LIFE OF BEING A CROWN PRINCE IN FRANCE

Western Reims, Meidion Village.

Paul Leono gently caressed his old house inch by inch as if touching a rare treasure, with tears rolling in his eyes, always swollen due to exposure to gas.

This was Leono’s home, the home his father had left him, bearing the memories of his childhood. After losing it for five years, he had returned to this warm homeland.

The Crown Prince had chopped off Mr. Boka’s head, which Leono had witnessed with his own eyes. That day, when he heard that the Tax Farmers were to be beheaded, he and his wife risked their family’s starvation, putting down their work to watch at the Louvre Square.

The formerly haughty Boka was trembling with fear, entirely unlike when he had forcefully demanded money from them. At last, when the executioner lifted his hideous head, he and his wife shouted with the crowd until their throats were hoarse.

However, it seemed their child was frightened and couldn’t stop crying. Finally, the eldest, Dom, displayed a brother’s bravery, standing in front of his younger brothers, loudly telling them that he was a bad man and that Jesus was punishing him to go to hell.

What Leono had not expected was that a week later, an official from the Lance District Court came to him, had him press his handprint on several documents, and then informed him that his 47 acres of land, as well as property that had originally been mortgaged to Boka, would all be returned to him soon.

Even Boka was to compensate him 35 francs.

The official was very polite, saying that, according to the Crown Prince’s orders, Boka was supposed to compensate twice the value of the property he had illegally taken. But Boka had wronged too many people, and dividing all his property, each person would only get a few francs.

Of course, Boka must have hidden a lot of assets, but it was now very hard to find them. Actually, even though the sufferers had received justice, they often couldn’t recover their own taken possessions, let alone the years they had lost.

Yet Leono was already very satisfied.

He thanked the official profusely, and spent several hours praying for the Crown Prince with his family.

Half a month later, he finally got back his household deeds and land deeds, along with 35 francs in banknotes.

Leono also borrowed 30 francs—with the land as collateral, it was easy to borrow money from the bank—to pay for surgery to remove his wife’s two festering fingers.

Afterward, their whole family ate their first beef stew in five years. The children, having eaten too eagerly, were clutching their stomachs and groaning all evening, but their faces showed no signs of pain.

Leono was reminiscing about the recent ups and downs when he saw his wife, who was packing their luggage, suddenly stand upright and look towards the front door.

“Dear, what’s wrong?”

“Sophie,” Mrs. Leono’s face was full of excitement as she picked up her skirt and ran out the door, “It’s old Sophie! I remember its hoofbeats.”

As Leono followed her out the door, he saw his wife embracing the already shedding old horse, both laughing and jumping, happy like a child.

For farmers like them, a horse was truly another pillar of the house. Having a horse meant their lives had hope.

Soon, Mrs. Leono began to weep softly, kissing Sophie’s slackening skin, murmuring incessantly, “Old friend, I thought we’d never see you again…”

Father Carlo, who had brought the horse, comforted her, making the sign of the cross on his chest: “Thank Jesus. You see, hasn’t everything turned out well?”

Mrs. Leono nodded and added: “And we must thank the Crown Prince. Oh, and the official from the tax bureau. Oh, and Lance Court…”

Father Carlo had Leono press his handprint on the documents for receiving Sophie, declined the lady of the house’s invitation to come in for some coffee, and hurried away: “It’s getting late, I still have to go baptize little Joseph. Perhaps another time.”

“Joseph?” Leon was a bit surprised. “Was it the Truell family’s child? He should have been baptized last week.”

“It’s Kolgeva’s youngest son.” The priest smiled and waved his hand. “Well, in the past two months, four children born in the village have all been named Joseph; I’m getting quite confused.”

In this small village of just over a hundred households, a third of the villagers had gone bankrupt or fallen into dire poverty within the past decade due to the exploitation by the tax farmers. However, now, seventy to eighty percent had regained their properties, and the Crown Prince’s prestige in the village was second only to that of Jesus.

These simple farmers expressed their gratitude to the Crown Prince in the most direct way—by naming their newborn sons Joseph. If it was a girl, they’d name her Josephine, the feminine form of Joseph.

In fact, recently, there were about sixty to seventy thousand newborns named Joseph throughout France…

Father Carlo took a few steps, then suddenly remembered and turned back to Leon, “By the way, next Sunday the parish plans to hold a Mass for His Highness the Crown Prince. You must come to participate.”

Leon immediately nodded. “We and the children will be there, Father.”

He then looked at his wife and whispered, “How much money do we have left?”

“7 francs and 9 sous, Paul.”

Leon quickly said to the priest, “Father Carlo, I’d like to donate 5 francs for the Mass.”

In Catholicism, “donation” means to give money.

The priest was taken aback and advised, “That’s a bit much, Leon.”

“No, it’s not too much at all. His Highness helped us recover these…”

In the western suburbs of Paris.

In the Vianner family’s newly rented courtyard, a dance party was being held to celebrate reclaiming their property from the tax farmers.

Actually, they had also recovered their villa, but it was still somewhat in disarray, so Mrs. Vianar decided to renovate it, and they temporarily lived here.

Mr. Vianar’s face still bore traces of his previous struggles, but he was now spirited and lively.

He stood on a chair, tapped his glass, and drew the attention of the guests. He said loudly, “Thank you all for attending this dance party. Now, let us toast His Highness the Crown Prince, our ‘Son of Divine Favor’!”

The crowd all raised their glasses and echoed loudly, “To His Highness!”

“To the Son of Divine Favor.”

“May Jesus bless His Highness the Crown Prince.”

However, a few people did not respond and coldly muttered, “The Crown Prince actually allows nobles and those commoners to be beheaded together, it’s an insult to respectable people.”

“Yes, those commoners now also use beheading, which should have been reserved for the nobility!”

“Hmph, does the Royal Family intend to let these lowly people climb over our heads?”

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