Joseph in the Snow, and The Clockmaker Volume III Part 20

"Fetch her out!" said Faller in bitter sorrow; "she is below there."

He then related what had occurred, and the man went homewards in the darkness.

Faller ventured to skirt the uprooted wood, by a bye path; if he could only reach the fir trees before the house, then aid would be nearer. In company with the dial maker, he pushed some large logs lying on the side of the hill, towards the fir trees; several were precipitated down, and remained standing upright in the snow, while one rolled down the hill, and rested on the firs.

"Good Heavens!" said his companion, "the large logs that we have rolled down, are sure to come in collision with the roof, and to crush to death the unhappy inmates."

"I am the most stupid wretch that ever lived, the most senseless, the most idiotical; now I shall have been the cause of your death, my dear, good Lenz!" cried Faller in despair.

After a while he managed to crawl on a bridge formed by the trunk of a tree, and succeeded in setting fire with his torch, to several trees that were heaped together on that spot.

"That will melt the snow surely," cried he, elated.

"Yes, but it may catch the straw thatched roof," replied his comrade.

Faller stood transfixed, but soon began to roll huge s...o...b..a.l.l.s on the top of the fire, and succeeded in extinguishing it just as day broke.

It was a bright morning, almost as warm as a spring day; the sun shone warmly on the Morgenhalde, seeking the house that he had greeted for so many long years, but could no longer find it; he sought its master, who was always so quiet, and yet so busy, seated at early dawn working at his window, just like his father before him, and his grandfather before that; but neither house nor master was to be found, and the sun's rays blinked strangely, and flickered hither and thither, as if they had lost their way; the treacherous snow displayed its broad glittering white surface, as if saying: "Do your worst." The sun sent down fiery, burning rays, and melted the outposts, but the fortress itself must be besieged for days.

The men had all rea.s.sembled, with the Techniker at their head; and from the adjacent village, and many other parishes besides, there were plenty of stout hands ready to work.

The trees rolled down by Faller, at all events served as a firm support, and, miner fashion, a path was dug out below, and above also the work went on quickly, and according to a regular plan.

A solitary raven kept constantly flying among those who were clearing away the snow, and would not be driven away. Its companions in the air screeched to it in vain; it paid no attention to their cries, but watched those who were at work, as if it had something very particular to communicate.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

A PLANT GROWS UNDER THE SNOW.

Lenz sat sad and silent in darkness and solitude, watching for death.

Petrowitsch awoke at last, and related to Lenz, that in the days of his youth, he remembered a house being overwhelmed by an avalanche in a similar manner, and that, when they at last succeeded in digging out the inhabitants, they found them all crushed flat, and four peasants who had been sitting round a table were crushed also, with their cards still in their hands. The old man shuddered as he recalled this circ.u.mstance, and yet he could not refrain from relating it; it was a relief to him to tell it, although it made Lenz shiver with horror. He however quickly added, that he felt sure that G.o.d would permit them to be saved, for the sake of the innocent child; and he almost rebelled against the decrees of Providence, in ordaining that the poor child should be buried along with them.

"Annele is now, however, become as good and placid as a child,"

answered Lenz.

Petrowitsch shook his head, and admonished him, if he ever saw the light again, not to be so easily reconciled; he advised him to act in such a manner, that Annele must daily and hourly seek to win his affections. Lenz resisted this advice, and told his uncle that it was evident he never had been married:--

"An angel dwelt within Annele, that might render home a heaven for any man, and the sad thing was, that in the bitterness of her trials, she had repressed all the naturally good impulses of her kind heart."

Petrowitsch shook his head again, but made no reply.

The child suddenly gave a loud scream, and Annele awoke and cried out:--

"The ceiling is falling! the ceiling is falling! Lenz, where are you?

stay beside me! let us die together: give me the child in my arms!"

By degrees Annele was pacified, and with restored self command went into the sitting room with Lenz and Petrowitsch.

Lenz bruised the coffee beans, which were part of the present brought by Ernestine the grocer's wife; and again they all sat together by the light of the feeble blue flame. The coffee cheered them all. The clock struck. Annele said she had not tried to count the strokes, she would ask no more whether it were day or night; they would at all events live together in eternity, when the last fatal hour was past. She had hoped that they would have contradicted her fear of the worst, and the certainty she had expressed of approaching death, but no one said a word.

They continued to sit in silence together, for there was little more to say. After a long pause, Lenz said to his uncle that the past was now all smooth and clear, but he should like to know why his uncle had been always so dry and reserved towards him.

"Because I hated him whose dressing gown I am now wearing. Yes! hated him; he ill used me in my youth, and it was his fault that I was called the 'Goatherd' for life. In his file there is a hollow produced by long pressure; how much more must it work on the human heart!--and his pressure on it was hard indeed. My only brother cast me off; and when at last I came home, I rejoiced at the thought of giving vent to the ma.s.s of hatred I had borne about with me so long. I can, with truth, say that I hated him to the death. Why did he die, and leave me alone in the world, without our ever having exchanged one kind word at the last? On the whole of my long journey home, I felt so happy in the thought that I should again have a brother; and now he was gone and no one to replace him; but in truth, and to speak honestly, I did not really hate him, for had I done so, would I have come home? In this world I shall hear my brother's words no more, soon perhaps elsewhere,----"

"Uncle," said Annele, "at the same moment when Buble scratched at the door--at that very same time--Lenz was telling me, that when his father was once snowed up here, though not buried like us, he had said--'If I must die now, I have not an enemy in the world but my brother Peter, and I should like to be reconciled to him.'"

"Really! really!" said Petrowitsch, pressing one hand on his eyes, and with the other grasping the well worn file of his brother.

For long nothing was heard but the ticking of the clocks, till Lenz again asked why his uncle had always been so indifferent about him; it had grieved his heart, that, for nearly a year, his father's only brother had settled in the same place, and yet would not notice him; every time he met Petrowitsch, he would like to have gone up to him and taken hold of his hand.

"I saw that well enough," answered Petrowitsch, "but I was angry with you and your mother, because I heard that she spoiled you, and told you--seven times a day at least--how good you were, and the best son in the world, and so clever and so prudent! That was very unwise. Men are like birds. There are some who devour insects, and must have each minute a fresh one in their crops; and you are just like one of these birds, every minute a pat on the shoulder, or a panegyric."

"He is right, is he not Annele?" said Lenz, with a bitter smile.

"Not far wrong," answered Annele.

"Don't you say a word," cried Petrowitsch, "you are also a bird, or rather you were one, and do you know what kind of one? a bird of prey: they can endure hunger for days, but then they devour whatever they can get hold of--an innocent singing bird, or a kitten, with bones, and skin, and fur, entire."

"He is right here also," answered Annele, "I never was better pleased than when I got hold of some one to pull at, and to tear to pieces. I exhibited this unhappy tendency, the very first day you and I drove out together, when I felt such malicious pleasure in provoking Ernestine, and you asked me, 'Does that give you pleasure?' These words sunk into my heart, and I intended to become as amiable as you, and felt there was more real happiness in this; and yet I lived on in the old way, and every now and then I thought, 'presently I will begin to be very different, but no one shall see it, my husband above all must not suspect it;' and then the old evil spirit got the mastery again over me, and I felt ashamed that people should observe that I wished to be better, and so at last I gave up even wishing to be so. I felt I was Annele of the 'Lion,' who had been a favourite with every one who came to the house--that there was no need for any change. And I was furious with you, because you were the first person who ever found fault with me, for saying what others praised and laughed at; and then I wished to show you that you were no great things yourself. And at last all hung on the one point: 'you must be a landlady again, then you will recover your self-esteem, and the world, too, will see what you are.' It was thus I thought, and thought wrong. Even yesterday--was it yesterday?

when the Pastor was here. Listen! your uncle is asleep; I am glad of it. I am thankful to be one hour alone with you before we pa.s.s into eternity. No third person could understand the love we bear each other in our hearts, even amid all--all that has happened. If I could only see your face once more, only once fairly in the bright daylight! I can distinguish nothing by this blue flickering light. If I could see but once your kind face and loving eyes! To die thus without one last look, what agony it is! and how often I have turned away my eyes when I saw that yours were seeking mine! Oh! for but one single look, that I could see you once before we die."

Petrowitsch still pretended to sleep. He had quickly seen that Annele was eager to unburthen her heart, and that no third person ought to interfere. The child played with Buble, and Annele continued:--

"Oh! if I could but recall the years that are past! Once you said to me at noon: Is there anything in the world more cheering than the sun?--and then again one evening: What pure happiness fresh air brings!

I ridiculed you for your simplicity; I was constantly sinning against your better nature; everything makes you happy, and so it ought to be.

Just as I once threw away your father's file and broke the sharp point, and it seemed to enter my heart, but I took care you should not know this; and I threw out of the window your mother's pious writing, and the plant: there is not a single thing in which I have not acted wrong.

I know--I know that you forgive me freely; pray to a gracious G.o.d that He will also forgive me in life and in death."

A musical timepiece began to play a hymn. Petrowitsch moved uneasily in his chair, but appeared to sleep again. When the air was ended, Annele exclaimed:--

"What is there that I have not to ask forgiveness for? even that clock.

Now for the first time in my life, I hear how holy that music sounds, and yet how often I vexed you on this subject also! Good and gracious Lord! I ask it not for myself--but save us, oh! save us! let me prove that I wish to make up for the past."

"I feel quite happy now, even if we are doomed to die," said Lenz; "while the clock was playing it came into my thoughts--we have got the precious plant Edelweiss again; it grew under the snow in your naturally good heart. Why do you tremble so?"

"I am so cold, my feet are like ice."

"Take off your shoes, and I will warm your feet in my hands. Are you better now?"

"Yes, much better, but my head feels as if every hair were dripping blood. Hark! I hear the c.o.c.k crow, and the raven screech. G.o.d be praised! it must be daylight at last."

They started up, as if help were really at hand, and the uncle, too, seemed to rouse himself from his supposed sleep; but suddenly there was a loud crash. "We are lost!" cried Petrowitsch.