Heidi (1899)/Part 1/Chapter 11

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Every afternoon when Klara was lying down, and Fräulein Rottenmeier, apparently in need of rest, mysteriously disappeared, the grandmamma sat down by Klara for a while, but after five minutes she was on her feet again, and always called Heidi to her room to talk with her, keep her busy, and amuse her in various ways. The grandmamma had pretty little dolls and pieces of the most marvelous bright-colored materials, which she showed Heidi how to make into dresses and aprons and cloaks for them; so the little girl unconsciously learned to sew. Now that Heidi could read, she always read some of her stories aloud to the grandmamma; and this gave her the greatest pleasure, for the more she read them the dearer they became to her. Heidi entered so vividly into the characters and their experiences that she felt closely related to them and took more and more pleasure in their company. But she never looked quite happy, and there was no longer any merriment in her eyes.

It was the last week that the grandmamma was to spend in Frankfurt. She had called for Heidi to come into her room; Klara was taking her nap. When Heidi ​entered with her big book under her arm, the grandmamma motioned to her to come close to her, laid the book aside, and said:—

"Now come, my child, and tell me why you are not happy. Have you still the same trouble in your heart?"

"Yes," said Heidi, nodding.

"Have you told the dear Lord about it?"

"Yes."

"And do you pray every day that all may be well, and that he will make you happy?"

"Oh, no, I don't pray any more now."

"What do you tell me, Heidi? what do I hear? Why don't you pray any longer?"

"It's of no use; the dear Lord did not listen; and I really believe," continued Heidi, somewhat excited, "when so many, many people in Frankfurt are praying together at night, the dear Lord cannot pay attention to them all, and so he has certainly not heard me."

"Why, how do you know that this is so, Heidi?"

"I prayed the same prayer every day for many long weeks, and the dear Lord never answered me."

"That is not so, Heidi! You must n't have such an idea! You see, the dear Lord is a good Father to us all! He always knows what is good for us, if we do not know it. But if we want something from him that is not good for us, he does not give it to us, but something much better, if we continue to pray to him sincerely, and do not run away and lose all confidence in him. You see, what you wished to ask of him was not good for you just now; the dear Lord heard you; ​he can hear and see every one at the same time, because he is God, and not a human being like you and me, and because he knew what was good for you, he thought to himself:—

"'Yes, Heidi shall have what she asks for, but not until it is good for her, and when she will be quite happy about it. For if I should do now what she wants, and she finds afterwards that it would have been better if I had not done what she wished, then she would cry and say: "If only the dear Lord had not given me what I asked for! It is not so good as I thought it would be!'" And while the dear Lord was looking down to see whether you really trusted him and came to him every day and prayed when you needed anything, you have run away, no longer prayed, and quite forgotten him.

"But, you see, when one does so, and the dear Lord no longer hears his voice in prayer, he forgets him, too, and lets him go whither he will. But when one is in trouble and complains, 'There is no one to help me!' we feel no pity for him, but say: 'You yourself ran away from the dear Lord, who could have helped you!' Do you want it to be so, Heidi, or will you go right away to the dear Lord and ask his forgiveness for having turned away from him, and then pray every day, and trust him so that everything will be made right for you, and you may have a happy heart again?"

Heidi had listened very attentively; every word of the grandmamma had gone to her heart, for the child had perfect confidence in her.

​"I will go now, right away, and ask God to forgive me, and I will never forget him again," said Heidi penitently.

"That is right, my child; he will help you at the right time, only be trustful!" said the grandmamma encouragingly; and Heidi ran away to her room at once and prayed earnestly and penitently to the dear Lord, and asked him not to forget her, but to look down upon her again.

The day for the grandmamma's departure had come, and it was a sad day for Klara and Heidi; but the grandmamma managed it so that they were not aware that it was a sad day, but rather a festival, until she went away in the carriage. Then the house seemed as empty and still as if everything had come to an end, and throughout the rest of the day Klara and Heidi sat as if lost, and did not know what would happen next.

The next day when the lessons were over, and it was time for the children to sit together as usual, Heidi came in with her book under her arm and said:—

"I am always, always going to read aloud to you; would you like to have me, Klara?"

Klara agreed to this proposal, and Heidi made haste to begin her task. But it was not long before it all came to an end, for Heidi had scarcely begun to read a story, which told about a dying grandmother, than she suddenly screamed aloud:—

"Oh, now the grandmother is dead!" She burst into pitiful weeping, for everything that Heidi read ​was to her actually taking place, and she believed nothing else than that the grandmother on the Alm was dead; so she cried louder and louder:—

"Now the grandmother is dead and I can never go to her, and she has never had a single roll!"

Klara tried to explain to Heidi that it was not the grandmother on the Alm, but an entirely different one, whom the story was telling about; but even when this mistake was finally made clear to the excited Heidi, she could not calm herself, and went on crying inconsolably, for the thought had been awakened in her mind that the grandmother really might die, and her grandfather too, while she was so far away, and then if she should go home after a long time, it would be so still and lifeless on the Alm, and she would be all alone, and could never again see those who were dear to her.

In the mean time Fräulein Rottenmeier had come into the room and heard Klara's attempt to explain Heidi's mistake. But when the child still could not stop sobbing, she went with evident signs of impatience toward the children and said in a decided voice:—

"Adelheid, we have had enough of your useless screaming! I want to tell you something; if you ever again, while you are reading your stories, give vent to such an outbreak, I will take the book away from you and not return it."

This made an impression. Heidi turned pale with fright. The book was her dearest treasure. She hastily dried her tears and swallowed and choked down her sobs with all her might, so that no further sound ​was heard from her. This means took effect. Heidi did not cry again, no matter what she read; but many a time she had to make such an effort to control herself and not scream out, that Klara often said, quite surprised:—

"Heidi, you are making the most frightful faces I ever saw!"

But the faces made no sound and did not offend Dame Rottenmeier, and when Heidi had overcome her attack of desperate sadness everything went on in the old way and passed along quietly. But Heidi lost her appetite and was so thin and pale that Sebastian could hardly bear to look on and see how the child let the nicest dishes pass by untouched. He often whispered to her encouragingly when he passed her something:—

"Take some of it, Mamsell, it is fine. Not such a little! A good spoonful, and another!" But his fatherly advice did no good. Heidi ate almost nothing at all, and at night when she lay down on her pillow everything at home instantly came before her eyes, and then, out of homesickness, she wept in her pillow very softly, so that no one might hear her.

A long time passed in this way. Heidi scarcely knew whether it was summer or winter, for the walls. and windows, which were the only things to be seen from the Sesemann house, always looked the same, and she went out only when Klara was particularly well, and could be taken for a drive in the carriage; and this was always very short, for Klara could not ​bear to go far. So they seldom went beyond walls and pavements, but usually turned round before they reached the suburbs; so that all they saw was beautiful wide streets, where plenty of houses and people were to be seen, but no grass and flowers, no fir trees, and no mountains; and Heidi's longing for a glimpse of the beautiful things she had been accustomed to increased every day. Now the mere name of one of these suggestive words was enough to cause an outbreak of pain, and Heidi had to struggle against it with all her might.

Thus passed the autumn and winter; and the sun had already become so dazzling on the white walls of the houses opposite that Heidi surmised the time was drawing near for Peter to drive the goats up on the Alm again, and the golden rock-roses would be glistening in the sunshine, and every evening all the mountains round would be on fire. Heidi would sit down in a corner of her lonely room and put both hands over her eyes, so that she might not see the sunlight on the walls opposite; and thus she would sit without stirring, silently fighting against her burning homesickness, until Klara called for her again.