Chapter 540: A Return to Paradise
Meïtillon Village, west of Reims.
Paul Léonaux gently ran his hands over the old walls of his house, treating it like a priceless treasure. His eyes, perpetually swollen and red from years of exposure to toxic fumes, were now brimming with tears.
This was his home—the house his father had left him. It carried the memories of his childhood and youth. Five years after losing it, he had finally returned to this warm and familiar place.
It was all thanks to Prince Joseph, who had ordered the execution of Lord Bocquet. Paul had seen it with his own eyes. The day he heard tax collectors were to be beheaded, he and his wife risked leaving their work—despite the threat of starvation—to witness it at the Place du Louvre.
Bocquet, who had once been so arrogant when demanding taxes from them, now trembled like a coward. When the executioner raised his grotesque, bloated head for the crowd to see, Paul and his wife had joined in the deafening cheers until their voices were hoarse.
However, their children had been terrified and cried uncontrollably. It was their eldest son, Domi, who stepped forward with the courage of an older brother. Shielding his younger siblings, he proclaimed loudly, "That was a bad man! God is punishing him and sending him to hell."
The greatest surprise for Paul came a week later. A Reims district court official visited him, asking him to place his thumbprint on a few documents. The official explained that Paul's 47 acres of land, his house, and everything else Bocquet had illegally seized would soon be returned to him.
Additionally, Bocquet's estate would provide him with 35 livres as compensation.
The official, polite and respectful, explained that under Prince Joseph's orders, Bocquet should have paid him double the value of what was stolen. However, Bocquet had defrauded so many people that even after dividing his estate among them, each person received only a modest sum.
"Of course," the official added, "it's likely Bocquet hid a significant portion of his assets, but recovering those has proven difficult. Justice may restore dignity, but it rarely brings back lost years."
Yet, for Paul, this was more than enough.
He thanked the court official profusely and spent hours praying with his family for Prince Joseph.
Two weeks later, Paul received his property deeds and the 35 livres in compensation. He then borrowed an additional 30 livres—easily secured with his land as collateral—to pay for his wife's surgery to remove two fingers that had become severely infected.
That evening, his family enjoyed their first beef stew in five years. The children devoured the food so eagerly that they spent half the night clutching their stomachs and groaning, though their faces showed nothing but contentment.
As Paul reminisced on their recent hardships and blessings, he noticed his wife suddenly stop packing their belongings and stare at the doorway.
"Dear, what's the matter?"
"It's Sophie!" Madame Léonaux exclaimed, her face lighting up with joy. She hiked up her skirt and dashed outside. "I recognize her hoofbeats!"
Paul followed her out and saw his wife hugging an old, shaggy mare. She was laughing and jumping around like a child, while Sophie nuzzled her cheek and blinked as if on the verge of tears.
To a farming family like theirs, a horse was akin to another pillar of the household. With Sophie back, their future once again held promise.
Madame Léonaux began to cry softly as she kissed the mare's weathered coat, her voice trembling:
"Old friend, I thought… I thought we'd never see you again…"
Father Carlreau, who had delivered Sophie, offered comforting words and made the sign of the cross over his chest.
"Thank God," he said. "See? Everything is finally turning around."
Madame Léonaux nodded, adding, "And thank Prince Joseph. Oh, and the tax officials, and the Reims court too…"
Father Carlreau had Paul sign the papers confirming receipt of Sophie. Declining their offer of coffee, he prepared to leave in a hurry.
"I'm running late—I still have to perform a baptism for little Joseph," he explained.
"Joseph?" Paul asked, surprised. "Is that the Trouillet boy? I thought his baptism was last week."
"No, it's the younger son of the Colgerets," the priest replied with a chuckle. "Recently, every newborn in the village is named Joseph. I'm starting to lose track."
In this small village of just over 100 families, nearly a third had been plunged into poverty by the tax farmers' exploitation. But now, seven or eight out of every ten families had regained their property, and the Prince's reputation in the village was second only to that of God.
These humble farmers expressed their gratitude in the most direct way they knew—naming their newborns after him. Boys were named Joseph, and girls were named Joséphine, the feminine form of his name.
In fact, throughout France, more than 60,000 newborns had been named Joseph in recent months.
As Father Carlreau walked away, he turned back to Paul.
"Don't forget, next Sunday the parish is holding a mass in honor of Prince Joseph. You and your family must attend."
Paul immediately nodded. "Of course, Father. We'll all be there."
Turning to his wife, he whispered, "How much money do we have left?"
"Seven livres and nine sous, Paul."
Paul looked back at the priest. "Father Carlreau, I'd like to offer five livres for the mass."
A donation of five livres was a significant sum for a farming family.
The priest hesitated. "That's too much, Paul."
"No, it's not," Paul insisted. "It's nothing compared to what the Prince has done for us."
Outside Paris.
At the Vianale family's newly rented home, a lively ball was underway to celebrate their recovery of their estate.
Though their villa had already been returned, it was still undergoing renovations. For now, Madame Vianale had decided they would stay in the rented house.
Despite the marks of hardship still visible on Mr. Vianale's face, his spirit was renewed, and he radiated confidence.
Standing on a chair, he tapped his glass to draw attention and declared loudly, "A toast to Prince Joseph—our 'Child Favored by God!'"
The crowd raised their glasses and echoed the sentiment:
"To His Highness!"
"To the Child Favored by God!"
"May God bless Prince Joseph!"
Yet a few individuals muttered darkly under their breath:
"Imagine, forcing nobles to share the scaffold with common rabble. What an insult to our dignity."
"Indeed. Letting peasants experience the guillotine—a punishment meant for nobles! Outrageous!"
"Hmph! The royal family seems determined to let these wretches trample over us."
(To be continued…)
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