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 Bueble to lie down on the child's feet, which Bueble 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.
"Have you anything fit to eat?" asked Petrowitsch; "it is past five
o'clock, and I am wofully hungry."
There was enough to eat, as a ham had fallen from the loft down the
chimney; there was also bread, and a large sack of dried fruit.
Petrowitsch ate with a good appetite, and pressed Lenz to eat also, but
he could not bring himself to swallow a morsel. He was anxiously
listening to every sound in Annele's room. The child was talking in its
sleep; a kind of confused muttering, as if from another world, and it
was startling to hear it laugh--still sound asleep. Annele lay quiet,
breathing softly. Lenz went in to take up the child, and called out in
terror, for he had seized Bueble by mistake, who bit at him fiercely.
Annele was roused by the cry, and calling Lenz and Petrowitsch to come
to her, she said:--
"I thank God that I still live, if only for one hour longer. I ask
forgiveness from all, but more especially from you, my Lenz."
"Don't try to speak much at present," interrupted he. "Will you not be
persuaded to take something? I have found some coffee, but not the
coffee mill. I will bruise it if the child is awake. There is some good
ham here besides."
"I cannot eat. Let me speak. What has happened? Why did you give such a
cry, Lenz?"
"It was nothing. I wished to take the child, and Bueble snapped
viciously at me, and in the terror of the moment, and the anguish of
our position, I felt as if some monster, I knew not what, was about to
devour us all."
"Alas!" said Annele, "your distraction of mind, your nervous state,
has all been caused by me. Oh! Lenz, what I dreamt has come to pass.
Last night I thought I stood beside an open grave, and looked in,
deep, deep, and dark; little heaps of earth rolled down and down; I
tried to save myself, but could not; I stumbled, and was precipitated
to the bottom. Hold me fast! Now it is past--lay your hand on my
face--merciful powers! to think that you must die with me, that all
this misery has fallen on us, in order to bring me to repentance! I
deserve it, but you and this child." ... Tears prevented her saying
more; she seized Lenz's hand and placed it to her lips, then she
exclaimed:--
"An hour ago, I would gladly have died, but now I should be so glad to
live! I should like yet to show the world what I can do! I see now what
I have been. Henceforth I will thankfully implore a kind look or word.
Merciful Father! succour us, and save us from this dreadful death, if
only for a day, for an hour! I then would send for Franzl; Lenz, my
first shortcomings began with her."
"Now I do verily believe that the evil one is fairly driven out," said
the uncle: "a striking proof of it is your thinking of Franzl, and
wishing to benefit her, whose life you embittered by turning her away.
Here you have my hand in token of friendship; now all will be well."
Lenz could not speak; he hurried into the next room, and bringing some
of the spirit, he placed it to Annele's lips, saying:--"Drink, Annele,
and for every drop you drink, I would fain give you as many grateful
and loving words." Annele shook her head, and he went on:--"Only drink
it, to give you fresh strength. Now try to rest, and don't speak
another word."
Annele said she could not rest, though she would have been glad to do
so, as it was his wish; she lamented bitterly, that, in all probability
they must all soon die; but Lenz tried to soothe her by saying, that
they had still food enough to last for several days, and that they
ought to thank God for his great mercy in this; and before what they
had in the house was consumed, no doubt help would arrive. Annele then
began afresh to deplore the great sin she now felt she had committed,
in having received so unthankfully the blessings that had been granted
to her, always living in peace and plenty, and yet these mercies she
had utterly disregarded; and she perpetually bewailed and lamented,
saying--"I feel as if snakes were winding round my head. See if every
hair is not a snake--and only yesterday I was so proud, plaiting my
hair."
With feverish, trembling fingers she took down her hair, and let it
float over her shoulders, making her look still more wild and wretched.
Lenz and Petrowitsch had considerable difficulty in pacifying her; the
uncle at last insisted on Lenz leaving Annele alone, and going with him
to the next room, when Petrowitsch said to him:--"Pray endeavour to be
composed, for Annele's sake, or she will die before any help can reach
us. I never beheld such a revulsion in any human being, I could
scarcely have believed it. Such a shock to the whole system must be
very trying. Now tell me what letter was it that I found in your
child's frock, when I placed Bueble on her feet?"
Lenz related the desperate determination he had come to, and said it
was his farewell to Annele and to life, and begged his uncle to give it
back to him; but his uncle held it fast, and read it out in a low
voice.
Lenz shuddered at hearing the words repeated, that he had intended
being spoken after his death. He watched the expression of his uncle's
face, so far as it was visible in the blue light, to see what he
thought of it; Petrowitsch however, did not once look up, and read on
to the end, when he gave one quick sharp glance at Lenz. He then put
the letter in his pocket.
"Give me the letter, and I will burn it," said Lenz, in a whisper.
In the same suppressed tone, Petrowitsch answered:--"No, I mean to keep
it, I have only half known you till now."
He was uncertain whether Petrowitsch meant this for good or evil, but
the old man stood up, and took down his brother's file from the wall,
holding it in his hand, which pressed on the well worn hollow, produced
in long years of work, by his dead brother's fingers.
Perhaps at that moment he made an inward vow, that if they were
rescued, he would supply the place of a father to Lenz, but he only
said: "Come here, I want to whisper something to you. The basest action
a man can commit is suicide; I knew the son of such a man, who
said to me--'My father made his fate light, but ours hard!' and that
son----" here Petrowitsch suddenly paused, and then said, close to his
ear--"cursed his father's memory!"
Lenz started back in horror, and almost sunk to the ground on hearing
these words, but Annele at this moment called to him:--"Lenz, for God's
sake come here!" They hurried to her, and she said, still in a most
excited state, "Oh! my dear Lenz, to think that you really wished to
make away with yourself! Surely you could not have done so when it came
to the last, for the children's sake; but I am the guilty cause of your
ever dreaming of so fearful a sin. Oh! how your heart must have bled! I
don't know what is the worst thing I have done, to implore your
forgiveness for."
"It is all over now," said Petrowitsch, soothingly. It was singular
that the same ideas should be working in Annele's brain, in her room,
where she could not possibly hear a word of what the two men were
saying in cautious whispers. Both tried to pacify her.
Several clocks now struck three.
"Is that noon or night?" asked Annele.
"It must be night."
They recapitulated all that had occurred since the snow had been
precipitated on the house; and they agreed it must be long past
midnight.
"Oh! daylight! if I could only once more, only just once more, see the
blessed sun! Oh! rise in the sky and succour us! Oh! that it were
light!" cried Annele, incessantly. They could not quiet her nervous
excitement, till at last she dropped asleep from sheer exhaustion.
Petrowitsch also fell into a doze, and Lenz alone remained awake. He
dared not sleep; it was indispensable that he should steadily face
their deadly peril, and ward it off, so far as human means could avail.
He extinguished the light. The store of spirits for the lamp must not
be wasted--who knows how long it may still be required! And soon, as
Lenz sat thus in silence and darkness, it seemed first noon, and then
night; at one moment he wished it were day, at the next he hoped it was
night. If it were day, help would be nearer; if night, those outside
would have been working on longer, shovelling away the snow, and
rolling away the heavy trunks of trees. Often he thought that he heard
sounds outside, but it was all a delusion--it was the raven croaking in
his sleep.