From the Diary of Johan Zol, first-year pupil of the Second Degree of the Republican School of Atrolen, Central District of Alvald, Region of Alvald
16th of Vulpioz
In the Name of the People of the Republic of Guntreland, of our brave People’s Representatives, of our good Regional Commander Reiner Kunze, and of our vigilant Censor of Morals, Peter Agels!
My name is Johan Zol, I am twelve years of age—though my father’s friend, the municipal notary Blau, at whose direction I write this journal, and from whom I possess a sealed decree permitting me, for the sake of authenticity, to preserve it as a historical monument of our heroic age in secrecy until the war’s end and the annihilation of all tyrants, says that I write as though I were thrice my age (perhaps because I have already read all issues of Flag of the Republic and New Regime which he himself secretly brought me). And from this day forth I am a pupil of the Republican School Emil Dustel, in the town of Atrolen, Central District of Alvald, Region of Alvald.
Our school bears the name of the boy accordeon-player from the Eastern Massif, who, at the time when Republicans on the continent were still compelled to conceal themselves, was halted on the road by royalist gendarmes who demanded of him to play and sing the royal anthem. He, striking up the anthem on his accordeon, sang not the words “Honor the King, gentlemen!” but rather “Honor the Constitution, citizens!” Whereupon they hanged him on a nearby tree. By this act, the purest example of Republican morality that suffers no desecration of the anthem, he rendered the Republic also this service: that he drew upon himself the full attention of the gendarmes, so that the secret Republican officials, who along the same path bore in their satchels the sovereign will of the People embodied in completed ballots, passed without being stopped.
When I learned that I should go to school, where I shall be taught all things that may be useful to a free Republican citizen, I, like my comrades, felt great joy. The only ill news concerning my beginning of school, and truly ill, was that henceforth I shall dwell apart from my parents, and no longer sleep in my chamber embraced by Patriot, the gray kitten, but instead in the vast hall of the Republican school, upon a hard mat, surrounded by other pupils of the Republic.
My grandfather told me I must not despair on this account, for as a pupil of the Republican school I shall, on the eve of each decadal day, have the right to leave the school, spend the night in my parents’ home, and pass the entire decadal day and the following night therein. He said further that I ought rather to rejoice: for now my parents and I are no longer slaves of a master who could at his whim cast us out of our dwelling, as in times past, drown Patriot the cat in the river, or even slay one of us; but now we are free citizens, and that house, though I sleep there but once in ten days, is truly ours, and I may be certain I shall return to it when I finish school and remain there as long as I wish. My grandfather told me also that, in our exalted Republic, the roof above one’s head cannot be taken away for indebtedness, unless such be the consequence of gravely immoral conduct, much less at the caprice of some ruler.
And furthermore, however much I love our old house—a single-storied stone dwelling with a thatched roof, sometimes hardly resisting the ocean wind and rain it bore—I must with gladness confess that I now have the chance to live in a far more splendid abode. For the school is housed in the former boarding-school for young nobles, “Prince Fridhold” (whose former inhabitants are here no more, for they fled with their parents).
And now, as I pen these first pages of my diary, I scarce can keep my eyes from the wondrously painted ceiling of the vast hall which serves us as dormitory and resting-place, nor from the pillars with their ornamented crowns that support the ceiling. Entering, together with a throng of other children, most of whom I did not even know—for into the school at Atrolen have been admitted all children aged ten to sixteen from the Central District of Alvald (the Republican school for children aged five to ten in our district is situated in the village of Fornau)—we passed through richly adorned corridors and came into a great hall, which we filled to the brim; and as the hall had been built for the former royalist boarding-school—which held far fewer children than the Republican school now gathers—there was no space to sit, so we all remained standing, pressed one against another.
Then, upon the rostrum adorned with tricolor ribbons, ascended a balding man in a tight-fitting suit across which he bore the tricolor sash of a public officer. With a gloomy countenance and a nasal voice he addressed us thus:
“Minor Citizens of the Republic, I greet you as fellow compatriots. I am Citizen Dietrich Rave, civil municipal commander of Atrolen, the settlement honored to host this Palace of Knowledge, this Factory of Enlightened and Upright Republicans, future good citizens. As host of this institution, I have been granted the distinction of delivering to you a brief address. I perceived that when I entered this hall all merriment ceased, silence and gravity prevailed. Such is as it should be—for frivolity, with its unruly and unproductive nature, is the mark of aristocrats and royalists, whereas seriousness and fruitful labor in silence are the virtues of Republicans.”
It seemed to me that the fervor with which most of the children had entered the hall was much diminished upon hearing and beholding this man. Truly it was so: every game and jest gave way to the solemn air that radiated from him. Yet I continued to believe that the Republic and the Revolution must be exciting, even if they took on the form and sound of a municipal commander droning his discourse; indeed, my faith in the Republic ennobled him more than he diminished my faith in it.
He went on in the same monotonous tone, speaking of the honor enjoyed in a Republican society by the educated, the diligent, and the industrious. Among several citizens of Atrolen whom he named with the highest respect, he mentioned also my father.
“I shall not speak at length, for I prefer to perform my duty in peace and quiet for the common good, rather than expose myself to public acclaim; nor would I detain you from hearing men of greater consequence than I. Having now borne with me, I deliver the word to one of the foremost names in science which our island has offered to Guntreland: the eminent geographer who has shown true patriotism in accepting the post of Chief Educator of the Republican School of Central Alvald—Citizen Astel Maring.”
When his discourse was ended, and as he descended from the rostrum, he bowed his head almost servilely—after the fashion once observed before the nobles of old—before the representatives of the Club of the Friends of Virtue and the Republic who occupied the front row, and then seated himself beside them.
Thereupon another citizen ascended the rostrum: a short, gaunt man, tightly bound in his garments, spectacles upon his nose, clad in a black coat with a white cape, and upon his lapel the badge of an Educator—a tricolor fox bearing a book in its jaws. This man, Geographer Maring, Chief Educator, spoke in a thin, almost feminine voice:
“Honored Republican children, I have the privilege to welcome you to this Republican School, for the District Committee of one of the four most recently liberated Republican districts—where Republican labor is most arduous—has reposed its trust in me by offering the position of Chief Educator of the District Republican School. I accepted gladly, desiring to contribute to the instruction and formation of new Republicans, and also for the chance to study further the geography of this fair island—its ever-windy and rainy climate, and its native creatures, such as our fellow citizen, the Alvald Giant Cat.”
He continued:
“What distinguishes Republican schools from all schools that existed before the Revolution, on this island and on our continent entire, is that in them urban and rural, rich and poor, boys and girls—all must attend and all must learn alike. Some among you shall one day inherit more property from your parents, some less. It is right and natural that those who grew up among families of greater wealth and absorbed their values should later maintain that property, so that property itself may be eternal and immortal, fulfilling its social and Republican function. Therefore it is natural and good that you should feel loyalty to your families and reverence toward your parents. But the Republic is our mother before our parents, and though in possessions we differ, in rights and duties we are all equal. To train you in love and respect for this equality, you shall live here in conditions of strict equality.
That some among you will inherit greater or lesser wealth, that some are taller, others shorter, some stronger, others weaker, some fairer, others less comely, some healthier, others prone to sickness—all these differences, bestowed by nature without your will, must remain invisible to the eye of Republican Law and of the Educator as Republican servant, who must see only Republican hearts beating strong or weak for the Republic. He who mocks another for any difference nature has wrought without his will is no Republican, but as much a royalist as he who believes a king should rule by the accident of birth.”
He declared that our common task—educators and pupils alike—was to aid the universal struggle of all honest men against tyranny, a struggle fought not only with arms but with knowledge and skill, which the Republican School was founded to impart.
He spoke of virtue and kindness, of scorning hypocrisy and embracing honesty and friendship. He reminded us that sacrifice is demanded of all who labor for freedom, and gave vivid examples:
“Let us not forget our four-legged fellow citizens who, like us, bear burdens for the Revolution. Citizen Guardian-of-Freedom, a dog of the Brelsin breed, dwelling in a kennel before number 6, Brelsing Sanatorium Martyrs Street, now eats dry bread instead of meat—suffering greater hardship than we. Citizen Mousebane-of-Aristocratic-Pests, a black Alvald cat of Republican Apples Street, number 17, attic, suffers no want of mice but was struck by a stray bullet in war and now limps on one paw.”
The Chief Educator then announced that pupils would be divided into groups of sixty, each with its own commander. At once I thought how I longed to become a commander, and wondered whether there would be real elections—I could hardly restrain my eager excitement! Six groups would form a battalion, a word that sounded soldierly and thus delighted me. All battalions together would form a legion, which on the Festival of Republican Schools would camp in Alvaldstadt and perform military exercises in a specially prepared arena.
“Education shall be divided into economic, moral, natural, and military branches. Each pupil shall have four vocational educators—one farmer, one factory worker, one craftsman, and one merchant—all proven in labor and Republican virtue—together with one educator in law, who shall preside over children’s assemblies, set topics, and guide debates, shaping the senses, spirit, and heart of true Republicans. More time shall be spent in nature than in the schoolhouse, for the Republic is natural and this is healthy for youth. There shall be special educators, myself among them, who will lead groups into nature and reveal her mysteries.
Military training, needed to preserve our freedom, shall consist of infantry and cavalry maneuvers, taught by officers of the Republican Army. Those who have not yet learned to read, write, or reckon shall also attend classes with the younger children. Each month, in accord with Republican principles, a list of the best pupils in learning and conduct shall be published upon the notice board, that all may see diligence rewarded; if need be, a list of the worst shall also be published, to correct them and honor the better.
The regulations of the Department of Public Instruction forbid games of insult. Rising and sleeping shall be at the same hour; sleep shall last three Republican hours; the day begins at sunrise with the singing of the anthem. And let me remind you of a rule that will rejoice you: the Republican Code forbids parents and instructors alike from striking children; any who strike a child shall be banished. The barbarous times are gone forever, when teachers addressed their pupils as ‘Excellency’ or ‘Countship’ and scourged them with sticks and whips, training them to become tyrants themselves.
But mark also a severe rule: whoever deserts the Republican School—whether to return to his parents or to dwell elsewhere—shall be stripped of civic rights for life.”
After these inaugural speeches, lunch was served forthwith, held in the spacious courtyard of the school building, since in the refectory the tables had not yet been rearranged to accommodate so vast a multitude of children at once. No meat was given us, but only vegetables, bread, milk, and water; after the meal, each received a single piece of fruit. We were told that soon we ourselves must produce the food we eat, and that on certain days we would accompany the educators into the forest and live upon what nature provided. I thought at once of berries and blackberries, but some whispered there would be too few of those to fill our bellies, and that mushrooms and various roots were chiefly meant.
At lunch there occurred a curious incident: a hungry black-and-white bird swooped down to one of the tables, pecked a boy’s hand, and snatched from it a large carrot, flying off with its prize. Strangely, the boy showed neither fear nor complaint but exclaimed with delight that it had been a true magpie, not a grey crow such as is common in this season in our parts. From that moment, he was called by all “Magpie.”
Afterwards, the battalion to which my class belonged, under the escort of several soldiers, was marched to a meadow outside Atrolen. As we passed in column through the village, all gazed upon us with respect as upon earnest Republicans, crying aloud “Long live the Republic!” There awaited us a true officer, a captain with great black mustaches, wavy hair, and thick sideburns. He bore himself not as the king’s officers once did, who would cry “Out of the way!” at children of “humble birth”, cracking their whips or casting threats, but greeted us with cheerful words:
“Little citizens, though I believe that by the time you bear arms in the line of the Republican Army there will be no kings left in all the world, I shall teach you maneuvers so that you become such a force, that even in the fairy tales of kings the princes shall dread not dragons nor monsters, but the Republican Army of which you will be part.”
On this first day we were not yet given weapons, but he showed us the posture of soldiers in several basic formations, explained the meaning of certain commands, and then allowed us to enact a “battle” with wooden branches for muskets and bayonets, so that we might feel for ourselves how a soldier in line should stand and act. He judged the contest, declaring who was struck and how we should comport ourselves. We charged at one another with our branches crossed as bayonets, all shouting “Hurrah!” and “Long live the Republic!” imagining the others to be royalists. The captain let us go on, even when we failed to heed his orders, smiling and himself shouting “Fight, Republicans! Down with the king!” until the exercise became a full childish brawl. Then only did he intervene, declaring he could never permit any “little citizen” to suffer grave injury.
From the meadow we beheld high in the sky balloons of many colors—silver, red, and green—drifting northward from the south. The captain cursed them loudly as “the king’s nag” and “the queen’s cur,” which seemed to us marvelously funny; many joined in, hurling all manner of jests and insults at king and queen. Thus the municipal commander was wrong in saying that in the Republican School there would be no merriment!
That very day I made the acquaintance of several companions: Lorans and Jeder, who knew much of war and delighted in speaking of past strategies and battles, as well as of the present war, the liberation of Alvald, the defense of its sole telegraph, and the armies of the continents with their strength compared to ours—imagining themselves true generals. Their knowledge shone as we learned infantry maneuvers. Then Breler, who reads and writes but poorly, yet knows politics well and counts himself a fervent anti-Hrebsist. Then Tayer, withdrawn and quiet, yet of good nature, for he gave to a boy named Hedler the cap his mother had sewn for him with the letters H.C.H. (“Honour the Constitution, Citizens!”) stitched in tricolor by his sister—Hedler’s own father having fallen as a Republican soldier.
Yet there were others I liked less, such as Rober, son of a former tyrant’s man who only months ago, by lavishly funding the Republic, turned his coat and proclaimed himself Republican. Already after the educator’s speech Rober mocked other children and bullied the weaker.
When we returned from the exercise ground, the school walls were covered with posters listing the lessons and educators. Each might choose which craft to study, for educators came from many trades. Some boys of Atrolen, knowing the townsfolk, cried out in surprise—or fear—when they read two names: Citizen Farkasen, Educator of Nature, and Citizen Fulson, locksmith and craft educator—were werewolves! Though now, under the Constitution, werewolves are equal citizens, no distinction to be made by race, the word stirred noise and clamor, of fright and curiosity both, for most parents had never let their children even approach werewolves—sometimes threatening to hand them over to them if they misbehaved. (Though one boy, Olher, whose father sits on the Committee, boasted that his parents had always threatened him with the Count, never with werewolves, and that werewolves even came to play cards at his house.)
My father, a village physician, sought to explain werewolves by science. “You have heard sometimes, when Clerk Blau swears in anger, how he uses a foul saying about a dog with someone’s mother. When a man does this with a woman, the child born is human, like your mother, me, all of us. But long ago, some women… not by dogs, but by wolves. And so they bore children with wolfish traits, half man and half wolf. Can they truly change into wolves at full moon? I have never seen it, nor do I see how it could be, but our elders spoke so. Do they eat human flesh, heart and liver above all? I cannot say. But when I treat patients I always ask of their diet, for health demands truth, and one day, when I treat a werewolf, perhaps he will tell me. Yet as they clearly bear wolfish features, perhaps they eat what wolves eat—and that may include man.”
It is said too that Father once bound the wounds of a werewolf whom the king’s men had shot in the forest—an act then punished by prison or worse—while any who slew a werewolf might receive from the king a golden coin.
On the other hand, I heard Breler declare to the children: “My grandfather himself saw a werewolf change into a wolf! He followed him into the forest on a full moon night, climbed a tree, and saw him become a wolf like those that raid the sheepfold, with paws, body, head, and tail of a wolf, joining a pack. Would my grandfather Johan lie?”
The greatest astonishment, but also greatest joy, was shown by Magpie, who loved vampires even more, and from the first day spun his fantasies of battles between werewolves and vampires, praising their powers beyond men: the keen smell, hearing, jaws, teeth, claws, and swiftness of the first; the fangs, sleeplessness, and long life of the second. Lately it had been rumored that among the pupils themselves there might be a young werewolf, though on Alvald fewer dwelt than on the continent, for royalist persecutions had been easier upon an island. Yet I saw none of their kind among my new companions.
Here I must close my entry, for the time of extinguishing candles and retiring to sleep has come. At the school there is also a little vampiress named Eliza-Constitution, who speaks to no one. Already Magpie asked her to bite him, that he too might become a vampire, but she fled without a word.
