The Equinox (Volume I, Number III)

THE EQUINOX and was almost a genius in disgrace—‘ terribly clever” the old men said—once told the little Piotr what it was to be blind. Fortunately for the child’s mental equilibrium, he also spoke of the compensation. “What they mean, boy, when they call you blind, is that you cannot see,” he said; “that is, your eyes have been given unto you by the devil, and not by God. Your father must have been rather a bad fellow, you know. When you hear the women singing at the dance, it is that God has given you your ears; if you didn’t enjoy the sounds it would mean that the devil has given you your ears, as the Book says, which God wrote in Russian for our people: “ They have ears and they hear not.” However, you hear well, and smell well, and your two other senses are all right. What you miss, it’s the colour of things. I cannot explain it to you, and it would do you no good if I did. Your compensation is that you do not see that which is ugly, ugly like old Ivan Semenovich, and also that you hear and’ feel and smell with more accuracy than we do. Of course, it is nice to see as well, and I will pray Christ for you, especially if you can give mea few coppers with which to buy tapers. You must have plenty of them; people seem to give you very freely.” Thus the tiresome brute, who had but a few chances of getting drunk in the place. Happily, Piotr and little Ljubov taught one another a simpler and more natural theory. She was now twelve, and the boy fourteen years old. And I chanced to be staying in the neighbourhood. I met them, as hand in hand they cautiously crossed a lane, close to the spot where I was meditating. The girl I had seen before the accident, and only 300