Somehow or other, a long time ago, an admirer and friend of his, also a German and also poor, had printed at his own expense two of his sonatas – and yet these remained entirely unsold in the storerooms of music shops; they vanished without sound or trace, literally as if they had been thrown into a river overnight. Lemm finally said goodbye to his dreams; the years, what is more, had taken their toll: he had grown crusty and hard like his fingers. All by himself, save for an old cook-housekeeper he took from the poor-house (he had never married), he lived in O… in a little house not far from the Kalitins’, passing much of his time in taking strolls and reading the Bible, a collection of Protestant psalms and the works of Shakespeare in Schlegel’s translation. It was a long time since he had composed anything new; but clearly Liza, his best pupil, had stirred his creative powers and he had written for her the cantata to which Panshin referred. The words of the cantata had been taken from the collection of psalms, though he had added some verses of his own. It was to be sung by two choirs of the lucky and the luckless – and in the finale they were to be reconciled and sing together: ‘Merciful Lord, forgive us, Thy sinners, and save us from all wicked thoughts and worldly hopes.’ On the title page, in extremely neat lettering and even suitably embellished, was the following: ‘Only the Righteous shall be Justified. A Religious Cantata. Composed and dedicated to my dear pupil, Miss Elizaveta Kalitin, by her teacher, C.T.G. Lemm.’ The words: ‘Only the Righteous shall be Justified’ and ‘Miss Elizaveta Kalitin’ were surrounded by decorative rays. Below had been written: ‘For you alone, für Sie allein.’ This was why Lemm had reddened and looked obliquely at Liza; Panshin’s mention of his cantata in his presence was very painful to him.

VI

PANSHIN struck the first chords of the Sonata loudly and resolutely (he was playing the bass part), but Liza did not begin her part. He stopped and looked at her. Liza’s eyes, directed straight at him, expressed displeasure; there was no smile on her lips and her face was stern, almost sad.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘Why didn’t you keep your word?’ she asked. ‘I showed you Christopher Fyodorych’s cantata on the condition that you did not speak to him about it.’

‘I’m sorry, Lizaveta Mikhaylovna, the words just popped out.’

‘You’ve upset him – and me, too. Now he won’t trust even me any more.’

‘What can I do about it, Lizaveta Mikhaylovna? Ever since I was so high I haven’t been able to look at a German without wanting to tease him.’

‘How can you say that, Vladimir Nikolaich! This German is a poor, lonely, crushed man – can’t you feel sorry for him? Why do you want to tease him?’

Panshin became confused.

‘You’re right, Lizaveta Mikhaylovna,’ he said. ‘What’s to blame is my eternal lack of forethought. No, don’t contradict me – I know myself only too well. My lack of forethought has done me great harm. Through it I’ve gained a reputation for being an egoist.’

Panshin paused. No matter how he began a conversation, he usually ended by talking about himself, and it somehow came out so nicely and unaffectedly, so warmly, as though it were quite against his will.

‘Here in your house as well,’ he continued, ‘your mother is, of course, so gracious to me – she is such a kind person. And you… but I’m afraid I don’t know your opinion of me, whereas I know your aunt can’t stand me. I must’ve offended her as well by something thoughtless and foolish I’ve said. It’s true she doesn’t like me, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Liza a little unncertainly, ‘she’s not fond of you.’

Panshin quickly ran his fingers along the keys and a faintly perceptible grin flickered on his lips.

‘Well, what about you?’ he asked. ‘Do I also seem to be an egoist to you?’

‘I still know so little about you,’ Liza replied, ‘but I don’t consider you an egoist. On the contrary, I must be grateful to you…’

‘I know, I know what you mean,’ Panshin broke in and again ran his fingers along the keys. ‘You’re grateful for the music and books I bring you, for the poor drawings with which I decorate your album, and so on, and so forth. I can do all that and still be an egoist. I dare to think you’re not bored in my company and you don’t consider me bad, but you still imagine I’d – how’s that saying go? – I’d spare neither father nor friend for a pretty phrase.’

‘You’re absent-minded and forgetful, like all socialites,’ said Liza. ‘That’s all.’

Panshin frowned slightly.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘let’s not talk about me any more. Let’s start playing our sonata. I ask you to do only one thing,’ he added, smoothing out the sheets of the music book on the stand, ‘think what you like about me, even call me an egoist – so be it! but don’t call me a socialite: I can’t stand that title … Anch’io sono pittore, I’m also an artist, if a poor one, and that’s precisely what I’m going to prove to you now in fact.