CHAPTER XXXIV.
BURIED ALIVE.
"Get a light, Lenz; get a light! Let us at least see our danger, whatever it may be. You sit there in the dark, groaning and lamenting: why are you shedding tears on my hand? What do you mean? Let go my hand that I may rise and strike a light."
"Annele, stay where you are!" Lenz could scarcely speak in his agitation. "Annele, I had resolved to put an end to myself, and came to take a last look at you; but now we are buried alive, and our child with us."
"If any act of energy on your part had been required to cause this misfortune, it never would have happened; it must have come of its own accord."
Still, still, these bitter, irritating words—still the same sharp, cutting tone. Lenz could scarcely draw breath.
"I must rise—I will rise," continued Annele. "I am not like you, letting my arms hang idly by my side. Come good, or come evil, just as it may chance, I am resolved to see what can be done. You would prefer waiting, I suppose, till you are dug out, or the snow at last melted? With me it is very different."
"Stay where you are, I will strike a light," answered Lenz, and went into the next room, but before he could light a candle, Annele was standing beside him. She had her child in her arms. He went to the granary, but quickly returned, saying, with horror, that the roof had given way under the weight of the snow; "And not snow alone," continued he; "large trunks of trees have rolled down on the house, along with the snow. That must have been the cause of the dreadful crashes we heard."
"What care I for that? The point now is to help ourselves, and to find some rescue."
Annele ran from window to window, and from door to door. "It cannot be! such a misfortune is impossible!" Not till she saw that nothing yielded to her frantic efforts, everything being as immovable as mason work, did Annele break out into loud lamentations, and place the child on a table. Lenz took the little girl in his arms, and begged Annele to be patient, she having now sunk down in silence. "The cold hand of death lies on our house," said he, "and it is no use struggling against fate."
"Where is my boy?" said she, suddenly starting up. "Have you hid him anywhere?"
"No; he is not here."
"God be praised! Then we are not all lost; one of us at least is safe."
"I will tell you fairly that I sent away the boy on purpose. I did not wish him to see me murder myself. Now it has turned out differently. God will demand our souls together. But this poor infant! it is hard it should die with its sinful parents."
"I have committed no sin; I have nothing to reproach myself with."
"Well! continue to think so, if you can. Do you not know that you murdered me, poisoning my heart, dishonouring me in my own eyes, striving to trample upon me, and depriving me of all moral courage?"
"A husband who can submit to such things deserves no better fate."
"Annele, for God's sake remember that in the course of an hour, we shall probably stand before another Judge! Search your conscience!"
"I don't want to hear your sermons; preach to yourself."
She went into the kitchen, and tried to light a fire, but she uttered a cry of distress. When Lenz went to her, he saw her eyes fixed in horror on the hearthstone, where rats and mice were sitting staring at her, and a raven was flying about in the kitchen, dashing first against plates, and then against pans, making them fall on the floor with a crash.
"Kill them, kill them!" screamed Annele, hurrying away.
Lenz soon got rid of the rats and mice, but he could not succeed in getting hold of the raven, without shattering all the crockery on the kitchen shelves. The light of the lamp drove the creature distracted, and without light it was impossible to find it. Lenz returned to the sitting room, and said, "I have loaded pistols here, so I could shoot the raven, but I dare not risk it, for the vibration from the shot might hurry on the final destruction of the house. So I will at least make this room safe."
He dragged a heavy press into the middle of the room, under the main cross beam, placing a smaller one on the top, which he crammed full of linen, and pushed it so tight against the ceiling, that it could support a great pressure.
"Now we will bring in here whatever food we have in the house." This he also completed quickly and surely.
Annele looked at him in astonishment. She could not stir from the spot; she felt as if suddenly paralysed.
Lenz then brought out his prayer-book, and Annele's, and opened them both at the same place—"Preparation for death." He placed the one before Annele, and began to read the other himself; but presently he looked up, and said, "You are right not to attempt to read this, for there is nothing here to suit us. Never before was there such a case: two human beings vowed to live in peace and unity, and mutually to enhance the value of life, but they signally failed, and went different ways, and yet now they are imprisoned together on the threshold of death. They could not live together, but they must die together. Hush!" said he, suddenly; "don't you hear a faint cry? It seems to me that I hear groans."
"I hear nothing."
"We can't light a fire," continued Lenz; "the chimney is choked up, so we should be stifled. But, God be praised! here is the spirit lamp that my poor mother bought. Yes, mother," said he, looking up at her picture, "even in death you help us. Light it, Annele; but be very sparing of the spirit. Who knows how long we must stay here?"
Annele was transfixed with amazement at Lenz's expressions and gestures. The words were often on her lips—"Are you the same Lenz who was always so supine and helpless?" But she did not give utterance to them; she was like a person in a trance, who would fain speak, but cannot. She could not articulate a syllable.
After she had swallowed a cupful of hot milk, however, Annele said: "If the rats and mice come in here, what is to be done?"
"Then we will kill them here too, and I will throw them out into the snow, that their putrid carcases may not taint the air. I will do the same to those in the kitchen."
Annele thought—"This must be another man! Can this be the former listless, indolent Lenz, who is now so bold, when face to face with death?"
Some words of kindness and appreciation trembled on her lips, but still she said nothing.
"Look! that confounded raven has bitten me," said Lenz, coming in with his hand bleeding, "and I cannot catch him. The creature is crazy from terror, for the mass of snow carried the bird along with it. There is a perfect pillar of snow in the chimney. It is ten o'clock. They are now leaving church down below in the village. When the last peal rang out, we were buried alive. That was our death-bell."
"I cannot die yet, I am still so young! and my child! I never knew, or anticipated, that I exposed myself to sudden death by settling in such a desert with a clockmaker."
"Your father is the sole cause of it," replied Lenz. "My parents were three times snowed up. The snow lay so thick outside, that for two or three days no one could leave the house; but we never were buried under it till now. Your father sold the wood; it is his doing; he let the wood be cut down over our heads."
"It is your fault; he offered to give you the wood."
"That is true enough."
"Oh, that I were safe out of this house, with my child!" lamented Annele.
"And you don't think of me at all?"
Annele pretended not to hear this speech, and exclaimed again, "Gracious powers! why must I die thus? what have I done?"
"What have you done? Soon, very soon, God will tell you. My words are of no avail in awakening your conscience."
Lenz was silent, and Annele also, though she felt she must say something, and yet she could not utter.
"Good heavens!" began Lenz at last; "here are we two doomed to die, and yet what are our mutual feelings? Misery and despair! and, even if by any unforeseen good fortune we are rescued, all the former tortures and discord will be renewed. My parents were, as I told you, three times snowed up. My mother took every possible precaution every winter in case of such an event, and laid in a great provision of salt and oil. I know nothing of the first two times, but I perfectly well remember the last. I never saw my father and mother kiss each other in my life, and yet they loved each other truly and faithfully in their hearts. And on that occasion, when my father said, 'Marie, now we are once more in the world, and separated from all other living creatures,' then, for the first time, I saw my mother kiss my father; and the three days that it lasted, the harmony in which they lived was like paradise. In the morning, at midday, and at night, my father and mother sung together from their hymnbook, and every word they spoke was calm and holy. My mother said, 'Oh, that we may one day die thus together, and be translated from peace here, to peace everlasting hereafter! I hope I shall die at the same moment with you, that one may not be left to grieve for the other.' It was then my father spoke of my uncle, and said, 'If I must die now, I have not a single enemy in the world. I owe no man anything. My brother Peter alone dislikes me, and that distresses me deeply.'"
Lenz suddenly stopped in the midst of his narration.
"Something is scratching at the front door, and now I hear whining and barking. What is it? I must see what it is," said Lenz.
"Don't, for God's sake!" screamed Annele, laying her hand on his shoulder.
Her touch was like an electric shock to him.
"Don't go, Lenz. It is a fox, or perhaps a wolf; they bark just like that I heard one once."
Encouraged by voices in the house, the voice outside became more clamorous, and the scratching and barking more vigorous.
"That is no wolf!" cried Lenz; "it is a dog. Hark! it is Büble! Good God! it is my uncle's dog, and my uncle is not far off; he is also buried under the snow."
"Let him lie where he is; the old villain deserves no better fate."
"Woman! are you mad? Even at such a moment you are poisonous still."
"I drunk nothing but poison during all the long days up here. It was my only refreshment."
Lenz went to the kitchen, and came back with a hatchet in his hand.
"What do you intend to do?" said Annele, clasping her child closely.
"Stand out of the way! stand out of the way!" cried Lenz, in a stern voice, and, exerting all his strength, he hacked the door, which opened outwards, to pieces.
It was indeed Büble, who darted in with a howl, but quickly rushed out again, and began to poke his nose eagerly into the snow, barking louder than ever.
Lenz set to to shovel away the snow, and very soon a piece of fur came to light. Lenz now worked more cautiously, and, laying aside his hatchet and shovel, he grubbed in the snow with his hands. He was obliged to take the snow inside the house, to gain space, at last.
He found his uncle. He was insensible, and so heavy that Lenz had scarcely strength to drag him in. He managed, however, to get him into his room, and, after undressing him, he laid him on the bed. Then he continued to rub him with all his strength till he revived. "Where am I?" groaned he, "Where am I?"
"With me, uncle."
"Who brought me here? Who took off my clothes? Where are the clothes? Where is my fur cloak, and my waistcoat? my keys are there. So you have got me at last."
"Uncle, do be quiet. I will bring you everything. Here is your waistcoat, and your fur cloak too."
"Give them to me. Are the keys safe? Yes, here they are. Ah, Büble! are you there too?"
"Yes, uncle, it was he who saved you."
"Ah, now I remember! we were buried in the snow. How long ago is it? Was it not yesterday?"
"Scarcely an hour since," replied Lenz.
"Do you hear help coming?"
"I hear nothing at all. Try to rest quietly where you are, while I go into the next room to fetch you some restorative."
"Leave the light here, and bring me something hot."
When he was alone, Petrowitsch thought to himself, "I deserve it, right well do I deserve it. Why did I go out of my way to meddle with their affairs?"
Lenz quickly returned with some brandy, which seemed considerably to revive Petrowitsch, who, fondling the dog that had crept close to him, said, "Now let me go to sleep for a time. What is that? Is it not the cry of a raven?
"Yes, one was dashed down the chimney by the snow, into the kitchen."
"Well, let me sleep."