Heidi (1899)/Part 1/Chapter 5

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Quickly passed the winter, and still more quickly the merry summer following; and a new winter was already drawing to an end. Heidi was as happy and contented as the birds of the air, and rejoiced more and more every day in the approaching spring, when the warm south wind would blow through the fir trees and drive away the snow; then the bright sunshine would call forth the blue and yellow flowers, and the days in the pasture would come again—days which to Heidi brought the greatest pleasure that earth could give.

Heidi was now in her eighth year; she had learned all sorts of handiwork from her grandfather. She could go around with the goats as if she were one of them, and Schwänli and Bärli followed her like trusty dogs, bleating loudly for joy if they merely heard her voice.

This winter Peter had already brought word twice from the school-teacher in Dörfli that the Alm-Uncle ought to send the child living with him to school, for she was more than old enough and should have gone the winter before. The uncle had sent word back to the school-teacher both times that if he wanted anything of him he would find him at home, but that he should ​not send the child to school. This message Peter had faithfully delivered.

When the March sun had melted the snow on the slopes, and the snowdrops were in bloom everywhere

in the valley, when the fir trees on the Alm had shaken off their burden of snow, and their branches again waved merrily—then Heidi in her delight kept running back and forth from the house to the goat-shed, and from the goat-shed to the fir trees, and then into the hut to her grandfather to tell him how much larger the ​piece of green ground had grown under the trees. Then she would immediately run back to look again, for she could not wait until everything should be green once more, and the lovely summer with its verdure and bloom return to the mountain.

One sunny March morning, when Heidi was running back and forth in this way, and was jumping over the threshold for about the tenth time, she nearly fell backwards into the house from fright; for suddenly there appeared before her an old man all in black, who looked at her very earnestly. But when he saw how startled she was, he said kindly:—

"You must not be afraid of me; I love children. Give me your hand! You must be Heidi; where is your grandfather?"

"He is sitting at the table, carving round spoons out of wood," replied Heidi, opening the door.

It was the old pastor from Dörffi, who had known the uncle well years before, when he still lived in the valley and was one of his neighbors. He stepped into the hut, went up to the old man, who was bending over his wood-carving, and said:—

"Good-morning, neighbor!"

The grandfather looked up in surprise; the next instant he rose and replied:—

"Good-morning, pastor." Then he offered him his stool, saying: "If the pastor does not object to a wooden seat, here is one."

The pastor sat down. After a moment he said:—

"I have not seen you for a long time, neighbor."

​"Nor have I seen you, pastor," was the answer.

"I come to-day to talk with you about something," continued the pastor. "I think you already know what the matter is which I am going to speak about, and I want to hear what your intention is." The pastor remained silent and looked at the child, standing in the doorway and attentively watching the new apparition.

"Heidi, go out to the goats," said the grandfather. "You may take a little salt along and stay with them until I come."

Heidi immediately disappeared.

"The child should have been sent to school a year ago, and she certainly ought to have gone this winter," said the pastor; "the teacher has sent you word about it, but you have made no reply. What do you intend to do with her, neighbor?"

"I do not intend to send her to school," was the answer.

The pastor looked in surprise at the old man as he sat with folded arms on his bench and looked very determined.

"What are you going to make of the child?" then asked the pastor.

"Nothing; she grows and thrives with the goats and the birds; she is well enough with them, and she learns no harm from them."

"But the child is neither a goat nor a bird; she is a human being. If she learns no harm from such companions, neither does she learn anything else; she ought ​to learn something, and the time for it has arrived. I have come to tell you now, neighbor, so that you may be able to think it over and make your arrangements during the summer. This is the last winter that the child can spend without any instruction; next winter she must go to school, and every day."

"I shall not do it, pastor," said the old man decidedly.

"Do you really suppose, then, that there is no means of bringing you to terms if you will persist so obstinately in your unreasonable behavior?" said the pastor somewhat warmly. "You have been about the world a great deal and have had an opportunity to see and learn much, and I should give you credit for better sense, neighbor."

"Indeed!" said the old man; and his voice showed that he was no longer so perfectly calm in his mind; "and does the pastor suppose that I would really send a delicate child next winter on icy mornings through storm and snow down the mountain, a two hours' journey, and let her come back again at night, when it often blusters and rages so that any one of us would be lost in the wind and snow, and she only a little child? Possibly the pastor can recall her mother, Adelheid; she used to walk in her sleep and have ill turns. Shall the child, too, be made to suffer from such a struggle? Just let any one come and try to compel me! I will go into every court with her, and then we shall see who is going to compel me!"

"You are quite right, neighbor," said the pastor with ​friendliness; "it would not be possible to send the child from here to school. But I can see that she is dear to you; for her sake do what you ought to have done long ago; come down into Dörfli and live once more with human beings. What kind of a life is this up here, alone and embittered toward God and man? If anything should happen to you up here, who would help you? I cannot understand in the least why you are not half frozen all winter long in your hut, and how can the delicate child endure it?"

"The child has young blood and good shelter; that I can assure you, pastor. Moreover, I know where there is wood, and also when it is a good time to get it; the pastor ought to look into my shed; there is enough there so that the fire in my hut never goes out all winter long. It is not for me to go down into the valley as the pastor suggests; the people down there despise me and I despise them, so it is better for both that we remain apart."

"No, no; it is not good for you; I know what the trouble is," said the pastor earnestly. "As to the people scorning you down in the valley, it is not so bad. Believe me, neighbor, seek to make peace with your God; ask for his pardon if you have done any wrong, and then come and see how differently the people regard you, and how well it can still be with you."

The pastor rose, held out his hand to the old man, and said again with heartiness:—

"I count upon it, neighbor, that next winter you are to come down with us, for we are good old friends. ​I should feel very sorry if you had to be forced; give me your hand on it that you will come down and live among us again, reconciled to God and man."

The Alm-Uncle gave his hand to the pastor, but said firmly and decidedly:—

"The pastor means well toward me, but I cannot do what he expects; that I tell him surely and finally. I shall not send the child, neither shall I come down myself."

"Then God help you!" said the pastor, and went sadly out of the hut and down the mountain.

The Alm-Uncle was out of sorts. In the afternoon when Heidi said, "Now let us go to the grandmother's," he replied curtly: "Not to-day."

He did not speak again all day, and on the following morning when Heidi asked, "Are we going to the grandmother's to-day?" he still answered shortly and merely said: "We shall see."

Before the bowls had been put away after dinner another visitor came to the door. It was Aunt Dete. She had on her head a fine hat with a feather in it, and a dress which swept up everything on the floor, and in the hut lay all sorts of things which would not improve a dress.

The uncle looked at her from top to toe and said not a word. But Aunt Dete had a very friendly speech in her mind, for she immediately began to flatter him by saying that Heidi was looking so well that she hardly recognized her, and that it was plain to be seen that she had not fared ill with her grandfather. She had ​really always intended to take her away again, for she understood very well that the little one must be a trouble to him, but never at any time before had she been able to find a place for her. But day and night she had wondered how she could provide for the child, and to-day she had come because she had suddenly heard of something which would be such good luck to Heidi that she could hardly believe it. She had gone at once to see about the matter, and now she could say it was as good as settled, and not one in a hundred thousand was so fortunate as Heidi.

"Some very wealthy relatives of my mistress, who live in almost the finest house in all Frankfurt, have an only daughter who is obliged to sit all the time in a wheel chair, because she is lame and not well in other ways. So she is almost always alone and obliged to study alone with a teacher, which is very dull for her; and, besides, she would like to have a playmate in the house."

This had been spoken about at her employer's house, and her mistress, who felt great sympathy for the little invalid, was anxious to find such a companion as the housekeeper described.

The housekeeper had said she wanted an unspoiled child, not like those seen every day. Then Aunt Dete had at once thought of Heidi and hastened immediately to tell her all about the child and her character; and the lady engaged to have her come. "It was impossible to tell what good fortune was before Heidi, for when she was once there, if she pleased the people, and something might possibly happen to the only daughter— ​there was no knowing, she was so sickly and if the people should not care to be left without any child, the most unheard-of good luck might"—

"Will you ever finish?" interrupted the uncle, who had not said a word all this time.

"Bah," retorted Dete, tossing her head. "You act exactly as if I had told you the most ordinary thing in the world, and there is n't a single person throughout all Prättigau who would n't thank God in Heaven if I brought such news to them as I have brought to you."

"Take it to any one you like; I will have none of it," said the uncle bluntly.

Dete went off like a rocket and said:—

"Well, if that is what you think about it, uncle, I will tell you what I think; the child is now eight years old and can do nothing and knows nothing, and you will not let her learn anything. You will not send her to school nor to church; that they told me down in Dörfli; and she is my own sister's child. I have to answer for what happens to her; and when a child can have such good fortune as Heidi, there can only be one person to prevent, and that one who cares for nobody and wishes nobody any good. But I won't give in; that I can tell you; and the people are all in my favor; there is n't a single person down in Dörfli who will not help me, and is not against you; so take heed if you don't care to be brought before the court, uncle; there are things that might be brought up which you would not like to hear, for when a man once gets into court many things are hunted up that he has forgotten all about."

​"Silence!" roared the uncle; and his eyes blazed like fire. Take her and be gone! Never bring her into my sight again. I never want to see her with feathers in her hat and words in her mouth such as you have spoken to-day!"

The uncle strode out of the house.

You have made my grandfather angry," said Heidi; and her black eyes snapped at her aunt in no friendly way.

"He will soon be all right again. Now come," urged the aunt; "where are your clothes?"

"I will not come," said Heidi.

"What do you say?" continued the aunt; then she somewhat changed her tone of voice and went on in a half friendly, half annoyed way:—

"Come, come along, you don't know any better; you can't imagine what a good time you will have." She went to the cupboard, took out Heidi's things and put them together.

"Now come, take your little hat, it does n't look very well, but it will do for once; put it on and make haste to come along."

"I shall not come," answered Heidi.

"Don't be so foolish and stubborn, like the goats; you must have learned it from them. Listen to me; your grandfather is angry; you have just heard him say that we must never come into his sight again; he wants you to go with me now, and you must not make him more angry. You have n't the least idea how lovely it is in Frankfurt, and how many things you will see ​there; and if you don't like it you can come back here; then the grandfather will be good-natured again."

"Can I turn right round and come back again to-night?"

"Oh, come along! I tell you, you can come home if you want to. To-day we will go as far as Mayenfeld, and to-morrow morning early we will get into the train, and in that you can get home again in no time; it's like flying."

Aunt Dete took the bundle of clothes on her arm, and Heidi by the hand, and they started down the mountain.

As it was not yet time to go to the pasture, Peter still went to school down in Dörfli, or was supposed to go there; but he took a holiday now and then, for he thought it was of no use to go to school; reading was not necessary, but a little wandering about and looking for large rods was profitable because he could make use of them. So he was just coming toward his hut from the farther side with a visible result of that day's efforts in a huge long bundle of thick hazel rods which he carried on his shoulder. He stood still and stared at the two approaching figures until they reached him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I am hurrying to Frankfurt with my aunt," replied Heidi; "but I will first go in to see the grandmother, for she is expecting me."

"No, no; no talking, it is already too late," said the aunt hastily, and holding the struggling Heidi fast by the hand; "you can see her when you come back; so come along!"

​Whereupon the aunt dragged Heidi off with her and did not let go, for she was afraid if she went in the child might refuse to go away, and that the grandmother might take her part. Peter ran into the hut and beat on the table with his whole bundle of rods, making such a frightful noise that the whole house trembled; the grandmother sprang up from her spinning wheel in alarm and cried out aloud. Peter had to give vent to his feelings.

"What is the matter? What is the matter?" cried the grandmother with great concern; and the mother, who had been sitting by the table and was almost startled out of her wits by the noise, said in her naturally patient way:—

"What is the matter, Peterli? What makes you so wild?"

"Because she has taken Heidi away with her," explained Peter.

"Who? who? Where, Peterli, where?" asked the grandmother with new concern; she quickly guessed what had happened, for her daughter had told her a short time before that she had seen Dete go up to the Alm-Uncle's. All trembling in her haste, the grandmother opened the window and called out beseechingly:—

"Dete, Dete, don't take the child away from us! Don't take Heidi away from us!"

The two travelers heard the voice, and Dete must have surmised what she said, for she took hold of the child more firmly than ever and ran as fast as she could. Heidi resisted and said:—

​"The grandmother is calling; I want to go to her."

But the aunt would not allow it and pacified the child by telling her that they must hurry in order not to be too late, and that the next morning they could travel farther and she could then see whether it pleased her well enough in Frankfurt to be willing to stay there. If she wanted to come back home again, she could do so at once; and then she could bring something to the grandmother which would delight her. This prospect pleased Heidi. She began to hurry without further objection.

"What can I bring home to the grandmother?" she asked after a while.

"Something good," said the aunt; "some lovely, soft white rolls that will please her; for she can hardly eat the hard black bread any longer."

"Yes; she always gives it back to Peter and says: It is too hard for me.' I have seen that myself," stated Heidi. "So let us go fast, Aunt Dete; then, perhaps, we shall reach Frankfurt to-day, so that I can soon be back again with the rolls."

Heidi then began to run so fast that Dete, with her bundle in her arms, could hardly keep up with her. But she was very glad that she went so swiftly; for they were coming to the first houses in Dörfli, and there everybody would make remarks and ask questions, which might set Heidi to thinking again. So she hurried straight through, and the child pulled so hard at her hand that all the people could see that she was ​obliged to hasten to please the child. So she merely replied to those who questioned and called to her from every door and window:—

"You see I can't stop now, for the child is in a hurry, and we have still far to go."

"Are you taking her away? Is she running away from the Alm-Uncle? It's only a wonder that she is still alive! And yet what rosy cheeks she has!"

Such remarks as these came from every side; and Dete was glad that she came through the place without delay and without being obliged to make any explanation, and also that Heidi said never a word, but only pushed on in the greatest haste.

From that day on the Alm-Uncle looked more ill-natured than ever when he came down and passed through Dörffi. He spoke to no one; and with his cheese basket on his back, his enormous staff in his hand, and his thick, contracted brows, he looked so menacing that the women said to the little children:—

"Take care! Get out of the Alm-Uncle's way or he may hurt you!"

The old man had nothing to do with any one in Dörfli, but went through there far down into the valley, where he sold his cheeses and procured his supply of bread and meat. When he passed along through Dörfli the people all stood in groups behind him, and every one knew some strange thing about the Alm-Uncle; how he grew more wild-looking, and no longer even so much as greeted any one. All were agreed that it was fortunate that the child was able to escape; for they ​had seen how she hurried away as if she were afraid the old man was coming after her to bring her back.

The blind grandmother was the only one who stood by the Alm-Uncle; and she always told every one who came up to her house, to bring spinning or to get yarn, how good and care-taking he had been to the child, and what he had done for her and her daughter; how many afternoons he had worked about their little house, which would surely have tumbled to pieces without his help. So this information also reached Dörfli; but most people who heard it said that perhaps the grandmother was too old to understand rightly about it; for she could no longer hear well, while she could not see at all.

The Alm-Uncle showed himself no longer at Peter's hut; it was a good thing that it had been so well repaired, for it remained for a long time untouched.

The blind grandmother now began the day with sighs, and not one passed that she did not say sorrowfully:—

"Ah! with the child all joy and good have been taken away from us, and the days are so empty! If I could only hear Heidi's voice once more before I die!"