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The Trampling of the Lilies by Rafael Sabatini
page 52 of 286 (18%)
the National Razor - invented and designed some years ago by one Dr.
Guillotin - is but an item in the changes that have been, yet an item
that in its way has become a very factor. It stands not over-high,
yet the shadow of it has fallen athwart the whole length and breadth
of France, and in that shadow the tyrants have trembled, shaken to
the very souls of them by the rude hand of fear; in that shadow the
spurned and downtrodden children of the soil have taken heart of
grace. The bonds of servile cowardice that for centuries had
trammelled them have been shaken off like cobwebs, and they that
were as sheep are now become the wolves that prey on those that
preyed on them for generations.

There is, in the whole of France, no corner so remote but that,
sooner or later, this great upheaval has penetrated to it.
Louis XVI. - or Louis Capet, as he is now more generally spoken of
- has been arraigned, condemned and executed. The aristocrats are
in full emigratory flight across the frontiers - those that have not
been rent by the vassals they had brought to bay, the people they
had outraged. The Lilies of France lie trampled under foot in the
shambles they have made of that fair land, whilst overhead the
tricolour - that symbol of the new trinity, Liberty, Equality,
Fraternity - is flaunted in the breeze.

A few of the more proud and obstinate - so proud and obstinate as
to find it a thing incredible that the order should indeed change
and the old regime pass away - still remain, and by their vain
endeavours to lord it in their castles provoke such scenes as that
enacted at Bellecour in February of '93 (by the style of slaves)
or Pluviose of the year One of the French Republic, as it shall
presently come to be known in the annals of the Revolution.
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