The young man, with whom we have just made the reader acquainted, was
named Vladimir Nikolaitch Panshin. He served in Petersburg, as an
official for special commissions, in the Ministry of the Interior. He had
come to the town of O * * * to execute a temporary governmental
commission, and was under the command of Governor-General Zonnenberg, to
whom he was distantly related. Panshin's father, a staff-captain of
cavalry on the retired list, a famous gambler, a man with a crumpled
visage and a nervous twitching of the lips, had passed his whole life in
the society of people of quality, had frequented the English Clubs in
both capitals, and bore the reputation of an adroit, not very
trustworthy, but charming and jolly fellow. In spite of his adroitness,
he found himself almost constantly on the very verge of indigence, and
left behind him to his only son a small and impaired fortune. On the
other hand, he had, after his own fashion, taken pains with his
education: Vladimir Nikolaitch spoke French capitally, English well,
and German badly; but it is permissible to let fall a German word in
certain circumstances--chiefly humorous,--"_c'est meme tres chic_," as
the Petersburg Parisians express themselves. Vladimir Nikolaitch
already understood, at the age of fifteen, how to enter any drawing-room
whatever without embarrassment, how to move about in it agreeably, and to
withdraw at the proper time. Panshin's father had procured for his son
many influential connections; as he shuffled the cards between two
rubbers, or after a successful capture of all the tricks, he let slip no
opportunity to drop a nice little word about his "Volodka" to some
important personage who was fond of social games. On his side, Vladimir
Nikolaitch, during his stay in the university, whence he emerged with
the rank of actual student, made acquaintance with several young men of
quality, and became a frequenter of the best houses. He was received
gladly everywhere; he was extremely good-looking, easy in his manners,
entertaining, always well and ready for everything; where it was
requisite, he was respectful; where it was possible, he was insolent, a
capital companion, _un charmant garcon_. The sacred realm opened out
before him. Panshin speedily grasped the secret of the science of
society; he understood how to imbue himself with genuine respect for its
decrees; he understood how, with half-bantering gravity, to busy himself
with nonsense and assume the appearance of regarding everything serious
as trivial; he danced exquisitely, he dressed in English style. In a
short time he became renowned as one of the most agreeable and adroit
young men in Petersburg. Panshin was, in reality, very adroit,--no less
so than his father: but he was, also, very gifted. He could do
everything: he sang prettily, he drew dashingly, he wrote verses, he
acted very far from badly on the stage. He had only just passed his
twenty-eighth birthday, but he was already Junior Gentleman of the
Emperor's bedchamber, and had a very tolerable rank. Panshin firmly
believed in himself, in his brains, in his penetration; he advanced
boldly and cheerfully, at full swing; his life flowed along as on oil. He
was accustomed to please everybody, old and young, and imagined that he
was a judge of people, especially of women: he did know well their
everyday weaknesses. As a man not a stranger to art, he felt within him
both fervour, and some enthusiasm, and rapture, and in consequence of
this he permitted himself various deviations from the rules: he caroused,
he picked up acquaintance with persons who did not belong to society,
and, in general, maintained a frank and simple demeanour; but in soul he
was cold and cunning, and in the midst of the wildest carouse his clever
little brown eye was always on guard, and watching; this bold, this free
young man could never forget himself and get completely carried away. To
his honour it must be said, that he never bragged of his conquests. He
had hit upon Marya Dmitrievna's house immediately on his arrival in
O * * *, and had promptly made himself entirely at home there. Marya
Dmitrievna fairly adored him.
Panshin amiably saluted all who were in the room, shook hands with Marya
Dmitrievna and Lizaveta Mikhailovna, lightly tapped Gedeonovsky on the
shoulder, and whirling round on his heels, caught Lyenotchka by the head,
and kissed her on the brow.
"And you are not afraid to ride such a vicious horse?"--Marya
Dmitrievna asked him.
"Good gracious! it is a very peaceable beast; but I'll tell you what I am
afraid of: I'm afraid to play preference with Sergyei Petrovitch; last
night, at the Byelenitzyns', he won my last farthing."
Gedeonovsky laughed a shrill and servile laugh: he fawned on the
brilliant young official from Petersburg, the pet of the governor. In his
conversations with Marya Dmitrievna, he frequently alluded to
Panshin's remarkable capacities. "For why should not I praise him?" he
argued. "The young man is making a success in the highest sphere of life,
discharges his service in an exemplary manner, and is not the least bit
proud." Moreover, even in Petersburg Panshin was considered an energetic
official: he got through an immense amount of work; he alluded to it
jestingly, as is befitting a fashionable man who attaches no particular
importance to his labours, but he was "an executor." The higher officials
love such subordinates; he never had the slightest doubt himself, that,
if he so wished, he could become a Minister in course of time.
"You are pleased to say that I beat you at cards,"--remarked
Gedeonovsky:--"but who was it that won twelve rubles from me last week?
and besides...."
"Villain, villain," Panshin interrupted him, with a caressing but almost
disdainful carelessness, and without paying any further attention to him,
he stepped up to Liza.
"I have not been able to find the overture of 'Oberon' here," he
began:--"Mme. Byelenitzyn was merely boasting, that she had all the
classical music,--as a matter of fact, she has nothing except polkas and
waltzes; but I have already written to Moscow, and within a week I shall
have that overture. By the way,"--he continued,--"I wrote a new romance
yesterday; the words also are my own. Would you like to have me sing it
for you? I do not know how it has turned out; Mme. Byelenitzyn thought
it extremely charming, but her words signify nothing,--I wish to know
your opinion. However, I think it will be better later on...."
"Why later on?"--interposed Marya Dmitrievna:--"Why not now?"
"I obey, ma'am,"--said Panshin, with a certain bright, sweet smile,
which was wont to appear on his face, and suddenly to vanish,--pushed
forward a chair with his knee, seated himself at the piano, and after
striking several chords, he began to sing, clearly enunciating the words,
the following romance:
The moon floats high above the earth
Amid the clouds so pale;
But from the crest of the sea surge moveth
A magic ray.
The sea of my soul hath acknowledged thee
To be its moon,
And 't is moved,--in joy and in sorrow,--
By thee alone.
With the anguish of love, the anguish of dumb aspirations,
The soul is full;
I suffer pain.... But thou from agitation art as free
As that moon.
Panshin sang the second couplet with peculiar expression and force; the
surging of the waves could be heard in the tempestuous accompaniment.
After the words: "I suffer pain...." he heaved a slight sigh, dropped his
eyes, and lowered his voice,--_morendo_. When he had finished, Liza
praised the motive, Marya Dmitrievna said: "It is charming;"--while
Gedeonovsky even shouted: "Ravishing! both poetry and harmony are
equally ravishing!..." Lyenotchka, with childish adoration, gazed at the
singer. In a word, the composition of the youthful dilettante pleased all
present extremely; but outside of the door of the drawing-room, in the
anteroom, stood an elderly man, who had just arrived, to whom, judging by
the expression of his downcast face and the movement of his shoulders,
Panshin's romance, charming as it was, afforded no pleasure. After
waiting a while, and whisking the dust from his boots with a coarse
handkerchief, this man suddenly screwed up his eyes, pressed his lips
together grimly, bent his back, which was already sufficiently bowed
without that, and slowly entered the drawing-room.
"Ah! Christofor Feodoritch, good afternoon!"--Panshin was the first of
all to exclaim, and sprang hastily from his seat.--"I had no suspicion
that you were here,--I could not, on any account, have made up my mind to
sing my romance in your presence. I know that you do not care for
frivolous music."
"I vas not listening," remarked the newcomer, in imperfect Russian, and
having saluted all, he remained awkwardly standing in the middle of the
room.
"Have you come, Monsieur Lemm,"--said Marya Dmitrievna,--"to give a
music lesson to Liza?"
"No, not to Lisafeta Mikhailovna, but to Elena Mikhailovna."
"Ah! Well,--very good. Lyenotchka, go upstairs with Monsieur Lemm."
The old man was on the point of following the little girl, but Panshin
stopped him.
"Do not go away after the lesson, Christofor Feodoritch,"--he
said:--"Lizaveta Mikhailovna and I will play a Beethoven sonata for
four hands."
The old man muttered something, but Panshin went on in German,
pronouncing his words badly:
"Lizaveta Mikhailovna has shown me the spiritual cantata which you
presented to her--'tis a very fine thing! Please do not think that I am
incapable of appreciating serious music,--quite the contrary: it is
sometimes tiresome, but, on the other hand, it is very beneficial."
The old man crimsoned to his very ears, cast a sidelong glance at Liza,
and hastily left the room.
Marya Dmitrievna requested Panshin to repeat the romance; but he
declared, that he did not wish to wound the ears of the learned German,
and proposed to Liza that they should occupy themselves with the
Beethoven sonata. Then Marya Dmitrievna sighed, and in her turn,
proposed to Gedeonovsky that he should take a stroll in the garden with
her.--"I wish,"--she said, "to talk and take counsel with you still
further, over our poor Fedya." Gedeonovsky grinned, bowed, took
up--with two fingers, his hat, and his gloves neatly laid on its brim,
and withdrew, in company with Marya Dmitrievna. Panshin and Liza were
left alone in the room; she fetched the sonata, and opened it; both
seated themselves, in silence, at the piano.--From above, the faint
sounds of scales, played by Lyenotchka's uncertain little fingers, were
wafted to them.
V
Christopher-Theodore-Gottlieb Lemm was born in the year 1786, in the
kingdom of Saxony, in the town of Chemnitz, of poor musicians. His father
played the French horn, his mother the harp; he himself, at the age of
five, was already practising on three different instruments. At eight
years of age he became an orphan, and at the age of ten he began to earn
a bit of bread for himself by his art. For a long time he led a wandering
life, played everywhere--in inns, at fairs, and at peasant weddings and
at balls; at last, he got into an orchestra, and rising ever higher and
higher, he attained to the post of director. He was rather a poor
executant; but he possessed a thorough knowledge of music. At the age of
twenty-eight he removed to Russia. He was imported by a great gentleman,
who himself could not endure music, but maintained an orchestra as a
matter of pride. Lemm lived seven years with him, in the capacity of
musical conductor, and left him with empty hands; the gentleman was
ruined, and wished to give him a note of hand, but afterward refused him
even this,--in a word, did not pay him a farthing. People advised him to
leave the country: but he was not willing to return home in poverty from
Russia, from great Russia, that gold-mine of artists; he decided to
remain, and try his luck. For the space of twenty years he did try his
luck: he sojourned with various gentry, he lived in Moscow and in the
capitals of various governments, he suffered and endured a great deal, he
learned to know want, he floundered like a fish on the ice; but the idea
of returning to his native land never abandoned him in the midst of all
these calamities to which he was subjected; it alone upheld him. But it
did not suit Fate to render him happy with this last and first joy: at
the age of fifty, ill, prematurely infirm, he got stranded in the town of
O * * * and there remained for good, having finally lost all hope of
quitting the Russia which he detested, and managing, after a fashion, to
support his scanty existence by giving lessons. Lemm's external
appearance did not predispose one in his favour. He was small of stature,
round-shouldered, with shoulder-blades which projected crookedly, and a
hollow chest, with huge, flat feet, with pale-blue nails on the stiff,
unbending fingers of his sinewy, red hands; he had a wrinkled face,
sunken cheeks, and tightly-compressed lips, that he was incessantly
moving as though chewing, which, added to his customary taciturnity,
produced an almost malevolent impression; his grey hair hung in elf-locks
over his low brow; his tiny, motionless eyes smouldered like coals which
had just been extinguished; he walked heavily, swaying his clumsy body
from side to side at every step. Some of his movements were suggestive of
the awkward manner in which an owl in a cage plumes itself when it is
conscious that it is being watched, though it itself hardly sees anything
with its huge, yellow, timorously and dozily blinking eyes. Confirmed,
inexorable grief had laid upon the poor musician its ineffaceable seal,
had distorted and disfigured his already ill-favoured figure; but for any
one who knew enough not to stop at first impressions, something unusual
was visible in this half-wrecked being. A worshipper of Bach and Handel,
an expert in his profession, gifted with a lively imagination, and with
that audacity of thought which is accessible only to the German race,
Lemm, in course of time--who knows?--might have entered the ranks of the
great composers of his native land, if life had led him differently; but
he had not been born under a fortunate star! He had written a great deal
in his day--and he had not succeeded in seeing a single one of his
compositions published; he had not understood how to set about the matter
in the proper way, to cringe opportunely, to bustle at the right moment.
Once, long, long ago, one of his admirers and friends, also a German and
also poor, had published two of his sonatas at his own expense,--and the
whole edition remained in the cellars of the musical shops; they had
vanished dully, without leaving a trace, as though some one had flung
them into the river by night. At last Lemm gave up in despair; moreover,
his years were making themselves felt: he had begun to grow rigid, to
stiffen, as his fingers stiffened also. Alone, with an aged cook, whom he
had taken from the almshouse (he had never been married), he lived on in
O * * *, in a tiny house, not far from the Kalitin residence; he
walked a great deal, read the Bible and collections of Protestant psalms,
and Shakespeare in Schlegel's translation. It was long since he had
composed anything; but, evidently, Liza, his best pupil, understood how
to arouse him: he had written for her the cantata to which Panshin had
alluded. He had taken the words for this cantata from the psalms; several
verses he had composed himself; it was to be sung by two choruses,--the
chorus of the happy, and the chorus of the unhappy; both became
reconciled, in the end, and sang together: "O merciful God, have mercy
upon us sinners, and purge out of us by fire all evil thoughts and
earthly hopes!"--On the title-page, very carefully written, and even
drawn, stood the following: "Only the Just are Right. A Spiritual
Cantata. Composed and dedicated to Miss Elizaveta Kalitin, my beloved
pupil, by her teacher, C. T. G. Lemm." The words: "Only the Just are
Right," and "Elizaveta Kalitin," were surrounded by rays. Below was
added: "For you alone,"--"Fuer Sie allein."--Therefore Lemm had crimsoned
and had cast a sidelong glance at Liza; it pained him greatly when
Panshin spoke of his cantata in his presence.