A House of Gentlefolk | Page 6

waves was heard in the stormy
accompaniment. After the words "and longing vain," he sighed softly,
dropped his eyes and let his voice gradually die away, morendo. When
he had finished, Lisa praised the motive, Marya Dmitrievna cried,
"Charming!" but Gedeonovsky went so far as to exclaim, "Ravishing
poetry, and music equally ravishing!" Lenotchka looked with childish
reverence at the singer. In short, every one present was delighted with
the young dilettante's composition; but at the door leading into the
drawing-room from the hall stood an old man, who had only just come
in, and who, to judge by the expression of his downcast face and the
shrug of his shoulders, was by no means pleased with Panshin's song,
pretty though it was. After waiting a moment and flicking the dust off
his boots with a coarse pocket-handkerchief, this man suddenly raised
his eyes, compressed his lips with a morose expression, and his
stooping figure bent forward, he entered the drawing-room.
"Ah! Christopher Fedoritch, how are you?" exclaimed Panshin before
any of the others could speak, and he jumped up quickly from his seat.
"I had no suspicion that you were here--nothing would have induced
me to sing my song before you. I know you are no lover of light
music."
"I did not hear it," declared the new-comer, in very bad Russian, and
exchanging greetings with every one, he stood awkwardly in the
middle of the room.
"Have you come, Monsieur Lemm," said Marya Dmitrievna, "to give
Lisa her music lesson?"
"No, not Lisaveta Mihalovna, but Elena Mihalovna."
"Oh! very well. Lenotchka, go up-stairs with Mr. Lemm."

The old man was about to follow the little girl, but Panshin stopped
him.
"Don't go after the lesson, Christopher Fedoritch," he said. "Lisa
Mihalovna and I are going to play a duet of Beethoven's sonata."
The old man muttered some reply, and Panshin continued in German,
mispronouncing the words--
"Lisaveta Mihalovna showed me the religious cantata you dedicated to
her--a beautiful thing! Pray, do not suppose that I cannot appreciate
serious music--quite the contrary: it is tedious sometimes, but then it is
very elevating."
The old man crimsoned to his ears, and with a sidelong look at Lisa, he
hurriedly went out of the room.
Marya Dmitrievna asked Panshin to sing his song again; but he
protested that he did not wish to torture the ears of the musical German,
and suggested to Lisa that they should attack Beethoven's sonata. Then
Marya Dmitrievna heaved a sigh, and in her turn suggested to
Gedeonovsky a walk in the garden. "I should like," she said, "to have a
little more talk, and to consult you about our poor Fedya."
Gedeonovsky bowed with a smirk, and with two fingers picked up his
hat, on the brim of which his gloves had been tidily laid, and went
away with Marya Dmitrievna. Panshin and Lisa remained alone in the
room; she fetched the sonata, and opened it; both seated themselves at
the piano in silence. Overhead were heard the faint sounds of scales,
played by the uncertain fingers of Lenotchka.

Chapter V
Christopher Theodor Gottlieb Lemm was born in 1786 in the town of
Chemnitz in Saxony. His parents were poor musicians. His father
played the French horn, his mother the harp; he himself was practising
on three different instruments by the time he was five. At eight years
old he was left an orphan, and from his tenth year he began to earn his
bread by his art. He led a wandering life for many years, and performed
everywhere in restaurants, at fairs, at peasants' weddings, and at balls.
At last he got into an orchestra and constantly rising in it, he obtained
the position of director. He was rather a poor performer; but he
understood music thoroughly. At twenty-eight he migrated into Russia,
on the invitation of a great nobleman, who did not care for music
himself, but kept an orchestra for show. Lemm lived with him seven
years in the capacity of orchestra conductor, and left him empty-handed.
The nobleman was ruined, he intended to give him a promissory note,
but in the sequel refused him even that--in short, did not pay him a
farthing. He was advised to go away; but he was unwilling to return
home in poverty from Russia, that great Russia which is a mine of gold
for artists; he decided to remain and try his luck. For twenty years the
poor German had been trying his luck; he had lived in various
gentlemen's houses, had suffered and put up with much, had faced
privation, had struggled like a fish on the ice; but the idea of returning
to his own country never left him among all the hardships he endured;
it was this dream alone that sustained him. But fate