D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 201: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

188 The Royal Proclamation. him. But he listened to it like an officer on the retired list, who relishes gossip. “Ha!” interjected he, finally, “now we _ shall have something official—I will not say trustworthy,’ he sub- joined, like one who had lost many illusions of youth. Two trumpets preceded a herald or town-crier, in a surcoat emblazoned with arms of the kingdom and the city. They were all on the way to a wooden block, for mounting a horse in ordinary times, for attaching a thief for whipping, or for the neighboring butcher to flay a calf upon. The crier stood upon it as a stage. The trumpets flourished which thickened the crowd. “Hear ye all! this is the Bill of the Archbishop of Lisbon, appointed Ruler by the King of Spain: All good citizens are to deposit at the Royal Mint their jewels and plate, to be melted and applied to the defence of the Realm! Nota Bene: The Master of the Mint will give receipts as Treasurer. Secundos. Excepted from this order are the heirlooms of the nobles, the articles in wear of the notables, and the property of the Church.” The cheering for “I, the King,” the tail of the procla- mation, was feeble, and the trumpet fanfare, rising nois- ily, died in a tremor, like a novice in singing, whose voice went diminuendo in spite of himself. It was the matter, not the singer, which was demurred “T wonder,” said the officer, in the silence, “would the receipt for my sword defend me if the rebels came over the wall?” “Humph!” exclaimed a townsman, encouraged by this sarcastic trope. “Catch me turning over the fruit of my exertions to any mint before I am coaxed over—by main force! That would make me out to be a very poor wit- ling, and of very limited faculties !”’ But this spark of disorder was not fanned by any other breath, and the gathering, shocked, fell away to collect in another place. Apparently disgusted by this placidity, the military officer went up to the church wall, and, setting his back against it, reviewed the passengers. “A scrubby pack, these townfolk!” grumbled he. Eomicbooks. co