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Remarkable Cases at the Lighthouse of France Described by Miss Winifred Holt.

WORK FOR A DIPLOMAT

For a Musical Sergeant, an Architect, and Others -- Re-educating the Blind to Fence.

By WINIFRED HOLT.

I wish, every American could walk into my office some day here at the Phare de France, and let me show him our home, and, best of all, our pupils. We have eighteen men with us now, men who came to us blinded front the battlefield, with hope dead in their hearts. Today they are learning new trades with their ten fingers, which have become to them eyes, and they are beginning to see again the light of contentment. These men are from all walks of life, but interesting, every one of them, in some special way. I will try to make a few of them real to you, as I have had the opportunity to know them.

Not long ago I went to call on a great lady in the Faubourg, and beside her at the tea table sat one of the most distinguished men of France, who the day before had received a public ovation. On the other side of her sat a middle-aged man with dark glasses. He was introduced to me. He rose from his chair with the grace characteristic of his class, but when he wished to be seated his fingers groped pitifully to locate the Louis Quinze fauteuil. This nobleman had spent some time in Washington, and had been over three hemispheres in the service of his country. He was now blind, and hopeless in his blindness. As a seeing diplomat in Washington he had heard of us and the Lighthouse, which had interested him. As a blind man he now asked to meet the Lighthouse Keeper, the Gardienne du Phare.

"What can I do? I have no talents," he said. "I could play polo, ride to hounds, play a fair game of bridge, and serve my country in diplomacy. If I should attempt to mount my horse now I should fall off! If I should ask to serve my country I would be laughed at! I liked fencing, but that, of course, is Impossible."

Unknowingly he had given me my cue. "Not if you have the right kind of a fencing master," I answered. "I have I just left two officers who gave their eyes for France with their foils, practicing "Fleuret." You must choose the most interesting kind of fencing for ten eyes' work. Sabre and bayonet may have lost their charm, but you will find "Fleuret" quite as interesting as ever. Will you come to the Lighthouse and try?"

The man's whole expression had changed. A slight flush had spread over his pale face, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair. "I will come with great pleasure. Are you sure I will not be in the way? I am so helpless." I assured him that the only difficulty with us at the Lighthouse was that we needed a man used to diplomacy knowing languages (he knew four and bits of many others) who had sufficient knowledge to teach the less fortunate blind soldiers. I told him that it was impossible for me to find the right man to run our club, and if he would relieve me of that burden and insure the success of our budding "Circle" it would he an infinite help. "You see, we need you so much," I said.

He came the next week to find light through work, and to help us, by his long experience with men of different kinds, to make our Lighthouse what we want it. I doubt very much if that French nobleman will sink back into the apathy and despair from which our Lighthouse has roused him. I think that in his mind he realizes that fighting as an officer would not give him the same opportunity of usefulness as helping the men blinded in battle to win their battle in the dark and to find the light.

A Sergeant Who Sings.

Sergeant G. was our first resident guest at the French Lighthouse. He wears the blue-gray uniform of the infantry. He has black hair, a sallow complexion, long, thin featured. His eyes closed forever give his face in repose a pensive, Madonna-like expression. He is, however, one of the most vivacious people I have ever met. His frequent quick smiles light up his pale features: his laugh lifts his upper lip to show a shining array of perfect teeth, like a young fox terrier. He has a great bass voice. When he is thoroughly amused the walls echo and the furniture shakes with his merriment.

We found him in a hospital, so weak, so hopeless that he impatiently asked me to go away. But the minute he spoke I heard the wonderful "timbre" of his voice, and said: "But, monsieur, you must sing?"

"How do you know?" he answered.

"I have sung myself. I love music."

So, instead of leaving the hospital, I stayed and sat by the sick man's bed and told him how music and all sweet sounds would mean more and more to him. How he could hear better and sing better because of his blindness. I showed him how all music could be written and read in "Braille" -- showed him light through work.

He is now at the Lighthouse an industrious student, reading his "Braille" notes. His heart is in his music. When he learns to modify his great voice we hope that it may be pleasant for us to hear it, and that it may become a wage-earning medium for him. At present it is out of all proportion to the Phare, and would be only tolerable in a busy railroad station, but we still trust that he may perceive some day the difference between piano and fortissimo. Before the war he was a Director in a coal company; perhaps he may still make a livelihood in "commerce."

Our second "pensionnaire " is a "Sous-Officier du Midi," (sub-officer from the South,) very tall, swarthy, two wide, open, black, glass eyes. In his red and blue uniform he is extremely smart. He kept accounts and wrote letters for the army until he went into action, and, after doing splendid service, had both eyes shot out. He was prisoner in Germany for a short time. When he returned to France he had incessant operations, changing from hospital to hospital. He had no hope of anything but his tiny pension, no knowledge of how to work, though with his whole determined make-up he longed for an active, useful life again.

He heard of us through another blind soldier, and was brought by a charming Duchess to see me at the lighthouse. With the Duchess, dressed in black, with trailing veils, came the wife, the sister-in-law, and the curly-headed youngster of our new recruit for light through work. He was very silent and correct. It was an inspiration to see the flush of excitement, the tightening of his nerves and muscles, as he listened as I told him his possible horizon in blindness.

"You mean, then, Madam, that I can actually write letters again, that I can keep accounts? Why, that is what I used to do. Is it possible that I can go back to my own life again?

"Quite possible," I answered: "come tomorrow, and let us see if it is probable!"

He came the next day, and with trembling hands grasped his first letters and touched the typewriter. Now, thoroughly at home in our sunny hotel, his energy and application to his study inspire the other men. He was a great fencer. His lithe figure, keen black eyes and Southern temperament must have made him a dangerous opponent.

Fencing for Blind Soldiers.

We have engaged the best fencing teacher in Paris to re-educate our blind heroes. This "Maitre d'Armes" Monsieur X., dressed in uniform, decorated with gorgeous orders bestowed on him by sovereigns, has undertaken our classes in fencing. I introduced him to some of our blind officers. It was a pretty sight to see his eyes fill with tears as they drew themselves up, clicked their heels together, and our Southerner raised his stick, giving the fencer's salute.

Another of our guests is a "Clarion" of historic name. One eye has entirely gone and he has a glass substitute, but in the other eye, a little precious light is left. The great oculist saved it for him, when he miraculously mended his shattered face.

Our "Clarion" is very quick, extremely good looking, and has a pretty little wife and a black-eyed daughter whom he worships. He wears the dark blue uniform, high black putties, and embroidered on his arm is the precious golden bugle. What fire and dash is pent up in this silent blind bugler! As his patient fingers pause in spelling out his "Braille" book, he still hears the rush of his comrades, sees the flash of their sabres as they charge to the summons of his bugle. He will never forget that charge: it cost him his sight.

Another of our light-finders is the Architect. He wears the uniform still pierced by the bayonet thrusts received in the battle of the Champagne, where he lost his eyes, He hopes to be a professor at the Lighthouse and, later, to get a place as a secretary and stenographer. He has become very efficient. The other men look up to him and envy his knowledge of "Braille" and stenography, and his ability to still build houses and make plans. Yesterday he started again at his old craft and built houses out of clay.

We have a sunny studio at the Phare and two inspired Americans, who are devoted to teaching our men to become deft with their ten eyes. We can boast already a remarkable exhibit from our modelling class and a still more remarkable achievement in re-educating the blind and giving them new sight through new facility and sensitiveness of touch. Not only has our Architect achieved much for himself, but he has undertaken to teach some of our sighted volunteers. The other day, he was struggling to teach "Braille" to a willing and extremely pretty blonde Marquise. Again and again her dainty fingers struggled with the baffling dots on the paper. Finally, the blind professor was sorry for her, and shaking his head benevolently, said to his pupil: "Pauvre Madame, ce.sont von yeux qui voile empechent de voir." (" Poor Madam, it is your eyes which prevent your seeing.")

Blinded in Belgium

Adjutant Legarde has described himself better than I could do in this letter which he wrote me a short while ago. I will let him tell his own story:

Paris.

Miss Holt:

For a month I have been a pensioner at the Lighthouse of France. Thanks to this beautiful work I feel that I have been reborn into life. I wish that I were a poet to sing all my acknowledgement to you. Alas! I am neither a poet nor a writer, but just a child of the people. Once again I feel obliged, in expressing my thanks to you, to express them also to America, the country to which I owe so much.

Struck down by a bullet in my head on the 22d of August, 1914, in Belgium, I was left for dead on the field by my comrades, who on the following day were obliged to retire before their innumerable horde. Picked up by friendly hands, cared for, cherished by these brave, and heroic Belgians, my captivity was relatively easy. But in the month of November, Belgium, violated, burned, and pillaged, succumbed to hunger. (Flour cost 130 francs.) With terror we saw the day come when, for lack of bread, the wounded French soldiers were about to be transported to Germany. Suddenly I learned that a great people, a great country, the United States, and a generous burst of human solidarity had assumed the heavy task of revictualing Belgium. Naturally the French wounded were going to benefit by this aid from over the sea, and would not have to eat the bread of an abhorred enemy! In December came the ships loaded with flour, bacon, dried beans, &c. One-third of the population received the necessities of life gratuitously, the rest paid a moderate price.

Soon, thanks to your American committee, in the burned villages there arose shelters for the families that until that time were obliged to live in the woods. Furniture, linen, clothing, came to them. Laborers without work were going to be obliged to work for the enemy, but the Americans watched and sent the necessary funds for opening numerous workshops. The Spring arrived and the farmers saw, with sorrow, that owing to the lack of seed they would not be able to do any sowing; there again America made provision, and soon seed and fertilizer were distributed in profusion.

I had the honor many times to talk with the American representatives of the Food Commission. These men, still young, calm, cool, but energetic, managed to surmount all the difficulties which had been made for them by the relentless horde which devastated Belgium. If, in conversation, they forcibly made their words neutral, their handshake did not know how to be, and with certainty I recognized them to be friends.

Returned to France through the exchange of the seriously wounded, I am once more finding America helpful.

Thanks to you, Miss Holt, and the admirable corps of instructors which you have drawn about you. I can say without exaggeration that I feel glowing within me beams of light, which have already thrown a very appreciable gleam into the closed room of my spirit, which, until now, I believed would always have had to live in darkness.

I have no words eloquent enough to tell you how much I appreciate this devoted care, but by a very simple and very big "Thank you" coming from the bottom of my heart, and you will know how to read the sum of all my gratitude.

Thank you, Miss Holt, thank you. Thank you for your moral support. Thank you for your practical aid.

OSMIN LAGARDE.
Adjutant of the 120th Regiment of Infantry, Paris, the 20th of April, 1916.

It is for men such as these that once again I want to appeal to the generosity of Americans. The Lighthouse is day by day reaching out to bring light and hope to more and more of those men blinded in the service of their country. The workers at the Lighthouse are in many cases laboring for love, but nevertheless the need of funds is urgent. All contributions are welcome, large or small, and should be sent to William Forbes Morgan, Jr., Treasurer Committee for Men Blinded in Battle, 17 East Thirty-eighth Street.