t only written
in all noble histories, but in every man's heart, if he will take care
to read. You speak of food and wine, and I know very well that hunger is
a difficult trial to endure; but you do not speak of other wants; you
say nothing of honour, of faith to God and other men, of courtesy, of
love without reproach. It may be that I am not very wise--and yet I
think I am--but you seem to me like one who has lost his way and made a
great error in life. You are attending to the little wants, and you have
totally forgotten the great and only real ones, like a man who should be
doctoring a toothache on the Judgment Day. For such things as honour and
love and faith are not only nobler than food and drink, but indeed I
think that we desire them more, and suffer more sharply for their
absence. I speak to you as I think you will most easily understand me.
Are you not, while careful to fill your belly, disregarding another
appetite in your heart, which spoils the pleasure of your life and keeps
you continually wretched?"

Villon was sensibly nettled under all this sermonising. "You think I
have no sense of honour!" he cried. "I'm poor enough, God knows! It's
hard to see rich people with their gloves, and you blowing in your
hands. An empty belly is a bitter thing, although you speak so lightly
of it. If you had had as many as I, perhaps you would change your tune.
Any way I'm a thief--make the most of that--but I'm not a devil from
hell, God strike me dead! I would have you to know I've an honour of my
own, as good as yours, though I don't prate about it all day long, as if
it was a God's miracle to have any. It seems quite natural to me; I keep
it in its box till it's wanted. Why now, look you here, how long have I
been in this room with you? Did you not tell me you were alone in the
house? Look at your gold plate! You're strong, if you like, but you're
old and unarmed, and I have my knife. What did I want but a jerk of the
elbow and here would have been you with the cold steel in your bowels,
and there would have been me, linking in the streets, with an armful of
gold cups! Did you suppose I hadn't wit enough to see that? And I
scorned the action. There are your damned goblets, as safe as in a
church; there are you, with your heart ticking as good as new; and here
am I, ready to go out again as poor as I came in, with my one white that
you threw in my teeth! And you think I have no sense of honour--God
strike me dead!"