Early in the morning, the people of Nice gathered in a square in the southern part of the city, ready to start another round of "18th-century shopping sprees" like before. However, so soon noticed the notices posted all around—most people even had them stuck to their doors, but since literacy rates were much lower here than in Paris, many hadn't bothered to read them.
A diligent student from a church school enthusiastically read the notice aloud:
"Her Majesty the Queen has decided to give every drear and talented person in France a chance to fulfill their dreams. Whether you're a craftsman, a laundress, a maid, or a farr, if you have a beautiful singing voice or graceful dance moves, you can sign up for the 'Star of France' talent competition.
Competition categories: Singing, dancing, and musical instrunt performance.
Locations: South Nice—Les Hés Plazas, City Hall Plaza in the north, and Jupezé Town on the outskirts...
How to compete: Professional judges will score your performance...
No registration fee: If you pass the preliminary round, you'll get free food and drink. With each round you advance, you'll receive a cash prize...
Grand Prize for Nice: 3,000 livres, and the winner will be sponsored by the royal family to travel to Versailles for the national finals. The overall winner receives a grand prize of 30,000 livres and a chance to join the royal orchestra."
Suddenly, people almost forgot why they had co and started talking excitedly about this competition, with its unbelievable cash prizes:
"You just have to sing to participate? My daughter has a beautiful voice!"
"My brother is the best dancer in town—he might just win that 3,000 livres!"
"My cousin studied at a music academy! You amateurs don't stand a chance against her."
"Do we sign up at City Hall? I better go check…"
Singing and dancing have low barriers to entry—almost anyone can do it, and many people have an almost irrational confidence in their abilities. Even if they lacked confidence, everyone knew at least one family mber who could sing or dance. This chance to strike it rich was too good to pass up, and almost half the crowd hurried off to sign themselves or their relatives up.
People fear having no hope. But once they are given hope, they instinctively reach for it.
Then, the sa middle-aged man in the black jacket, who had previously incited the crowds, reappeared. His speech was just as passionate as ever, but the content had taken a 180-degree turn:
"Dust returns to dust, and those who did evil have already been punished—by your own hands!
"Now, let's begin a new chapter in our lives. The hatred is over, but life must go on…"
People exchanged glances, realizing he was right. After all, they had already burned down several estates belonging to Duke Durfort, who had smuggled the reserve grain. That noble family was now too scared to return to Nice, and the other nobles had nothing to do with the situation. Suddenly, everyone seed to lose their purpose.
They looked around for the man with the scarred face who had led them before, but he was nowhere to be found. Even the usual agitators seed to have disappeared.
Had they all gone to sign up for "Star of France"? Or perhaps they felt that revenge had been served and no longer wanted to resort to violence?
Most people are rely a "mob"—they can follow a leader and make noise, but they can't organize a riot on their own.
As the speech continued, pamphlets were distributed among the crowd. Those who could read looked through a few lines and imdiately brightened, reading aloud:
"'Alchemy, Level Three!' The words glowed brightly on the testing stone, and the young man's face remained expressionless, with a hint of self-mockery at the corner of his lips…"
People nearby were imdiately intrigued, urging the reader:
"What happened to the genius boy? Why is he in such a state? Keep reading!"
The story was so captivating that once soone started reading, they couldn't put it down. Soon, more people sat under the trees with their pamphlets, engrossed in the story.
About a third of the way through, the readers suddenly found an announcent inserted:
"Every day from noon to 5 PM, the church will sell bread at 30% off at five locations in Nice. Each person can buy up to 4 pounds. First co, first served. Locations include…"
The news spread quickly, and people couldn't stay still any longer. For most of them, bread was the core of their lives! A 30% discount ant their core could double!
In an instant, there were fewer than a hundred people left in the square. Those remaining were mostly small nobles hoping to make a quick fortune or destitute vagrants who couldn't even afford the discounted bread.
As they began to discuss who they might rob with their limited numbers, a group of policen in crisp gray uniforms, ard with Y-shaped batons, marched into the square. The lead officer shouted to the crowd:
"Go ho imdiately! The Nice Police Departnt is on riot prevention duty!"
Another twenty people, intimidated by the show of force, quietly left.
One of the small nobles remaining in the crowd taunted the police:
"Officer, even the King can't stop us from taking a walk in the square, can he?"
The officer glanced at them before turning to the older policeman at his side:
"Paul, take your n and follow them. If you see anything suspicious, blow the whistle imdiately."
"Yes, sir!" Paul led eight policen to stand beside the remaining sixty or so people, staring them down coldly.
Riots require an atmosphere of reckless frenzy. With a group of enforcers nearby, constantly reminding you to stay rational, it's hard to maintain that riotous energy.
Finally, the crowd in the square dispersed. A few policen stayed behind to patrol while the others followed their Parisian superior to the northern part of the city.
anwhile, in a rural parish in Provence, the local priest approached a group of farrs who were preparing to join the riots in the nearest town. He made the sign of the cross before speaking to them in a gentle voice:
"Listen, everyone. This is a decree that the King has just signed."
"Is it another tax hike?" soone shouted.
The priest waved his hand:
"No, Anouk, it's a decree canceling the privileges of the lords."
"What?" The farrs froze, looking at each other in disbelief.
"I'll read it to you," the priest said, skipping over the formal preamble.
"Effective imdiately, lords no longer have the right to force their serfs to work for them…
"Lords no longer have the right to designate hunting grounds…
"Lords can no longer unilaterally change tenancy agreents…
"Lords' rights to…"
The farrs' eyes grew wider and wider as they listened. It was almost too incredible to believe!
If all this were true, their lives were about to get a lot easier!
(End of Chapter)
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