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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 251
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 19:01:01 +0000 UTCChapter 251: The Boomerang of the Assembly of Nobles
“What nonsense are you spouting?” The Duke of Duroc’s estate steward looked arrogantly at the scar-faced man. “The Duke knows nothing about any reserve grain!”
“This is the Duke’s domain. You’d better leave now, or wait until the army comes and arrests you all!”
A nearby officer from the Bureau of Public Safety immediately turned to the crowd and shouted:
“Did you hear that? They’re guilty as sin, threatening us with the army!”
The over-a-thousand-strong crowd of protesters erupted into an angry roar:
“Let’s beat this noble’s lackey to death!”
“No more talk—go inside and take back our grain!”
“Everyone, charge in!”
The steward was startled by the momentum of the crowd. He had only ten guns on hand, and the estate guards could not possibly stop the mob if they surged forward.
He hid his slightly trembling hands behind his back and barked feebly:
“You dare threaten a noble? That’s a grave crime!”
A gang member mixed in with the crowd hurled a dirt clod at the steward:
“It’s the grain thieves who are the real criminals!”
Prompted by this act, the crowd began throwing stones and garbage. The barrage almost overwhelmed the few guards at the estate gates.
The steward retreated inside the gates and, in panic, turned to the guards:
“Pick up your guns! Shoot anyone who steps forward!”
The officer from the Bureau of Public Safety signaled the crowd to stop their attack, then spoke gently to the steward:
“You see, everyone says the Duke took the reserve grain. If you let us search the estate, we might be able to clear the Duke’s name.”
The scar-faced man and his subordinates shouted in unison:
“Yes, let us search the estate!”
“Prove your innocence!”
According to the “script” from their “employer,” entering the estate would earn them a bonus of 20 livres.
The steward saw that some rioters were already preparing to climb over the walls. After a moment of hesitation, he reluctantly nodded:
“Fine, take a look. I told you there’s no reserve grain here. But no more than three people can enter.”
The scar-faced man immediately shouted:
“No way! Three people can’t search an estate this large. At least twenty need to go in!”
“Right! Just three would get bribed!”
“We need thirty people! I’m going in!”
Under mounting pressure, the steward was forced to allow twenty people, including the scar-faced man and the officers, into the estate.
The Bureau of Public Safety officer pretended to inspect several cellars and quickly identified a garbage furnace, signaling with his eyes to the scar-faced man.
Following the plan, the scar-faced man ran to the furnace, picked up a burnt piece of cloth from some weeds behind it, and shouted:
“Isn’t this a sack from the reserve grain stores?”
The people who had entered the estate immediately gathered around. When they saw the half-burned sack, they could no longer hold back:
“They stole the reserve grain!”
“This is proof!”
“These bastards said there was nothing here!”
The scar-faced man, under the steward’s shocked gaze, ran to the estate entrance with the “evidence” and tossed it to the protesters:
“Look what we found!”
Of course, this item had been planted by the Bureau of Public Safety the previous night. There were two more such “pieces of evidence” scattered around the estate.
The scar-faced man raised his hand high, shouting to the crowd:
“What are you waiting for? Take back our grain!”
His subordinates, well-practiced in such tactics, rushed forward and shoved the guards aside. This method had been taught to them by spies under the Duke of Orléans.
The enraged protesters, eyes red with fury, roared as they flooded into the estate.
The estate residents were terrified, cowering in corners without daring to resist.
The scar-faced man led the mob to a cellar, smashed open the door, and pointed inside:
“Our grain is in there!”
Similar scenes played out across the estate. Within a short time, the mob uncovered tens of thousands of bushels of grain from the estate’s cellars and storehouses, which they naturally assumed was the stolen reserve grain.
Soon after, other “evidence” was found, such as half-torn release slips from the reserve grain warehouses, further cementing the Duke of Duroc’s guilt.
An elderly man, seeing the mountain of grain before him, covered his face and wept bitterly:
“If we’d had this grain, my wife wouldn’t have starved to death…”
The memories of loss and suffering overwhelmed the others. They began cursing the Duke of Duroc loudly.
The scar-faced man continued to stoke the mob’s anger, pointing to the luxurious villa at the center of the estate:
“Everything there was bought with the money from selling the reserve grain. We have the right to take it!”
The mob shouted in agreement:
“Yes! My sister’s death deserves compensation!”
“And my father’s!”
“My twin sons too!”
The angry mob swarmed into the villa, stripping it bare of valuables and even dismantling windows and roof tiles. Anything they couldn’t carry, they smashed.
By dusk, the mob, sated with their vengeance, finally began to leave the estate.
The army stationed in Nice, despite receiving multiple pleas for help from the estate, did not deploy a single soldier. All captains and above were in Versailles meeting the King, leaving lower-ranking officers unwilling to act. Besides, many in the army had also heard rumors about the Duke stealing the reserve grain. Some had lost family to the famine themselves, and if not for military discipline, they might have joined the mob.
...
The next day, the furious mob returned to the Duke’s estate. They were greeted by the scar-faced man shouting:
“The Duke of Duroc has another villa in Villefa. We can’t let him off!”
The mob roared back:
“Yes! To Villefa!”
“Avenge our loved ones!”
“This devil must pay!”
Even more protesters than the previous day marched toward Villefa in a great tide...
The riots born of hatred swept through western and southern France. Similar scenes to those in Nice unfolded everywhere.
In Montauban, the three villas of the Duke of Mouchy were burned to ashes by enraged citizens...
In Auch, after ransacking the Duke of Brissac’s villa, the mob shaved the heads of everyone they found there, men and women alike, as a form of humiliation...
The most tragic cases involved nobles like the Earl of Dimmonsault and the Duke of Noyay, who had returned to their southern estates for the winter. They were caught by mobs and beaten to death at home. In some cases, entire families were exterminated...
The great nobles of the Assembly of Notables likely never imagined that the famine-stricken masses they had so carefully manipulated would one day become monsters that turned back to devour them whole.
...
Northern Brittany.
Armor.
Fouché’s eyes burned with excitement and madness as he stared out of the carriage window at the barren trees, muttering under his breath:
“Don’t you dare run... yes, you’ll be right here, waiting for me...”
Half an hour later, the carriage stopped in front of a small house on the northern outskirts of Armor.
A Bureau of Public Safety officer, tasked with receiving him, hurried forward to open the door and was met with Fouché’s impatient voice:
“Is he still there?”
The officer leaned closer and whispered:
“Yes, sir. The Duke of Orléans has been staying at that estate for the past few days...”
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