eld it, or
through having fixed his eyes too much upon it, so that he has lost the
sense of all other light, but he does not consider himself to be blind
through looking at that one which has blinded him: and the same may be
said of the sense of sight as of the sense of hearing, that those whose
ears are accustomed to great noises, do not hear the lesser, as is well
known of those who live near the cataracts of the great river Nile which
fall precipitously down to the plain.

MIN. Thus, all those who have accustomed the body and the soul to things
more difficult and great, are not apt to feel annoyed by smaller
difficulties. So that fellow ought not to be discontented about his
blindness.

SEV. Certainly not. But one says, voluntarily blind, of one who desires
that every other thing be hidden because it annoys him to be diverted
from looking at that which alone he wishes to behold. Meanwhile he prays
the passers-by to prevent his coming to mischief in any encounter, while
he goes so absorbed and captivated by one principal object.

MIN. Repeat his words!

SEV. He says:

66

_The fourth blind man_.

Headlong from on high, to the abyss,
The cataract of the Nile falls down and dulls the senses
Of the joyless folk to every other sound,
So stood I too, with spirit all intent
Upon the living light, that lights the world;
Dead henceforth to all the lesser splendours,
While that light shines, let every other thing
Be to the voluntary blind concealed.
I pray you save me stumbling 'mongst the stones,
Make me aware of the wild beast,
Show me whether up or down I go;
So that the miserable bones fall not,
Into a low and cavernous place,
While I, without a guide, am stepping on.

To the blind man that follows, it happens that having wept so much, his
eyes are become dim, so that he is not able to extend the visual ray, so
as to distinguish visible objects, nor can he see the light, which in
spite of himself, through so many sorrows, he at one time was able to
see. Besides which he considers that his blindness is not from
constitution, but from habit, and is peculiar to himself, because the
luminous fire which kindles the soul in the pupil, was for too long a
time and with too much force, repressed and restrained by a contrary
humour, so that although he might cease from weeping, he cannot be
persuaded that this would result in the longed-for vision. You will hear