Well would you want to live in a stinky smelly medieval city where they dump sewage and offal into the streets and it runs into your drinking water? Would you like hordes or rats spreading all over the streets eating garbage and spreading bubonic plague and small pox? Those are the great attractions of the medieval city, I can see why a peasant would want to go there.
Perhaps you can explain yourself better.
From Robb, p. 72ff:
"At the end of the eighteenth century, doctors from urban Alsace to rural Brittany found that high death rates were not caused primarily by famine and disease. The problem was that, as soon as they became ill, people took to their beds and hoped to die. In 1750, the Marquis d'Argenson noticed that the peasants who farmed his land in the Touraine were 'trying not to multiply': 'They wish only for death'. Even in times of plenty, old people who could no longer wield a spade or hold a needle were keen to die as soon as possible. 'Lasting too long' was one of the great fears of life. Invalids were habitually hated by their carers...
'Happy as a corpse' was a saying in the Alps. Visitors to villages in the Savoy Alps, the central Pyrenees, Alsace and Lorraine, and parts of the Massif Central were often horrified to find silent populations of cretins with hideous thyroid deformities. (The link between goitre and lack of iodine in the water was not widely recognized until the early 19th century.) The Alpine explorer Saussure, who asked in vain for directions in a village in the Aosta Valley when most of the villagers were out in the fields, imagined that 'an evil spirit had turned the inhabitants of the unhappy village into dumb animals, leaving them with just enough human face to show that they had once been men'.
The infirmity that seemed a curse to Saussure was a blessing to the natives. The birth of a cretinous baby was believed to bring good luck to the family. The idiot child would never have to work and would never have to leave home to earn money to pay the tax-collector. These hideous, blank creatures were already half-cured of life. Even the death of a normal child could be a consolation. If the baby had lived long enough to be baptized, or if a clever witch revived the corpse for an instant to sprinkle it with holy water, its soul would pray for the family in heaven...
Ninety-nine per cent of all human activity described in this and other accounts took place between late spring and early autumn...
An official report on the Nievre in 1844 described the strange mutation of the Burgundian day-labourer once the harvest was in and the vine stocks had been burned: "After making the necessary repairs to their tools, these vigorous men will now spend their days in bed, packing their bodies tightly together in order to stay warm and to eat less food. They weaken themselves deliberately".
Human hibernation was a physical and economic necessity. Lowering the metabolic rate prevented hunger from exhausting supplies. In Normandy, according to the diary of Jules Renard, 'the peasant at home moves little more than the sloth' (1889); 'in winter, they pass their lives asleep, corked up like snails' (1908). People trudged and dawdled, even in summer. They ate more slowly than modern people. Life expectancy at birth now seems dismally low: in 1865, it was a few months over forty years in only twenty departments; in Paris and Finistere, it was under thirty; the national average was thirty-seven years two months. Life expectancy at five was fifty-one. Despite this, complaints about the brevity of life are far less common than complaints about its inordinate length. Slowness was not an attempt to savour the moment. A ploughman who took hours to reach a field beyond the town was not necessarily admiring the effect of a morning mist on the furrows and the steaming cattle against the rising sun, he was trying to make a small amount of strength last for the working day, like a cartload of manure spread over a large field...
Even for prosperous peasants, disaster always loomed. Few lives were free from sudden setbacks. Every year, several villages and urban districts went up in smoke. An English traveller, crossing the Jura from Salins to Pontarlier in 1738, was told that 'there is scarce a Village in all this Tract that does not perish by Flames once at least in 10 Years'. Thatch was cheap (gleaned from harvested fields in October) but it harboured huge populations of insects and caught fire easily unless it was completely covered by a layer of clay, quicklime, horse manure, and sand. (In some parts, thatch was outlawed in new buildings in the mid-nineteenth century and replaced by the red corrugated iron that was thought to add a pleasant touch of colour to the landscape.) Many people burned to death in their homes or were killed when their house suddenly fell on them. The spontaneous combustion of dung heaps and haystacks was a surprisingly common cause of destitution and was often blamed on jealous neighbors and pyromaniac witches.
Frosts, floods, and livestock disease were the most frequent calamities after fire, but the greatest natural disasters were caused by hail. A ten-minute hailstorm could wipe out the work of a generation, demolishing roofs, stripping trees, flattening crops and covering the ground with a carpet of twigs, leaves, and small dead birds. In 1789, the town of Pompey near Nancy was still recovering from the effects of a hailstorm that had decimated its harvest twelve years before...
These disasters affected all but a tiny minority of people. In a land of small, vulnerable
pays, the section of the population comfortably referred to as 'the poor' could suddenly swell to enormous proportions. At the time of the Revolution, almost half the population of France could be described as poor or indigent...
Although he belongs to a later era, the peasant Breton Jean-Marie Deguignet (1834-1905) wrote his memoirs, which are somewhat instructive about the life of a peasant:
1834, July. Born at Guengat in Lower Brittany. Poor harvests and sick livestock force his father, a tenant farmer, to leave for the city.
1834, September. At the age of two months, moves to Quimper with some planks and straw, a cracked cauldron, eight bowls and eight wooden spoons. His earliest memory: watching his mother pluck fleas from his dead sister's head.
1840. Lives in the village of Ergue-Gaberic. Is kicked in the head by a horse and badly disfigured. For several years, suffers from a repulsive suppuration.
1834-44. Is taught to read Breton by an old seamstress and learns the 'noble profession' of begging.
1848-55. Works as a cowherd, as a field-hand on a government-sponsored farm and as a servant to the Mayor of Kerfeunteun, a suburb of Quimper. Learns to read the newspaper in French.
1854-68. After enlisting in the army, serves in the Crimea, Algeria, and Mexico.
1868-79. Returns to Brittany, marries a young girl and rents some land from the owner of the chateau at Toulven.
1879. The farmhouse burns down, and the landowner refuses to renew the lease. 'Another fifteen years of my life wasted. After working so hard to improve that farm, now I had to leave it.'
1880-82. Crushed by a cart and left half-crippled, he finds work as a fire-insurance salesman. His alcoholic wife is sent to the asylum.
1883-92. Obtains a license to sell tobacco in Pluguffan near Quimper. Rents a field and begins to rebuild his fortune. He supports himself and his three children.
1892-1902. Forced to sell his tobacco shop and disowned by his children, he lives in slums and garrets, becoming progressively poorer and writes his memoirs 'when the weather permits'.
1902. Evicted from his rented 'hole' because of complaints about the filth. Suffers from paranoid delusions and attempts suicide. Committed to the mental hospital at Quimper. Dies at the age of seventy-one in 1905.