Gabriel

 =    = __  Personal Profile  __

Name: Jacques Pétain 41 Male Paris Shop worker 3rd Estate in the City Poor, but can manage because of single marital status, along with financial aid from my brother. It gets a bit hard to get through winter comfortably, but not excruciatingly difficult. Owning only 3 sets of clean linen clothing for the summer, I look presentable as a shop worker, in which my clean personality allows me to be very aware of my hygiene; therefore standing out cleanly as to the other shop workers. Owns one wool jacket for the harsh days of winter. However, I own a decent suit, loaned by my master, whom is also the shop owner. Waking up on time by the tolling of bells of monasteries in 5 o’clock every morning, I slip out of bed into the bathroom, in which my brother shares with me. After a minute of rinsing in the cold water, I walk to the mirror and the sink, where I effectively give myself a clean shave with the blunt razor that I again, share with my brother. Carefully applying a thin layer of gel in my hair, I swiftly grab my linen shirt and trousers off the drying rack and put them on. Snatching the few slices of bread I prepared last night off the table, I stumble down the uneven stairs of my tiny building while trying to straighten my crinkled shirt. Walking down the already noisy street, I tore half a slice of bread off for Hugo, the local beggar that I befriended long ago in exchange for his uneager assurance that nobody (much) sketchy was to enter my building. Quickly turning a few corners, I took the short cut that avoided the compelling stench of goat cheese from the //fromagérie.// A short 5 minute walk took me to my workshop, a small tailoring shop called //Les Vêtêments de François//, meaning François’s Clothing. The store has just enough room for 2 sewing machines and a shelf of cloths, strings and other tools. My employer, François, is a well-groomed man of his 30s, extremely strict on timely matters, but a kind-hearted man overall. First thing in the morning, I head to the back room and put on my loaned suit. As his apprentice, I were to organize the shop every morning, from categorizing the cloths and needles, to small things such as cleaning the floor. Usually, we would get 2 or 3 customers a day requesting a pleasant gown or a decent evening suit. With my master’s sound reputation, we sometimes even have customers of the nobility estate. It is those times that we make very sure that our shop is without a spec of dirt, and that we do our very best on their orders. These customers could very well put us to the streets with a mere snap of their fingers. As noon arrives, I walk down the narrow alley to the little café for workers such of myself. There I would order my usual: a bowl of mashed potatoes along with a side dish of an egg. After enjoying my filling meal and having a quick chat with the usual other customers, I stride back fully to the shop. On special occasions and holidays, my master would award me with a pound of ham or cold beef. Usually, the day would go by without much to do other than the usual loud quarrels from the neighborhood. As the night begins to fall, I was to lock the store up and go home. On my way home, I stop at the bakery and buy half a loaf of bread. Getting home, my brother has already prepared dinner: A thick broth of tomatoes and potatoes, along with a little bit of basil. After a moment of sitting down and chatting quietly with my brother, I head to the sink and rinse my face and wash my hair. Reading the daily paper my master finished from the day, I head to the table and cut a few slices off the loaf of bread, in preparation for tomorrow morning. After that, I head off to bed for my early morning tomorrow. Despite poor status, I highly value cleanliness and personal hygiene. I am a friendly guy, and I like participating in conversations. Having not much to do in the day, I think about how I could please my clients more and concentrating on mastering tailoring. ** Past/individual-family history: ** I have a family history of heart-diseases and obesity. I also suffer from a mild case of low blood pressure, causing me to feel faint every time I stand up or work a bit too hard. **Family:** Father died from heart attack, mother really ill home, but taken care by my younger sister, whom married to a charming merchant. Brother, unlike me, does not care too much about personal hygiene, and can be seen by his job preference: Butcher **feelings about them):**  ** Religion: ** Religion was not encouraged in my family, as my parents believed it would be too much of a hassle in my life and would distract me from my work. However, I have heard a story or two about Christianity and how Jesus carried a gigantic wooden cross on his shoulders for a long distance. **Education:** As a man of the third estate, I was one of the lucky children that has seen the inside of a school. However, I am only educated to a level in which allowed me to read and write simple things and actions that are required in my job. When I have difficulty in letters to customers, my master would vaguely teach me the words.  **Style of speaking in France:**  Unlike my brother, whom speaks in a heavy accented and rough sounding French, my French is spoken with a slight nasal sound and a bit too heavy on the Rs, but it also gives my French a polite touch. **Languages you speak:** I am only fluent in French, but I have learnt a word or two in Austrian, just in case of the extremely slim chance of the Queen arriving to shop I work in. As a man of 3rd estate in the city, I do not own any privileges. I, like the rest of the people in the 3rd estate, pay a lot of taxes. **Portrait:** Me posing proudly for the first and only picture of my life. I am holding the clothing catalog my master carefully put together. 
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 * As I said, I am a friendly and easy-going man. To the working class, I was well known for my politeness and funny personality. However, there are those individuals that believe I am nothing but a phony man pretending to be nice…. Well that’s their opinion, nothing to say about that. Regarding to those above my class, I respect them as much as they respect the situations those like myself go through. Those upperclass people that treat us like dirt… well I try my best to tolerate them. My customers however, were really understanding to the poverty situations us working class people go through and they are so nice to a point I can even almost call them my friends! **
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//January 2, 1781//__**
 * __ Diary #1: Before the Storm

Émile. Her name was Émile. I never got hold of her last name. She was a beauty, an angel dressed in a simple dress of a servant. It happened on a beautiful Saturday morning. She was Her Majesty Queen Marie Antoinette’s closest lady-in-waiting. As the most trusted Versailles Lady, Émile had received orders from the Queen to find her a beautiful yet simple dress for her evening tea party, according to the rumors at least. The clothing street where //Les Vêtements de François// was located went bizarre. Everyone was frantically tidying their stores and setting up their best dresses and lady’s outfits on the display window as opposed to the usual black and white formal suits of the men. As the sun slowly rose into midair, we shopkeepers worked speedily. The time came when Émile slowly turned the corner and strolled into my street. She cast sideway glances to the most well-known and glamorous stores of all, only to pass them without interest. I stood at the doorway of my shop, with the best posture I could muster, Émile walks by. A slight gush of breeze followed her as she walked by, bringing the mild scent of daisies into my nostrils. Disappointed that she didn’t even glimpse at the humble store I worked in, I slowly retreated back to my desk. A few moments later, Émile appears at my doorway, the sunlight behind her blinding me from her beautiful face. Awestruck and surprised, I stood at my spot for a good 5 seconds until I got myself together again. As François and I displayed every garment of our store to her, Émile explained to us the plain dress she was looking for, and her reason of picking our store would naturally be its simplicity and humble interior. As the hour goes by, I continue to be totally enraptured by her soft voice and her gentle laugh as we continued our small talk. I was in love. Despite of my low social being, she talked to me as if we were of the same class, or in more controversial means, like the class system did not exist. However, our conversation gradually turned to a more depressing topic, the corruption of our government and the unjust that exists within it. She tells me rumors that ran through the Versailles Palace. One story in particular caught my attention. She spoke of the man that refused to pay his taxes because of a sudden realization of the unjust within. Rumor says he was confronted immediately the next day, some even say he was punished for his refusal. By this time, we had picked the perfect dress for the Queen Herself. It was a golden dress made of the finest silk, golden bows on the chest area and a beautiful white lacing on the ends of the sleeves. It was an uncomplicated yet luxurious-looking evening gown. With the dress picked, Émile put down her order and got ready to leave. Before departing, she told me she had enjoyed meeting me, but she would probably never get the chance of coming back again; her reason being the Queen cutting down on her spending and would rarely make dresses any more. Bidding a final goodbye, I reluctantly watched as my angel strutted away from the shop.

Picture From: http://www.flickr.com/photos/piratebettie/526800230/

**__Diary #2:Moderate Stage__** // **__ August 5, 1789 __** // // Elle est une menteuse ! // She lied to me ! She wasn’t who she told me she was! //“My name is Émile”// So she says… but her real name is Camille Lamballe! But why?! Why would she lie to me? Which name belongs to her? Could it be both? Oh I am //très// confused! She was the apple in my eye… well she still is. As usual, I washed myself up after a tiring day of work. I opened the daily news I obtained from my master, and what do I see? // **__ Louis XVI et mari : Évasion DE France ou Évasoin POUR France ? __** // (Louis XVI and Wife: Escape FROM France or Escape FOR France?) And amongst the paragraphs, the paper narrates: “King Louis reportedly attempted to leave France in disguise along with Queen Marie Antoinette and her lady in waiting Camille Lamballe.” It occurred to me that Her Majesty would only have one most-trusted lady in waiting, and that would be my dearest Émile. I scrambled frantically to the next page, only to see more evidence from the paper: “King Louis was disguised as a valet, Queen Marie Antoinette as a children’s governess and lady in waiting Camille Lamballe as her daughter.” To this point, I was hysterical. Not only did my love-at-first-sight lie to me in my face, but //le pére de la patrie,// the father of the nation is leaving a homeland that once looked up to him as children to father?! Does he not feel the love and connection? Yes, the National Assembly opposes his wishes, but do we not all look forward to the goal of a successful nation?! How could he abandon us at such a time? Over half of my wages goes to buying bread and food, whose prices had soared sky-high! Yes, it may seem bizarre for third estates such as myself to go to such extremities to abolish the inequalities, but we have also paid our price. My brother, may he rest in peace, had lost his life as he stormed into the landlord of his butcher house and attempted to burn the landlord’s legal papers to his shop. As a result, he was beaten to death by the men hired to protect the landlord, whom had prepared precautious measures. And finally yesterday, the special privileges of the nobility were abolished with the legalization of equality, along with the basic human rights declared in the __Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen.__ I really worry about the future of France and what lies before the citizens of France. I am especially concerned about the safety of the people of the third estate, and I sense that the great tension in the whole of France will soon erupt into a revolution, just as one applying pressure on an immense zit would cause it to erupt, causing chaos. Which brings my thoughts back to Émile… or should I say Camille. What is to happen between us? Do I see a beautiful future lying in front of us or is that just my illusions from the lack of nutrition? May God have mercy on my late brother, and more importantly, to my future which I fear will not have much length left. //~Jacques

Connected to: Yuri //

What should I do? What should I do? My diary, this may be my very last talk with you. You see, you have brought me much pleasure, spilling my most inner thoughts and pains to you and releasing my anger. But //c’est la vie,// and life is unfair. I had left you in my store you see, and François found it! He had been very unhappy with me lately, and I have found his actions very suspicious. He came up to me one day and threw you at me, yelling at me. //“Pourquoi?!”// “Why?!”, he said. “Why are you thinking like this?” As he went on, he lectured me on how I should look towards liberty, and not be lingering over the much-corrupted monarchy. But how could HE?! It was the MONARCHY that had put him to HIS current status! If not for the monarchy, he would’ve been just another man of the 3rd estate! Our king had provided him so much! By this time, the //sans culottes// were everywhere. They despised the monarchy, and they especially hated the king. And my king, Louis XVI, was killed swiftly after the monarchy was overthrown. France was from then, and still is, under chaos. As my beloved king died, and may he rest in peace, France’s situation got no better and even worse, it declined. France was now in war with most of Europe, and we were losing, badly. Far from being employed, I was short of money. As if that wasn’t enough, inflation of the French currency hit France and shortages of food. By now, I was desperate, and I would’ve died of hunger if it were not for Madam. Vasser, the old woman that lived across me. She gave me a third of the little bread she had, despite she had her husband and children to care for. “You are a big man”, she had always said. Then there was word that rebellion had struck in the summer of this year, resulting strings of revolts. Suddenly, everybody was talking about the Committee of Public Safety. I never took one step out of my apartment, other than getting food from Madam. Vasser. I was not safe. I did not, and still do not understand it! How can the people possibly betray the system of government that had successfully led them through centuries?! What happened to //Vive le Roi//? Now its KILL the king! It’s unbelievable of how people can turn their backs so quickly. Speaking of which, François is a perfect example of such a man. In September, a “Law of Suspects” was passed and it stated that anybody that falls under suspicion of opposing Liberty, in which they also mean supporting the Monarchy, is to be arrested and put to prison. François reported me immediately, reporting me of supporting the King and possibly working against the //sans culottes//. Men came storming up the building the next day, bursting into my apartment and arresting me. They dragged me away, as poor Monsieur and Madam Vasser’s apartment was also forcefully checked for evidence. I was knocked out on my way, and here I am in prison! They put you, my dear diary, in my cell with me. I am sure it was a mistake, but I am glad you were given to me. I am extremely horrified. They are going to realize their mistake soon and take you away. So farewell my trusty diary, you have been a great companion. I don’t know what is going to be of me, but may God be with me always. Shredding you in pieces and putting you in the group chamber pot may not sound like the best idea, but it is the best idea I can mutter with this chaotic mind of mine. Fairwell, //au revoir, mon ami.// // Bon Voyage. // //Jacques.//
 * __ Diary 3: Radical Stage  __**

Connected to:Tiffany