Joseph in the Snow, and The Clockmaker Volume III Part 18

"You are not usually superst.i.tious; it would be terrible if you were, for you threw my mother's legacy and the writing out of the window, and called on the storm to come."

Annele made no answer, and Lenz after a time rose, and said he would dig deeper into the hole from which he had rescued his uncle. If he could only dig his way through to the hill, he could then make his way out, and bring succour, Annele's first impulse was to stretch out her hand to detain him. If the snow were to give way, and Lenz be buried under it, neither she nor Petrowitsch would have strength to dig him out. She had already extended her hands to hold him back, but she covered her face with them, and let him go. He came back shortly, and said that the snow was so soft, that every hollow sank down quickly, and that he feared it was snowing heavily outside. He, however, shovelled out the snow, that he had brought into the house when digging out his uncle, and dragged a press against the entrance to the house, as fresh snow penetrated through the splintered door.

He was so thoroughly wet through, that he was obliged to change his clothes, and it was his Sunday suit, which was also his wedding suit, that he put on. "Five years ago this very day," thought he, "what a number of sledges were standing before the 'Lion!' if the guests that day were only here now to save us from death!"

After a short sleep, Petrowitsch awoke, but he lay quite quiet. He deliberately thought over all that had happened. In this extremity neither haste nor lamentations were of the smallest avail. Yesterday he had recalled the whole of his past life; it seemed as if, within that short s.p.a.ce of time, he had lived it all again, but now the end is come. He said this to himself quite coolly. How he was to behave to Lenz and Annele, he could not for some time decide. At last he called Lenz, and asked for his clothes, as he wished to rise. Lenz said it was very cold in the next room, and it was impossible to light the stove; moreover, his uncle's clothes were quite wet. Petrowitsch, however, still persisted on rising, and asked, "Can you not lend me a warm dressing gown?"

"Yes, I have one belonging to my late father--will you put it on?"

"If you have no other, I suppose I must," said Petrowitsch, peevishly, for in his heart it made him sad, and in fact nervous, to wear what his brother had worn.

"You look now wonderfully like my poor father," cried Lenz, "as like as possible, only you are not so tall."

"I had a hard time of it when I was young, or I should have been less stunted," said Petrowitsch, looking at himself in the gla.s.s, as he came into the room.

The raven screeched in the kitchen; Petrowitsch started at the noise, and desired Lenz, in an imperious voice, to kill the bird instantly.

Lenz explained why he could not, and then peace was to be established between Buble and the house cat. Buble continued to whine for a long time, for the cat had scratched him severely, but was now shut up in the kitchen, which had the good effect of making the raven silent.

Petrowitsch asked for some more brandy, and Lenz told him that fortunately there were three bottles of it still remaining; they were at least twelve years old, and had belonged to his mother. Petrowitsch soon made a tumbler of hot punch. He became more conversible, and exclaimed:--"It would be too absurd, certainly! here have I dragged my old carcase all through the world, and now I am to be crushed to death in my parent's house. Serves me right; why could I not get over my longing for home? Yes, a longing indeed." Then he laughed, and continued: "My life is insured--what good does that do me now? and do you know who is the cause of our all being buried alive? That upright man, the fat Landlord of the 'Lion,' who sold the wood that sheltered this rooftree, to pay his debts."

"Alas! by this action he buries his own child and his grandchild," said Lenz.

"Neither of you are worthy to name my father's name," cried Annele, in a shrill voice. "My father was unfortunate, but wicked he never was; and if you say one word more against him, I will burn the house down."

"You are crazy," cried Petrowitsch; "are we to be grateful to him for throwing these pretty little s...o...b..a.l.l.s on our heads? But calm yourself, Annele, come here and sit down by me, and give me your hand, Annele; I will tell you something. I never thought you honest till now, but now you are so indeed; you are right, and I am pleased to see that you won't allow your old father to be abused. There are very few who still cling to those who have nothing. So long as people have money in their purse, we hear, often enough, 'Oh! how fond I am of you!' You are right, my girl!"

Annele looked up at Lenz, who cast down his eyes, and Petrowitsch went on to say:--

"It is perhaps as well that we should sit together thus at the very hour, when--who knows?--we may be doomed to die; now all must be clear and aboveboard among us. Lenz, come a little nearer! I think you hoped that your wife would console you in adversity; and just because you were dissatisfied with yourself, and could not exonerate yourself on some points, you longed for praise from others, instead of being the support and comfort of your wife,--proud Annele, of the 'Lion.' Don't shake your head, for you are proud enough. Pride is no bad thing, and I only wish Lenz had more of it; but wait a little, you will get it yet."

"Yes," cried Annele, "he told me lies; he persuaded me that he had recalled the security he had given for Faller, and it was not the fact."

"I never said anything of the kind, I only evaded your perpetual importunities."

"Now, as I said before," continued Petrowitsch, "it comes to your turn, Annele; say, upon your honour and conscience, whether you knew, when you married Lenz, that your father was ruined?"

"Must I tell the honest truth?"

"Yes."

"Then I solemnly swear that this was the state of the case.--I knew that my father was no longer a rich man, but still I considered him perfectly independent. I liked Lenz truly while we were still wealthy, but, at that time, my mother would not listen to a word on the subject.

My mother was always very ambitious for us, and moreover, she never wished me to enter any family where I should have a mother-in-law."

"You would then have married me while my mother was alive," said Lenz, "and yet Pilgrim declared that you said you never would have done so."

"When he said so, he told the truth. As a girl I used to say many foolish things, merely to make people stare, and because they laughed at my smart repartees."

Lenz fixed his eyes intently on Annele,--but Petrowitsch said:--

"Pray don't say any more, till I ask you to speak. You were both persuaded that you married each other out of pure love and tenderness, and yet each believed the other to be rich; and when this proved not to be the case, then all sorts of suspicions, and bad feeling, arose within your hearts. Say, honestly, Lenz; did you not believe that Annele was rich?"

"Yes, I did; but, uncle, the misery that consumes me--that makes my heart bleed, and my head burn,--does not arise from that; you know that to be true, I am sure, Annele?"

"I never valued my cleverness much," said Annele, "but at all events, I had both more quickness, and more experience than he had, and a better idea of managing our affairs--and if he had yielded to my wishes and settled in an inn, as I wished, we would not be now in this wretched state, and death, too probably, staring us in the face."

"And what means did you use to persuade him to fulfil your wishes?"

"I showed him that he was good for nothing but to knock in stupid pegs.

I don't deny it. I did not spare him, and was resolved to break his will, so I said whatever came uppermost, and the more it seemed to hurt his feelings the more I was pleased."

"Annele, do you believe in eternal punishments?"

"I cannot do otherwise, for I suffer so cruelly now in the power of you both, nothing hereafter can be worse. You can both torment me as you please; I cannot defend myself, I am a weak woman."

"A weak woman!" shouted Petrowitsch, at the pitch of his voice. "A weak woman! A capital idea! You are so hard and stubborn, that the very walls might crumble down on your head without moving you; you pour the most deadly poison into your husband's heart, enough to drive him mad, and then you call yourself--a weak woman!"

"I could speak falsely," continued Annele, "and make you all sorts of promises in this hour of extremity, but I will not; I would rather be torn to bits, than give up a single atom of my rights. All that I said to him was true, and that I said it venomously, is also true."

"Then it was all true," cried Lenz, as white as a sheet. "Only remember one thing; you said my good deeds were only a cloak for my indolence, and also that I had behaved ill to my mother. My mother! what will you feel when we meet you, perhaps an hour hence?"

Annele said nothing. Petrowitsch, too, paused for a time, and then said:--

"Annele, if he had strangled you for that speech, he would have been beheaded, but G.o.d would have p.r.o.nounced him innocent. Yes! as a landlord's daughter, you are sharp enough, and no doubt you have heard of rascally, worthless waggoners, who, when their horses don't go along fast enough, put burning tow in their ears, till the wretched animals are driven mad with pain. Your words towards Lenz were quite as cruel; they were the burning tow in his ears by which you drove him wild.

There is my hand Lenz, you are too soft hearted, and go about, asking every one:--'Give me a kind glance, or a kind word,'--that is pitiable work. But you did not deserve such a punishment. You did not deserve that a she-devil should drive you out of your senses. Give me the child instantly! you are not worthy to carry an innocent child in your arms."

So saying, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the child from her; the child screamed, but Lenz interposed, saying:--

"Not so, uncle: Annele, listen to me, don't close your heart against me, I mean to speak kindly to you. Annele, we are both standing on the brink of our open grave."

"Heavens!" screamed Annele, covering her face with her hands, and Lenz continued:--

"You, too, are on the brink of the grave,"

Annele no longer answered, for she had sunk down in a state of insensibility on the floor.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

VOICES FROM THE DEAD.

As Annele fell, she upset the lamp on the table, which came down with a crash, and was extinguished, leaving them in entire darkness. Lenz rubbed Annele's temples with the brandy that he luckily got hold of; she breathed at last, and grasped his hand. He carried her into the next room, and after laying her down on the bed, he hurried back to get a fresh light.

Lenz fortunately had an ample store of purified turpentine oil in the house, by which he usually worked at night. The raven, in the kitchen, had broken the large can, and an insupportable smell of rosin penetrated into the room, when the door was opened. Lenz lighted the lamp with the brandy, and the three miserable prisoners looked still more deplorable, by the blue flickering light.

Petrowitsch laid the child on the bed; her feet were as cold as ice. He ordered Buble to lie down on the child's feet, which Buble instantly did. Then Petrowitsch took Lenz by the arm, and led him back into the sitting room, the door of the adjacent room remaining open.

The raven and the cat were again at war in the kitchen, but they let them fight it out, till they were quiet of their own accord.