François waited patiently for the young man to fill his coffers. He watched him pocket his earnings, one by one, and tried to calculate how much they came to. It wasn’t until the end of the day that he approached, greeted him amiably in polished schoolboy Latin, and handed him a manuscript filled with crossings-out. The young man looked through the text, in a detached way at first, then appearing more intrigued. From time to time, his face lit up with delight at a good rhyme, a clever turn of phrase. The story was amusing, and the title as convoluted as you could wish: In which is recounted the ill fortune of Master François, born of the many difficulties he had with Mother Justice, the Holy Father, and good King Louis, as well as with priests, rabbis, Moors and Mongols, all put into rondeaus according to the taste of Paris and dedicated to the gentle Jesus, who truly saved him.
With a friendly smile, the merchant handed back the manuscript and began to pack up, ready to leave.
François caught him by the sleeve. “I’d like a little for it. Just enough to get to the nearest port.”
The peddler rubbed his chin. The takings had been good today. You had to eat, though, find lodgings, buy paper and ink. There wasn’t much left after that. True, the text hadn’t been lacking in quality. But he could only resell it to a merchant from the rich part of town or an informed connoisseur. He suggested a sum at random. François frowned and made a timid counter-offer. The peddler scoffed. That was far too much. He was ready to make a bit of an effort, but no more than that. This expense was totally unplanned. He wasn’t even sure he could make a profit on it. At least not in the short term. He took out a handful of coins, counted quickly, put part back in his pocket, and showed the rest in the palm of his hand. François accepted, with a contrite air, but then tried to extort a few more pennies. He’d had enough of wearing this moth-eaten habit. He needed fresh clothes. Or rather, a new disguise.
“I also have this.”
François searched in his bag and took out a bundle of shriveled pages. The peddler inspected the parchment with an expert eye. The surface was dry and covered in illegible scribbles. If you scraped it well and then dipped it in oil, it might regain its texture. The material was thick enough. Cut up and stuck to wooden boards, it would make an excellent leather for binding. The scraps could be used as straps to tie around the covers to keep the book straight and properly closed. But in the state it was in, it wasn’t worth more than half a sou. François hurriedly pocketed the coin, as if the peddler had paid him in gold crowns. The young man threw his purchase into his sack, along with the old papers and pots of ink. François watched him until he disappeared in the distance, taking with him the last wishes of Christ. The testament of Jesus was in good hands. The peddler was as much the heir to it as anybody. The Savior didn’t need a certificate from a notary. Beyond all words, wasn’t it from His legend that all men drew their own?
François touched the coin in his pocket. Half a sou. It wasn’t much and it was a lot, to save the Word. And give it back its freedom.
Just before nightfall, François went into a secondhand clothes shop and chose some new garments. As he walked up and down the shop in the gathering dark, he noticed a crate full of old canes and blunt sticks near the door. He rummaged through it blindly and took out a long rough club. He handed his half a sou to the shopkeeper, who did not even thank him.
Outside, it had started raining again. François gazed up for a moment at the few stars visible through the drizzle, then, with his bag secured over his shoulder, set off along the road that led to the sea.
NOTE
Villon’s ballads were printed for the first time in 1489 by Pierre Levet, Paris, under the title Le Grand Testament Villon et le Petit. This edition is unfortunately incomplete, as are all subsequent ones. Villon’s manuscript has never been found.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raphaël Jerusalmy was born in Montmartre, France in 1954. After receiving diplomas from the Ecole Normale Supérieure and the Sorbonne, he worked with Israeli military intelligence. He currently sells antique books in Tel Aviv.
The Brotherhood of Book Hunters Page 23
