This is a true story. It begins in a forest in France one summer day in 1798.
It's down there! It's down there!
Let the dogs go!
Let's tie up the dogs!
Get it out of there!
I got him! Give me something to wrap him in!
A feisty little thing, aren't you?
"Canton of St Sernin. A boy, 11 or 12 years old,
naked and apparently deaf and dumb,
while searching for acorns and roots to eat was caught in the Caune woods
by three hunters as he was about to climb a tree to escape from them."
"Taken to a nearby hamlet..."
If I could bring this child to Paris,
I could examine him and establish the degree of intelligence
and the nature of ideas in an adolescent deprived since childhood of all education
because he has lived apart from his species.
- Let's go into the barn. - The little one is in there.
Everybody in Paris talks about the child in the woods, the Wild Boy of Aveyron.
Public curiosity is high, and my colleagues have permission
from the Minister of the Interior Champagny to transfer him to Paris.
The Journal of Debates reports that after attempting escape the boy was caught
and is being held at the Rodez police station.
Paris says we must leave this week.
Here, come with me.
He can't go as he is.
He's filthy and he smells bad.
Dirty pig!
Did he bite you? Let me do it.
He's quieter with me. He knows me.
We're fording the river.
Everybody out. We're fording the river.
Passengers, get back in the carriage!
"Apparently deaf and dumb, the child shows astonishing traits."
"He uses his senses in reverse order."
"The sense of smell seems most developed, then taste, sight, and touch."
"But he is getting used to human society."
"The wild boy will surely marvel at the wonders of Paris."
"Hopefully he will soon be able to tell us about his strange past."
Reread the passage about the wonders of Paris.
"The wild boy will surely marvel at the wonders of Paris."
Incredible, really incredible.
Professor, Doctor Itard, the wild boy is here.
- Let's go and see. - Don't be nervous.
He bit the doctor!
NATIONAL INSTITUTE FOR DEAF MUTES
There's nothing left to see here!
Four feet seven.
He must be 11 or 12.
Skin: Fine-grained, dark.
Face: Oval.
Eyes: Black.
Long eyelashes.
Hair: Brown. Chin: Rounded.
Mouth: Medium. Tongue: Normal.
He is not tongue-tied.
Dentition: Normal.
On the surface, nothing out of the ordinary.
Did you notice? He didn't react.
Seat him with his back to the door. I'll try something.
He's deaf.
In the village, I've seen him turn around when a nut was cracked behind him.
Write this: "Indifferent to loud noises
whereas he turns around when a nut is cracked behind him."
Four scars on left arm.
Scars on shoulder. Two scars, right arm.
Three scars, right leg.
Two scars, left leg.
About 15 scars in all.
Lacerations, abrasions.
Mostly from animal bites. To survive, he must have had to kill.
All these marks are like battle scars. There is one that is different.
Write this: "There is visible on the trachea
a suture about one-quarter inch long."
It appears to be the scar of a wound made with a sharp instrument.
No doubt whoever abandoned him meant to kill him.
Possibly. Yes, I think so too.
Dress him.
This is how I see it. They wanted to get rid of the child
by cutting his throat, probably with a knife.
They left him for dead in the woods. Leaves covered the wound and it healed.
He must have been three or four.
Younger, he couldn't have fended for himself.
But the wound did not make him dumb, however he doesn't talk.
I think the only cause of his dumbness is the isolation in which he lived.
Look at him.
Where is the wild boy?
Oh, yes.
There you are.
Let's go. You have some fancy visitors.
Those Parisians.
They all want to see you.
Look at your handsome visitors. Here is the wild boy.
- How old is he? - 10 or 12.
- Can he talk? - No, he only grunts.
- Can he hear? - We don't know. Please, not on the bed!
- Does he have parents? - He was found in the woods.
- Will he be baptised? - What does he eat?
Mushrooms, roots, acorns.
- Meat? - No. And nothing sweet.
- I heard he attacked animals. - That's possible.
- His teeth are normal? - Everything's normal.
- Is he dangerous? - Only at times.
- You could be more careful. - I'm sorry. The visit is over.
So soon?
- Other people are waiting. - The papers exaggerated yet again.
If I'd known he was so beastly, I would have brought the children.
Not bad.
This way to see the wild boy!
You came to see the wild boy?
Back to bed!
Do it your way.
Quiet now!
- What now? - The child will die here.
All we do is exhibit him like a freak.
See here, Citizen Itard. The boy is an inferior being.
- He's lower than an animal. - That's just the point.
Animals are cared for, trained.
- You think he can be trained? - I don't know.
But it's useless to bring him from the forest
and lock him up as if he were being punished for disappointing the Parisians.
Listen to me. I think he's an idiot.
I can see no difference between him and the poor idiots in my charge at Bicêtre.
You should come with me one day.
- We can't send him to Bicêtre. - I see no other way.
He can't stay here. It's not good for him, nor for our deaf-mute children.
Don't you agree?
He can't stay here but we can't send him to Bicêtre. I don't think he's an idiot.
He's just had the misfortune of spending six, seven or eight years
in the forest, absolutely alone.
In my opinion, the boy was left
and probably stabbed by his parents because he was abnormal.
For you, his isolation made him abnormal.
Yes.
Then why abandon him?
Because he was illegitimate, in the way. To get rid of him.
Do you think you can help him?
Yes, I want to try to educate him.
I've thought about it since I first read about him in the paper.
The authorities would have to place him in my charge.
You would take him to your home? How would you manage?
My housekeeper will look after him.
I live in the outskirts of Paris, near Batignolles.
- Here is the child. - Hello, my boy.
You'll be happy here. We'll take care of you.
Madame Guêrin, he can't understand but we must talk to him as often as possible.
Here is the dining room. Come upstairs and see the rest of house.
I've got custody of the child.
Madame Guérin will be paid 150 francs a year to care for him.
I know the difficulty of our undertaking.
What fascinates me is that all the boy's done since his arrival
he has done for the first time.
He usually sniffs at everything he is given,
but today I managed to fill his nostrils with snuff without his sneezing.
For the present his emotions appear unaffected.
Despite the ill-treatment he endured at the institute, no one ever saw him cry.
Doctor, it's hot enough. I couldn't stand it.
He can. You should've seen him pick up glowing embers with his fingers.
I'm afraid he'll melt like a piece of sugar.
I want to soften him up.
What he'll lose in strength he'll gain in sensitivity.
People from the south are more open than others.
It's because of the sun on their skin, the heat.
Doctor, I know he doesn't understand us, but can he hear us?
He hears us but he doesn't listen, just as he sees without looking.
We'll teach him to look and to listen.
- Help yourself, Doctor. - Thank you.
Give me your hand. There.
Open your mouth.
That's better.
We'll tend to that later. He must learn now.
Hold it tight.
Open your mouth.
This is your room. Your room and your bed.
His first pair of shoes.
Help me, Doctor.
- What's he afraid of? - He has never worn shoes.
He thinks they will hurt him.
Though he has seen shoes.
Take a few steps.
- Get up. - Lead him to me.
Walk gently.
- Good! - You can let go of him.
He is becoming sensitive to temperature. We show him the usefulness of clothes
by leaving him in the cold with his clothes beside him
until he decides to put them on without assistance.
You can learn to light it yourself.
It's nothing. It's nothing.
- It's the first time I've seen him sneeze. - Me too.
It must be the first time. Look how frightened he is.
Come to bed, dear.
Good night, Doctor.
Good night, Madame Guêrin.
Nothing gives him more joy than to roam in the countryside.
I take him daily to a neighbouring estate
where Citizen Lémeri has accustomed him to taking milk.
I precede the trips by certain preparations he may notice.
Around four, I go in with my hat on my head,
his shirt on my arm, my cane in my hand.
It is curious and moving to see the joy in his eyes at the sight of hills and woods.
The windows barely seem wide enough for his eager gaze.
He leans one side to the other and shows a lively anxiety
when the horses slacken their pace before stopping.
Passers-by would think they're seeing a young boy like other boys,
except for his manner of walking, so heavy since the day he put on shoes,
and the difficulty he has in keeping to my gait and his tendency to break into a trot.
I'll give him his milk.
What are you looking at? The wheelbarrow.
Go and play with Mathieu.
No, it's OK.
No.
The spoon goes here.
Very good.
What do you want?
That's his sign language. He's trying to tell you he's hungry.
I noticed at the institute he rapped on a jug when he was thirsty.
Look.
I'll show you something.
You look for it.
I'm trying to keep his attention by various amusements relating to his need for food.
Very good.
Eat it.
It's your turn.
What have you done?!
Go away!
Our trips are now less frequent, his fare less copious,
his sleep less long and his days more dedicated to education.
By degrees, I make the game with the goblets more complex.
I'm using an object he can't eat. For now, a lead soldier.
Look at the soldier.
Find him.
He was there.
Pay attention to what you're doing.
Bravo!
I think he heard me.
He often turns when someone speaks behind him.
Oh!
As if he placed the sound. Especially the sound "O".
If he isn't deaf, perhaps he can learn to talk.
Perhaps. It takes an infant 18 months to learn a few words.
Poor wild boy. He hasn't even got a name.
You're right.
Since he is sensitive to the sound of "O", we could find him a name with "O".
Aurêlien, Oscar, Nestor.
Victor.
Did you see him? He likes that name.
Victor.
Good, Victor. You will be called Victor.
He is used to being called Victor. When it is said, he turns his head or runs up.
We have agreed to exercise his attentiveness to the sound of "O".
May I have some water?
The water is cool.
I like water.
No.
Water.
Water. Water.
Water.
Give it to him.
Where I have failed with water, I may succeed with another food.
His taste for milk has made him express himself in his own way
on his last visit to Citizen Lémeri,
Before he left home, he hid something under his jacket
but I decided not to pay too much attention.
Did you see?
Since he broke his bowl, he thought you wouldn't give him any milk,
so he brought his porringer.
Wait. Ask me for some milk.
Come, Victor.
I'd like some milk. Milk.
Here is some milk.
No, Victor. Ask for it.
No.
Madame Guêrin, I'd like some milk.
Thank you, Madame Guêrin.
Milk. Milk.
Milk.
Give it to him anyway.
Milk.
Very good, Victor.
It was the first time Victor had uttered an articulate sound.
Madame Guérin heard it with great satisfaction,
but I realised something that lessened this achievement.
Only after she had poured the milk did the word escape him.
I felt we shouldn't let it rest and waited for him to ask again.
Victor, ask me for your milk.
Milk. Milk.
No. Wait.
Milk. Milk.
Look what I'm doing.
No, Victor. No.
No.
Milk.
It was not what I had hoped.
Had he said the word before the thing he desired was conceded,
he would have grasped the use of words,
communication would have been established,
and rapid progress would have followed.
Instead he showed only a sign of the pleasure he experienced,
which was of no use to us.
Victor has been here three months, and I see I've gone too fast.
I must awaken his hearing, which is understandably dull.
Before, his ears served only to alert him to falling fruit
or the approach of a dangerous animal.
P.
U.
Good.
U.
O.
A.
E. E.
Good, Victor.
O.
Good, Victor.
- Good morning, Doctor. - Good morning, Madame Guêrin.
He shelled as many as I did.
Look at him, Madame Guêrin.
This morning I moved the objects.
Have you noticed, Doctor? He has a passion for order.
That proves his memory can be trained.
I'm going to see the carpenter in Batignolles.
Oh!
Victor.
Look at the key.
The scissors.
The hammer.
No, Victor, wait for me.
Stay there.
Victor, bring me the hammer.
Victor, bring me the key.
Victor, bring me the scissors. Victor!
No, not that.
I shouldn't have neglected his natural inclination for order.
Victor, hang the things up.
Very good, Victor.
Drink.
Victor has always shown a marked preference for water,
and the way he drinks it shows he finds great pleasure in it.
He stands near the window, gazing upon the countryside,
as if in this moment this child of nature sought to reunite
the two blessings to survive his loss of freedom -
a drink of pure water and the sight of sunlight on the countryside.
I want to avoid Victor making each arrangement by memory,
and I achieve this by constantly changing the drawings around.
Victor, look over here.
Victor. Victor.
Look carefully, Victor.
Victor.
Victor!
Victor! Madame Guêrin, have you seen Victor?
No, Doctor. I thought he was with you.
- He has disappeared. - Victor!
Victor!
For an interminable moment I thought what I'd dreaded
since Victor came to live with us had happened:
That his fancy for the freedom of the fields had prevailed
over his newfound needs and burgeoning affection.
Victor!
A rustle in the tree made me look up to the highest branches.
Victor, what are you doing up there? Come down and study.
Very good, Victor! Here's your water.
I decided to complicate this gross system of comparison by another more difficult.
I placed around the drawing the letters that spell the object,
then erased the drawing, hoping Victor would look at the word
as continuing to represent the object for him.
Go on.
It's the same as before.
Madame Guêrin!
- Madame Guêrin! - What's wrong? He's exhausted.
Doctor, his nose is bleeding.
No, I'll take care of him.
I know now if he hasn't understood, it is my fault.
There is a great distance between drawing and spelling an object.
At this stage the difficulty for Victor is insurmountable.
I must seek a way better suited to his undeveloped faculties
whereby each obstacle mastered prepares him for the next one.
I had a carpenter make an alphabet in wooden letters.
Victor quickly learned to put the letters in order, but I've seen he has a trick.
He piles up the letters under the board in reverse order.
That's fine, Victor. You have invented a device
which allows you to forgo memory and discernment, but I don't mind.
It is a tribute to your intelligence.
Here. Drink.
Now, to work.
Madame Guêrin!
Calm down, Victor. Calm down.
Calm down.
Calm down, calm down.
Calm down.
- His tantrums are so frequent. - His tantrums are your fault.
You make him study from morning to night.
You turn his only pleasure into exercises.
His meals, his walks, everything.
You want him to catch up in one fell swoop.
He works ten times more than a normal child.
You're right. I'll make his walks longer.
Victor has been here seven months and I'm not sure I can keep him.
Madam Guérin has been in tears all day.
I must go to Paris to plead the boy's cause to His Excellency.
Citizen Pinel has persuaded the administration
that the idiot children he observed at Bicêtre Hospital
share traits with the Wild Boy of Aveyron,
and therefore Victor isn't capable of being sociable
and nothing can be hoped for by continuing his education.
His Excellency was unable to see me. I remain worried.
That's your way of talking.
But language is also music, Victor.
Perhaps you will learn.
Put the new letters in the right places.
Good.
No, not the alphabet.
No.
You're mistaken, Victor. Begin again.
Pick them up.
Victor, into the closet!
Victor's rages often stop us in the midst of our work.
I remedy them not by gentleness, which one cannot rely on,
but by disturbing methods Boerhave used at Harlem Hospital.
Yet I must not overdo the use of the closet.
If this method fails, I fear all such treatment will be useless.
Come, Victor.
Don't cry, Victor.
You can do it. Come on.
You can do it.
Good!
Good, Victor.
It's for you when you're done.
Good.
Today, for the first time, Victor wept.
Good morning, Victor. Look at me.
Madame Guêrin?
- Did I do it right? - Yes, Doctor.
- Milk. - Milk.
There.
Victor, I know you can write it.
Listen, Victor. Pay attention.
- Milk. - Good.
MILK
See you later, Madame Guêrin.
Ready, Victor?
A.
E.
I.
O.
U.
Very good, Victor. Very good.
I.
No, Victor, don't laugh.
I.
Don't laugh, Victor. O.
No, Victor.
O.
No, Victor.
U.
No, Victor! No!
Go ahead. Cry.
I give up.
I'm wasting my time with you. Sometimes I'm sorry that I know you.
I'm discouraged, Victor... and disappointed.
Had I not known his limits, I'd have thought he understood.
I had barely spoken when I saw his chest heaving noisily
and a stream of tears falling from underneath the blindfold.
Now, ready to renounce the task I had imposed upon myself,
seeing the time I'd wasted and how deeply I regretted having known him,
I condemned the curiosity of the men who had wrenched him away
from his innocent and happy life.
Don't cry, Victor. Don't cry, Victor.
- A letter for you. - Thank you.
"The care you have taken of the child known as the Wild Boy of Aveyron,
the changes which have taken place, those still expected,
and the interest which so strange a fate inspires
recommend him to the attention of science and the government's protection. "
"His Excellency has decided to renew the annual pension
accorded to Madame Guérin for the care given to your pupil. "
Madame Guêrin! Good news!
Good, Victor. Good.
You are Victor.
Yes, it's the same.
Victor is you.
Victor is you. Do you understand? Do you understand?
He doesn't, yet each day brings fresh proof of his intelligence.
Madame Guêrin, did you make this?
- No, Doctor. - Victor made it.
Victor?
- It's the old leg-of-lamb holder. - It's a chalk holder. He made it himself.
- Wonderful! - Indeed.
Did you make this, Victor?
Yes.
It's magnificent. Congratulations.
Victor just invented something. Victor is an inventor.
One must have suffered all the anguish of such teaching,
followed and directed this child in his laborious progress,
from the first act of attention to this spark of imagination,
to comprehend the joy I feel.
Forgive me for presenting with a degree of ostentation
a fact so simple and ordinary.
Pay attention, Victor.
Book, scissors, picture.
Brush, key, bell.
Scissors, glass, book.
Hammer, comb, box.
Book, brush, candlestick.
Bell, quill, book.
Comb, key, bell.
Bell, candlestick, glass.
Key, brush, comb.
Comb, key, bell.
Box, hammer, glass.
Here you are, Victor. Drink.
When he succeeds, I reward him. When he fails, I punish him.
Yet I can't say I have inspired a sense of justice in him.
He obeys me and corrects himself out of fear or hope of reward
and not out of a sense of moral order.
To obtain less ambiguous results, I must do an abominable thing.
I will test Victor's heart with a flagrant piece of injustice
by punishing him for no reason after he succeeds right before my eyes.
By putting him forcibly in the dark closet,
I shall administrate punishment as odious as it is unjust
precisely to see if his reaction is one of rebellion.
Victor.
Book, key.
Book, key. Go.
What is that, Victor?
What is that?
To the closet!
Go, Victor!
Go!
Go, Victor!
You're right.
You're right to rebel.
I wish that my pupil could have understood me at this moment.
I would have told him that his bite filled my soul with joy.
How could I rejoice half-heartedly?
I had evidence that what is just and unjust was no longer alien to Victor's heart.
By provoking the sentiment, I had elevated the savage man
to the stature of a moral being by the most noble of his attributes.
Victor has been deprived of his outings for I am bedridden with rheumatism.
Madame Guérin has called Dr. Gruault,
forgetting that Victor hates the presence of a visitor in the house.
So, Doctor?
Your pulse is normal. It's just a cold.
Just stay indoors a few days.
Thank you. I hope that...
Victor. Victor.
Our young friend has put an end to our consultation.
Goodbye.
I can't take you, Victor.
Listen, Victor. Listen.
I can't take you for a walk. I'm ill. I am going to see the doctor.
You stay here.
Go on.
Victor, go and get some water.
My hen! My hen!
Help! Thief!
I believe we shall see Victor no more.
I can affirm to His Excellency he had full use of his senses.
He furnished constant proof of attention and memory.
He could compare, discern and judge,
and apply his understanding to objects used in his instruction.
This child of the woods endured the confinement of apartments
and all the happy changes came about in nine months.
Unfortunately, Victor has escaped...
Victor.
Come here, Victor.
Madame Guêrin!
- Victor is back! - Who brought him?
No one. He came by himself!
My boy has come home all by himself!
You're in tatters, but you're here.
I'm glad that you came home.
Do you understand? This is your home.
You're no longer a wild boy, even if you're not yet a man.
Victor, you're an extraordinary young man with great expectations.
Madame Guêrin, take him up to rest.
Later we'll resume our lessons.