 calling on the king to pardon the Grand Constable, 
 calling upon those who loved him to rescue him. 
 
 " King, is this justice? " Kene de Montign^ 
 shouted, and his question evoked a roar of approval 
 from the multitude. 
 
 The king's keen glance surveyed the scene with no 
 sign of fear and no sign of annoyance. Leaning 
 easily upon the railing, as a man might lean who 
 surveyed an amusing farce or interlude, he addressed 
 the crowd: 
 
 " Good people of Paris, you have heard your Grand 
 Constable pronounce sentence upon a criminal. Has 
 Master Frangois Villon any reason to urge, any plea 
 to offer, why the sentence should not be carried 
 out? " 
 
 Villon waved his hand disdainfully. 
 
 " I have nothing whatever to say, sire. Frangois 
 
 247 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Villon must die. It's bad luck for him, but he has 
 worse luck and so to business." 
 
 As he spoke he drew near to the line of Scottish 
 archers and two of their number laid hands on him, 
 one at either side. The sight of their hero thus in 
 the very clutch of justice spurred the multitude to 
 renewed exasperation. Angry demands for justice, 
 for mercy, for rescue, shook the summer air. Un- 
 armed citizens broke into an armourer's shop hard 
 by, and, seizing whatever weapons they could lay 
 their hands upon, flourished them aloft in significant 
 assertion that their words were but the prefaces to 
 deeds. Again Tabarie's bull voice bellowed to those 
 about him: 
 
 " Kings must listen to the voice of the people. 
 Shall the man who led us to victory die a rogue's 
 death?" 
 
 And again his thunder heralded a storm. Soldiers 
 and citizens alike seemed prepared to rescue Villon 
 by force from the hands of his enemies. The Scot- 
 tish archers with levelled arquebusses formed a line 
 in front of the dais and every courtier drew his 
 sword. Only the king seemed unmoved, only the 
 king seemed entertained by the wind he had sowed, 
 the whirlwind he had reaped. He asked quite 
 quietly: 
 
 248 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE GALLOWS 
 
 " Does Master Francois Villon ask his life? " 
 
 Villon shook his head. 
 
 " No, sire. Master Francois Villon played and 
 Master Francois Villon pays." 
 
 As he spoke the angry people, swaying like a sea, 
 shouted new shouts of rescue, clamoured new cries 
 for pardon. Olivier, green-pale, whispered eagerly 
 to the king: 
 
 " Sire, the rogues are in a damnable temper. Can 
 you not gain time, postpone, promise? " 
 
 Louis answered imperturbably : 
 
 " Are the fools so fond of the fellow? I know a 
 way to stop their shouting." 
 
 As he spoke, for the first time he rose from his seat, 
 a frail, small, black figure, to dominate those raging 
 waves of humanity, while Olivier, holding up his 
 hand to order silence, shouted : 
 
 "Peace, peace! The king would speak with his 
 good people of Paris." 
 
 The noisy voices dropped slowly into silence to 
 hear what the king said. 
 
 "Good people of Paris, I am no tyrant. But a 
 king is the father of his people, and his ears can 
 never be shut against the cries of his children. You 
 all love this man? Hear, then, my judgment! This 
 man's life is forfeit. Which of you will redeem it? 
 
 249 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 If there be one among you ready to take Master 
 Francois Villon's place on yonder gibbet, let that 
 one speak now." 
 
 There was a brief silence as the mob began to real- 
 ize the meaning of the king's words, a silence broken 
 by angry cries. 
 
 " What does he mean? Take his place on the gal- 
 lows! A trick a trick! " 
 
 Louis grinned complacently. 
 
 " No trick, friends, but a simple bargain. Here is 
 a man condemned to death; here is an idle gibbet. 
 If ye prize him so highly, let one among you die for 
 him. It has been said by the wise Apostle : 'Greater 
 love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his 
 life for his friends.' On my word as a king, when 
 such a splendid volunteer is swinging at the end of 
 yonder rope that moment Master Frangois Villon 
 shall go free. Come, who will slip neck in noose for 
 the sake of a hero? " 
 
 Villon protested haughtily: 
 
 " No man shall die for me." 
 
 But, indeed, his protest was premature. The anger 
 of the crowd dwindled into sullen clamours. 
 
 " The king laughs at us! 'Tis too much to ask." 
 
 A faint, exultant smile flickered over the king's 
 face as he asked : 
 
 250 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE GALLOWS 
 
 " Now, friends, where is your idoPs supplement? 
 Who will be his lieutenant, who will be heir to his 
 heritage of a cross bar and a rope? You are not so 
 brisk as you were. Does your devotion falter? 
 Were you mocking me and him? " 
 
 Villon looked at the king with a kind of disdain- 
 ful admiration. 
 
 "King of foxes! '^ he applauded, and the king 
 heard him and smiled again. 
 
 " Tristan," he said, " go into yonder church and 
 bring me an inch of candle." 
 
 Tristan bowed and entered the church. The king 
 went on: 
 
 " Our royal mercy is mild, our royal mercy is 
 patient. As it is our hope and our belief to live in 
 history as a good and gracious sovereign, we would 
 not have it said of us that we denied even a felon all 
 due and reasonable opportunity." 
 
 Even while he spoke, Tristan came out of the 
 church carrying in his hand a great gold candlestick 
 in whose socket a little piece of candle, scarce an 
 inch high, still was burning. He gave it into the 
 hands of one of the soldiers of the Scottish Guard, 
 who held it in his strong grasp and stood as immov- 
 able as a statue, while the thin faint flame pointed 
 spear-like towards heaven in the warm and wind- 
 less air. 
 
 251 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 Louis stopped and whispered to a page behind 
 him who bowed and entered the church. Then the 
 king spoke again to the silent, wondering crowd: 
 
 " So long as this candle burns, so long Frangois 
 Villon lives. If while it burns, one of you is moved to 
 take Master Villon's place on the gallows, so much 
 the better for Master Villon, and so much the worse 
 for his substitute. Herald, proclaim our pleasure." 
 
 At a sign from Montjoye, the royal herald, two 
 pursuivants stirred the air with the blast of golden 
 trumpets. Then Montjoye spoke: 
 
 " The king's grace and the king's justice is ready to 
 grant life and liberty to Francois Villon if anyone be 
 found willing to take his place on the gallows and 
 die his death that he may live his life! " 
 
 As Montjoye's words died away a great silence fell 
 upon the assembled pepple, a silence so still and 
 cruel that men's hearts grew cold and the warm 
 June air seemed to be sighing over fields of ice. The 
 king leaned over and addressed his prisoner con- 
 fidentially: 
 
 " Master Villon, Master Villon, you see what 
 human friendship means and the sweet voices of the 
 multitude." 
 
 Villon answered boldly: 
 
 " Sire, it is no news to me that men love the dear 
 habit of living." 
 
 252 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE GALLOWS 
 
 Louis signalled to Montjoye. 
 
 " Proclaim again," he said; and once more the pair 
 of pursuivants blew their trumpets and once again 
 Montjoye made his singular proposition of pardon 
 to the assemblage. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 "we speak to MEN'* 
 
 IT fell this time upon fresh ears, the ears of an old 
 woman who was patiently pushing her way through 
 the crowd in her effort to reach her humble lodging. 
 She had succeeded in making her way to the open 
 space as the last words of the herald's offer were be- 
 ing spoken, and suddenly her dulled brain caught 
 the full significance of Montjoye's speech. Looking 
 wiMly around her, she saw where Villon stood, an 
 armoured figure held captive, and without attempt- 
 ing to realize the meaning of what she beheld, she 
 dropped her stick and tottered forward to the dais, 
 where she fell on her knees with clasped, entreating 
 hands. 
 
 " Sire, sire, I will die for him ! " 
 
 Villon's heart leaped to his throat when he saw 
 her. 
 
 "Mammy, mammy, go away!" he cried, and he 
 made a vain attempt to move towards his mother, 
 a movement instantly restrained by the crossed 
 weapons of his captors. At the same moment 
 Katherine de Vaucelles came out of the church door 
 in obedience to the summons of a royal page, who 
 
 254 
 
"we spear to MEN" 
 
 had found her at her prayers, and who told her that 
 the king desired her presence. She paused at the 
 head of the steps in amazed survey of the crowded 
 place and a scene that at first she could not under- 
 stand. 
 
 " Who is this woman? " Louis asked, looking down 
 at the poor old dame, who knelt before him and be- 
 sought him. Olivier answered in his ear: 
 
 " The fellow's mother, sire." 
 
 A very little tenderness came into Louis' eyes, a 
 very little tenderness trembled on his lips. 
 
 " Woman, we cannot hear you," he said. " By 
 God's law you have given him life once and by my 
 law you may not give him life again." 
 
 " Sire, I beseech you," Mother Villon entreated ; 
 but the king's pity was not to be purchased so. 
 
 " Take her away and use her gently," he said. 
 
 Noel le Jolys stooped to obey the king's command, 
 but the old woman, rising to her feet, repulsed him 
 fiercely. 
 
 " No! no! " she said. " I will not leave my son," 
 and she flung her old body passionately upon the 
 prisoner's neck and clasped with her lean arms his 
 mailed shoulders. 
 
 Louis bade Montjoye proclaim for the last time, 
 and once again the trumpets thundered and once 
 
 255 
 
IF 1 WERE KING 
 
 again the cold, calm voice of Montjoye propounded 
 the grim terms of the king's clemency. 
 
 The silence that followed was swiftly broken by 
 the sweet, clear voice of a girl. 
 
 "I will," said Katherine de Vaucelles from her 
 stand on the church steps, and on the instant all eyes 
 were turned to the spot where the maiden stood 
 with face as white as pear-blossom and her hands 
 tightly clenched by her sides. She moved slowly 
 down the steps in the dead silence and paused before 
 the king's throne. 
 
 " I will die for him, sire," she said quietly. 
 
 From Villon's lips there came a mighty cry of 
 "Katherine! " and a fain spot of colour rose on the 
 king's cheeks. 
 
 " Mistress, we speak to men," he said. 
 
 Tristan pressed his great hands together. 
 
 " By St. Denis, our women seem to make the best 
 men," he grunted. 
 
 Katherine stood, tall and proud, facing the king. 
 Mother Villon, stirred by this heavenly interference, 
 left her son to fall at the feet of the angel lady and 
 kiss the hem of her garment. 
 
 Katherine spoke bravely: 
 
 " Sire, I love this man and would be proud to die 
 for him. It may chime with your pleasure to slay 
 
 256 
 
WE SPEAR TO MEN" 
 
 him; it cannot chime with your honour to deny me. 
 Your word is given and a king must keep his word." 
 
 The king made an impatient gesture. 
 
 " We speak to men." 
 
 Villon caught at his words. 
 
 " I speak to a woman," he cried, and gazing pas- 
 sionately at his love, he called to her: " Katherine, 
 my Katherine, death is a little thing. For love is 
 deathless and you give me a better thing than life." 
 
 With unmoved voice, with unchanged face, Kath- 
 erine persisted : 
 
 " Sire, I claim your promise." 
 
 Louis again denied her. 
 
 " We speak to men. Tristan, do your office." 
 
 At this moment the situation suddenly changed. 
 Villon unexpectedly wrenched himself free from the 
 control of the two soldiers beside him, whose hold 
 had relaxed in their wonder at what was passing, 
 and sprang towards Katherine. His act instantly 
 inspired the hearts and hands of his sympathisers, 
 and in a second he was caught up and encircled by a 
 crowd of armed and determined men, who drove back 
 the Scottish archers. Villon snatched a drawn 
 sword from the hand of Ken^ de Montigny and held 
 it high in the air while he shouted : 
 
 " No, by God's rood, the candle of my grace has not 
 
 357 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 yet burnt to the socket! People of Paris, shall I not 
 speak to my lover before I die? " 
 
 The place was a raving bedlam of noise and men- 
 ace* The Scottish archers did not dare to make any 
 attempt to recapture their escaped prisoner, but kept 
 their line in front of the royal dais, while Villon 
 stood by the side of Katherine with drawn sword, an 
 archangel of insurrection, ready at any moment to 
 fling the forces behind him upon his adversaries. 
 Yet the king remained as unmoved as if he had been 
 witnessing a puppet show. In his thin, even voice, 
 he commanded: 
 
 " Speak to her while the candle burns, not a second 
 longer." 
 
 With one accord, Villon's adherents drew back 
 and Villon was left with Katherine alone in the open 
 space. 
 
 Katherine whispered to him: 
 
 " Francois, will you not take life at my hands? " 
 
 Villon answered her tenderly: 
 
 "Dear child, if that crowned Judas there had 
 taken you at your word, do you think I would have 
 outlived you by the space of a second? '^ 
 
 She looked fixedly into his eyes. 
 
 " You are resolved? " 
 
 He smiled back at her. 
 
 258 
 
"WE SPEAK TO MEN" 
 
 " I am as stubborn as a mule and no pleadings will 
 move me." 
 
 She looked over her shoulder with a shudder. 
 
 ^' Dearest, the candle flickers in the wind. There 
 is a dagger in your girdle. Slay me and yourself." 
 
 " You mean it? " he gasped, and she answered 
 firmly: 
 
 " By God's Mother and God's Son." 
 
 A sudden, wonderful thought flashed through Vil- 
 lon's mind. He had won love, he could not hope to 
 win life, but at least he might so manage as to die a 
 soldier's death and not a knave's. He whispered to 
 her eagerly: 
 
 " Then we will spoil old Louis' pleasure yet. Love, 
 will you marry me here at the foot of the gallows? " 
 
 She answered him: 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 Instantly he turned and left her and strode 
 towards the throne. 
 
 " King, I crave your patience, but your sentence 
 must tarry and turn, for I claim to marry this lady.'* 
 
 Louis smiled derisively. 
 
 " It is too late. Sing your neck-rhyme and have 
 done, for your noose is too large for a wedding ring." 
 
 Villon gave him back smile for smile. 
 
 " Sire," he said, " I am a Master of Arts of the 
 
 259 
 
IF I WERE RING 
 
 University of Paris and as such hare the right in 
 extremis to any sacrament of the church. I have 
 lived a confirmed bachelor, but now I have a mind to 
 change my state. Find me a priest, King Louis.*' 
 
 Olivier stooped to the king. 
 
 "He speaks the truth, sire. He can claim this 
 right." 
 
 Louis leaned forward interested. 
 
 " What do you hope to gain by this? " 
 
 Villon answered calmly: 
 
 " The right to die like a soldier by the sword, not 
 like a rogue by the rope." 
 
 A murmur of approval stirred the silent crowd, but 
 it died away as Katherine suddenly advanced and 
 stood, a white figure like a fair lily, between the king 
 and Villon. 
 
 "Nay, you gain more than this. I am the Lady 
 Katherine de Vaucelles, kinswoman of the royal 
 house, mistress of a hundred lands, Grand Senes* 
 chale of Gascony, Warden of the Marches of Poitou. 
 In my own domains I exercise the High Justice and 
 the Low. This man is of humble birth, and when I 
 marry him he becomes my vassal. Over my vassals 
 I hold the law of life and death." 
 
 Villon dropped on his knees beside his lady. 
 
 Louis clapped his thin hands together as a man 
 might applaud a play. 
 
 260 
 
WE SPEAK TO MEN** 
 
 *' You are a bold minion and you have a quick wit. 
 But if you marry this gaol bird you decline to his 
 condition. Your high titles fall from you, your 
 great estates are forfeit to the crown and you and 
 he must go out into exile together; the beggar 
 woman with the beggar man." 
 
 Katherine turned to Villon where he knelt beside 
 her. 
 
 " 'Tis a little price to pay for my lover." 
 
 Villon looking up into her eyes, questioned her: 
 
 "Do you think I'm worth it, Kate? 'Tis a big 
 price to pay for this poor anatomy." 
 
 She repeated her words. 
 
 " 'Tis a little price to pay for my lover. Do you 
 doubt me? " 
 
 Unheeded a man-at-arms pushed his way through 
 the crowd to the king's dais and whispered some 
 words in the ear of Noel le Jolys, who in turn whis- 
 pered in the ear of Olivier and Olivier hearing, grew 
 paler than before. Villon caught Katherine by the 
 hand. 
 
 " No, Kate, no! The world is wide, our hearts are 
 light. For a star has fallen to me from heaven and 
 it fills the earth with glory." 
 
 His words fell on the king's ears like the voice of 
 an oracle. Standing in his place with staring eyes 
 
 261 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 and trembling fingers, he repeated falteringly the 
 mystic words. 
 
 " A star has fallen from heaven. My dream, my 
 dream ! " 
 
 Olivier plucked at his mantle, whispering with 
 twitching lips : 
 
 "My liege, this story spreads like the plague in 
 the city and every alley vomits mutiny." 
 
 Louis pushed him aside. 
 
 * Rub your pale cheeks," he said; " for all is well. 
 Destiny has spoken." 
 
 Then leaning over and stretching his thin hand 
 towards the crowd, he cried : 
 
 " People of Paris, that man shall have his life; this 
 woman her lover. I have tried a man's heart and 
 found it pure gold; a woman's soul and found it all 
 angel. True man and true woman, to each other*^ 
 arms!" 
 
 And Katherine and Villon obeyed the king. 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 At about this point in his narrative, Dom Gregory, 
 as those happy few who are familiar with his manu- 
 script in the Abbey of Bonne Aventure are aware, 
 diverges from the full current of his story to indulge 
 in some philosophical reflections upon the character 
 of Louis XI. 
 
 What, Dom Gregory asks in cautious interroga- 
 tion, were the real intentions of the monarch with 
 regard to Francois Villon and the Lady Katherine 
 de Vaucelles? His enemies no doubt assert that he 
 played with their destinies for a purely malignant 
 purpose and was only prevented from carrying his 
 evil intentions into effect by the storm of popular 
 indignation that threatened him. Others, again, 
 who pretend to a more intimate acquaintance with 
 the shifty character of the king, insist that he did 
 indeed purpose to send Master Villon to the gallows, 
 or at least and worse, into a beggar's exile, but that 
 he was stayed by Master Villon's happy use of the 
 phrase concerning a star fallen from heaven, which 
 words, harping upon the superstitious wits of his 
 majesty, made him believe that the dream which had 
 puzzled him was interpreted and fulfilled. In this 
 
 263 
 
IF I WERE KING 
 
 regard Dom Gregory records with a sly gravity 
 how many suggest that Master Frangois used those 
 words of set purpose with the very intention of play- 
 ing upon the strained strings of the king^s mind. 
 But there be those, too, Dom Gregory adds, and we 
 gather from his manner that he is inclined to include 
 himself in their number, there be those partisans of 
 the king who maintain that the king's cruelty was 
 from the start a mere mask for clemency, that he 
 only intended a little malicious sport with the too 
 outspoken lover and the too disdainful lass, and that 
 it had never been in the scope of his thoughts seri- 
 ously to punish either the broker of ballads or the 
 valiant maid of Vaucelles. 
 
 Starting from this point, Dom Gregory indulges in 
 a great many reflections upon kings and kingship 
 and the consequences of kingly acts, all of which 
 seemed perhaps more momentous at the time when 
 they were written and in the sleepy Abbey where 
 they lie enshrined, than in busier and more bustling 
 times. One could have wished that Dom Gregory 
 had let such philosophies go by the board and had 
 given us instead some greater knowledge of what 
 happened to Francois Villon and Katherine de 
 Vaucelles after they fell upon each other's necks in 
 that open place in Paris, with the mob huzzahing, 
 
 264 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 the king staring and Tristan's strange satellites 
 busily dismantling the useless gibbet. But here 
 Dom Gregory is little less than dumb. Losses in the 
 manuscript account for much of his silence; perhaps 
 his ecclesiastical indifference to the wedded state 
 may account for more. If we can gather vaguely 
 from other sources that the poet and his mistress 
 settled down on a small and quiet estate in Poitou, 
 lived a peaceful country life for many years and died 
 a peaceful country death at the end, it is the most 
 we can hope to gain with surety. We are glad to 
 believe in their happiness, for he was a true lover 
 and she was a fair woman. 
 
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