But the face of the blind man showed none of the rapture that had
taken possession of his audience. It was plain that even this piece
had not given him the satisfaction he was looking for. The last notes
vibrated like the others, intimating the same question,—a murmur of
dissatisfaction; and as the mother looked at her son’s face she saw in it
an expression which was familiar to her. The sunny day of that far-away
spring was revived in her memory, when her boy lay prostrated on the bank
of the river, overcome by the too vivid emotions of the new and exciting
world of spring. This expression however rested but for a moment on
Peter’s face, then vanished.
Now the hum of voices filled the parlor. Stavruchènko embraced the
musician with enthusiasm. “By Jove! my dear fellow, you play finely! That
is the kind of playing we like!”
The young people, still excited and agitated, were shaking hands with
him. The student prophesied a world-wide fame for him as an artist. “That
is true,” assented the elder brother. “You are fortunate to have become
thoroughly familiar with the character of the folk-songs. You are a
perfect master in that domain. But will you tell me, please, what was the
last piece you played?”
Peter gave the name of an Italian piece.
“I thought so,” replied the young man. “I am somewhat familiar with it.
You have a remarkably original style. Many play it more correctly than
you, but no one has ever yet played it with such effect.”
“Why do you think that others play it more correctly?” asked his brother.
“Well—how can I convey my meaning? I have always heard it performed just
as it is written. While this sounds like a translation from the Italian
into Little Russian.”
The blind man listened attentively. It was a new thing for him to be the
centre of animated conversation, and he was proud to feel his power. So
he too might accomplish something in life!
As he sat there, with his hand resting on the music-rack, listening to
all this talk, suddenly a warm touch fell on his hand. It was Evelyn,
who had drawn near, and who now with a fugitive pressure of his fingers
whispered joyously: “You hear? You too will have work in the world. If
you could only see the effect you produce on others by your playing!”
The blind man started and drew himself erect. No one but the mother
noticed this little interlude. Her face flushed as deeply as if she had
just received the first kiss of a new-born and passionate love.
The blind man still remained on the same spot, and his face had not yet
lost its pallor. Overwhelmed as he was by the impressions of his new
happiness, he may also have felt the approach of the storm that like a
dark and shapeless cloud was rising out of the depths of his brain.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: VI. THE CRISIS. AN ATTEMPT AT SYNTHESIS.]