Personal Entry #1: In which Mr. Sable relates the circumstances of his life and what has brought him to Sauville.
Following my chance meeting with Victorique atop the tower along with her other… interesting associates, I spent the rest of the afternoon touring the campus and getting myself acquainted with the general layout. Although small, as was expected for such a small student body, the Academy itself was nothing less than beautiful. With the snow covered alps looming in the distance, the rolling green hills and forests surrounding the gated perimeter of the campus made the place feel as if it was closer to nature. The grounds itself reminded me of the grand palace at Versailles, what with the trimmed flower bushes and beds dotting the paved pathways, something that Sauvillians no doubt borrowed from their French comrades. The only shame was that the rear gardens and open lawns were obscured from view from the front of the property, the main school buildings and administrative buildings being used to show the serious intentions of the academy.
I find myself lodging in the dormitory constructed for professors, the building allowing for larger personal space than the rooms for students. Thankfully enough it's located on the back right side of the campus, my own window having view of a curious yet amusing looking hedge maze not too far off. Students on the other hand are situated in an identical look building on the opposite side of the campus, most of which are watched nightly by the groundskeepers. After all, even in this day and age, young love (among aristocrats no less) knows no bounds.
My room itself though is spacious and large enough, my dwellings being more akin to a suite more than anything else really. A full sized bed, a wardrobe along with several dressers for my clothing as well as personal belongings, a very large and rather old looking desk which my typewriter now occupies, an upholstered sitting chair in the corner of the room, and of course a wash basin and mirror in the other. Before putting all of my thoughts to paper, I had taken a moment to glance at the man reflected in the mirror. I was as fresh as I was when I had left Paris, thankfully enough, still clean shaved, my shimmering blonde hair parted to the side from the efforts I had put into at the inn before departing. My grandfather said that I had "the Sable look" about me, strong jawline, sharp yet thin features, and a pair of grey-blue eyes that often made our kin appear to be cold. The notion made me laugh, my grandfather always made it a point to proudly point out how much the men in our family looked alike, from the rare opportunities that I get to visit him.
I suppose now would be as good a time as ever though to relate my own background, and the circumstances that have lead me to coming to this small country. I was born in the year 1896 of our Lord Jesus Christ on the outskirts of London during the late reign of Queen Victoria. My family was a strange one, or rather was full of subtle internal conflicts, most of them particularly being between my father and grandfather. The Sable name used to be one of moderate prestige during the 17th and 18th centuries, given the small slivers of information my grandfather fed to me as a boy. While there is still money in certain parts of my family tree though, I myself am no member of royalty or even high society in general. That I can blame mostly upon my father, given how he chose to take up the bible rather than a scale or a pen. He shirked the wealth that our family held for generations, instead living a simpler, stricter life with my mother and I in a small home next to a Parish. Contact between him and my grandfather has been limited over the years, but thankfully enough the title of "black sheep" did not extend to me as well.
Now, I cannot say that my childhood was a particularly interesting one, especially when one has to deal with the moral authority of a zealous father, but it was a good one nonetheless. I went to school, learned to read and write as well, and found reading to be my greatest comfort. Not to say that I didn't enjoy spending time rough housing with other boys my age, but you can only play so much before the London smog chokes the spirits right out of you. I thank the Lord that I never developed any problems of the chest or caught consumption. While we only had so much to eat at the dinner table, partially out of humility but also due to lack of money, I managed to grow into a tall albeit slim boy. That was how a majority of my childhood was spent, until being urged forward by my father to follow in his own footsteps as well.
While I cannot say that I was always fond of my father, I never let his own behavior or interactions turn myself away from the faith. Becoming a priest myself seemed like a decent enough of a path, given that unlike those of Catholic teachings, I would still have the opportunity to start a family of my own someday. I gave it heavy thought in fact, especially given how well versed I was in the subject matter already. I shirked off becoming ordained for some time however, instead spending my time to pursue other subjects in University. Becoming an ordained minister would be simple, easy even, but for so long I have craved the knowledge that living under the roof of a parish denied me. And so I learned and read whatever was presented to me, of course I cared for some subjects much less than others (I will never understand why institutions support those who are interested in alchemy or the occult), but I made the most of my time. By the time I was a little over halfway finished with my education though, war had broken out in Europe.
No one had expected it really, and those who did expected the War to be quick and clean. I volunteered almost immediately (which I would find out later was a much better alternative to waiting to be conscripted), much to the extreme disapproval of my father. Even now I cannot say whether or not I regret the decision, but at the time all the young men saw it as our generation's opportunity for glory. For "Queen and Country" as it went, and we weren't entirely wrong either. I spent four years in France, with two weeks of every month being spent in a trench in the front line. It was an experience to say the lease, from the feeling of adrenaline when you hear the distinct whizz of bullets or even learning to fire a rifle for the first time. Initially it really did feel like a game, or something akin to all those stories of an easy war being told back in England. Of course it couldn't have been further from the truth, the first few months only got worse, and after the Christmas truce of 1914, there was only animosity between the sides. At times it seemed worse than the images of Hell that my father had always painted with his sermons.
I cannot complain though, I ended up better off than a good deal of the poor bastards I had served with. In April of 1917 our front trench was shelled by German howitzers and mortar emplacements across the field. My flank of the trench was lucky, we only received the mortars, the other side not so much. I myself was hit during said attack though, three pieces of shrapnel embedding themselves in my right thigh, thank the Lord that they didn't hit anything vital. I was laid up for two months in Paris to recover, and spent another four months after that in the reserve trenches before resuming rotation once more. To this day I still have the scars on my inner right thigh, and I cannot run nearly as well as I used to, but I am thankful that I do not need a cane to walk and am still intact otherwise. Walking around the classroom and giving lectures is exercise enough for me.
Following the conclusion of the war, I spent my first two years back in England to complete my education, and at quite the opportune time as well. As unfortunate as the War had been in terms of casualties, certain job sectors had been cleared of workers entirely. I specifically had received a degree involving British Literature and the English language as a whole. While there were certainly opportunities available back in England, I instead chose to take myself back to Paris. From the brief time I had spent in the city during both my time of recovery and while in the process of being discharged, I had taken an interest in the culture and populace. And so I taught, learned of the people and the language (although I still need to work on my French as it seems), and toured the continent when given the chance. That then brings me to the topic of me being here in Sauville.
Back during the War, Sauville was practically unheard of, or rather no one had cared about it. The newspapers in the U.K. and France spoke of fighting upon the French front, and even when Saubreme was burned to the ground it didn't warrant a front page article. I never saw a Sauvillian in the trenches either, or at least in the ones in France. From what I learned after the war, Sauville was forced to keep all its men to desperately defend it's borders. With the Italians and Austrians pushing from the East and Germans pushing from the West following their foothold on Eastern France, it was only a matter of time before the tiny country was overtaken. From what I understand, the countryside and smaller villages were left largely in-tact, while it was the capital and seaports that were hit the hardest. Looting, burning, and killing was common; a massive blow to the pride of the nation. Even if post war reparations provided enough money to rebuild the nation's capital, most of Sauville's national treasures still remain missing. Though the physical damage has been fixed, there has been a sweeping wave of xenophobia as of late in Sauville. The Sauvillians distrust their French neighbors as much as the Italians from what I understand, but I digress.
With Sauville now rebuilt and at the peak of prosperity, it only seemed natural that I would try my hand in this nation. My credentials are proven and my French is at a mostly fluent level at this point in time. While I might have had a more difficult time finding a position at a public institution, St. Marguerite's International student body proved perfect for myself. Although I still have yet to meet all of the staff members at the Academy, Monsieur Lévesque made it a point to assure me that there were several other professors of varying backgrounds also employed.
That would seem to suffice for the time being regarding my own reflections and circumstances, perhaps later I will fill in further information when time permits. For now though, I shall finish up this entry and find myself off to bed. Even if I will not begin teaching to another week, I am more than excited to be able to explore the grounds even further. Let us hope for a productive and wondrous year in this quaint little academy and country.