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"Maestro," said Lavretsky, among other things, "you will soon have to compose a festal cantata." "On what occasion?" "Why, on that of Mr. Panshine's marriage with Liza. Didn't you observe what attention he paid her yesterday? All goes smoothly with them evidently." "That will never be!" exclaimed Lemm. "Why?" "Because it's impossible.
Lavretsky hastened up-stairs, went into the room and was about to rush up to Lemm; but the latter imperiously motioned him to a seat, saying abruptly in Russian, "Sit down and listen," sat down himself to the piano, and looking proudly and severely about him, he began to play. It was long since Lavretsky had listened to anything like it.
Panshine was there, talking a great deal about his journey, and very amusingly mimicking the various proprietors he had met, and parodying their conversation. Lavretsky laughed, but Lemm refused to come out of his corner, where he remained in silence, noiselessly working his limbs like a spider, and wearing a dull and sulky look.
"It is wonderful," he said, "that you have come just at this moment; but I know all, I know all." "You know all?" Lavretsky repeated in amazement. "You have heard me," replied Lemm, "did you not understand that I knew all?" Till daybreak Lavretsky could not sleep, all night he was sitting on his bed. And Lisa too did not sleep; she was praying.
Although thanks to his father, he played no instrument, he was passionately fond of music, real classical music. Panshin was not at the Kalitins' that evening. The governor had sent him off to some place out of the town. Lisa played alone and very correct; Lemm woke up, got excited, twisted a piece of paper into a roll, and conducted.
At last Lemm had renounced everything; the years too did their work; his mind had grown hard and stiff, as his fingers had stiffened. He took long walks, and read the Bible and the Protestant version of the Psalms, and Shakespeare in Schlegel's translation.
Lavretsky drove the old man to his modest dwelling. Lemm took his portmanteau with him as he got out of the carriage, and, without stretching out his hand to his friend, he held the portmanteau before him with both hands, and, without even looking at him, said in Russian, "Farewell!" "Farewell!" echoed Lavretsky, and told the coachman to drive to his apartments; for he had taken lodgings in O.
A devoted admirer of Bach and Handel, thoroughly well up to his work, gifted with a lively imagination, and that audacity of idea which belongs only to the Teutonic race, Lemm might in time who can tell? have been reckoned among the great composers of his country, if only his life had been of a different nature. But he was not born under a lucky star.
Lavretsky admired it, made him repeat some passages, and at parting, invited him to stay a few days with him. Lemm, as he accompanied him as far as the street, agreed at once, and warmly pressed his hand; but when he was left standing alone in the fresh, damp air, in the just dawning sunrise, he looked round him, shuddered, shrank into himself, and crept up to his little room, with a guilty air.
"And Marfa Timofyevna," observed Shurotchka. "And Nastasya Karpovna," added Lenotchka, "and Monsier Lemm." "What? is Lemm dead?" inquired Lavretsky. "Yes," replied young Kalitin, "he left here for Odessa; they say some one enticed him there; and there he died." "You don't happen to know,... did he leave any music?" "I don't know; not very likely." All were silent and looked about them.
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