Part 9

Peter listened absent-mindedly to this noisy life, wondering why Maxim had brought him there on such a day. Although Pan Popèlski was a Catholic himself, the child had been baptized in the mother’s church by an Orthodox priest, and this was no holiday of his. Nevertheless he obediently followed Maxim, once in a while pulling his overcoat together, for it was chilly weather; and thus he walked along, his mind a prey to melancholy thoughts. Suddenly in the midst of his absorption, Peter’s attention was so violently arrested that he shuddered as he paused. The last houses of the city buildings ended here, and the wide thoroughfare now lay between fences and empty lots. Just where it entered the fields, some pious hands had erected a stone post, with an icon and a lantern; the latter, which was never lighted, now hung creaking in the wind. At the very foot of the post crouched a group of blind beggars, who had been crowded from the desirable places by their more fortunate competitors. They sat there holding wooden cups, and some of them from time to time set up a heart-rending wail:—

“Give to the blind!—for Christ’s sake!”

It was a cold day, and since early morning these beggars had been exposed to the cold wind that blew in gusts from the field. The crowd was so great that they could not keep themselves warm by exercise, and as by turns they drawled their mournful lamentation, the plaintive note of physical suffering and of utter helplessness could plainly be discerned. The first words were quite distinct, but they were soon lost in a mournful wail, expiring in a shudder as of one perishing from the cold. And yet the last low notes of the song, almost lost in the midst of the noisy street, on reaching the human ear struck it with a sense of the hopelessness of the enormous suffering they expressed.

“What is that?” exclaimed Peter, seizing his uncle suddenly by the arm. His face changed, as though this moan were the embodied image of some ghost that suddenly rose before him.

“That?” repeated Maxim, indifferently. “They are only blind beggars,—blind like yourself, and somewhat cold besides. They would like to go home, but they are hungry. You have some money in your pocket, have you not? Throw them a five-copeck piece.”

Peter, who in his anguish had rushed ahead, suddenly stopped. He took out his purse, and instinctively turning away that he might not hear the mournful strains repeated, held it out to Maxim, saying,—

“Give them this! Give them all you have with you,—only let us go away! For mercy’s sake, let us go home as quickly as possible! I cannot, I cannot bear to hear it!”

VI.

On the following day Peter was lying in his room prostrated with a nervous fever. He lay tossing on his bed, with a look of agony on his face, as if he heard some sound from which he was struggling to escape. The old local doctor attributed this illness to a cold, but Maxim well knew its real cause. It was a severe attack, and at the time of the crisis the sick man lay motionless for several days; but youth came off victorious in the end.

One pleasant autumn morning a bright sunbeam crept in at the window and rested near the invalid’s head. Anna Michàilovna turning to Evelyn said, “Please draw the shade. I dread that light.”

Rising in obedience to her request, the girl was arrested by the unexpected sound of the blind man’s voice:—

“Never mind, please. Let it be as it is.”

Both women leaned over him with rapture:

“Do you know me?” asked the mother.

“Yes,” replied the invalid; then paused, as though trying to recall some memory of the past. “Ah, yes!” he said softly. “How dreadful it was!”

Evelyn laid her hand on his lips. “Don’t, don’t! You must not talk; it is bad for you.”

Pressing the hand to his lips Peter covered it with kisses. Tears stood in his eyes. He wept long and freely, and seemed to gain relief. “I shall never forget your lesson,” he said, turning his face toward Maxim, who entered at that moment. “I thank you. You have helped me to realize my own happiness, by making me acquainted with the woes of others. God grant that I may never forget the lesson!”

The disease once conquered, the youthful constitution made short work of recovery. In two weeks Peter was again on his feet. A great change had taken place in him. The serious shock to his nerves was succeeded by a pensive but calm and gentle sadness; his very features were changed, having lost all trace of the old mental suffering.

Maxim feared lest this might prove but a phase, occasioned by the depression of the nervous system. But months went by, and still the blind man’s mood showed no sign of change.

The realization of one’s own misfortunes sometimes paralyzes the energy, and plunges the soul into a state of passive endurance; while the knowledge of the sorrows of others will, on the contrary, often rouse one to energetic action, and uplifting the whole nature stimulate mental activity, and lead one to seek opportunities for showing sympathy.

A longing to relieve human misery had now risen in Peter’s heart, supplanting his former vain endeavor to escape from personal grief. He had as yet no clear idea as to the ways and means, and had but slender confidence in his own power; yet he was inspired by hope.

VII.

Intuition.

When Evelyn announced to the old Yaskùlskis her firm intention of marrying the blind man, the old mother wept; but the father, after saying a prayer to the images, declared that it was manifestly the will of God. In due course of time, therefore, the wedding was celebrated.

Now began a new and happy life for Peter; and yet it made no great change in him. In his happiest moments there was a shade of sadness in his smile, as if he felt the insecurity of his happiness. When he was told that he was about to become a father, he received the news with alarm. Still his present life, absorbed as it was in anxiety for his wife and future child, left him no time for brooding over the inevitable. Now and then, in the midst of these cares the memory of that pitiful wail of the blind men would rise in his mind and wring his heart with pity and compassion, thereby diverting his thoughts into a different channel.

The blind man had also lost to a certain extent his extreme sensitiveness to the outward impressions made by light, and his mental activity was proportionately diminished. The turbulent organic force within him lay for the moment dormant, with no conscious effort of will on his part to rouse it into action, or to combine his manifold sensations into one consistent whole. But who can tell?—this interior calmness may have served to promote the work that was unconsciously to himself going on within him; it may have facilitated the union of those vague sensations of light with his logical thoughts on the subject, and the analogies between light and sound. We know that in dreams the mind often creates images and ideas which it would be totally unable to produce by the agency of the will.

II.

In the very same room where Peter was born, no sound could be heard save the wailing cry of an infant. A few days had passed since its birth, and Evelyn was rapidly recovering. But Peter still seemed depressed, as though weighed down by the presentiment of some impending misfortune.

The doctor taking the child in his arms carried him to the window. Quickly drawing aside the curtain and admitting a bright sunbeam into the room, he took his instruments and bent at once over the boy. Peter was also in the room, apathetic and depressed, with his head drooping low. He seemed to attach no importance whatever to the investigations of the doctor; his bearing was that of one who feels quite sure of the result.

“The child must be blind,” he kept repeating. “Better for it, too, had it never been born.”

The young doctor made no reply, but continued his observations in silence. At last he laid aside the ophthalmoscope, and his calm, encouraging voice echoed through the room: “The pupil contracts; the child sees!”

Peter started, and rose instantly to his feet. But although the act gave proof that he heard the doctor’s words, the expression of his face showed no comprehension of their significance. Resting his trembling hands upon the window-seat, and with his pale face and set features uplifted, he looked like one petrified. Until the present moment he had been in a state of unusual excitement, apparently unconscious of himself, and yet every nerve quivering with expectation. The darkness that surrounded him was an actual object, which he realized in all its immensity as something apart from himself, enveloping him as it were, while he strove to gain by an effort of imagination some adequate idea of its relation to himself. He threw himself before it as if he would shield his child from that illimitable tossing sea of impenetrable darkness.

Such had been Peter’s state of mind while the doctor was silently carrying on his preparations. He had wavered between hope and fear; but now the latter, rising to its highest pitch, had won entire control of his excited nerves, while hope withdrew to the innermost recesses of his heart. Then came the words, “The child sees!” and his feelings underwent a sudden transformation; his fears vanished, and assurance took the place of hope, illuminating the inner world of imagination in which the blind man dwelt. Like a stroke of lightning it burst upon the darkness of his soul, effecting a complete revolution. Now he knew the meaning of the words, “sound possessing the attribute of light.” The doctor’s words were like a pillar of fire in his brain; it was as if an electric spark had suddenly kindled in the secret recesses of his soul. Everything vibrated within him, and he himself quivered, as a tightly strung chord quivers under a sudden touch.

Directly upon this flash, strange shapes rose before those eyes blind from birth. Were these rays of light, or sounds? He could not tell. They seemed like vivified sounds, that had taken the form and the motion of light. They were radiant as the firmament, and their course was as that of the sun in the heavens above; waving to and fro, they whispered and rustled like the green steppe, and swayed like the branches of the pensive beech-trees. And all the time these branches were mysteriously but clearly outlined against the sky; the steppe stretched far, far away; the bright blue surface of the river rippled musically.

Some one touched the blind man’s hand. Yes! he knows, he hears, he feels, he sees this touch! Here again come the ray-sounds, shaping themselves into visible images. From his childhood he has known that bright vision, so dear to his heart, reproduced in his soul with such marvellous fidelity! He hears his mother’s gentle voice; her tender blue eyes rest lovingly and sadly upon his face, and somewhere in the depths of his heart the reflection of her gaze faintly glimmers. The silvery white hair, the clear, pure ringing tones of her voice,—he not only hears, he also sees and feels that fondly loved, that pure and gentle being, the embodiment of holy love!

A young, anxious, and sympathetic cry!—His heart beats with passionate excitement. Can it be that he has never seen her before,—his friend, his wife, his best-beloved? Behold, she now lies before him, distinct and wonderful! Pain, love, and alarm may be seen upon her face—Eyes blue like his mother’s; and in her voice the scarlet tones of love, vivid and intense, unlike that of a mother,—those tones that kindled in his heart the bright flame of passion! She has light “fair” hair,—he knew of course it must be so; he felt it and now he sees it. He is conscious with every instinct of his being that she half rises from her bed, her eyes dilating to greet his rapture.

And this?—A discord; the tapping of a crutch; a stifled exclamation! He reaches out his hands toward the tutor who has devoted his life to him. He knows the keen glance, the dogged persistency, the energetic voice, the heavy and ungainly figure that seems to belong to the harsh, abrupt tones,—a succession of discordant sounds against a background of controlled emotions!

But now again comes the darkness, sweeping once more in waves across the blind man’s brain; and this form loses all distinctness of outline, and the other images waver and mingle one with the other, and all that is left glides down the gigantic radius into utter darkness! Thus intermingling, wavering, trembling, like the vibrations of a slender wire, first high and loud, then soft and low, these image-sounds were hushed at last.

Silence and darkness, with certain vague object-sounds, fantastic of outline, yet still striving to rise to the surface! Peter could not grasp their tones, forms, or colors, but somewhere from the depths he could still hear the resonant modulations of the scale, and seemed to see the rows of ivory keys flashing in the darkness, as they glided down into space. Suddenly the sounds began to reach him in their ordinary way. It was as if he had just waked, and bright and joyous began to press the hands of Maxim and of his mother.

“What is it?” asked his mother, in alarm.

“Nothing! I thought I—saw you all. I am not sleeping, am I?”

“And now?” she asked anxiously. “Do you remember? Shall you remember?”

The blind man breathed a deep sigh. “Nothing,” he replied with an effort. “I shall transmit it all—I have already transmitted it to the child.”

The blind man tottered, and fell fainting to the floor. His face was pale, but a gleam of joy and satisfaction still rested upon it.

Epilogue

A large number of persons had assembled in Kiev during the period of the Contracts to hear the musical improviser. He was blind; but marvellous reports had been circulated in regard to his musical talent. Therefore the Contract hall was crowded; and a lame old gentleman, a relative of the artist, had taken charge of the proceeds,—all which were to be devoted to some charitable object, unknown to the public.

Complete silence reigned in the hall when a young man, with a pale face and beautiful large eyes, appeared on the platform. No one would have suspected his blindness, save for the rigid expression of his eyes, and the fact that he was led by a fair-haired young woman, who was said to be his wife.

“No wonder he produces such a striking impression,” remarked a young man to his neighbor; “he has an unusually dramatic countenance.”

Indeed, the blind man’s pale face, with that thoughtful set look in the eyes, no less than his entire person, impressed the beholder as something quite remarkable; and his playing confirmed that impression.

A southern Russian audience generally loves and appreciates its national airs; and in this instance even the mixed audience that assembled at the Contracts was at once carried away by the burning torrent of melody which they heard. The marvellous improvisation evoked by the fingers of the blind musician revealed his keen appreciation of the Nature so familiar to them all, as well as a rare intimacy with the secret springs of national melody. Rich in coloring, graceful and melodious, it gushed forth like a rippling stream,—rising, now into a song of triumph, then again lapsing into a plaintive and sympathetic murmur. At times it was as if a storm were thundering in the sky, echoing through space; and the next moment the music changed to the whistling of the wind through the grass over the mounds of the wild steppes, reviving vague dreams of the past.

When the player ceased, the deafening applause of the delighted audience filled the great hall. The blind man sat with drooping head, listening in surprise to those unfamiliar sounds. But when he raised his hands and again struck the keys, silence fell at once upon the vast hall.

At this moment Maxim entered. He gazed attentively at this crowd, which controlled by one emotion sat with burning, eager eyes riveted upon the blind man. As the old man listened, he dreaded lest this powerful improvisation, now flowing so freely from the musician’s soul, might suddenly end, as it used of old, in a distressing and unsatisfied question,—thus opening a fresh wound in the heart of his blind pupil. But the sounds increased in volume and power, growing more and more imperious, as they touched the hearts of the sympathetic and expectant audience. And the longer Maxim listened, the stronger grew his assurance that he recognized something familiar in the blind man’s playing. Yes, it was that noisy street. A clear, resonant, and buoyant wave rolls dashing along, sparkling and breaking up into a thousand sounds. Now it rises and swells, now it recedes with a faint, remote, but continuous murmur,—always calm, picturesquely impassive, cold and indifferent.

Suddenly Maxim’s heart sank within him. Again came the well-known wail from the pressure of the musician’s fingers. It escaped, echoed through space, and was lost in the air. But it was no longer the moan of individual sorrow, the utterance of a blind man’s egotistical suffering. Tears sprang into the old man’s eyes, and tears stood also in those of his neighbors, while above the picturesque, impassioned tumult of the street rose the intensely woful heart-rending note of lamentation. Maxim recognized in it the pathetic song of the blind,—“Give to the blind!—for Christ’s sake!” It fell like a stroke of lightning on the heads of the assembled multitude, and every heart throbbed in unison with the expiring wail.

For some time after the music ceased, the audience, seized with horror at the awful realities of life, sat silent and motionless.

The old veteran bowed his head. “Yes, he sees at last. A perception of the woes of the world has taken the place of his former blind, unquenchable, selfish suffering. He feels, he sees; and his hands are endowed with a mighty power.”

The old soldier bent his head lower and lower. His task was accomplished; his life had not been in vain. Those full powerful tones, as they echoed through the hall, taking possession of the audience, bore witness to this truth.

* * * * *

This was the _début_ of the blind musician.

FOOTNOTES

[1] A local name for the formerly famous fairs in Kiev.

[2] “Lady,” “madam,”—a word used in Poland and in the southwest of Russia.—TR.

[3] “Gentlemen.”—TR.

[4] Volynia, a province of Russia.

[5] In Little Russia, high posts with old wheels fastened to the top are put up for the storks, and upon these the bird weaves its nest.

[6] Diminutive of Peter.—TR.

[7] Nickname for Little Russian.—TR.

[8] Diminutive of Peter.—TR.

[9] Diminutive of Peter.—TR.

[10] A famous leader of Cossacks.

[11] A corruption of Fèydor: Theodore.—TR.

[12] The system of leasing estates is quite prevalent in the southeast of Russia. The lessee, known by the local term “possessor,” governs the estate. He pays a certain sum to the owners, and the income derived therefrom depends upon his own enterprise.

[13] This wax taper is lighted during severe thunderstorms, and is also placed in the hands of dying people.

[14] Blind people seldom have blind children.

[15] Sleeveless coats.—TR.

[16] A meditation in the form of a song.—TR.

[17] Musical instrument, resembling a lute.