from their homes and hung in the manikin's stead. This occurred
the eleventh of June, 1790.

The whole French town wrote to the National Assembly that she
gave herself to France, and with her the Rhone, her commerce,
the Midi, and the half of Provence.

The National Assembly was in one of its reactionary moods. It
did not wish to quarrel with the Pope; it dallied with the King,
and the matter was adjourned. From that moment the rising became a
revolt, and the Pope was free to do with Avignon what the court might
have done with Paris, if the Assembly had delayed its proclamation
of the Rights of Man. The Pope ordered the annulment of all that
had occurred at the Comtat Venaissin, the re-establishment of
the privileges of the nobles and clergy, and the reinstallation
of the Inquisition in all its rigor. The pontifical decrees were
affixed to the walls.

One man, one only, in broad daylight dared to go straight to
the walls, in face of all, and tear down the decree. His name
was Lescuyer. He was not a young man; and therefore it was not
the fire of youth that impelled him. No, he was almost an old
man who did not even belong to the province. He was a Frenchman
from Picardy, ardent yet reflective, a former notary long since
established at Avignon.

It was a crime that Roman Avignon remembered; a crime so great
that the Virgin wept!

You see Avignon is another Italy. She must have her miracles,