Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

"At that time, the road was extremely muddy, and the grain merchants couldn't enter the town to collect grain, so the farmers had to use their wheat to pay their taxes,"

"But since the Tax Farming Bureau had moved to the suburbs, people had no choice but to rely on manpower, carrying the wheat to the Tax Farming Bureau time and again. During this period, four people died from drowning or slipping down steep slopes, while much of the wheat transported to the Tax Farming Bureau was discounted at half price because it got damp."

Robespierre struggled to suppress his anger as he searched out files related to Stian Town for Joseph, "It was then that Leconu proposed that if the townspeople were willing to pay a 'transportation fee,' he could also go to the town to collect taxes."

"People reluctantly agreed. And the so-called 'transportation fee' was almost 70% of the price of the grain."

"Since then, Leconu has fixed the 'transportation fee' into the taxes, increasing it every year. I've roughly calculated that over these four years, he has collected a total of 120,000 francs in 'transportation fees' from Stian Town."

"According to the townspeople who came to complain, nearly half of the women in the town now have no choice but to stand on the streets in nearby cities like Angerx in order to avoid bankruptcy at home..."

Joseph's chest heaved violently; he was today thoroughly disillusioned by these Tax Farmers. Throughout the morning, Robespierre had recounted too many shameless tactics of these people—

Such as deliberately issuing problematic tax clearance certificates to illiterate farmers, and then confiscating their property under the guise of tax evasion. These farmers, even if they went to court, achieved nothing.

They would use "custom" measuring tools to assess the farmers' land, to over-calculate the taxes, and even include public lands within the taxable area.

Before the nobility's privileges were abolished, if a noble's pigeon landed on someone's property, the Tax Farmers would immediately come to collect "pigeon tax," which should have only been paid by those who raised pigeons.

As for privately levying taxes, beating defaulting taxpayers to death, and indecent assaults on the wives and daughters of taxpayers, such events were all too common.

Joseph stared intently at the spread of documents on the table, rage boiling within him: he labored tirelessly every day to develop the national economy and improve the livelihood of the people, fearing that they would be driven to break into copies of the Bastille out of sheer desperation. And yet, these Tax Farmers were crazily driving the people toward outright revolt, merely to line their own pockets!

He had gravely underestimated the shamelessness and cruelty of these Tax Collectors. He had thought they were merely engaging in some account fraud and overcharging a few sous in taxes, but they were completely indifferent to the life and death of the lower classes, pushing people to their deaths to seize property and enrich themselves by sucking their blood!

He looked at Robespierre standing before him, took a deep breath, and said with a heavy heart, "I finally understand why you did what you did before. You were right."

Robespierre was startled, asking with surprise, "Your Highness, what are you referring to that I did before?"

Joseph waved his hand, "It's nothing."

He was naturally referring to the historical fact that Robespierre and others like Mala had signed to behead all the Tax Farmers. Although there were regrets like the wrongful execution of Lavoisier, based on what he had seen and learned today, such miscarriages of justice were certainly few.

After Robespierre finished briefly reporting the complaints of the people against the Tax Farmers in recent times, he then asked solemnly, "Your Highness, regarding these people, what do you think would be the best way to handle them?"

"Just handle it the way you used to," Joseph replied.

"Ah? The way I used to?"

Joseph slammed his fist onto the table, saying sternly, "The Police Headquarters has guns! Take your men, and if that's not enough, you can go to the Police Headquarters, for those guys, arrest those who should be arrested, judge those who should be judged, hang those who should be hanged."

Never did Robespierre expect the Crown Prince to be so resolute. He immediately felt invigorated, stood at attention, and responded loudly, "Yes, Your Highness! I will make them pay the price they deserve!"

...

In the Orleans Suburb.

Next to the beautiful apple orchard in the town of Moen, in the brick-red villa, Tax Farmer Boka swallowed a juicy pan-fried steak and nodded with satisfaction, complimenting his wife, "Anouk's cooking skills have improved a lot."
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He picked up some bread, dipped it in pigeon soup, and placed it in his mouth, then looked at his son sitting across, "Obin, I think we better not sell the land. It took me over ten years to save that up, and with many people going to North Africa to pioneer, the land prices just aren't rising."

"I heard that the government's 'Agricultural Service Consultancy Company' is very good. With just a little money, they can help us increase the yield in the land by twenty or thirty percent.

"With that in mind, it's not bad to continue hiring people to farm, plus the hired hands can pay taxes..."

His son, who was about twenty years old, appeared somewhat distracted as he stared at his plate of food, suddenly looking up and saying, "Father, this audit by the Tax Office seems to be a big deal. I heard that many Tax Farmers in Paris have already been arrested."

Boka snorted coldly with disdain, "What's there to fear? Those who are caught are definitely the ones without any backing.

"As for us, we're taking care of business for Viscount Borolei. Besides, the elders from the Trade Council won't just sit by and do nothing."

He lowered his voice, "I've heard that this time the trade of the whole country will be affected, and there are situations in Marseille too.

"Don't worry about it. This storm will soon pass, the government is no match for the elders from the Trade Council."

His son Obin still seemed nervous, "Or maybe we should sell the land and take the money to England. I've heard that there are a lot of opportunities to make money in England right now."

Boka immediately shook his head, "No, we must stick with Viscount Borolei to make big money."

Although he himself had farmed over 300,000 francs in taxes, his main job was managing the Tax Farming business for Borolei.

He had more than forty tax collectors under his command, and he was responsible for the taxation of the villages around Orleans. Although most of the tax revenue went to Borolei, he would receive 5% of the profits, and could employ some "little tricks" during the tax collection process to take a little more for himself.

While Boka spoke, the butler rushed in frantically, anxiously saying, "Sir, there are quite a few people from the Tax Office arriving, some policemen too."

Obin immediately stood up tensely, "What, what do they want?"

Boka slightly furrowed his brow, comforted his son with a few words, then instructed the butler, "Gather all the tax collectors from the town."

"Yes, sir."

Boka wiped his mouth with a napkin, stood up, and headed towards the front door.

Before long, he saw more than a dozen uniformed Tax Officers, armed with flintlock guns, outside the villa. Two policemen stood beside them, whom he recognized as Security Inspectors from the Orleans Police Station.

He pretended to be enthusiastic, "What can I do for you, gentlemen?"