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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: EPILOGUE]