the flame has just been extinguished by water.  He walked heavily, jerking his clumsy frame at every step.  Some of his movements called to mind the awkward shuffling of an owl in a cage, when it feels that it is being stared at, but can scarcely see anything itself out of its large yellow eyes, blinking between sleep and fear.  An ancient and inexorable misery had fixed its ineffaceable stamp on the poor musician, and had wrenched and distorted his figure—­one which, even without that, would have had but little to recommend it; but in spite of all that, something good and honest, something out of the common run, revealed itself in that half-ruined being, to any one who was able to get over his first impressions.

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.  He had written much in his time, and yet he had never been fortunate enough to see any of his compositions published.  He did not know how to set to work, how to cringe at the right moment, how to proffer a request at the fitting time.  Once, it is true, a very long time ago, one of his friends and admirers, also a German, and also poor, published at his own expense two of Lemm’s sonatas.  But they remained untouched on the shelves of the music shops; silently they disappeared and left no trace behind, just as if they had been dropped into a river by night.

At last Lemm bade farewell to every thing Old age gained upon him, and he hardened, he grew stiff in mind, just as his fingers had stiffened.  He had never married, and now he lived alone in O., in a little house not far from that of the Kalitines, looked after by an old woman-servant whom he had taken out of an alms-house.  He walked a great deal, and he read the Bible, also a collection of Protestant hymns, and Shakspeare in Schlegel’s translation.  For a long time he had composed nothing; but apparently Liza, his best pupil, had been able to arouse him.  It was for her that he had written the cantata to which Panshine alluded.  The words of this cantata were borrowed by him from his collection of hymns, with the exception of a few verses which he composed himself.  It was written for two choruses:  one of the happy, one of the unhappy.  At the end the two united and sang together, “Merciful Lord, have pity upon us, poof sinners, and keep us from all evil thoughts and worldly desires.”  On the title-page, very carefully and even artistically written, were the words, “Only the Righteous are in the Right.  A Sacred Cantata.  Composed, and dedicated to Elizaveta Kalitine, his dear pupil, by her teacher, C.T.G, Lemm.”  The words “Only the Righteous are in the Right.” and “To Elizaveta Kalitine” were surrounded by a circle of rays.  Underneath was written, “For you only.  Fuer Sie allein.”  This was why Lemm grew red and looked askance at Liza; he felt greatly hurt when Panshine began to talk to him about his cantata.