“And why did they lay down their arms?”
“They received the order to do so from his Majesty Louis XVIII.”
“There is talk of a proclamation written by the King’s own hand. Have they received it?”
“Here is a copy.”
The peasant gave a paper to the person who was interrogating him. The latter opened it and read:
The war has absolutely no result save that of making the monarchy
odious and threatening. Monarchs who return to their own through
its bloody succor are never loved; these sanguinary measures must
therefore be abandoned; confide in the empire of opinion which
returns of itself to its saving principles. “God and the King,”
will soon be the rallying cry of all Frenchmen. The scattered
elements of royalism must be gathered into one formidable sheaf;
militant Vendée must be abandoned to its unhappy fate and marched
within a more pacific and less erratic path. The royalists of the
West have fulfilled their duty; those of Paris, who have prepared
everything for the approaching Restoration, must now be relied
upon—
The president raised his head, and, seeking Morgan with a flash of the eye which his hood could not entirely conceal, said: “Well, brother, I think this is the fulfilment of your wish of a few moments ago. The royalists of the Vendée and the Midi will have the merit of pure devotion.” Then, lowering his eyes to the proclamation, of which there still remained a few lines to read, he continued:
The Jews crucified their King, and since that time they have
wandered over the face of the earth. The French guillotined
theirs, and they shall be dispersed throughout the land.
Given at Blankenbourg, this 25th of August, 1799, on the day
of St. Louis and the sixth year of our reign.
(Signed) LOUIS.
The young men looked at each other.
“‘Quos vult perdere Jupiter dementat!’” said Morgan.