Isidore's," said one."St.Isidore," cried I, in a sort of rapture."Why, St.Isidore is my patron saint: so that accounts."And the simple folk swallowed my miracle as those accursed quiens my wounds.But the monks took me inside and shut the gate, and put their heads together; but I have a quick ear, and one did say, "Caret miraculo monasterium," which is Greek patter, leastways it is no beggar's cant.Finally they bade the lay brethren give me a hiding, and take me out a back way and put me on the road, and threatened me did I come back to the town to hand me to the magistrate and have me drowned for a plain impostor."Profit now by the Church's grace," said they, "and mend thy ways." So forward, Bon Bec, for my life is not sure nigh hand this town.' As we went he worked his shoulders, 'Wow but the brethren laid on.
And what means yon piece of monk's cant, I wonder?' So I told him the words meant 'the monastery is in want of a miracle,' but the application thereof was dark to me.'Dark,' cried he, 'dark as noon.Why, it means they are going to work the miracle, my miracle, and gather all the grain I sowed.Therefore these blows on their benefactor's shoulders; therefore is he that wrought their scurry miracle driven forth with stripes and threats.Oh, cozening knaves!' Said I, 'Becomes you to complain of guile.'
'Alas, Bon Bec,' said he, 'I but outwit the simple, but these monks would pluck Lucifer of his wing feathers.' And went a league bemoaning himself that he was not convent-bred like his servant 'He would put it to more profit;' and railing on quiens.'And as for those monks, there was one Above.' 'Certes,' said I, 'there is one Above.What then?' 'Who will call those shavelings to compt, one day,' quoth he.'And all deceitful men' said I.At one that afternoon I got armories to paint: so my master took the yellow jaundice and went begging through the town, and with his oily tongue, and saffron-water face, did fill his hat.Now in all the towns are certain licensed beggars, and one of these was an old favourite with the townsfolk: had his station at St.Martin's porch, the greatest church: a blind man: they called him blind Hans.He saw my master drawing coppers on the other side the street, and knew him by his tricks for an impostor, so sent and warned the constables, and I met my master in the constables'
hands, and going to his trial in the town hall.I followed and many more; and he was none abashed, neither by the pomp of justice, nor memory of his misdeeds, but demanded his accuser like a trumpet.And blind Hans's boy came forward, but was sifted narrowly by my master, and stammered and faltered, and owned he had seen nothing, but only carried blind Hans's tale to the chief constable.'This is but hearsay,' said my master.'Lo ye now, here standeth Misfortune backbit by Envy.But stand thou forth, blind Envy, and vent thine own lie.' And blind Hans behoved to stand forth, sore against his will.Him did my master so press with questions, and so pinch and torture, asking him again and again, how, being blind, he could see all that befell, and some that befell not, across a way; and why, an he could not see, he came there holding up his perjured hand, and maligning the misfortunate, that at last he groaned aloud and would utter no word more.And an alderman said, 'In sooth, Hans, ye are to blame;hast cast more dirt of suspicion on thyself than on him.' But the burgomaster, a wondrous fat man, and methinks of his fat some had gotten into his head, checked him, and said, 'Nay, Hans we know this many years, and be he blind or not, he hath passed for blind so long, 'tis all one.Back to thy porch, good Hans, and let the strange varlet leave the town incontinent on pain of whipping.'
Then my master winked to me; but there rose a civic officer in his gown of state and golden chain, a Dignity with us lightly prized, and even shunned of some, but in Germany and France much courted, save by condemned malefactors, to wit the hangman; and says he, 'Ant please you, first let us see why he weareth his hair so thick and low.' And his man went and lifted Cul de Jatte's hair, and lo, the upper gristle of both ears was gone.'How is this knave? quoth the burgomaster.My master said carelessly, he minded not precisely: his had been a life of misfortunes and losses.When a poor soul has lost the use of his leg, noble sirs, these more trivial woes rest lightly in his memory.' When he found this would not serve his turn, he named two famous battles, in each of which he had lost half an ear, a fighting like a true man against traitors and rebels.But the hangman showed them the two cuts were made at one time, and by measurement.''Tis no bungling soldiers'
work, my masters,' said he, ''tis ourn.' Then the burgomaster gave judgment: 'The present charge is not proven against thee; but, an thou beest not guilty now, thou hast been at other times, witness thine ears.Wherefore I send thee to prison for one month, and to give a florin towards the new hall of the guilds now a building, and to be whipt out of the town, and pay the hangman's fee for the same.' And all the aldermen approved, and my master was haled to prison with one look of anguish.It did strike my bosom.I tried to get speech of him, but the jailer denied me.But lingering near the jail I heard a whistle, and there was Cul de Jatte at a narrow window twenty feet from earth.I went under, and he asked me what made I there? I told him I was loath to go forward and not bid him farewell.He seemed quite amazed; but soon his suspicious soul got the better.That was not all mine errand.I told him not all: the psaltery: 'Well, what of that?' 'Twas not mine, but his; I would pay him the price of it.'Then throw me a rix dollar,' said he.Icounted out my coins, and they came to a rix dollar and two batzen.I threw him up his money in three throws, and when he had got it all he said, softly, 'Bon Bec.' 'Master,' said I.Then the poor rogue was greatly moved.'I thought ye had been mocking me,'
