Heidi (1899)/Part 2/Chapter 1

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The kind doctor, who had decided that the child Heidi must be taken back to her mountain home, was just passing along the broad street toward the Sesemann house. It was a sunny September morning, so bright and lovely that it might be supposed that every one must delight in it. But the doctor was gazing at the white stones at his feet, and did not notice the blue sky above him. In his face there was a sadness which had never appeared there before, and his hair had grown much grayer since the spring.

The doctor's only daughter, after his wife's death, had been very near to him and the joy of his life. Some months before, the blooming maiden had been taken away from him by death. Since then the doctor had never seemed so jovial as before.

In answer to the bell Sebastian opened the door with great civility, and, when he saw who it was, gave every sign of being a most devoted servant; for not only was the doctor the best friend of his master and his little daughter, but by his kindness, here as everywhere, he had also won the good will of the entire household.

"Is everything as usual, Sebastian?" asked the doctor in his customary friendly voice, and went up ​the stairs followed by Sebastian, who kept on making all sorts of signs of devotion, although the doctor could not see them.

"I am glad you have come, doctor," Herr Sesemann called out. "We must once more seriously consider the journey to Switzerland; I must hear from you whether you still abide by your decision even now that Klara seems to be better."

"My dear Sesemann, what is the matter with you?" replied the doctor, taking a seat beside his friend. "I really wish your mother was here; with her everything would be plain and simple. But there's no bringing you to reason. This is the third time you have sent for me to-day, although I keep telling you the same thing."

"Yes, you are right; the matter must make you impatient, but I want you to understand, my dear friend," and Herr Sesemann laid his hand entreatingly on the doctor's shoulder, "that it will be far too hard for me to deny the child what I promised her so faithfully, and what has made her so happy day and night for the past months. Besides, the child has borne all these last bad days so patiently, always hoping that the Swiss journey was near at hand, and that she would be able to visit her friend Heidi in the Alps; and now, after the child has had so much to bear, shall I with one blow crush the long-cherished hope? It is almost impossible for me to do so."

"Sesemann, it must be," said the doctor very decidedly; and as his friend was silent and sat looking very ​downcast, he went on after a time to say: "Think how the matter stands. Klara has not for years had so bad a summer as this last has been; there is no question about it she could not take such a long journey without danger of the worst consequences. It is now September; it may still be fine up on the Alps, but it must be already very cool there. The days are now growing short, and as Klara could not stay overnight on the mountain she would have hardly two hours there. The journey from Ragatz would take several hours, for she would most decidedly have to be carried up the mountain in a chair. In short, Sesemann, it cannot be! But I will go in with you and talk with Klara about it; she is a sensible girl, and I will tell her my plan. Next May she shall first go to Ragatz; there she shall take the baths for a long time, until it is warm and pleasant up on the mountains. Then she can be taken up there from time to time, and when she is refreshed and strengthened she will enjoy these mountain excursions far more than she would now. You understand also, Sesemann, that if we wish to cherish a slight hope for your child's recovery, we must use the greatest care and the most cautious treatment."

Herr Sesemann, who had listened silently and with an expression of sad submission, now sprang to his feet.

"Doctor, tell me honestly," he exclaimed; "have you really any hope for an improvement in her condition?"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

​"Little," he said in a low voice. "But come, think for a moment of me, friend! Have you not a dear child who longs for you when you are away, and is delighted when you come home? You never have to return to a desolate house and sit down to a solitary table, and your child is well off at home. Although she has to be deprived of much that others might enjoy, still she is, in some respects, more highly favored than a great many. No, Sesemann, you are not so much to be pitied; you are fortunate to be together; think of my lonely house!"

Herr Sesemann began to stride up and down the room, as he was in the habit of doing whenever he was deeply absorbed in any matter. Suddenly he stood still in front of his friend and clapped him on the shoulders.

"Doctor, I have an idea; I cannot see you like this; you are no longer the same. You must get out of yourself a little; and do you know how? You shall undertake the journey and visit the child Heidi in our place."

The doctor was very much surprised at this proposal and would have objected to it, but Herr Sesemann gave him no time. He was so delighted and filled with his new idea, that he seized his friend by the arm and led him to his daughter's room. The doctor was always a delightful sight to sick Klara, for he treated her with great friendliness, and every time he came he had something lively and entertaining to tell her. She knew well why he could do so no longer, and she wished she could make him happy again.

​She held out her hand to him; and he sat down beside her. Herr Sesemann also moved up his chair, and, taking Klara's hand, began to talk about the journey to Switzerland, and how much pleasure he himself had taken in looking forward to it. He glided quickly over the most important fact, that it was now out of the question, for he was somewhat afraid of the tears

that would be sure to come. He then passed on to the new plan and impressed Klara with the fact that her dear friend would derive great benefit by taking this journey.

The tears indeed came and swam in Klara's blue eyes, although she tried her best to keep them back, for she knew how her papa disliked to see her cry. But it was hard to have it ended when all summer the prospect of this visit to Heidi had been her only joy ​and comfort during the long, lonely hours which she had endured. Klara was not in the habit of arguing, and she knew very well that her papa was denying her only what would lead to ill, and therefore ought not to be. She choked down her sobs and took refuge in the only hope remaining. She seized her good friend's hand, stroked it, and said entreatingly:—

"Oh, please, doctor, you will go to Heidi, won't you? and then come and tell me about everything up there, and what Heidi is doing, and her grandfather and Peter and the goats; I know them all so well. And then you must take what I want to send to Heidi; I have thought it all out; and something for the grandmother, too. Please, doctor, do go; and while you are gone I will truly take all the cod-liver oil you prescribe."

Whether this promise decided the matter or not we do not know, but suppose it must be so, for the doctor smiled and said:—

"Then I must certainly go, Klärchen, for you will grow round and strong as papa and I would like to have you. When must I start? Have you decided that, too?"

"Certainly; to-morrow early, doctor," replied Klara.

"Yes, she is right," said her father; "the sun is shining, the sky is blue, and no time is to be lost, for it is a shame not to be enjoying such a day in the Alps."

The doctor had to laugh.

"Next thing you will be reproaching me for not being there already, Sesemann, so I shall do well to get away."

​But Klara held the doctor fast; she had first to give him all sorts of messages for Heidi and to remind him of so many things which he must notice and then tell her about. The things she wished to send to Heidi would be taken to him later, for Fräulein Rottenmeier would have to help pack them; she had just gone on one of her walks about the city, and was not likely to return very soon.

The doctor promised to carry out all her directions, to start on the journey as soon as possible, and to give her a faithful account of everything he should see and do. Servants often have a wonderful faculty of finding out, long before they have been told, what is going on in their master's house. Sebastian and Tinette must have possessed this faculty in a high degree, for just as the doctor, followed by Sebastian, was going down the stairs Tinette entered Klara's room.

"Bring me this box full of perfectly fresh, nice cakes, such as we have with our coffee, Tinette," said Klara, pointing to a box which had been standing ready for some time. Tinette seized it by one corner and swung it disdainfully in her hand; after she had closed the door she said pertly:—

"It's well worth while."

When Sebastian had opened the front door with his usual politeness, he said with a bow:—

"If the doctor would be so kind as to give the little Mamsell Sebastian's regards."

"Oh, Sebastian," said the doctor pleasantly, "do you know so soon that I am going away?"

​Sebastian was obliged to cough.

"I am—I have—I don't know certainly—oh, yes, I remember, as I happened to be passing through the dining-room just now I heard the little Mamsell's name mentioned; it often happens that we put one thought and another together, and so—and in that way"—

"Yes, indeed! yes, indeed!" said the doctor, laughing, "and the more thoughts one has, the more one knows. Good-bye, Sebastian, I will deliver your message."

The doctor was just about to pass through the open door when he met a hindrance; the strong wind had prevented Fräulein Rottenmeier from continuing her walk; she had returned and was just entering the door. The wind puffed out the big shawl in which she had wrapped herself; she looked exactly as if she was under full sail. The doctor started back instantly. Fräulein Rottenmeier had always shown a strange deference and politeness toward this man. She, too, started back with marked affability, and for a time they both stood there, bowing and making room for each other. Then came such a strong gust of wind that Fräulein Rottenmeier was suddenly blown with full sail against the doctor. He was still able to turn aside, but the lady was driven a good piece beyond him, so that she had to turn around again in order to speak with propriety to the friend of the house. The absurd occurrence had put her somewhat out of sorts, but the doctor had a way which soon smoothed her ruffled temper and put her into good humor. He told her about his intended ​journey and begged her, in the most taking way, to pack the things for Heidi, as only she knew how to pack them. Then he took his departure.

Klara expected to have a struggle with Fräulein Rottenmeier before she would give her consent to send away all the things that Klara had intended for Heidi. But this time she was happily disappointed; Fräulein Rottenmeier was unusually good-natured. She immediately removed everything on the large table, in order to spread out on it all the articles that Klara had put together, and to pack them before her eyes. This was no easy task, the things to be done up together being of such different shapes. First came the thick cloak with the hood, which Klara meant for Heidi, that she might be able to visit the grandmother the coming winter whenever she liked, and not have to wait for her grandfather and be wrapped in the sack to keep from freezing. Next came a thick, warm shawl for the old grandmother, to wrap around her when the cold wind shook the hut. Then came the big box of cakes, also intended for the grandmother, that she might have something different from rolls to eat with her coffee. A huge sausage followed; Klara had first intended this for Peter, because he never had anything but bread and cheese. But she changed her mind, fearing lest Peter in his delight should eat the whole sausage at once. So his mother Brigitte was to have it and first take a good share of it for herself and for the grandmother, and then give Peter his portion at different times. Then there was a little bag of tobacco; this was for the ​grandfather, who liked so well to smoke his pipe when he sat in front of the hut in the evening. Last came a number of mysterious little bags, packages, and boxes, which Klara had taken special delight in collecting, for Heidi was to find in them all sorts of surprises which would give her great pleasure. At last the work was finished, and an imposing package lay on the floor ready for the journey. Fräulein Rottenmeier, looking down on it, became absorbed in thoughtful contemplation of the art of packing. Klara, for her part, cast looks of glad anticipation toward it, for she saw Heidi before her as she would jump and shout with surprise when the huge bundle reached her.

Sebastian then came in, and swung the bundle up on his shoulder, in order to take it at once to the doctor's house.