If I Were King

tions, and he turned with a start to find the sable figure of

s said amiably, and as Villon dropped

wer tast

my knees let me t

ou sang yourself into splendour. 'If F

ice and gesture of

sty will u

his apologies

radiant forehead, with what a lofty carriage you thundered your verses at me. 'There,

been my hunger's

s across his chest and hug

a fancy for the task myself. But I owed you a good turn and your own words prompted the p

unable to hear the king out, but inter

rve you as never

iet, monotonous words fell on the h

my Grand Consta

to Villon's side, he could not

, almost unable to realize th

upon him and

manent appointment? Come, friend, come,

f the roses. Villon could only repeat to himself: "A week!" and stare vaca

ed. "One hundred and sixty-eight heavenly hours. It's the chance of a lifetime. The world

an of despair for

garret and the kennel, th

the poet and tapped him on the chest with his le

et. In a week's time you will build me a big gibbet in the Place de Greve, and

s. If Villon had run up a heavy reckoning with the king at the Fircone Tavern, must he wipe out the sco

ire, hav

ed down on hi

thing that you prize your garret and your ke

bowed h

ontent y

e cowering figure wi

You can go back to your garret this very moment if you choose. Say the word and

his hands. "Your majesty,

s scorn b

ly 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

t as if the grip of the rope were at that very

at have I done that you

snapped h

nd maimed a minister. You

s into words. He spoke not so much to the kin

brute pleasures of food and drink and warm sleep, living hands to hold and living laught

e marble seat and crou

atted him

pray, to help

d it as if he were meditating to which particular patron he should recommend his Grand Constable to addr

, Toison d'Or, attends under a flag of

ned to hi

ere, Olivier, in this

ir when we hold sp

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

love this beggar-man?" He ambled across to where Villon lay and tapped hi

rbier win the heart of Lady Katherine de Vaucelles within the week,

ord of hon

honour, Master

lys' eyes, seemed to find the air she sought and began to sing. The tune was quaint and plaintive, tender as an ancient

is uns

may u

oes in

ge in

ery

ht and

s and

r the

"you cried for the mo

k of wonders though I die a dog's death at the end of it. I will

pping his thin hands

must, with heaven's help, keep yourself for the gallows. No self-slaughter, no flinging aw

rm again in its channels,

opportunity, and if I do not make the most of it

ose 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 terrace was suddenly flooded with courtiers and

stable," he whispered, and then turning to th

messag

feet nearer to the monarch

solemn leaguer outside the walls of Paris, I hereby summon you, Louis of France, to surre

is knees and inclined his head a

refuse, S

d answere

and famine, much blood to shed and much gold

ds," the k

d replied

ls of gre

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 desires of empire

is my counsellor. His voice delivers my mind. Sp

and Villon turned to him in a

ught him up

'If Villon were th

s 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 p

the croak 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 hear

very soldier present bared his blade and pointed it to heaven while Villon's cry was repeated upon a hundred lips. A

lips the women of France thank

orward, smilin

does this mean

to Villon's face with eyes that mirro

, that a man ha