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
circumstance, 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 God 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
mass 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 Bueble 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 pass 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 Bueble, 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 God 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 cock crow, and the raven screech. God 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.
All was again still. The ceiling of their sleeping room had given way,
so that the door could no longer be opened. After the first moment of
alarm, Lenz thanked God that his wife had a presentiment in her sleep
of what had happened, and left the room with her child; and for their
comfort he told them that their sleeping room was a new building,
unconnected with the other part of the house; and that he had no fear
of the stout crossbeams of the old house not standing fast and
untouched. It did seem to him, however--only he took care not to say
this--that the walls of the room next the sleeping one bent inwards;
but this was merely a delusion, caused by the flickering, dim, blue
light.
A long silent pause ensued; no sound was heard except when a cock was
heard crowing in the distance, or when Bueble barked and the raven
croaked.
"This is an actual Noah's ark," said Petrowitsch; and Lenz replied:--
"Whether the issue of this is life or death, we are equally saved from
the deluge caused by sin."
Annele placed her hand in his.
"If I had only my pipe; it is so stupid in you not to smoke, Lenz,"
said Petrowitsch, in a complaining voice. The thoughts of his
collection of pipes at home, must have reminded him of his fireproof
strongbox, for he continued:--"I tell you fairly, that even if we are
saved, you need not expect any money from me--not a single dollar."
"We shall not want it then," said Lenz; and Annele asked in her clear
voice:--
"Do you know who will not believe you?"
"You?"
"No! the world will never believe it; if you were to swear it a hundred
times over, no man will credit, that he who shared our deadly peril,
will not share his life with us henceforth. The world will in future
give us credit for your sake, and make us rich if we like."
"You are as shrewd and mischievous as ever," said Petrowitsch; "I
thought all your gay gibes were at an end for ever."
"I am thankful they are not," cried Lenz; "Annele, keep up your lively
spirits; if God rescues us from this peril, be honest and merry, as
Pilgrim says."
Annele threw her arms round Lenz's neck, and kissed him affectionately.
All the three suddenly felt that they had become as cheerful as if all
danger were past, and yet, at this moment, it was greater than ever.
They would none of them point it out to the others, but yet they saw
with awe and fear, that the walls were trembling, and the cross beams
sinking.
Annele and Lenz held each other in a close embrace:--
"Let us die thus, and shelter the child by our bodies," cried Annele.
"Farewell, life! Lord God, save our child!"
"Hark! there is a hollow sound; help is at hand! we are saved! we are
saved!"