,--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.

VI

Panshin struck the opening chords of the sonata loudly, and with
decision (he was playing the second hand), but Liza did not begin her
part. He stopped, and looked at her. Liza's eyes, fixed straight upon
him, expressed displeasure; her lips were not smiling, her whole face was
stern, almost sad.

"What is the matter with you?"--he inquired.

"Why did not you keep your word?" said she.--"I showed you Christofor
Feodoritch's cantata on condition that you would not mention it to him."

"Pardon me, Lizaveta Mikhailovna, it was a slip of the tongue."

"You have wounded him--and me also. Now he will not trust me any more."

"What would you have me do, Lizaveta Mikhailovna! From my earliest
childhood, I have never been able to endure the