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Chapter 525: Mr. Robespierre, You Are Right!

"At the time, the roads were incredibly muddy, preventing grain merchants from entering the towns to collect grain. As a result, farmers had no choice but to pay their taxes with wheat.

"But because the Tax Farmers had moved their offices to the distant suburbs, people had to rely on human labor, repeatedly carrying wheat on their backs to the tax collection offices. During this period, four people died either by drowning or slipping down steep slopes. Furthermore, much of the wheat transported to the collection points became damp and could only be assessed at half price."

Mr. Robespierre struggled to suppress his anger as he pulled out documents related to Stian Town for Joseph: "It was then that Leconu proposed that if the townspeople were willing to pay a 'transportation fee,' he would collect taxes in the town.

"The farmers had no choice but to agree. This so-called 'transportation fee' amounted to almost seventy percent of the grain's value.

"From then on, Leconu fixed the 'transportation fee' into the tax amount, increasing it annually. I've roughly calculated that over these four years, he collected a total of 120,000 francs in 'transportation fees' from Stian Town.

"According to the townspeople who came to lodge complaints, nearly half of the women in the town are now forced to work the streets in larger neighboring cities like Angers to prevent their families from going bankrupt..."

Joseph's chest heaved violently—his understanding of the world was completely upended by these Tax Farmers today. This morning alone, Mr. Robespierre had recounted too many of their shameless tactics:

For instance, they would deliberately issue flawed tax clearance certificates to illiterate farmers, then return later to seize their property on charges of tax evasion. It was futile for the farmers to appeal to the courts.

They would use "specially modified" measuring tools to survey farmers' land, thus inflating tax assessments and even including public land within the taxable area.

Before noble privileges were abolished, even if a nobleman's pigeon landed on someone's property, the Tax Farmers would immediately demand a "pigeon tax"—a tax that was originally only levied on those who raised pigeons.

As for privately inventing new types of taxes, arbitrarily beating debtors to death, or assaulting the wives and daughters of debtors, such incidents were alarmingly common.

Joseph glared at the pile of documents covering the table, his heart brimming with rage: 'I rack my brains every day to develop the national economy and improve the people's lives, fearing that their hardship might drive them to revolt and storm the Bastille. Yet these damned Tax Farmers are furiously pushing the populace towards a great revolution, all just to line their own pockets!'

'I still underestimated the sheer shamelessness and cruelty of these Tax Farmers. I initially thought they were merely falsifying accounts and collecting a few extra sous in taxes, but I never imagined they'd treat the lives of the common people as utterly worthless, directly driving them to death to seize their property, enriching themselves by preying on others!'

'They deserve to die!'

He looked at Mr. Robespierre, who stood before him, took a deep breath, and said in a solemn tone, "I finally understand why you acted as you did back then. You were right."

Mr. Robespierre paused, surprised. "Your Highness, what action are you referring to?"

Joseph waved a hand. "Nothing."

He was, of course, referring to the historical fact that Robespierre, Marat, and others had signed off on the execution of all Tax Farmers. While there were regrettable wrongful deaths like Lavoisier, based on what he had seen and heard today, similar miscarriages of justice were certainly not numerous.

After Mr. Robespierre finished reporting the various complaints from the populace against the Tax Farmers over the recent period, he asked with a stern expression, "Your Highness, how do you wish to deal with these people?"

"Just handle them as you did before."

"Ah? As I did before?"

Joseph slammed his fist on the table and declared in a low voice, "The Tax Bureau is armed! Take your men, and if that's not enough, you can go to the Police Bureau. Those scoundrels — arrest those who should be arrested, sentence those who should be sentenced, and hang those who deserve it from the lampposts!"

Mr. Robespierre had not expected the Crown Prince to be so decisive. His blood immediately surged, and he snapped to attention, responding loudly, "Yes, Your Highness! I will ensure they pay the price they deserve!"

...

On the outskirts of Reims.

In the brick-red villa next to the beautiful apple orchard in Moen Town, Tax Farmer Poca swallowed a mouthful of succulent pan-fried beef, nodding with satisfaction. He turned to his wife and said, "Anouk's cooking gets better and better."

He picked up a piece of bread, dipped it in pigeon soup, and put it in his mouth. Then, he looked at his son sitting opposite him. "Aubin, I think it's still best not to sell the land. I worked hard for over a decade to acquire it, and with so many people heading to North Africa to open up new land, land prices haven't been rising lately.

"I hear that the 'Agricultural Services Consulting Company' the government established is quite good. For a small fee, they can help us increase our land's yield by twenty to thirty percent.

"In that case, it's still good to continue employing people to farm, and those hired hands can even pay taxes..."

His son, around twenty years old, looked distractedly at the food on his plate. Suddenly, he looked up and said, "Father, the Tax Bureau's audit seems to be quite a big deal this time. I heard that many Tax Farmers in Paris have already been arrested."

Poca snorted dismissively. "What's there to be afraid of? Those who get caught are definitely nobodies without connections.

"As for us, we look after business for Viscount Bolloré. Besides, the gentlemen of the general association won't just stand by and do nothing."

He lowered his voice. "I heard that trade across the country will be shaken this time, and there are developments in Marseille too.

"Don't worry, this storm will pass quickly. The government is no match for the gentlemen of the association."

His son, Aubin, still sounded nervous. "But Father, safety first. I think we should sell the land and take our money to England. I hear there are many opportunities to make money there now."

Poca immediately shook his head. "You're still young, you don't understand. We must stick with Viscount Bolloré to make serious money."

Although he personally contracted taxes worth over 300,000 francs, his primary role was managing tax collection business for Bolloré.

He employed over forty tax collectors. All the tax collection for the villages and towns around Reims fell under his responsibility. While most of the taxes had to be handed over to Bolloré, he received a five percent cut and could use various "tricks" during the collection process to pocket an additional sum for himself.

As Poca was speaking, his butler rushed in frantically, exclaiming anxiously, "Sir... Sir, many Tax Bureau agents have arrived, and it seems there are police officers too."

Aubin immediately stood up, tensing. "Wh-what do they want?"

Poca frowned slightly, comforted his son, and then instructed the butler, "Go summon all the tax collectors in town."

"Yes, sir."

Poca wiped his mouth with a napkin and rose, heading towards the main door.

Soon, he saw seven uniformed tax officials outside the villa, each carrying a flintlock musket. Beside them were two police officers whom he recognized as Public Security Inspectors from the Reims Police Bureau.

He feigned enthusiasm, "Good afternoon! May God be with you. May I ask what brings you all here?"