1789

By Alexandria Jo Burisek

Preface This story takes place in the 1789, one of the first years of the french revolution. In France, the story follows the lives of two young men from different political standings. Marcus is eighteen years old and living in Paris with his sick mother and younger sister, Clara. The family owns a bakery, but because of the economic crisis they have no business. To make ends meet, Marcus steals goods from wealthy homes around Paris and sells them to another peasant boy named Louis. During the Revolution, stealing was a very common way for the wealth-less to make money. The story also includes the prostitution of Clara, which was the easiest way for women and young girls to make ends meet. Throughout the story, readers will also follow Phillip, the son of noble who works in the kings court. From Phillips standpoint, readers are able to see how the monarchy reacted to the uprisings that started the Revolution, and how the revolutionists felt towards them. Phillip lives in Versailles, where the palace is located and often visits with his father, though he feels trapped into following in his fathers footsteps and following the same path his father took before him. I hope that the story not only expands your knowledge of the French Revolution, but entertains you, and creates thought. Enjoy.

Im alive, even though a part of me has died. I look back at all Ive seen and all Ive done and I know with desperate certainty that I would do anything to take it all back....

Lift, turn, bend, lift, turn, bend... its a never ending pattern that I have grown accustomed to. Every morning is the same, I leave my cot and come down stairs and move sacks of flour, carry buckets of water and bake bread. Bread that I know no one will eat until its mold covered and being sold for half its original price. My nights are no different than my days, although the pattern is different. Watch, take, leave. Instead of baking bread that wont sell, I walk the streets of Paris, I watch houses and pay attention to people, and when no one is looking, I take what need. I take what I need to make ends meet, to feed my family and pay the never ending taxes that just keep coming. I work and I steal to pay the many debts my father left behind. But it doesnt matter, to me its routine, habit, something I do everyday and each night. This familiarity is how I survive.

Every morning I wake to the sun shining through my bedroom window. I am dressed and fed. I read and write in my daily lessons, and I sit in the study and watch my father work. I go with him to the palace for meetings and discussion. I come home and share all that Ive learned with my mother. Our family sits down to dinner and after we have eaten, I go to bed. I go to bed, so I can wake up and live the same day again and again. For my life is repetition.

I follow my pattern, because its the pattern my father followed, because its the pattern I am expected to use. I play the game, and I play the game to win. I know that this game will be my answer, and playing this is what I live for. But its more than that, it is how I survive.

I looked down at her, shaking my head. Clara, what am I going to do with you? A smile broke across her face as she wiped flour out her eyes and sat up. I reached down and grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. She shrugged, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. I watched her brush the white powder from her dress and slowly comb it out of her long blonde hair. What are we going to do with all this flour, we cant afford to waste it? I bent down and started pushing the flour back into the old sack she had dropped. We use it to make bread, and then we sell it. No one will notice, and with the way things are, I doubt anyone will really care. She looked down at me and sighed, then dropped to her knees and started helping me re-fill the sack. I turned to Clara, can you please go and check on mother? No one has seen to her since late last night. In one fluid motion she swept herself up and hurried upstairs leaving me to continue cleaning up the soiled flour.

Damn!

I yelled as the ink spilled again. I looked at the

soiled parchment, covered in blotches and splatters of the dark liquid. My fathers letters never looked like mine did. I shook my head and swept the papers into the trash bin next to my desk. My head snapped up at the sound of the door to the study opening. Within a second, my fathers large presence filled the doorway, with his normal look of disdainbnment clear on his face.

Im expected at court in an hours time, I will not be bringing you along after a pointed look at the full wastebasket you are falling behind in your studies and should spend your time catching up. His voice was overpowering and caused me to flinch. He seemed to feel as if he had spent more than enough time in my presence because he turned and left the room, slamming the door closed after him. I let my head fall back to my desk, only this time in shame.

I looked down at the lone sack of flour sitting on the floor, and realized that it wasnt enough. Not nearly enough. We hadnt sold bread in a week, and we were short on food. We had bills to pay that were more than a few months old. Any longer and we would lose the shop. I leaned my back against the far wall and slid down, I rested my heavy head on my knees. eighteen is too young to be supporting a family. Too young. With that, I pulled myself to my feet and moved toward the door, grabbing my coat and a long since empty flour sack. *** Id been looking at this house for days, waiting and hoping for a moment just like this one. And with that I was moving forward, pulling myself up to the first floor window. In a matter of seconds I was through and standing in what I assume to be the sitting room. With soft couches and a large fire place. I lunged for the candlesticks on the mantle. Then I went to the kitchen, pulling silverware from the cupboards and dumping them into my sack. I always take candlesticks and silverware, and normally that's all, but I was desperate. I headed upstairs looking for anything worth taking. When I reached the top, I took an immediate left and walked into the first room. Taking in a beautiful bed in the center of the room, clean white walls and a jewelry box on a table against the far wall. I moved towards the jewelry box, but stopped dead. I could hear someones breathing. My eyes drifted to the bed, and laying peacefully under the covers was the most beautiful girl I

have ever seen. Her hair laid in curly tendrils on her pillow, jet black. Her skin like porcelain, a clean white, with rosy cheeks and dark lips. I found myself mesmerized by her perfection. I wondered if this is what Adam felt when he first looked upon Eve. Her breathing deep, I knew she was fast asleep. I walked over to her bed and looked down at her, enchanted. Then almost as if I wasnt in control of my body, I leaned down and brushed my lips against hers. I pulled back and watched as her eyes fluttered open.

My father sat across from me, his back straight, his mouth full of chicken. Umm, I finished all my lessons for the day and I read some of the book you gave me yesterday, father I said, answering his previous question. His eyes focused on my face sliding over my plain features, my dark hair and eyes. His eyes took in my larger frame. I looked down at myself, I knew that I was considered to be handsome, but I couldnt help but feel as I was still a disappointment. He cleared his throat and made eye contact. But has mark-able improvement in your penmanship been made? I looked down at the food on my plate, still untouched. No, Father I whispered. He stood then, pushing his chair back from the table, he turned and left the room. His voice carried back to mother and I. Im going to the study, to finish my work. My mother looked at me, concern clear in her features.

Please eat Phillip, you need your strength and with that she too stood up and left the table. Leaving me with a dead chicken and cold potatoes.

I looked up at the sky my eyes adjusting to the lack of light, I took a deep breath and trudged through the streets of Paris, my head down. I walked past the brothels with the sickly woman shoving their bosoms in my face, pleading with me to take them to bed, for only a few coins. Past the taverns with the men stinking of sweat and drink, past the children shivering on the street corners begging for food. I kept my head down as I walked past all the pain. And then I saw him, Louis. Louis with his black hair and ghostly skin, his tall, skinny frame and dirty blue coat. I approached him, feeling his gaze on me. Marcus he said. I nodded my head and moved forward handing him my goods from tonight, the old flour sack. He took the sack and quickly stuck his head in, like a mole into a hole. He counted the candlesticks and forks I had taken from the house an hour ago. His head popped back out and he tossed me a small sack of coins, it wasnt as much as Id hoped for, but it was better than nothing and it would be enough to get us through a week. I pushed the sack into the folds of my coat, and nodded to Louis. Have you heard? he asked, his voice coming out in shallow breaths. Heard what? I asked, as I wrung my hands, wanting to leave. People are rioting in Grenoble, they are saying its gonna lead to a revolution I heard what he said, but couldnt fathom the idea.

A revolution, why would we need a revolution? Louis smirked, and opened his arms, gesturing to our surroundings.1 23 Look around Marcus, the people are starving, while a fat king stuffs his face. The people are restless and ready for change. Take my word, Grenoble, is just the beginning and with that, he hefted his sack and left me. I turned and quickly headed towards home, thoughts of revolution spinning through my head.

Father walked in the door and slammed his hand down on the front of the desk, where I was seated. I felt myself jump, and as I turned my head so I could see his face, fear started to grip me. Get Up he barked, and instantly my body was responding and I was standing. Follow me and with that he had left the study and was walking towards the front door. He was walking so fast it was nearly impossible for me to keep up. We reached the front door and passed through it, we walked to the carriage, and as father pulled himself in, he called forward to the driver. Bring us to the palace. I was nervous, father had never acted so unkempt before, even in his anger he was a decent man. Now he was mad. When we got to the grounds he marched me straight to the gardens.

"Day of the Tiles." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 18 Sept. 2012. Web. 03 Oct. 2012. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Day_of_the_Tiles>.
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"Principal Dates and Timeline of the French Revolution." Principal Dates and Timeline of the French Revolution. N.p., n.d. Web. 03 Oct. 2012. <http://www.marxists.org/history/france/revolution/timeline.htm>. 3 "Map of France." France Map: Google Map of France. N.p., n.d. Web. 03 Oct. 2012. <http://wwp.greenwichmeantime.com/time-zone/europe/european-union/france/map/index.htm>.
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Elegant trees and shrubbery decorated the grounds, all beautifully geometric.4 Do you know why the king decorated the gardens this way? He asked. No I looked down, ashamed of my ignorance. Power he said, the king wanted to show that with his ability to control nature, he also possessed the ability to control his people, and his nobles and his home. This garden He opened his arms and motioned to the shrubbery, represents the kings power. Do you know why the king taxes the third estate so heavily? To pay for the National debt I knew my answer was right, it was the only logical answer, but by the look on my fathers face, I doubted myself. Yes, and no. If he wanted to only pay off the national debt and end our financial crisis, he could tax either or both of the first two estates, but he doesnt. He doesnt to express his control. The people, the peasants, are restless and weak, and if their king doesnt show his control, they will break free. Like dogs, they need a master. I looked at my father and nodded, of course they did, without the kings leadership and taxes, they wouldnt know what to do with themselves. Son, things are poor for the first and second estates, four days ago the third estate demanded that the first and second be forced to join together as one body representing the french citizens as a whole. They wanted a National Assembly. Then today, the third estate met on
4

Covington, Richard. "Renaissance of the Gardens of Versailles." Smithsonian. July 2001: 90-100. SIRS Renaissance. Web. 03 Oct 2012.

the tennis court with members of the first estate, and 576 men signed an oath, saying that they would remain the National Assembly until a constitution was written, and reforms were made. Philip, the people are restless. They dont know who owns them, lets pray that they find out, before its them, who owns us.
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***

Mother moved too fast for me to keep up. They all did.

Father

grabbing armfuls of papers and dumping them into suitcases. Servants bustling about grabbing clothes, family treasures, anything they thought wed need and piling them into the carriages outside. I just stood, lost, years of repetition all changing. In a matter of days my life had derailed. Its not what it once was, and I was stuck wondering if it could ever be again. Philip, to the carriage my mother yelled. I couldnt hear her

though, it was like my head was underwater, and everything came through muffled. PHILLIP! I looked up and my eyes connected with hers, I looked down at her hand clasped on my arm, trying to drag me. I moved forward, suddenly swept up in the rush. Within seconds I was in the carriage and my family was leaving behind the estate that had been under our namesake for generations.

"The Tennis Court Oath." ThinkQuest. Oracle Foundation, n.d. Web. 04 Oct. 2012. <http://library.thinkquest.org/C006257/revolution/tennis_court_oath.shtml>. 6 Fitzgibbons, Kelsey, Krislyn Chan, and Kristysha Chan. "The French Revolution." N.p., n.d. Web. 3 Oct. 2012.
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Fathers leg bumped against my own, I could see how his teeth gritted, clanking against each other. This was the worst for him, his life revolved around the palace of Versailles and our estate. Without them, he had no purpose. I looked out the window at the city passing me by, I could see the people crawling through the streets on hands and knees, begging. I hated them. They caused this. Without their revolution, without their assembly, without their recklessness, I would be home. Because of them home was no longer safe. Because of them, I was leaving behind all that I loved, so they could be free, but for that to happen, I gave up my freedoms.

I watched the soldiers gathered around the Bastille with horror, knowing that they had been sent here to guard the prison, by the king. My eyes drift around, jumping from person to person in the crowd surrounding the soldiers. There must be more than 80,000 people, but the only one I wanted was Clara. Clara, Clara! I yelled as loud as I could struggling to hear my own voice over the crowd. Then so loud , it caused me to panic, a gunshot sounded. I started running, screaming louder and louder. And then I was standing in front of the crowd my eyes starting at a main of soft golden hair, laying on the ground, blood slowly pooling around her. I sob escaped my throat as I fell to my knees.

Marcus? My head snapped up, and to my utter relief Clara stood behind me, the color gone from her face. Can you take me home, Im scared. With that I was pulling on her arm and bringing her through the crowd back towards home.

I could hear the sounds of revolution everywhere. My mother stayed upstairs hiding, as my father and I sat in the sitting room, tense. Father held his rifle with white knuckles, worry creasing his brow. Our maid, Martha, had returned today with news that the citizens had taken the Bastille, they had killed the governor and mounted his head on a pike, and they were rioting. Father had sent all the women upstairs and positioned all the men downstairs to wait, and pray that no one came for us.
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I chased Clara down the steps of the bakery, trying to reach her, at only fifteen she was so fast. One more long stride and I had her, my hands grasping her forearm and pulling her to me. She screamed out in pain, making me flinch. I dragged her back into the shop and pushed her inside, closing the door behind me, planting myself in front of it, blocking her only exit. I HATE YOU her screams echoed, causing me to cringe. Its for your own good, its not safe for you out there, its my responsibility to protect you... and I cant do that if you go running off with those women. Her eyes were hard, they had lost the soft luster they used to possess. Looking at her soiled dress, her hard eyes and her dirty hair all I could think about was how everything had changed. She leaned against the wall and slowly sank to the ground, round tears filling her eyes. Im so tired Marcus, and I need to do this if Im ever to rest again I couldnt see pain in her eyes anymore, it had been there too long for it to register as pain to me, but I knew she was hurting. She needed to do this... but it wasnt safe. I lifted my fingers and ran them through my

Fitzgibbons, Kelsey, Krislyn Chan, and Kristysha Chan. "The French Revolution." N.p., n.d. Web. 3 Oct. 2012.
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greasy hair, I wondered to myself if even at eighteen my blonde hair was turning gray. Gray hair would better match how old I felt, ancient. My hands fell back to my sides in defeat. Please be careful before the words had even left my mouth, she was out the door and running down the street following the other woman to the palace of Versailles. The woman needed food and supplies and when the hall had none to offer, the woman took matters into their own hands and raided the hall. I watched from the bakery window as my little sister was handed a large wooden pole, sharpened at the end. I watched as she laughed and hurried on, determined and ready to make her small voice heard. No, I thought. Shes not small anymore, shes more grown than I ever wanted her to be. Shes more grown than she ever should have had to be. And so was I. 8

The new house was much smaller than our old estate,it was in the country right outside Paris. I never liked Paris, its too dirty. What I wouldn't have given to go home. Wed been living in the hovel for three weeks, it felt like an eternity. Father hadnt left his new study since we arrived, It was a third the size of his old one. Mother, frantic with worry, didnt understand him. With no work to do, why haul up in there? Phillip, dear, can come here please my mothers voice was strained, but it was a new normal. She had so much to worry about. Yes, mother I called walking into the sitting room. What do you need? Darling, could you go into town and get us some fresh bread, were running low.

"The Women's March on Versailles." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 10 Feb. 2012. Web. 03 Oct. 2012. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Women%27s_March_on_Versailles>.
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Dont we have someone else who can do that. After all that has happened, we have very little help, and it could be awhile before anyone can get to it head, understanding. Can I take the carriage? My voice loud against the quiet room. No, theres no one to drive, but we still have a horse. Looking down at her, I could clearly see the worry in her eyes, and even though I hate horses, I would ride one into town for her. Ill be home soon mother. I love you and with that I was pulling on my coat and leaving the house behind. I was now nodding my

Clara s head was bowed as she walked in the door. I found myself rushing to her and looking her over to see if there was anything wrong with her. She looked up, and I could see the tears brimming her eyes, I understood. I watched her pull a small sack of coins out of her skirt. Place it in my hand, and walk towards the stairs. Clara her head turned back to look at me, she looked so broken. come here I opened up my arms and watched as, like a soiled dove, she ran to me and sobbed into my chest. I felt her chest heaving with effort, and I felt the tears brimming my own eyes. How did we ever get to this? She pulled away and looked up at me, her eyes rimmed with red. She sniffled and sighed, then walked back to the stairs and started the journey up.

I was wringing my hands and shaking my head, when the door to the shop opened and a young man stepped in. He was tall, with dark hair and features. Unlike the rest of us, his clothes were clean, and polished. With a red, brass buttoned coat, he had the appearance of a noble. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with my glare. I came for bread he said in a shaky voice, nervous.

Any kind in particular Claras voice asked from behind me. Her hands rested on my shoulder and I turned back to see that shed cleaned up some, and had a smile set on her face. It looked shallow, but even a shallow smile made her look beautiful.

She was like an angel. With blonde hair that swept down to her waist, soft, large blue eye, framed in glorious lashes. My eyes traced the shape of her gentle curves, curious. Any kind in particular she repeated, her smile wavering. Concern starting to spread across her features. Yes, umm, whats fresh? I stumbled over the words and cringed

inwardly, imagining how I must have sounded to her. She moved towards the back of the store and motioned to a rack of loaves, still warm. Ill take three I said, speaking slowly and forcefully, to steady my voice. A smirk appeared around the corner of her lips. There was an older boy standing in the corner of the room, he had her blonde hair and blue eyes, with a lean frame and square jaw. He stepped up to me and held out his palm. I dropped the correct amount of coins into his fist, and watched as she put the loaves into a bag and walked towards me. The boy moved out of the way, and watched with cautious eyes as she handed me the bread and warmed me with a smile.

I walked up the rickety stairs and into the one room we had, Clara knelt down before mothers cot, gently patting her head with a damp cloth. How is she? I asked, concern coloring my voice. Shes weak, and she needs food Claras voice trembled, and I knew that tears were coming. She turned to me, her face vulnerable.

Marcus, do you know how I got that money at Versailles? Her voice cracked and she hung her head in shame. Yes I said, anger and frustration boiling in my veins, the fact that we had been reduced to this, killed me. My sister, once pure and innocent must give herself to feed us. It disgusted me. How long have you been making money this way I asked, not wanting an answer. Three months, I made the most when I went to Versailles. The kings own guard turned against him and help us women, but they were lonely and needed comforting her voice wavered. We need the money Marcus, if we are ever gonna make it. I said nothing, I hated this, but I couldnt stop it. I couldnt look at her, my eyes glared at the floor. I loved her so much, but she was so tainted, her speaking about it made it all so real. If only she had stopped. I broke. In a second I was running forward, my hand came up and flew down, striking her across the face, she fell to the floor with a gasp, and lay there shaking. It was then that I realized what I had done. I fell to my knees and pulled her into my lap, thick tears running down my face. Ohh Clara, Im sorry, Im sorry, Im sorry I kept mumbling the words while rocking her back and forth. Please, never sell yourself again, I cant take it if you do, dont Clara, Im sorry I continued to murmur to her, my mind lingering on my actions, on the monster I was becoming.

How could one year... change so much......

The whole ride home was filled with thoughts of her, of her beauty and elegance, but also with her dirty hair and clothes. Her frame was beautiful, but so thin, as if she hadnt eaten in days. I looked ahead and saw our new, more modest home and laughed. More modest compared to what we used to have, but more that three times the size of the bake shop.

I pulled the horse into the stables and hopped down, then headed inside. Fathers was in the sitting room, reeking of drink. He scowled when he saw me. What are you doing boy, get in the house I moved forward closing the door behind me, I walked to the corner of the room and sunk down into a fluffy red chair. He cleared his throat and started talking, but my mind was on her, I didnt care for what he had to say. His voice grew louder and I looked up, paying attention. They are good for nothing, scraping around like dogs, begging for food, than biting their masters let them all die, let them rot in hell! As he spoke my blood began to boil and in one moment I was standing and yelling back. YOU SELFISH PIG! You have so much to be grateful for and all you do is take from those who have nothing, if anyone deserves to rot in hell, its you with that I turned, grabbing my coat and left. It was time for a new start.

It amazes me, how so much can change in only a year.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

1). "Day of the Tiles." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 18 Sept. 2012. Web. 03 Oct. 2012. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Day_of_the_Tiles>. 2). Fitzgibbons, Kelsey, Krislyn Chan, and Kristysha Chan. "The French Revolution." N.p., n.d. Web. 3 Oct. 2012.

3). "Principal Dates and Time Line of the French Revolution." Principal Dates and Time Line of the French Revolution. N.p., n.d. Web. 03 Oct. 2012. <http://www.marxists.org/history/france/revolution/timeline.htm>. 4). "The Tennis Court Oath." ThinkQuest. Oracle Foundation, n.d. Web. 04 Oct. 2012. <http://library.thinkquest.org/C006257/revolution/tennis_court_oath.shtml>. 5). "The Women's March on Versailles." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 10 Feb. 2012. Web. 03 Oct. 2012. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Women%27s_March_on_Versailles 6). "Map of France." France Map: Google Map of France. N.p., n.d. Web. 03 Oct. 2012. <http://wwp.greenwichmeantime.com/time-zone/europe/european-union/france/map/index.htm>.