After the lapse of three weeks, Lavretzky rode into O * * * on horseback, to the Kalitins', and pa.s.sed the evening with them. Lemm was there; Lavretzky conceived a great liking for him. Although, thanks to his father, he did not play on any instrument, yet he was pa.s.sionately fond of music,--intelligent, cla.s.sical music. Panshin was not at the Kalitins' that evening. The Governor had sent him off somewhere, out of town. Liza played alone, and with great precision; Lemm grew animated, excited, rolled a piece of paper into a baton, and beat time. Marya Dmitrievna laughed, at first, as she watched him, and then went off to bed; as she said, Beethoven was too agitating for her nerves. At midnight, Lavretzky escorted Lemm to his lodgings, and sat with him until three o'clock in the morning. Lemm talked a great deal; his bent shoulders straightened up, his eyes opened widely and sparkled; his very hair stood upright above his brow. It was such a very long time since any one had taken an interest in him, but Lavretzky evidently did take an interest, and interrogated him solicitously and attentively. This touched the old man; he ended by showing his visitor his music, he even played and sang to him, with his ghost of a voice, several selections from his compositions,--among others, the whole of Schiller's ballad "Fridolin,"

which he had set to music. Lavretzky lauded it, made him repeat portions of it, and invited him to visit him for a few days. Lemm, who was escorting him to the street, immediately accepted, and shook his hand warmly; but when he was left alone, in the cool, damp air of the day which was just beginning to dawn, he glanced around him, screwed up his eyes, writhed, and went softly to his tiny chamber, like a guilty creature: "Ich bin wohl nicht klug" (I'm not in my right mind),--he muttered, as he lay down on his hard, short bed. He tried to a.s.sert that he was ill when, a few days later, Lavretzky came for him in a calash; but Feodor Ivanitch went to him, in his room, and persuaded him. The circ.u.mstance which operated most powerfully of all on Lemm was, that Lavretzky had ordered a piano to be sent to his country-house from the town: a piano for his--Lemm's--use. Together they went to the Kalitins', and spent the evening, but not so agreeably as on the former occasion.

Panshin was there, had a great deal to narrate about his journey, and very amusingly mimicked and ill.u.s.trated in action the country squires he had seen; Lavretzky laughed, but Lemm did not emerge from his corner, maintained silence, quietly quivered all over like a spider, looked glum and dull, and grew animated only when Lavretzky began to take his leave.

Even when he was seated in the calash, the old man continued to be shy and to fidget; but the quiet, warm air, the light breeze, the delicate shadows, the perfume of the gra.s.s, of the birch buds, the peaceful gleam of the starry, moonless heaven, the energetic hoof-beats and snorting of the horses, all the charms of the road, of spring, of night,--descended into the heart of the poor German, and he himself was the first to address Lavretzky.

XXII

He began to talk of music, of Liza, then again of music. He seemed, somehow, to utter his words more slowly when he spoke of Liza. Lavretzky turned the conversation on his compositions, and, half in jest, proposed to write a libretto for him.

"H'm, a libretto!"--rejoined Lemm:--"no, that is beyond me: I have not that animation, that play of fancy, which is indispensable for an opera; I have already lost my powers.... But if I could still do something,--I would be satisfied with a romance; of course, I should like some good words...."

He relapsed into silence, and sat for a long time motionless, with his eyes raised heavenward.

"For example," he said at last:--"something of this sort: 'Ye stars, O ye pure stars'?"...

Lavretzky turned his face slightly toward him and began to stare at him.

"'Ye stars, ye pure stars,'"--repeated Lemm.... "'Ye gaze alike upon the just and upon the guilty ... but only the innocent of heart,'--or something of that sort ... 'understand you,' that is to say, no,--'love you.' However, I am not a poet ... how should I be! But something in that style, something lofty."

Lemm pushed his hat back on the nape of his neck; in the delicate gloom of the light night, his face seemed whiter and more youthful.

"'And ye also,'"--he went on, with a voice which gradually grew quieter:--"'ye know who loves, who knows how to love, for ye are pure, ye, alone, can comfort.'... No, that's not right yet! I am not a poet,"--he said:--"but something of that sort...."

"I regret that I am not a poet,"--remarked Lavretzky.

"Empty visions!" retorted Lemm, and huddled in the corner of the calash.

He closed his eyes, as though preparing to go to sleep.

Several moments elapsed.... Lavretzky listened.... "'Stars, pure stars, love,'"--the old man was whispering.

"Love,"--Lavretzky repeated to himself, became thoughtful, and his soul grew heavy within him.

"You have written some very beautiful music for 'Fridolin,' Christofor Feodoritch,"--he said aloud:--"and what think you; did that Fridolin, after the Count had led him to his wife, become her lover--hey?"

"That is what you think,"--returned Lemm: "because, probably, experience...." He suddenly fell silent, and turned away in confusion.

Lavretzky laughed in a constrained way, turned away also, and began to stare along the road.

The stars had already begun to pale, and the sky was grey, when the calash rolled up to the porch of the little house at Vasilievskoe.

Lavretzky conducted his guest to the chamber which had been a.s.signed to him, returned to his study, and sat down by the window. In the park, a nightingale was singing its last lay before the dawn. Lavretzky remembered that a nightingale had been singing in the Kalitins' garden also; he recalled, too, the tranquil movement of Liza's eyes when, at the first sounds of it, they had turned toward the dark window. He began to think of her, and his heart grew calm within him. "Pure little star,"--he said to himself, in a low tone:--"pure stars,"--he added, with a smile, and calmly lay down to sleep.

But Lemm sat, for a long time, on his bed, with a book of music-paper on his knees. It seemed as though a strange, sweet melody were about to visit him: he was already burning and growing agitated, he already felt the la.s.situde and sweetness of its approach ... but it did not come.

"I am not a poet, and not a musician!"--he whispered at last....

And his weary head sank back heavily on the pillow.

XXIII

On the following morning, host and guest drank tea in the garden, under an ancient linden-tree.

"Maestro!"--said Lavretzky, among other things:--"you will soon have to compose a triumphal cantata."

"On what occasion?"

"On the occasion of the marriage of Mr. Panshin to Liza. Did you notice how he was paying court to her last evening? It seems as though everything were going smoothly with them."

"That shall not be!" exclaimed Lemm.

"Why not?"

"Because it is impossible. However,"--he added, after a pause:--"everything is possible in this world. Especially here, with you, in Russia."

"Let us leave Russia out of the question for the present; but what evil do you see in that marriage?"

"All is evil, all. Lizaveta Mikhailovna is an upright, serious maiden, with exalted sentiments,--but he ... he is a di-let-tante, in one word."

"But surely she loves him?"

Lemm rose from the bench.

"No, she does not love him, that is to say, she is very pure in heart, and does not know herself what 'love' means. Madam von Kalitin tells her, that he is a nice young man, and she listens to Madam von Kalitin, because she is still a perfect child, although she is nineteen years of age: she says her prayers in the morning, she says her prayers in the evening,--and that is very praiseworthy; but she does not love him. She can love only the fine, but he is not fine; that is, his soul is not fine."

Lemm uttered this whole speech coherently and with fervour, pacing back and forth, with short strides, in front of the tea-table, and with his eyes flitting over the ground.

"My dearest Maestro!"--exclaimed Lavretzky all at once:--"it strikes me, that you are in love with my cousin yourself."

Lemm came to a sudden halt.

"Please,"--he began in an uncertain voice:--"do not jest thus with me. I am not a lunatic."

Lavretzky felt sorry for the old man; he entreated his forgiveness.

After tea, Lemm played him his cantata, and at dinner, being instigated thereto by Lavretzky himself, he again began to talk about Liza.

Lavretzky listened to him with attention and curiosity.

"What think you, Christofor Feodoritch,"--he said at last--"everything appears to be in order with us now, the garden is in full bloom.... Shall not we invite her here for the day, together with her mother and my old aunt,--hey? Would that be agreeable to you?"

Lemm bent his head over his plate.

"Invite her,"--he said, almost inaudibly.

"And Panshin need not be asked?"