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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 256
🕑 Added 2025-06-11 19:06:00 +0000 UTCChapter 256: Everyone, Stop the Riots and Dance!
Early in the morning, the citizens of Nice gathered in a square on the southern side of the city, preparing to start another round of "18th-century zero-cost shopping," as they had done recently.
However, some quickly noticed the posters plastered everywhere—on most doors, even—but given the literacy rate in Nice, which was far below that of Paris, many simply hadn't bothered to look at them.
A diligent student from a church school kindly read it aloud to the crowd:
“Her Majesty the Queen has decided to offer an opportunity for every talented and aspiring individual in France to fulfill their dreams. Whether you are a craftsman, laundress, maid, or farmer, as long as you possess a beautiful singing voice or elegant dance moves, you can sign up for the 'Star of France' talent competition.
“Competition Content: Singing, dancing, and musical instrument performances.
“Locations: Lechy Square in the southern part of Nice, City Hall Square in the north of the city, and Jupesse Village on the outskirts…
“Competition Format: Scores will be given by professional judges based on performance...
“No entry fee is required. Contestants who pass the preliminary rounds will receive free meals. Advancing to each subsequent round will earn corresponding monetary rewards...
“The overall champion of Nice will receive a prize of 3,000 livres and a trip to the Palace of Versailles funded by the royal family to compete in the finals. The final champion will receive a prize of 30,000 livres and an opportunity to join the royal court orchestra.”
For a moment, people almost forgot why they had gathered there. Conversations about the absurdly generous prize money began immediately:
“Can anyone who can sing participate? My daughter has a naturally beautiful voice!”
“My brother's dancing is the best in town! He might actually win the 3,000 livres!”
“My cousin studied at the music academy! You amateurs won’t stand a chance against her.”
“Is registration at City Hall? I need to check it out...”
Singing and dancing were accessible to almost everyone, and plenty of people had a sense of inexplicable confidence in themselves or their family members. Even for those who lacked confidence, most families had at least one or two relatives who could sing or dance.
Such a promising chance to strike it rich could not be ignored. Almost half the crowd immediately dispersed to sign up themselves or register their friends and family.
People fear nothing more than the absence of hope.
But the moment hope is presented, they instinctively grasp for it.
Soon after, the same middle-aged man in a black short coat who had previously delivered an impassioned speech appeared again.
His rhetoric remained as stirring as ever, but the message had taken a complete turn:
“Let dust return to dust, and earth to earth. The wicked have already been punished—by your own hands!
“Now, let us begin a new chapter of life. Hatred is behind us, but life must go on...”
People exchanged looks, feeling he had a point. After all, they had burned down several estates belonging to the Duke of Duroc, who had smuggled reserve grain. The duke's entire family was too frightened to return to Nice. Other nobles, who had nothing to do with the affair, were no longer viable targets.
The crowd searched for the scar-faced man who had led them previously, but he was nowhere to be found.
Had he gone to sign up for “Star of France”? Or did he feel avenged and no longer willing to resort to violence?
The majority of the populace were little more than a "mob." They could yell and follow a leader, but organizing “activities” on their own was beyond them.
As the speech continued, pamphlets began circulating through the crowd.
A literate individual read a few lines and immediately lit up with excitement, unconsciously reading aloud:
“‘Alchemy, Level Three!’ Staring at the dazzling words on the magical testing monument, the young man’s face remained impassive, though a trace of self-mockery tugged at his lips…”
Several bystanders immediately leaned in, intrigued:
“Why is that genius boy in such dire straits? Please, keep reading!”
The story was so captivating that anyone who read a single passage found it impossible to stop.
Before long, groups of people were sitting under the shade of trees, devouring the pamphlets as if addicted.
Around a third of the way through, readers suddenly encountered a notice: Bread would be sold at a 70% discount at five locations in Nice between noon and 5 PM daily, limited to 4 pounds per person. While supplies lasted, the locations were listed as...
The news spread quickly, and people could no longer remain idle.
For the vast majority, bread was life itself.
Discounted bread meant their lives could be multiplied!
In an instant, the square was nearly empty, leaving fewer than a hundred individuals.
These remaining individuals, fixated on the idea of “zero-cost shopping,” were either minor nobles hoping to strike it rich or vagrants too destitute even to afford discounted bread.
As they muttered among themselves, wondering who they could possibly loot with their diminished numbers, a squad of police officers in freshly pressed gray uniforms, armed with Y-shaped batons, marched into the square.
The lead officer bellowed at the crowd:
“Return home immediately! The Nice Police Bureau is executing a riot prevention mission!”
Another twenty or so individuals, intimidated by the show of force, left silently.
Among the remaining group, a minor noble shouted provocatively:
“Officer, even His Majesty the King cannot forbid us from strolling through the square!”
The officer cast a glance at him and gestured to a middle-aged subordinate.
“Paul, follow them with your team. If anything suspicious happens, blow the whistle immediately.”
“Yes, sir!” Paul, accompanied by eight officers, positioned themselves near the group, watching them with icy gazes.
Riots rely on an atmosphere of irrational frenzy.
With law enforcement present to remind everyone to stay rational, no one could muster the energy to incite chaos.
At last, the square emptied. Some officers remained to patrol, while others followed their Parisian superior northward.
...
Meanwhile, in a rural parish of Provence, a priest approached a group of angry farmers preparing to head for the nearest city to join the riots. He made the sign of the cross before unfurling a document, speaking in a kind tone:
“Listen, everyone. This is a decree just signed by His Majesty the King.”
“What is it now? More taxes?” someone shouted.
The priest waved his hand dismissively.
“No, Anouk, it’s a decree abolishing seigneurial privileges.”
“What?” The farmers froze, staring at one another in disbelief.
“I’ll read it to you,” the priest said, skipping the preamble. “Effective immediately, seigneurs are no longer allowed to compel peasants to work their lands for free…
“They can no longer designate exclusive hunting grounds...
“They are prohibited from unilaterally altering tenancy agreements...
“And...”
The farmers’ eyes grew wider with each clause. This was beyond their wildest imaginations! If this were true, their lives would become much easier in the days to come.
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