Butterfly effect

On a damp April morning in the year 1348, a small French boy by the name of Jean (no recorded last name) woke up feeling very pissed off. The plague was currently putting all of Europe in shambles, and Jean's meager village was no exception. Jean missed his parents, who had both tragically succumbed to the disease, as had his closest friend, Pierre. Jean's stomach rumbled. Food was scarce, and though he was typically able to find a generous soul to donate him some bread for each meal, it was often stale or moldy, and Jean had had enough. Jean had heard tales of the king feasting on the finest meats in the land, and Jean wanted in. Though he was young, he had experienced enough in his short life to know that living in a manner such has his was undignified, and, in his eyes, not worth it. His mind was made up: he would journey to see the king, and he would demand a seat at the royal table, where he could partake in the royal feasting. To Jean, any sort of rejection the king could present was a favorable alternative to his current state. And so, with nothing to his name, no one to look after him, and no place to call home, Jean set off, asking anyone who would listen for directions to the castle. Days passed, and Jean seemed to feel as though he was being led in circles. Every person he asked seemed to point him in a different direction, and Jean started to realize that none of them really knew where the king lived. Though his situation seemed bleak, Jean carried on, deciding that he would find someone of repute and ask them where the king lived. As days turned to weeks, Jean desperately searched for any sign of the castle (or someone who could point him to it). Finally, as Jean's body began to grow faint from hunger and fatigue, he stumbled upon a literal godsend, a secluded monastery tucked away in the French countryside. The monks of the monastery took Jean in, treating him with great care in his debilitated state. When he had regained some of his strength, Jean described to the monks his quest, and though they may have disagreed with the gluttonous desire that had overcome him, they listened to his story in full and were able to understand. While the monks did their best to restore Jean's health, his feeble body had been ill-prepared for the extent of his travels, and it became clear that his dream would not be realized. In an attempt to provide some consolation to the dying boy, the monks, being some of the only literate people in the kingdom, offered to write the king a letter on Jean's behalf, in which Jean could say whatever he wished to the king he so desperately yearned to meet. Jean's letter, though the translation is somewhat murky and it is clear the monks added some words, read: 

Greetings, your Highness. 

Though I am but a boy, I hope that you read this letter from a man's mind. I have ventured far and wide in an effort to find your castle, your Highness, for it is my greatest desire to feast at your royal table. Indeed, it is said that your royal feast is greatest of all feasts in all the lands. You dine on the most delicious meats, the bread is baked fresh for every meal, and there is plenty such that even the servants are given enough to fill their stomachs. Your highness, the people of your kingdom do not eat as you do. There is little food, and what there is is rotten and inedible. Death is rampant in your kingdom, your Highness. It has taken my father, my mother, and will soon take me as well. I hope that you may see it fit to provide the suffering people of your kingdom with some of your precious food, my king. For those who see no other good in the world, this would undoubtedly bring about a happiness that your people have long been depraved. I beg of you, your Highness, be a merciful and benevolent king, do right by your underlings, and provide them with just a fraction of your royal feast. 

Sincerely, your loyal subject,

Jean

No more than two days after the transcription of his letter, which was never delivered, did Jean succumb to his ailments. On a warm August morning, Jean was laid to rest outside the monastery, though his true story had only just begun.

Fontaine-de-Vaucluse is a small commune situated not far from the monastery where Jean met his unfortunate death. At the time, famous Italian poet Petrarch was situated in this commune, and would frequently take walks around the neighboring countryside. Though he was still quite spry, Petrarch was not the excursionist he once was, and on one of these walks he decided to take respite at the monastery where Jean had found himself just a few years earlier. While resting in the monastery, Petrarch noticed a scrap of paper, laying on a dilapidated shelf. The monks described that it was a letter from a dying boy to the king, and though they had no means to deliver it, they could not bring themselves to throw it away. Petrarch asked if he could read it, and was brought to tears by the sincerity and pain in the child's words. He begged to keep the letter, to which the monks complied. Feeling revived, Petrarch marched his way home and began to write as much as he could based on the words in the boy's letter. 

Of the works produced in this period, it was Sonnet 132 ("S'amor non è") which caught the attention of Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho. Her 2004 piece, Dolce tormento, combines a spoken-word element from the poem with a haunting flute, which takes an even deeper meaning considering the poem's true inspiration.

As it happens, author John Green is an avid fan of all flute music, and it turns out Saariaho is a favorite of his. While writing the acclaimed The Fault in Our Stars, he supposedly had this piece of Saariaho's on repeat, claiming that he "couldn't have written the book without it." And that is how the courage and determination of one small medieval child helped bring us one of the best (according to TIME) young-adult novels of all time.