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 Bueble! 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 Bueble, 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, Bueble! 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."