This is an article from February 1895, written by Fannie Edgar Thomas and published in Outing magazine, which focused on sports and outdoor activities. It’s a bit of a strange article because it’s a little unfocused– it’s mostly about the students from the Institution for the Blind in Paris (now called National Institute for Blind Youth) learning how to ride bicycles, and then devolves into a discussion of current bicycle outfits on women, and then ends with an observation of an outfit seen on someone on an omnibus.
If I were the editor I would’ve given this a good going-over, but for the purposes of the historical record I just transcribed it as-is.
Please note there’s some period-typical ableism present.
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The Blind Parisians A-Wheel, by Fannie Edgar Thomas
PARIS is a city of such strange sights that Parisian necks are seldom craned. Even beauty is scarcely sufficient to attract passing glances. A badly-dressed woman is about the only thing magnetic enough to compel the blasé boulevardier to sever attention from his absinthe.
There is one sight, however, that never fails to cause nine steps out of ten to falter, and nine heads out of ten to turn.
In one of the most aristocratic quarters of the city, where the gilded dome of Napoleon’s tomb and the twin-towers of St. Francois Xavier are sentinels over historic association, lies the beautiful Boulevard des Invalides, a long, tree-shaded avenue, where sounds march in list slippers and the perfume of flowering shrubs envelopes the senses.
One plump shoulder of this charming drive is made interesting by a little grouped commotion every Thursday afternoon.
Through an imposing iron gateway, into the center of the street, is rolled a curious-looking machine of the velocipede order. It consists of nine largest-sized bicycles joined together in a chain by means of nickel bars, the guide, the second, in front.
In its wake follow eight young men of about eighteen, dressed in a uniform of dark blue, with gilt buttons, flat caps and heels, the pantaloons neatly caught around the ankle by clamps. Neat cuffs and collars and well-trimmed hair show careful attention to the person. The expression of the faces is cheerful, almost gay, the carriage straight and manly, but gentle and unforceful. This, with a certain timidity of bearing, makes one glance again to see– that the party is entirely blind!
They have walked through the gateway, crossed the sward, and reached the queer machine without guide or direction, and commence at once that masonic trick of adjustment of wheel and handle known to the bicycle fraternity. Chatting and smiling, each of the eight finds his special steed and stands beside it.
Accompanying the party is a young man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, who lacks neither force, gayety, eye-glance, nor muscle. Tall, slender, with the indescribable neat alertness that trained muscle gives to motion, and with that almost imperceptible curve to the shoulders which bicycle-riding should not but does give to some of its devotees, he passes along the line of nine glistening machines, twitching a wheel here, touching a bar there, pulling a chain, shaking a seat, and, as a cat pounces upon a mouse, dropping the contents of the little oil-tube upon the “dry spot,” patting, peeping and twisting with the brisk direct motions of le maitre de sou metier.
“Allons!”
Eight right hands slide along the silver handles, eight left feet find their little cogged stirrups, eight right ones stride the yellow saddles, and eight faces, darkened by Fate, are lit by pleasure born of man’s ingenuity and venture. The second machine from the front is left vacant. It is the guide, and can be more easily managed from second place than first. This the young professor mounts.
“Partons!”
Eight flat caps are raised and eight sightless faces turned in the direction they know their visitors are standing; a lightning glance and sweet smile from the second seat. “Allez!” and the unique outfit slides through the shadows, over the noiseless surface that shines like a bald head, slips by wagons that are kindly drawn to the left, past horses pulled gently to the right, past groups of men and women whose eyes are soft with sympathy, and past groups whose necks are craned with surprise and curiosity; past the great white steps, like curved snow-ledges, of Saint Francois Xavier, past the gray fortress-like walls of Les Invalides— whizz! whizz! round the corner, like a jointed snake, out of sight– alas, indeed, “out of sight.”
This is the class of the noted Institution for the Blind, 56 Boulevard des Invalides, Paris, going out to the Bois de Boulogne on their weekly bicycle ride, accompanied by the professor of gymnastics of the place.
There are one hundred and fifty boys and eighty girls in this institution, where they are admitted from ten to twenty years of age, and receive a triple education, intellectual, manual and musical. Almost all who are there have been born quite blind. A few only there are who have a ray of vision, and who are invaluable in rendering aid to the less fortunate.
The occupations of the children, varied and valuable though they are, must be for the most part sedentary. The recreation of walking alone was not found sufficient to increase strength, or establish physical vigor.
The limited gymnastic course at first prescribed was so gentle, through fear of accidents, that the few movements of legs and arms were by no means adequate to the ends sought.
M. Emile Martin, director of the Institution for twelve years, who has in that time doubled its capital, and who is well known and loved not only through France, but in America and England as well, was the first to introduce the more vigorous, gymnastic course and dances which are now practiced, and which have had a most salutary effect upon the health and mentality of the students.
A young army officer, M. Corbery, pupil of a military gymnastic school here, a handsome and charming young Frenchman who would make a valuable addition to the athletic force in America, is professor. He enters into his work with a zeal that is worthy of all praise.
The exercises take place in the large playgrounds, one for boys and one for girls, which bound the sides of the building. Asphalt tracks encircle the courts proper, which are shaded by splendid old chestnut trees, and are cared for with all the French sense of cleanliness, neatness and taste. A large covered gymnasium in each, serves as shelter in inclement weather, and in them are found all the apparatus of the modern athletic school necessary to give force, agility, grace and suppleness.
The first attempts were difficult.
It seemed as if the young people could never be brought to a sense of the necessity of bodily exercise, or to look upon athletics as an amusement and not forced labor.
This has, however, now been achieved, and it is a real pleasure to see with what alacrity and enthusiasm the young people partake of the exercise and obey the instructions of their teacher.
The boys are divided into two classes, those from ten to twelve, and again from fifteen to twenty. Each class is divided into two sections. Twice every week a half-hour is given to limbering exercises, marching, wrestling, dancing and to velocipede riding. The others are devoted to exercises with apparatus.
The blind have naturally a tendency to carry the head low. To correct this the boys march, Indian file, the hands of one upon the shoulders of the other. It makes no difference whether the leader be half-seeing or quite blind. They are so familiar with the walks that the possibility of mistake is small. They march in step, accelerating at the command of the officer, and the heads become unconsciously lifted with the excitement of motion. At a signal the file is broken into ranks of four, which pass and repass, giving hands and again finding places with most admirable precision.
The difficulty of teaching gymnastics and bicycle riding is accented by the sad fact that “preaching” cannot be accompanied by “example.”
The teacher must explain and indicate by the touch, how each must take hold of cords, catch bars, “climb the rigging,” etc. The general instruction is listened to with breathless attention, and in the speed with which accuracy is secured, may be seen the excellence of the directions.
The work of the boys is adapted to the use of the girls. The play court is identical. They are divided into three sections. Extension cords, balancing exercises and dancing are their preferred means of bodily training. Twice a week they have gymnastics, twice they dance.
They like dancing better than gymnastics, and if they had their choice, would not indulge much in the latter. But as dancing alone would never produce suppleness, force or elegance, a great effort is made to increase the natural love of athletics.
They are much more noisy than the boys, and silence when ordered is not as well observed by them. Rope exercises are found to create a numbness or bluntness of the finger-points, which interferes with the delicate manipulations of music and fancy work, so that it is but guardedly indulged in.
Dance instruction means long, careful, and most detailed analysis, which is listened to with the concentration known only to the blind. Practice follows immediately, the professor making turns with each till the form of the dance is learned, when couples dance together.
It is most astonishing the grace that is acquired through insight only. The polka, schottische and mazurka, are followed to perfection. The time is kept so slow that accidents or even collisions are rare. The acuteness of hearing is indicated in the graceful avoidance of each other, which many people gifted with two good eyes might well copy.
To the bicycle, however, are the young blind indebted for the best progress.
The doctor of the institution asserts that this, the most ingenious form of athletics, is also the most comprehensive. In developing the muscular system by the use of the machine, the equilibrium of mental and bodily exercise is maintained to the fullest degree with the least expense to the system.
Since the introduction of the bicycle two years ago, also at the instance of M. Martin, advantages not before thought of have been offered both sexes– limbering of the joints, regulation of nervous activity, remedy for anaemia, pale cheeks, restlessness, etc., etc.
The caterer of the establishment certifies to the truth of the doctor’s statements in his bills, which show a marked increase in the quantity of provisions since the advent of the curious machine. At the same time the unfortunate young people are made partakers of all the enthusiastic pleasure in the sport, which the elite and more blessed of their fellows enjoy.
At present the boys are more favored than the girls inasmuch as, once a week, they make a tournée through Paris parks and drives, while the girls are confined to the interior of the court with timid excursions under the trees in front. This is owing to a question of dress, they say, which waits on the decisions of the “sightseers” for solution.
The girls ride on one or two tricycle tandems, on flat, even surfaces, guided by one who can see and who takes great pains in turning to “slow up” and direct the others to lean toward the center of the curve she is about to make.
The boys whisk off to the Bois de Boulogne, Avenue Victor Hugo, the Longchamps square, the Allée des Acacias, and even through the streets of the city itself, guided by their professor. The longer the course, the greater the pleasure, but it is never long enough to prevent regret at return from the brisk open-air ride which has given more thrilling pleasure, the professors say, than it could have given to those who see.
A machine such as described costs about three thousand francs in Paris. Although solidly joined together, so that “none can get away,” it can easily be separated into twos, threes or fours, to accommodate as many as wish to ride.
A curious adjunct is the stationary bicycle of “four laps to a mile.” The big circular black and white mile-board in front of the two machines, with its great creeping hands, would, of course, be useless to the sightless “practicers” but for an arrangement of gongs of different sounds, so adjusted as to record the time to the ear in accord with the figures.
It requires about six months to train the average blind pupil to a mastery of the tricky wheel. The time is remarkably short, however, for mastering the real wheel after sufficient practice on the bicycle fixe. Confidence is the main thing to get. The girls are much more timid than the boys.
All can learn. There has not been a case within the two years that could not be taught. When a pupil is not strong, the time is limited, that is all.
In two years but one accident has been recorded. Turning a sharp corner of the Bois, one day the nine valiants were literally mowed to the earth, and eighteen legs scrambled guideless to the vertical. It is safe to say that the adventure lost nothing in flavor in the telling, which lasted many days.
In Paris as elsewhere, the bicycle or “bicyclette,” as the lovers of ette-isms and petite-isms are pleased to call it, is all the rage and has come to stay.
Every journal has its column now devoted to”véloce-sport.” The infatuation reigns supreme; it is useless to say why or wherefore, or “I do not like it.” The universality of its acceptance by a character of such pagan conservatism as the French, is cyclonic. The thin accept it to become fat; the heavy to become light and supple; the old to keep them young; the young to reduce vitality.
Besides being a distraction and a health-measure, it is every day becoming more and more a practical means of transit. Messages are being sent and received by them. Grocers and express companies are coming to attach their baskets to noble wheels. Lawyers and business men are coming to find them invaluable, and secret and important missives are being sent whizzing over the billiard-table streets and boulevards, not even slowing up to look back mockery at the execrably slow travel and transmission methods of a city that lives for pleasure, not for business.
The military courier even, may be seen going from camp to camp double-bent. At President Carnot’s funeral arrangements, the red breeches heretofore destined to noble horse-flesh, was seen astride of the noiseless wheel flying across the Place Hotel de Ville, the kernel of the sad day’s operations in Paris.
And woman!
The Bois de Boulogne has become a veritable bicyclette course, in which women play the most important part; some indifferent to public gaze, some seeking expressly to attract it, and others by their choice of quiet hours showing a desire to avoid observation.
It is daily becoming more and more difficult to discern the female in the groups of jolly bicycle riders. For the Frenchwoman does nothing by halves, and she does everything in character. She knows very well that there is neither taste, fitness, grace, nor modesty in a union of dangling, flapping skirts and whirling wheels.
Not overloaded with modesty by heritage or education, she adopts her bloomers, short skirts and even tight breeches, with the same débonnaire sang-froid that she does her ball-room train.
The “bloomers,” “Turkish trousers” or “zouaves” are the most favored “skirts” on the Parisian bicycle drives. The “Bolero” jacket, shirt and tie, are common. The blouse and narrow leather belt are affected by many. The “man’s coat” to “stand around in” is universal. The hat is more often the sailor or street hat with pert wings, than the “shanter,” “derby” or “cap.”
In one of the royal avenues of the Napoleon chateau-park at St. Cloud, I met the daughter of an American millionaire clad entire in black-silk– bloomers, fastened above the knee, Wellington boots, full silk shirt-front, cravat, collar, and black sailor; her small, ungloved hand, half hidden in her breeches pocket, — talking and laughing as easily with her gentleman escort as though clad in the robes of the strict Eugènie régime.
One of the prettiest suits I have ever seen was on a girl standing on the back platform of an omnibus passing the classic Madeleine. It was shaded brown stockings, shoes, blouse and hat molasses-brown; hat wings, skirt and bolero of the color of good cigars.
Transcriber Notes
- I left in the many, many commas though it puts pauses in weird places along a sentence which nowadays we’d take out.
- Italics left in where original.
Source
Edgar Thomas, Fannie. “The Blind Parisians Awheel.” Outing Magazine, Vol. 25 October 1894-March 1895. p364-367. PDF from HathiTrust: https://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015055404282
