A HEART TOUCHED.
Lenz went and sat down beside Annele in the sitting room. For some time
neither said a word; the child alone laughed, and tried alternately to
grasp the light, and then her father's eyes, that were fixed sadly on
her.
"Thank God! that if we must perish," said Lenz, at last, "our boy at
least is safe." Annele was silent; the clocks continued to tick quietly
in unison, and now the musical clock began to play a hymn. The eyes of
the husband and wife then met for the first time. Annele changed the
position of the child on her lap, and clasped her hands reverently.
"If you can pray," said Lenz, after the sacred melody was finished, "I
advise you to search your heart, and try to repent."
"I have nothing to repent of, so far as you are concerned, and what I
really do require to repent of, I shall confide to God alone. I never
wished to be unkind to you, I tried to be good and upright always."
"And I?"
"And you, too, did the same, so far as you could; I am more just
towards you, than you are to me; you would not let me even try to earn
a living."
"And all your harsh and dreadful words----"
"Pooh! words break no bones."
Lenz conjured and entreated her at least to be gentle and quiet before
his uncle.
Annele replied as if in a dream:--"Your uncle croaking, and the raven
screeching, tell me too plainly that die we must."
"You are not usually superstitious; 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 space 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 glass, 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 Bueble and the house cat. Bueble 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 snowballs 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 God would have pronounced 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 snatched 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.