THE READING FINGERS

JEAN ROBLIN

Chapter IV: THE PUPIL

THE SOUNDS OF PARIS surprised the child. His village had never offered so much variety. Suddenly the city furnished his world with new noises. They came at last to Victor Street. A narrow building reared its sad, grey walls before them. They rapped the door-knocker and entered.

There is always something dramatic about children first entering a school. Temporarily ties between those dear to each other break. A new life begins. As he entered the child felt the colder air, the chillier darkness and the humidity, and the coldness of the walls which his hand brushed against made him shiver. He knew that today he was losing many things, and perhaps he did not yet understand the usefulness of this separation. The gentle, soothing atmosphere of the little house in Coupvray, the tenderness of his mother, all came back to him. He clasped his father's hand more tightly.

The concierge, Monsieur Demeziere, was expecting the new pupil. He immediately led father and child by worn stairways and through dark corridors to the office of Dr. Guillié, the director. The interview was friendly. We have reason, however, to believe that Dr. Guillié was not a fundamentally honest and good man. Several of his actions of which we shall have occasion to speak in the course of this chapter convince us that his conduct was not spotless, and that concern for the health of the blind lagged behind a good many other considerations. Despite that, he had a kindly manner, knew how to talk and make people feel at home. His greeting reassured the boy. Gently he described the life of the school and the everyday work. Simon René Braille must have felt that he could not have found a better place elsewhere for his son. He settled a few necessary arrangements, and giving Louis a long hug, set off again for Coupvray.

The director led the boy to the class of M. Dufau, the vice-principal and second teacher. The geography lesson was in progress. Fifteen or so blind pupils were listening to the teacher. The opening of the door relaxed their attention, and faces turned toward the arrivals, but the director harshly ordered them to turn around again. M. Dufau spoke to the new boy, asked his name and helped him to an empty seat. Then he took up again the interrupted lesson.

The fear that had been gripping Louis all morning seemed to leave. He forgot that he was far from his parents and among strangers, so wonderful were the things the teacher was quietly telling them. Louis's remarkable memory registered what was said about the country of France, and when, before the end of the class, M. Dufau called on him, he answered clearly, without faltering. This immediately made a very favorable impression on the teacher.

The bell rang for recess; again Louis felt lonely. A supervisor introduced him to his comrades. They exchanged names, but close friendships are more difficult to form when sight cannot reinforce the harmony of two voices seeking friendship. That evening in the great silence of the dormitory, in a little iron bed in which his mother had not tucked him, he began to cry softly, thinking again about his parents, his parents with whom he used to exchange a few affectionate words before going to sleep. Perhaps it was that evening that Gauthier, a young pupil like himself, consoled him and there sprang up between them that great friendship which thirty-four years of companionship was not to change.

The weeks followed each other rapidly. In the enthusiasm of an active life Louis Braille now had no time to be bored. Besides, letters which a supervisor read to him arrived from Coupvray and reassured him about his family. He no longer felt lonesome and realized now how much benefit he could derive from the instruction at the Institution. Little by little Braille had become acquainted with the teachers, the supervisors and his blind comrades. He had learned to find his bearings, to count his steps from his bed to the door of the dormitory, from the door to the stairs, from the stairs to the dining-hall and from the dining-hall to the courtyard. He made his way about the great building as if he had always lived there.

He liked the courses. Coltat (a pupil under Braille and later his friend) tells us: "Being intelligent, Braille was soon well-informed on the elements of grammar, geography, history and arithmetic. These subjects were taught by having the pupils repeat what they heard, supplemented sometimes by the reading of a few books written in Valentin Haüy's system. It was the official reading method for the blind, and if it rendered great service, no one was unaware of its imperfections. Many volumes were necessary to contain the text of a little school book. Moreover, the touch of some of the young blind students was not sensitive enough to permit them to make out rapidly the form of the letters. There resulted a loss of time for both pupils and teachers. But since there was no other method it was necessary to have recourse to it, as repeated hearing of the lessons was insufficient for a good instruction.

Recreation played an important part in the life of the school and Braille participated in it with his usual high spirits. Certainly the blind students were barred from many games. They could never play prisoner's base, knuckle-bones or marbles. Still they found means of amusing themselves, and of using up their energy in suitable physical exercises. Thus they often engaged in boisterous round dances guided by a supervisor, where laughter and cries rang out clearly and joyously.

From the first year of his stay at the Institution Louis Braille particularly liked the music class. Teachers from the Conservatory came to instruct gratuitously. The pupils learned by means of repeated hearing of the pieces; one would learn to play the piano on the stair-landing; another the flute in a window-recess; a third, against a doorway, would play the bassoon; while several old pianos were arranged in the big room. Conditions were not ideal for learning music, of course. Besides, repeated hearing did not give good results. Thus, the teacher sometimes had to guide the hands of his pupil on the instrument. As soon as a boy knew the theory sufficiently, he would be asked to teach a few comrades.

It was under these conditions that Louis Braille learned to play the piano. He found a beneficial and happy escape although he could not see. A note, a trill, a run, an improvisation conjured up in his mind long-ago pictures forever lost. He gave music everything he had, as he did to all the tasks he undertook with his characteristic conscientiousness and fervor. He felt music intuitively and that is why he excelled in it. Though he was still young, he had already a natural aptitude which foreshadowed the talented organist he would later be when he sat at the organ of Notre Dame des Champs.

Guillié had allowed Louis Braille's father to see only the good side of the school. What was behind the scenes nevertheless worried the director. The financial situation of the establishment was catastrophic, with no credit to be had. Some of the staff had been dismissed and the supervision proved inadequate. Thus, to maintain order in the Institution, Guillié had introduced a series of severe punishments. The pupils were not locked up in a dark closet, a punishment very frequent in the schools of that time (being shut up in darkness means nothing to the blind); rather they were put on dry bread and water, given physical punishment or restricted from going out. Braille undoubtedly had his share of punishment, for his gay and sometimes teasing temperament must not always have pleased the supervisors.

Every Thursday after the noon meal the pupils were led to the Botanical Garden. The supervisor walked at the head and the children followed, holding a long rope which kept them together—a touching procession which made the passers-by turn around. Each walk brought Louis unexpected sensations which enlarged his universe. He heard mysterious, unknown sounds and absorbed new fragrances.

The end of the school year approached. At the Institution a little celebration had brought together pupils and faculty for the formal prize distribution. In a moving ceremony Louis Braille received his first laurels, a certificate of merit in knitting and making slippers. Gauthier, who had been even longer in the school was much congratulated for his prize in piano, an award for a pupil especially gifted in music. The two friends were very proud of their awards. They often talked together of the coming vacations which were going to separate them. For two months Louis would become reacquainted with his native village and his family, so dear to his childish heart. Like schoolboys all over the world he planned projects and anticipated the joys which were soon to be his. He thought of long walks in the country, of his childhood friends whom he loved and it seemed to him that he already heard his father's hammer making dull thuds on the damp leather in the little workshop in Coupvray.

The joy of vacation! Reunited with his family Louis rediscovered the peaceful life of before. His parents brought him up to date on the small happenings in the village; he talked of the Institution, his work, his friends. He soaked himself in the family atmosphere which he had missed so much at the beginning of his stay in Paris.

His sister, Marie Céline, no longer lived at home. In June, 1819 she had married François Isidore Marniesse. (From this union came the last of the descendants of the Braille family, the Meuniers, one of whom, born in 1877, still lives in Coupvray.) As for Louis Simon, he had settled down in Chessy, several miles from Coupvray. His father had wanted him to continue the tradition, and had taught him the trade of the harness-maker so that he could later succeed him. But Louis Simon certainly did not have much inclination for this work, which calls for patience and a real liking for it. He thought that in a few years he would give up the trade, buy some land and devote himself to the cultivation of vineyards. He got along well with Louis. Sundays when he came to see his parents, he would guide his brother to church. What a pleasure for the little blind boy to hear the Abbé Palluy chant the Mass, to rediscover Antoine Becheret, the teacher, and Monsieur d'Orvilliers, who, as he came out, shook his hand and asked him about his studies.

At the reopening of school in October, Louis took up his studious life once more. "He walked very fast along the path of progress; he soon went from elementary classes to those more advanced," says Coltat.

At the beginning of 1821 Guillié, the director, was dismissed by the Institution. A discreet inquiry by the responsible authorities disclosed "an intimate relationship with the schoolmistress," which was not in keeping with the very moral and strict ways of the school. We have already described the unsympathetic side of this proud man who in 1817 had recklessly had the great Valentin Haüy thrown out of the Institution when he returned from Russia, tired, discouraged and without resources. The blind know enough of the magnificent role of Valentin Haüy, so that the name of Guillié will forever be tarnished by his unpardonable, unjust act. The Institution did not regret his going and another director was chosen, who has left behind only good memories. All his life he shared in the creative work of Braille.

His name was Pignier. Rectifying the mistakes of his predecessor he welcomed Valentin Haüy, assured him of the gratitude of the blind and asked him to come often to the Institution.

In great secrecy pupils and teachers were getting ready for the celebration of August 21, 1821, which was to crown grand old Valentin Haüy's entire life.

Pignier and Dufau, the assistant-director, spared no effort to make the celebration a success. Everyone in the Institution helped. They decorated the classrooms and the dining-room, set up a platform in the court and carefully planned a musical party which would close the day. Like his comrades, Braille entered into the preparation of this program with his customary good-will. His father and his brother were to come from Coupvray to take part in the festivity, and the boy was delighted.

The great day arrived at last. It was a memorable occasion. When he saw the crowd of blind children gathered together cheering him, Valentin Haüy's joy knew no bounds. He spent the day in their midst, sharing their meals, talking with them about their work and their families and chatting with each one in a friendly way. When Braille felt the bony hands of the Master clasp his own, he was overcome by emotion and could not speak. He remained silent, listening as the great man gently spoke to him. It was a commonplace gesture (but for us a stirring symbol) which Braille remembered, drawing from it later the strength necessary to keep from capitulating before adversity. A simple gesture in which, without knowing it, the older man passed along the torch and inspired the excited child by his life of struggle.

The orchestra of the Institution poured forth waves of music toward the platform where the director and the teachers surrounded Valentin Haüy. A bit of cloudless August sky showed above the top of the buildings. It was hot. The pupils recited poetry. The choir sang a cantata dedicated to the founder of the school. It was wonderful. After years of lack of understanding, after years of failure and of hope, Valentin Haüy tasted the joy of recognition in his beloved school. When the music was over the old man, too moved to be grandiloquent, could only gather the children in his arms and repeat with tears in his eyes, "It is God who has done everything!"

A second St. Vincent de Paul, he finished his days unsatisfied, thinking perhaps that he had not yet done enough.

In the stage-coach taking him that same evening towards Coupvray, where he was to finish his vacation, Louis, seated between his father and his brother, thought over the details of the day. It seemed to him that it marked a decisive stage in his boyhood. He had understood that day all the greatness of the man who was being honored and full of enthusiasm he promised himself to become, like him, the servant of his companions in misfortune.

It was that year in his father's little workshop that he began to cut circles, triangles and squares out of leather, searching, groping, starting over and over again, giving himself to the enormous problem of an alphabet for the blind. (According to a family tradition told us by Monsieur L. Charpentier, harness-maker in Chessy and successor to Louis Simon Braille, the blind child might have used upholstery-nails with rounded heads to emboss his first alphabet.)

In the month of March, 1822, the Institution was plunged into mourning by sad news. Valentin Haüy had just died at the age of seventy-seven.

Ignored by officials and academies, he went to his last resting-place surrounded only by a few relatives, and blind pupils from his school. With his comrades, Braille wept as if Haüy had been a close friend.