The Will of Villon

On a fall evening in 1462 the grey began to creep up the narrow twisting streets of Paris and filled with blackness the carved mouths of the leering gargoyles which danced on the lower wooden stories of the houses. As the boy Jean called Bon soir, to his master, the keeper of the hot baths, he could see over the roofs the pointed towers of Notre Dame, tinted scarlet by the setting sun. Paris was settling for the evening, the criers, like himself, were folding their wares and setting off for home. The streets were filled with bourgeois in cloth and furred velvet, with ladies in their high coifs, with men-at-arms, ragged and bearded, a juggler leading an ass with cymbals, with monks and harlots and beggars, all going off for the evening. Jean was new in Paris and the noisy crowd excited him, but it also slowed him and he chose a back street which the master said led to the Pomme de Pin