A gaunt old man, wearing a thin flaxen coat, was holding the hand of a sallow and emaciated child about ten years old, as they struggled to make their way to the grain warehouse official. With a bowed head and hand over his chest, he pleaded:
“Sir, kind sir! Bread in the city has soared to 22 sous a pound, we truly cannot afford it… Please, show some mercy and distribute some grain. Otherwise, we really won’t survive!”
Normally, bread in Nice wouldn’t exceed 10 sous per pound. This meant that for citizens who were barely scraping by on every single sous they earned, more than half a month would pass without enough money to buy food.
Immediately, a chorus of pleading voices arose around them:
“Please, distribute bread at fair prices! His Majesty the King promised in the proclamation…”
“My child has only had one meal in the past two days, I beg you!”
“Sir, many bakeries in town have run out of flour, everyone is relying on the reserve grain…”
“For the love of God, have mercy on us…”
The grain warehouse official could only respond with helpless, perfunctory remarks.
In the crowd, a man with three moles on his face sneered at the sight and nodded to the twenty or so men beside him. The man with the scar on his face immediately charged toward the grain warehouse guards, shouting:
“We won’t die of hunger, let’s take the grain for ourselves!”
His accomplices immediately joined in the chant:
“We have the right to bread!”
“Exactly, taking some food for our families and children, God will forgive us!”
“Everybody, act now!”
However, the starving people outside the warehouse held back in fear, hesitant to move forward.
Scarface had already boldly smashed open the gates of the grain warehouse, and a guard, pointing his gun at him, commanded:
“Back off!”
Someone next to him then waved to the crowd and shouted:
“Look! These cruel guards are going to shoot!”
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Scarface took advantage of the guard’s momentary distraction to snatch his gun. The other guards, caught off guard by the turn of events, hesitated for just a moment and were quickly surrounded by Scarface’s twenty or so accomplices.
Seeing Scarface breaking into the warehouse, some bolder starving people immediately followed suit, rushing inside, which triggered even more people to follow.
In just over ten minutes, nearly a thousand starving citizens had surged into the warehouse like a tide. The officials responsible, seeing the guards beaten to a pulp, immediately hid in their office, daring not to come out.
Soon, the hungry people in the warehouse began scooping up wheat into bags. Those without bags, not caring about the cold, took off their outer coats to carry the grain.
An hour later, the warehouse’s over twenty thousand pounds of wheat had vanished without a trace.
Most of the starving citizens left behind “payment” for the wheat they took, at the rate of 2 sous and 6 deniers per pound, which was the “people’s tax” price.
The so-called “people’s tax” is a “tradition” in France. People believe that as long as they pay what they consider a fair price, the act can only be regarded as trade and not robbery.
After the starving citizens had dispersed, the grain warehouse’s chief official emerged to gaze at the empty storeroom, feeling as if he had been plunged into an icy cavern.
This place was originally meant to supply the City of Nice with a week’s worth of grain, but now there was nothing left. This implied that soon, all the grain shops and bakeries in the city would have to close…
The next day, in a wooden house in the suburbs of Nice, the man with three moles on his face counted out more than eighty silver coins for Scarface.
The latter immediately bowed and scraped, showering him with flattery before dividing the money among his underlings. He was the leader of “Howell”, the largest gang in Nice.
And “Three Moles” was a spy nurtured by the Duke of Orleans. Following the Duke’s orders, he had come to Nice a month earlier and, promising 4 livres per person per day—a sky-high price—had recruited Howell’s men to stir up the riot with him.
After long planning, their actions the previous day had been a great success.
Having paid off the “wages”, “Three Moles” immediately led the gang members to wait at the reserve grain warehouse.
As expected, soon citizens who had heard about the previous day’s grain theft came to try their luck, only to find without exception that the warehouse had been emptied.
At that moment, Scarface’s men would step forward and tell them that everyone planned to “collect” grain from the grain shops and bakeries that afternoon.
By three in the afternoon, the City of Nice was teetering on the brink of chaos.
The moment Scarface led the charge into the city’s largest bakery, the entire city descended into madness—those who had been hungry for a long time and those filled with anxiety over the grain supply began to break into the grain stores and bakeries, grabbing as much food as they could get their hands on.
At first, people still left behind “people’s tax”, but by the latter half of the day, it had turned into pure looting.
By twilight, the city’s regular bread supply had completely collapsed.
Those who had failed to seize any food were doomed to find not even a crumb of bread for sale the next morning. And such people were in the majority among the citizens.
The next day, at the shattered doorway of “Markman” bakery, despondent citizens crowded—both the shopkeeper and the bakers had fled, and there was nothing left inside. People knew this, but still lingered out of habit.
As they wallowed in despair, Scarface and his thousand followers walked past the street corner, cries rising from the midst of the crowd:
“Viscount Sleet’s house has a lot of grain, let’s go ask him for some food.”
“If you don’t want to starve, come quickly!”
“There’s no more grain in the city, don’t hesitate!”
The people outside the bakery hesitated only briefly before joining the throng headed for Viscount Sleet’s house.
Although some felt that Viscount Sleet’s family were reasonably decent people, in such times the public behaved like a frightened flock of sheep—blindly following the leader and completely losing the ability to think for themselves.