Francis

Francois Cheney 23 Male Farmer Peasant, 3rd estate Barely enough money to live through the day. I grow barely any crop for myself so i don't starve.
 * Name:**
 * Age:**
 * Gender:**
 * Occupation:**
 * Social Class:**
 * Financial situation:**
 * Appearance:** Medium height, dark brown hair, brown eyes, dirty. I have only one set of clothes which appear to be rags.
 * Daily routine:**I wake up every morning when the sun barely rises and I gather the crops. I walk towards town, which takes about 3-4 hours and arrive with my crops, hoping to sell at least something.I continue to plant crops if the time is right. After a day of selling, i return to my minuscule hut far from town and watch over my plants.I go out into the forest to collect wood late at night so i'm not caught, and i try to hunt any animals i can get for food. then i return home, eat whatever i can, and sleep.
 * Personality/Quirks/Unique Personality Traits:**I'm hardworking because i have to be to survive. I'm also a convincing person, convincing people to buy my crop.
 * Past/individual-family history:**My mother died giving birth to me and my father passed away from some unknown disease when i was 17.Both were very hardworking, maintaining the farm and keeping each other alive.
 * Family:**None
 * Social relations with your own and other classes (people you deal with or know about in other classes, AND your opinions and feelings about them):**I live on my own outside a nearby village, in which i know nobody there. I know a few people in town who are my loyal customers and they literally keep me alive.
 * Religion:**I choose whatever religion is popular in my area and whatever will keep me alive.
 * Education:**My parents taught me how and when to farm crops, as well as how to tell whether the soil was fertile or not. My father taught me never to plant the same crop in the same place right after another, but to switch to certain crop that keep the soil fertile for new crop.
 * Style of speaking in France:**A slight, rough accent that is somewhat hard to understand in Northern France.
 * Languages you speak:**French
 * Main privileges and/or conflicts:**No privileges. I still have to pay ridiculous taxes and still manage to make enough to live.
 * Portrait (Mr. Barrons changed his mind-you must have a portrait)**[[image:peasant_pic.jpg]]


 * Diary 1**

The rooster cried out louder than usual this morning, slightly after the sun began to rise in the distance. After all these years alone, I still find the horizon such a beautiful thing. It will never cease to fascinate me. Yet, no matter how beautiful or fascinating the rising sun is in the mornings, I must still face the realities of life. The most I can do is cherish that moment every morning before leaving to work.

As a farmer, my job is very simple: grow, harvest, and sell crops. Of course, there’s also the “staying alive” factor of my life. My wages are so minimal that the only reason why I’m still alive is because I’m a farmer. I grow a tiny bit of crop for myself just so I don’t starve. The ridiculous taxes set on me are definitely a nuisance because I’m not making much anyways. Today was no different from the rest. The only difference was that I had bread for breakfast today. The small, stale loaf of bread on my table made my stomach growl as I slowly tore a little bit of it and savored the bland taste in my mouth. Finally, I gathered the crop I had harvested earlier this week and placed them in my large, rotting, wheelbarrow that I made myself. I am no carpenter, and I definitely can’t afford to buy my own, so trying to make one was difficult. Then, I was off for my usual four hour walk into the city.

I found it hard to keep a smile on my face as hordes of people passed by without even glancing in my direction. Of course I knew that I looked dirty, but I had one set of clothes and no water for showers. How could I ever afford such luxuries? The people continued to pass me, not even daring to look my direction. They thought that if they even glanced at me, I would pester them into buying my crop, but the truth was, I wasn’t that kind of person. I really did want to sell my crop, but with my situation, why waste all that energy? The town was big, and I usually walked around quite often to hopefully raise my chances of selling crop, but wherever I walked, people avoided me. It was as if my presence brought about the plague. They treated me as a disease infested rodent desperately trying to pass on my ailments on others.

Today was no different. I had sold absolutely nothing. The crops in the wheelbarrow were soon to go bad. I would have to pay my taxes soon. My only customer was the noble that owned the land I farmed on. He was the only one that would buy my crops once in a while because sometimes, he was just too lazy to head into town. He barely paid me enough just so I could be taxed. My home was missing half a roof and my table was infested with termites. One day, I will find a good, carpenter friend who will teach me how to make my own furniture out of wood. Might my life be easier then?


 * Diary 2**

This morning seemed no different from the rest. It started off with the rooster crying out as the sun rose. Then there was the magnificent sight of the sun rising. I sat on the ground and watched as the glowing, orange orb slowly rose from behind the mountains in the distance, and continued to marvel at its brilliance. For 23 years, all I would do was sit on the ground and watch patiently as the sun rose. The air was cool and crisp, and the grass around was a deep green, wet from the morning dew. Yet, for some reason today, I began to question myself. What was the purpose of my existence? What did I have to live for?

As I walked towards the town today, things seemed to be chaotic. People were running everywhere, and news was spreading like a wild fire. “The Bastille was raided! People will come after us now!” Hearing this, I realized that today, I definitely wouldn’t be selling any crop. What a waste of 8 hours of walking. Wasting so much time seemed to anger me, an emotion I hadn’t felt every since I was a mere child who didn’t know how cruel and harsh the real world was. As i was leaving, I overheard some bogus comments about bunches of 3rd estate people sitting on a tennis court. Was this how they wanted to govern the country? On TENNIS COURTS? Could I continue to live like this? What’s the point? Why was I still here? At least other people like me were taking a stand against the outrages of this society, and maybe it was my turn. Maybe, I could make a difference in my life and in others.

I knew a guy who lived far off deep in the woods. He tried to conceal the fact that he was living illegally in the woods so he wouldn’t have to pay the outrageous land taxes. Genius. I taught him how to farm before and he seemed to be better off than me, considering he saved more money and could gamble quite well. Is poker face is almost unreadable, although after this many years of knowing him, I can sometimes tell when he’s lying or not. He was quite a skilled craftsman as well, crafting small tools for work. Yet, he had no idea why I was about to meet him. I was going to gather all the villagers nearby and raid the noble’s house who owned the land. We needed more weapons, and anything we could get. I had been too passive for too long, and now, it was our time to take a stand. His name was Auguste Bonnet, and he was going to help me defeat the tyrannical noble.

The sun was setting, and we decided to storm the mansion then. The noble had few guards and we easily took them out, silently, making our presence still unknown. This was mainly thanks to Auguste Bonnet, who was naturally a sneaky person able to move around quickly undetected. No wonder he didn't pay taxes. It wasn't that he scammed the taxed collector. It was just that almost nobody knew of his existence! This raid was not for money, for a large house, for land, or for freedom. Our raid was simply for food to feed our starving stomachs. We threatened to kill the noble, but shockingly, he introduced himself as Jean-Claude Barret and was directly related to the king! What would happen to us now? Frightened, I had no idea what to do. Auguste had run away hearing the news of the king and the noble’s direct relationship, and so did many of the others. All we could do was keep this man hostage. They were sure to send a general or soldiers here. I had no idea what to do. So in the end, several peasants decided to capture him and lock him up in town, while I stayed guarding Jean-Claude Barret's Mansion.


 * Diary 3**
 * NOTE: READ THIS DIARY BEFORE YOU READ BRADLEY'S DIARY, THEN READ SHAWN'S DIARY AFTER YOU READ BRADLEY'S***

The General arrived late that night. He stormed into Jean-Claude Barret‘s mansion and arrested me. He went by the name Jean-Paul Girard. Why would he travel across the whole of France just to arrest a “nobody” like me? He also brought troops with him! Were we considered that dangerous? Rioting for food? Maybe if these nobles knew how to be decent, fair people, all of this would have never happened. This general seemed different from the rest. He didn’t send us all directly to the guillotine, but instead let the others free and arrested only me, the instigator of the riot. Was this because he wanted information from me or was it because he was actually a kind, hearted person? I found it hard to even think of the second option. As I was being carted away, I caught a glimpse of Auguste Bonnet peeking from behind a tree, watching as I was being brought somewhere far from my home.

We traveled along the outskirts of the towns and villages. I did not know why, but General Girard had a constant fear in his eyes. He was constantly looking around, as if we were going to be ambushed at any moment. Somebody with his status was scared, but why? I had to ask. He responded with frightening news about the king’s execution and something about armed people roaming the streets, attacking nobles. The General called them “sans culottes.” Also, a new group of people took power. They called themselves Jacobins, led by a tyrannical leader, Maximillian Robespierre. I had no idea a man like him could commit such atrocities. Sending tens of thousands to the guillotines? How could one man do such a thing? Then again, how could so many people be considered guilty? General Girard’s loyalties clearly were still with the king. He made haste, traveling faster than before just so he could reach his house faster. There was some news about the possibility of his family being in danger.

We arrived within two and a half days, according to the General. His house seemed fine, but out in the distance, we could see smoke rising from large houses. These “sans culottes” may have attacked other nobles. The General left temporarily to see a surrounding village, but it was almost completely empty. Apparently, they were all sent to get their heads cut off because they were not loyal to the new leaders. The General locked me up in a room, not a dungeon. Maybe he had plans for me.

I heard clicking and knocking sounds the next day. They were very faint, but still there. Suddenly, the door opened, and Auguste Bonnet was there. Somehow, he had followed us all this way, possibly stowing away in the carriage. Nobody noticed as we ran off, taking two horses with us. Still, I can’t help but feel as though the General was a decent person. He accommodated me quite comfortably, more comfortable than my own hut, which was a new level of kindness from somebody as rich and powerful as General Girard.

As Auguste and I rode off into the distance, we turned around for one last look. A large group of people slowly appeared, approaching the General’s house. Were he and his family going to be safe? I will never know.