Stephanie

Name: Bernadette Corncob Age: 18 Gender: Female Occupation: Peasant Social Class: Third Esate Financial situation: Very poor. I make about 1 livre a day which is barely enough to support my widowed mother and I. Appearance: Auburn waist length hair that is braided most of the time. Dark brown eyes. A bit muscular due to heavy duty work on the farm. Daily routine: Wake up when the rooster crows. Check on farm animals, milk cow. Let animals out to graze. Prepare breakfast. Sow seeds, make bread. Collect crops to bring to market to sell for money. Long journey back from market. Feed animals. Make dinner. Check that all animals are back in their stalls.Tuck mother in bed. Go to sleep. Personality/Quirks/Unique Personality Traits: I can juggle 5 corncobs at a time, my mother says it's been in the genes for decades. It must have been how my ancestors got their last names, "Corncob". I am hardworking and I endure the hard days on the farm very well. I try not to complain about the aches from farming to my sickly mother. Past/individual-family history: My ancestors were peasants as well. We, Corncobs, have been in the third estate forever. My grandfather won the honorary title of oldest peasant in the district. Family: I had 2 brothers and a father. I have a mother. My father died while he was on his way to the market one day and a horse cart ran him over. My older brother died of salmonella and my younger brother died of malnutrition during one of France's many famines. 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): Many nobles and clergymen fake being nice to us when they see us occasionally at church. We are taxed heavilly by the upper estates, which leaves us with very little money to survive. Religion: Catholic Education: No education Style of speaking in France: Peasant-style. Languages you speak: French Main privileges and/or conflicts: I pay a lot of taxes yet I don't get to vote. Also, taxes consume a big part of my daily earnings, leaving behind not much to survive on. Portrait:

=Diary # I: Before the Storm= Today was a day like any other. Upon hearing a loud cock-a-doodle-doo, I woke up with a start. I proceeded to feed the farm animals and make breakfast. Taking a swift look into the food cupboard, I winced. Today's breakfast was going to be porridge again. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's tired of having porridge for breakfast 7 days a week because mother seems tired of it too. But it's the only thing we can afford right now. You see, the economic situation right now is cra- pardon my French, it's just terrible. My earnings have decreased because my landlord's animals have been damaging my crops, leaving bare strands of leafless vegetables for me to sell. Not very appealing. Many people like purchasing vegetables and other crops from my neighbor, Old Jim across the hedge because his vegetables are greener and fresher. I heard he mixes manure with you know, the yellow stuff. Okay so back to talking about my day. After making breakfast and waking mother up, I began on my daily journey to the market which is about 2 kilometers away. My shoes are wearing out from the amount of walking I do everyday. So when I reached the market, I laid out my vegetables for sale. The neighboring stalls laughed about how my vegetables looked wrinkled like something that I won't mention because I found it very crude. At about noon I left the market and began on my journey home. It starting thunder storming and the roads were muddy. My feet felt as though they were bare. I could feel the squidgy mud between my toes. I got home and heard my mother shout, "Make haste! Make haste!" from inside the house, telling me to move the animals into their stalls before the storm got too heavy. Dripping wet, I returned into the barn house. I heard from my mother who heard from our neighbor Old Jim that the government was going to increase taxes on us to cover the King’s expenditures. Life really is unfair. Why should we poor peasants have to take on such a hard life? Why do we have to fork out most of the taxes in France? I’ve been wondering why France’s society is so unfair. I mean, my friend Doug is a doctor, he earns a decent income, yet why is he in the third estate? His house is easily about 5 times bigger than my barn house, yet he has no means of rising in rank. How is this just? Maybe what we, the peasants and third estate, need is a change in governing. No more monarchy, no more estates. Equality. Also, a notice was issued today from the landlord. He was expecting his feudal dues and crops tomorrow. Every year, I have to take out a portion of crops that I grew and give it to my landlord, leaving me with barely enough good strands to sell. I remember one time, I had just enough money to feed my mother and me for one day, and the landlords came. They demanded that I handed over whatever amount I had, or they would take my mother away. That night, my mother and I went hungry. Whatever scraps of leftover food I could find in our barn, I gave her. I guess I’d better go to bed now. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. Plus, I need to be up and moving even earlier so I can harvest the crops and hopefully sell more crops at the market. == My Farmhouse

Diary # 2
I am so glad! I read the daily news on the way to the market this morning, and guess what! The Parisians have stormed the Bastille! I am so proud of them. If I were living in Paris, I would have gone as well. There’s nothing better than starting off the day with a little rebellion over at ye olde Bastille! However, I’m sure my mother would never allow me anywhere near that forsaken place as her life depends on my labor and earnings. Oh, and also, I’m her only child left, so, that explains a lot. So today’s routine was slightly different. I woke up, made breakfast, still the same old porridge, and then lugged my old sow to the market to sell. I made a hefty sum from a villager from a nearby village who wanted to buy Betsy, my old sow, from me. With 10 livres in my pocketbook, I happily skipped home. Today is a Sunday, therefore the market closes earlier than usual. I returned home to say my daily prayers as I was taught by my parents. In my prayer, I included a little prayer asking the Lord to never let a monarch rule France ever again, and that we should be able to govern ourselves, like what those Philosophes say. I am so glad that arrangements of the Declaration of the Rights of Man have been made by the National Assembly. I cannot wait to receive my own basic rights! No more taxes! No more injustice! So as I was walking home from the market today, I stopped by my other neighbor, Alfred Biggler’s house. My father and him used to make wine together on the weekends. So when I stopped by to pass on a greeting from my mother, Mrs. Biggler insisted that I stay and chat and have some tea. So I did. I cannot recall the last time I visited the Bigglers. It must have been when my brothers and father were still alive. We used to visit the Bigglers all the time, and my brothers and I would play hide-and-seek in their vast vineyard. Mrs. Biggler suddenly called out for her two sons, Raphael and Nadal to come out and say hi. From what I recall, the last time I saw them, I was a head taller than both of them! And now, they towered over me like a scarecrow towers over the crops. They were that tall. So I sat there and chatted with Mrs. Biggler and her sons. I found out that Nadal had taken a liking to tennis, and that the family was doing all they could to pay for his tennis lessons. Also, I found out that Raphael had started his own winery not too far from Paris, and that he was just visiting his parents over the weekend and would be leaving the day after tomorrow. Oh my, I totally lost track of the time. It’s already twilight! I’d better go check on my mother, and how she’s doing skinning the chickens we’re going to have for dinner. We are having a celebration for selling Betsy the sow, and earning a big sum of money today. If only everyday could be like this Sunday! The Bigglers' Vineyard.

**Diary #3-The Reign of Terror** 

 Oh holy mackerel! My prayer was answered.  Today, while I was on my way home from the market, I stopped by the bread shop to purchase some bread with the little amount of money I had earned. At the bread shop, I began talking to a nice woman behind the counter named Jodi Owl. While chatting, we discussed about how the king and queen were executed yesterday under the guillotine! It was a big event with many spectators, some of them still supported the king, while others no longer did. Famine is in abundance; there have been food shortages, causing my mother and I to go to bed hungry on some nights. Apparently, Jodi and her husband are also having trouble supporting their family due to the inflation. While talking to her, she suddenly brought up the topic of France going to war with its neighboring countries! And that France was going to use all the manpower it could get to make things more efficient. I felt sorry for Jodi when she told me that her husband had received a notice from the government to fight the war for France. While talking, her children suddenly peeked out from behind her. They were still so young… I thought to myself, “What if… her husband were to perish…” and I shook my head to clear my bad thoughts. She noticed me shaking my head, and asked if I was alright, I smiled and politely told her that I had to go home and check on my mother. She called me a filial girl and walked me to the entrance of her shop. She told me that I was welcomed to come and chat any day of the week. I smiled and thanked her. On the way home, I thought about everything we talked about. It seemed like France’s economy was not going to improve any time soon… This would mean that my mother and I would be going hungry for a while longer. Also, if the government were to send me a notice demanding that I aid the war by serving in the hospitals… What will happen to my mother? She would definitely die without me.  Oh this is so terrifying! I shall say a prayer to the lord once again, asking that peace be returned to France! I heard that a new committee had been made called the Committee of Public Safety. However, from what they’ve been doing, killing masses of innocent people, I think its contradicting that they claim to care about France’s public safety wellbeing. When I got home, I began making dinner. My mother looked even sicker than she did before. I tried not to let me worry escape from my emotions. I didn’t want her worrying about me and all the stress placed on my shoulders to support the two of us. After my mother and I finished our dinner, I washed the dishes and I placed mother in her rocking chair. Then after I was all done washing and drying and getting all the cattle into their stalls, I tucked mother to sleep in her bed and I went to bed.  The peasant bread i bought from Jodi's shop.