THE READING FINGERS

Jean Roblin

Chapter I: A WEDDING DURING THE REVOLUTION

THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER, 1792 toward eleven o'clock in the morning, Pierre Dezeaut, school-master and bell-ringer for the town of Coupvray, sent a lusty carillon echoing to the four corners of the sky.

That day, in the little parish church lighted by candles and decorated with autumn flowers, was being celebrated the wedding of Simon René Braille, harness-maker, and Monique Baron.

Relatives and friends filled the seats and the benches. There were Jean Baron, the wine-grower, a little stiff in his black suit; the mothers-in-law, Henriette Viret and Geneviève Auville, with beribboned hats; and the near relations, the Occidents, the Triolets, and the Lehogues of Coupvray, the Rigauts of Villeneuve-le-Comte. Old father Braille alone was missing, taken by a bad fever in 1782.

In the choir, Monique and Simon, kneeling, were answering the questions of the priest. When the solemn moment came for the newly-weds to pass the ring, the Abbé Acrint began the traditional little speech. He spoke of the two old families of Coupvray from whom the young people came and of the Christian virtues of its citizens. He passed over in silence the customary flattery about their "perfect republican citizenship," for everything leads us to believe that the Brailles were very devoted to the old régime. Then he blessed their union.

The wedding was merry. The revolution was still going on, but Coupvray, wrapped up in its rural life forty kilometers from Paris, knew nothing of the revolutionary fever in the capital. The stagecoach from Meaux passed through only once a week and news was rare.

In September, however, feeling in the countryside had been running high. A native of Coupvray, Pierre Cyprien Guédon, priest of the diocese of Meaux and master in theology, had been slain in the prison of Carmes. The whole village had been indignant over this barbaric conduct unworthy of the young republic.

The 24th of the same month, sixty soldiers of the National Guard of Indre and Loire, commanded by a lieutenant-captain, drew up at the town hall and ordered the surrender of all weapons. The reluctant mayor insisted on being shown a written order. The officer replied haughtily that his only order was the law, and had a thorough search of the entire village begun immediately. This scarcely pleased the people of Coupvray and they protested vigourously. The report tells us six guns, twenty hunting-knives, six pistols, five swords and one musket were found.

On the 29th of September, more indignation on the part of the populace. Troops billeted at Montry pillaged vineyards on Coupvray land. All these vexations served only to increase distrust toward the Republic. Nostalgia for manorial power was still felt here, and memory of the nobles lived on in many hearts.

Then the business of everyday life had been resumed. Land and beast make imperious demands on country people. The victory of Valmy and the arrival of Austrian prisoners had played upon patriotic feelings. With the excitement over everyone had taken to laughing and singing again. So why, on this fifth day of November, should it have occurred to the smiling procession descending towards the valley, married couples in the lead, that the same day in Paris Danton was demanding executions, that the Girondins and the Montagnards were confronting each other in the Assembly and that preparations were underway to try the King?

From their doorsteps friends greeted the young couple affectionately. There were handclasps, and the traditional congratulations: "Much happiness! Many children!"

Many children? Simon René and Monique were to have four of them. On November 5, 1793, Monique Catherine Josephine was born; on March 9, 1795, a boy, Louis Simon; on January 15, 1797, Marie Céline; and January 4, 1809, Louis, honored today by all blind people.