October 27.
Paris.
A scarlet carpet had been laid along Saint-Michel Boulevard, stretching all the way to Place Saint-Michel.
Swiss Guard soldiers in white Military Uniforms patterned with red stood waiting on either side of the road, long spears in hand.
Behind them stood countless Parisian citizens—on this day, no one in all of Paris had anything else to do. Nearly everyone had gathered here to await the Crown Prince's entry into the city.
Many had come two days earlier to queue, only then managing to secure a patch of ground to stand on.
Even those separated by more than twenty rows of people, who could scarcely see what was happening on the boulevard, had been waiting here since the early hours of yesterday morning.
At ten in the morning, amid the unceasing boom of ceremonial cannon fire, the crowd began craning their necks excitedly.
Down the distant road came more than fifty military musicians, marching in phalanx formation with heads high and chests out.
Behind them were several dozen children carrying ceramic jars, scattering Cornflower petals from within onto the ground. Behind them came Clerics from Notre-Dame de Paris, sprinkling holy water in every direction.
The crowd suddenly erupted in earth-shaking cheers, for they had caught sight of the Crown Prince, surrounded by hundreds of Personal Guards.
"Long live His Highness the Crown Prince!" "May God bless His Highness the Crown Prince!" Cries like these rose and fell one after another. Quite a few people even mimicked the drumbeat of the Royal Guard Legion, pounding the Copper basins in their hands.
As Joseph proceeded slowly onward, the people on both sides of the road bowed in salute—yet unlike before, none of them did so merely because etiquette demanded it, but out of incomparable reverence and worship for the young