Books: Heidi

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"Well, could you tell Clara about it?"

"Oh, no, I cannot tell any one," said Heidi in so positive a
tone, and with a look of such trouble on her face, that the
grandmother felt full of pity for the child.

"Then, dear child, let me tell you what to do: you know that
when we are in great trouble, and cannot speak about it to
anybody, we must turn to God and pray Him to help, for He can
deliver us from every care, that oppresses us. You understand
that, do you not? You say your prayers every evening to the dear
God in Heaven, and thank Him for all He has done for you, and
pray Him to keep you from all evil, do you not?"

"No, I never say any prayers," answered Heidi.

"Have you never been taught to pray, Heidi; do you not know even
what it means?"

"I used to say prayers with the first grandmother, but that is a
long time ago, and I have forgotten them."

"That is the reason, Heidi, that you are so unhappy, because you
know no one who can help you. Think what a comfort it is when
the heart is heavy with grief to be able at any moment to go and
tell everything to God, and pray Him for the help that no one
else can give us. And He can help us and give us everything that
will make us happy again."

A sudden gleam of joy came into Heidi's eyes. "May I tell Him
everything, everything?"

"Yes, everything, Heidi, everything."

Heidi drew her hand away, which the grandmother was holding
affectionately between her own, and said quickly, "May I go?"

"Yes, of course," was the answer, and Heidi ran out of the room
into her own, and sitting herself on a stool, folded her hands
together and told God about everything that was making her so
sad and unhappy, and begged Him earnestly to help her and to let
her go home to her grandfather.

It was about a week after this that the tutor asked Frau
Sesemann's permission for an interview with her, as he wished to
inform her of a remarkable thing that had come to pass. So she
invited him to her room, and as he entered she held out her hand
in greeting, and pushing a chair towards him, "I am pleased to
see you," she said, "pray sit down and tell me what brings you
here; nothing bad, no complaints, I hope?"

"Quite the reverse," began the tutor. "Something has happened
that I had given up hoping for, and which no one, knowing what
has gone before, could have guessed, for, according to all
expectations, that which has taken place could only be looked
upon as a miracle, and yet it really has come to pass and in the
most extraordinary manner, quite contrary to all that one could
anticipate--"

"Has the child Heidi really learnt to read at last?" put in Frau
Sesemann.

The tutor looked at the lady in speechless astonishment. At last
he spoke again. "It is indeed truly marvellous, not only because
she never seemed able to learn her A B C even after all my full
explanations, and after spending unusual pains upon her, but
because now she has learnt it so rapidly, just after I had made
up my mind to make no further attempts at the impossible but to
put the letters as they were before her without any dissertation
on their origin and meaning, and now she has as you might say
learnt her letters over night, and started at once to read
correctly, quite unlike most beginners. And it is almost as
astonishing to me that you should have guessed such an unlikely
thing."

"Many unlikely things happen in life," said Frau Sesemann with a
pleased smile. "Two things coming together may produce a happy
result, as for instance, a fresh zeal for learning and a new
method of teaching, and neither does any harm. We can but
rejoice that the child has made such a good start and hope for
her future progress."

After parting with the tutor she went down to the study to make
sure of the good news. There sure enough was Heidi, sitting
beside Clara and reading aloud to her, evidently herself very
much surprised, and growing more and more delighted with the new
world that was now open to her as the black letters grew alive
and turned into men and things and exciting stories. That same
evening Heidi found the large book with the beautiful pictures
lying on her plate when she took her place at table, and when
she looked questioningly at the grandmother, the latter nodded
kindly to her and said, "Yes, it's yours now."

"Mine, to keep always? even when I go home?" said, Heidi,
blushing with pleasure.

"Yes, of course, yours for ever," the grandmother assured her.
"To-morrow we will begin to read it."

"But you are not going home yet, Heidi, not for years," put in
Clara. "When grandmother goes away, I shall want you to stay on
with me."

When, Heidi went to her room that night she had another look at
her book before going to bed, and from that day forth her chief
pleasure was to read the tales which belonged to the beautiful
pictures over and over again. If the grandmother said, as they
were sitting together in the evening, "Now Heidi will read aloud
to us," Heidi was delighted, for reading was no trouble to her
now, and when she read the tales aloud the scenes seemed to grow
more beautiful and distinct, and then grandmother would explain
and tell her more about them still.

Still the picture she liked best was the one of the shepherd
leaning on his staff with his flock around him in the midst of
the green pasture, for he was now at home and happy, following
his father's sheep and goats. Then came the picture where he was
seen far away from his father's house, obliged to look after the
swine, and he had grown pale and thin from the husks which were
all he had to eat. Even the sun seemed here to be less bright
and everything looked grey and misty. But there was the third
picture still to this tale: here was the old father with
outstretched arms running to meet and embrace his returning and
repentant son, who was advancing timidly, worn out and emaciated
and clad in a ragged coat. That was Heidi's favorite tale, which
she read over and over again, aloud and to herself, and she was
never tired of hearing the grandmother explain it to her and
Clara. But there were other tales in the book besides, and what
with reading and looking at the pictures the days passed quickly
away, and the time drew near for the grandmother to return home.

CHAPTER XI. HEIDI GAINS IN ONE WAY AND LOSES IN ANOTHER

Every afternoon during her visit the grandmother went and sat
down for a few minutes beside Clara after dinner, when the
latter was resting, and Fraulein Rottenmeier, probably for the
same reason, had disappeared inside her room; but five minutes
sufficed her, and then she was up again, and Heidi was sent for
to her room, and there she would talk to the child and employ
and amuse her in all sorts of ways. The grandmother had a lot of
pretty dolls, and she showed Heidi how to make dresses and
pinafores for them, so that Heidi learnt how to sew and to make
all sorts of beautiful clothes for the little people out of a
wonderful collection of pieces that grandmother had by her of
every describable and lovely color. And then grandmother liked
to hear her read aloud, and the oftener Heidi read her tales the
fonder she grew of them. She entered into the lives of all the
people she read about so that they became like dear friends to
her, and it delighted her more and more to be with them. But
still Heidi never looked really happy, and her bright eyes were
no longer to be seen. It was the last week of the grandmother's
visit. She called Heidi into her room as usual one day after
dinner, and the child came with her book under her arm. The
grandmother called her to come close, and then laying the book
aside, said, "Now, child, tell me why you are not happy? Have
you still the same trouble at heart?"

Heidi nodded in reply.

"Have you told God about it?"

"Yes."

"And do you pray every day that He will make things right and
that you may be happy again?"

"No, I have left off praying."

"Do not tell me that, Heidi! Why have you left off praying?"

"It is of no use, God does not listen," Heidi went on in an
agitated voice, "and I can understand that when there are so
many, many people in Frankfurt praying to Him every evening that
He cannot attend to them all, and He certainly has not heard
what I said to Him."

"And why are you so sure of that, Heidi?"

"Because I have prayed for the same thing every day for weeks,
and yet God has not done what I asked."

"You are wrong, Heidi; you must not think of Him like that. God
is a good father to us all, and knows better than we do what is
good for us. If we ask Him for something that is not good for
us, He does not give it, but something better still, if only we
will continue to pray earnestly and do not run away and lose our
trust in Him. God did not think what you have been praying for
was good for you just now; but be sure He heard you, for He can
hear and see every one at the same time, because He is a God and
not a human being like you and me. And because He thought it was
better for you not to have at once what you wanted, He said to
Himself: Yes, Heidi shall have what she asks for, but not until
the right time comes, so that she may be quite happy. If I do
what she wants now, and then one day she sees that it would have
been better for her not to have had her own way, she will cry and
say, 'If only God had not given me what I asked for! it is not so
good as I expected!' And while God is watching over you, and
looking to see if you will trust Him and go on praying to Him
every day, and turn to Him for everything you want, you run away
and leave off saying your prayers, and forget all about Him. And
when God no longer hears the voice of one He knew among those who
pray to Him, He lets that person go his own way, that he may
learn how foolish he is. And then this one gets into trouble, and
cries, 'Save me, God, for there is none other to help me,' and
God says, 'Why did you go from Me; I could not help you when you
ran away.' And you would not like to grieve God, would you Heidi,
when He only wants to be kind to you? So will you not go and ask
Him to forgive you, and continue to pray and to trust Him, for
you may be sure that He will make everything right and happy for
you, and then you will be glad and lighthearted again."

Heidi had perfect confidence in the grandmother, and every word
she said sunk into her heart.

"I will go at once and ask God to forgive me, and I will never
forget Him again," she replied repentantly.

"That is right, dear child," and anxious to cheer her, added,
"Don't be unhappy, for He will do everything you wish in good
time."

And Heidi ran away and prayed that she might always remember
God, and that He would go on thinking about her.

The day came for grandmother's departure--a sad one for Clara
and Heidi. But the grandmother was determined to make it as much
like a holiday as possible and not to let them mope, and she kept
them so lively and amused that they had no time to think about
their sorrow at her going until she really drove away. Then the
house seemed so silent and empty that Heidi and Clara did not
know what to do with themselves, and sat during the remainder of
the day like two lost children.

The next day, when the hour came for Clara and Heidi to be
together, the latter walked in with her book and proposed that
she should go on reading aloud every afternoon to Clara, if the
latter liked it. Clara agreed, and thought anyhow it would be
nice for that day, so Heidi began with her usual enthusiasm. But
the reading did not last long, for Heidi had hardly begun a tale
about a dying grandmother before she cried out, "O! then
grandmother is dead!" and burst into tears; for everything she
read was so real to her that she quite thought it was the
grandmother at home who had died, and she kept on exclaiming as
her sobs increased, "She is dead, and I shall never see her
again, and she never had one of the white rolls!"

Clara did all she could to explain to Heidi that the story was
about quite a different grandmother; but even when at last she
had been able to convince Heidi of this, the latter continued to
weep inconsolably, for now she had awakened to the thought that
perhaps the grandmother, and even the grandfather also, might
die while she was so far away, and that if she did not go home
for a long time she would find everything there all silent and
dead, and there she would be all alone, and would never be able
to see the dear ones she loved any more.

Fraulein Rottenmeier had meanwhile come into the room, and Clara
explained to her what had happened. As Heidi continued her
weeping, the lady, who was evidently getting impatient with her,
went up to Heidi and said with decision, "Now, Adelaide, that is
enough of all this causeless lamentation. I will tell you once
for all, if there are any more scenes like this while you are
reading, I shall take the book away from you and shall not let
you have it again."

Her words had immediate effect on Heidi, who turned pale with
fear. The book was her one great treasure. She quickly dried her
tears and swallowed her sobs as best she could, so that no
further sound of them should be heard. The threat did its work,
for Heidi never cried aloud again whatever she might be reading,
but she had often to struggle hard to keep back her tears, so
that Clara would look at her and say,

"What faces you are making, Heidi, I never saw anything like
it!" But the faces made no noise and did not offend Fraulein
Rottenmeier, and Heidi, having overcome her fit of despairing
misery, would go quietly on for a while, and no one perceived
her sorrow. But she lost all her appetite, and looked so pale and
thin that Sebastian was quite unhappy when he looked at her, and
could not bear to see her refusing all the nice dishes he handed
her. He would whisper to her sometimes, in quite a kind,
fatherly manner, "Take a little; you don't know how nice it is!
There, a good spoonful, now another." But it was of no use, Heidi
hardly ate anything at all, and as soon as she laid her head down
at night the picture of home would rise before her eyes, and she
would weep, burying her face in the pillow that her crying might
not be heard.

And so many weeks passed away. Heidi did not know it is was
winter or summer, for the walls and windows she looked out upon
showed no change, and she never went beyond the house except on
rare occasions when Clara was well enough to drive out, and then
they only went a very little way, as Clara could not bear the
movement for long. So that on these occasions they generally
only saw more fine streets and large houses and crowds of people;
they seldom got anywhere beyond them, and grass and flowers, fir
trees and mountains, were still far away. Heidi's longing for the
old familiar and beautiful things grew daily stronger, so that
now only to read a word that recalled them to her remembrance
brought her to the verge of tears, which with difficulty she
suppressed. So the autumn and winter passed, and again the sun
came shining down on the white walls of the opposite houses, and
Heidi would think to herself that now the time had come for Peter
to go out again with the goats, to where the golden flowers of
the cistus were glowing in the sunlight, and all the rocks around
turned to fire at sunset. Heidi would go and sit in a corner of
her lonely room and put her hands up to her eyes that she might
not see the sun shining on the opposite wall; and then she would
remain without moving, battling silently with her terrible
homesickness until Clara sent for her again.

CHAPTER XII. A GHOST IN THE HOUSE

For some days past Fraulein Rottenmeier had gone about rather
silently and as if lost in thought. As twilight fell, and she
passed from room to room, or along the long corridors, she was
seen to look cautiously behind her, and into the dark corners,
as if she thought some one was coming silently behind her and
might unexpectedly give her dress a pull. Nor would she now go
alone into some parts of the house. If she visited the upper
floor where the grand guest-chambers were, or had to go down into
the large mysterious council-chamber, where every footstep
echoed, and the old senators with their big white collars looked
down so solemnly and immovably from their frames, she regularly
called Tinette to accompany her, in case, as she said, there
might be something to carry up or down. Tinette on her side did
exactly the same; if she had business upstairs or down, she
called Sebastian to accompany her, and there was always something
he must help her with which she could not carry alone. More
curious still, Sebastian, also, if sent into one of the more
distant rooms, always called John to go with him in case he
should want his assistance in bringing what was required. And
John readily obeyed, although there was never anything to carry,
and either might well have gone alone; but he did not know how
soon he might want to ask Sebastian to do the same service for
him. And while these things were going on upstairs, the cook, who
had been in the house for years, would stand shaking her head
over her pots and kettles, and sighing, "That ever I should live
to know such a thing."

For something very strange and mysterious was going on in Herr
Sesemann's house. Every morning, when the servants went
downstairs, they found the front door wide open, although nobody
could be seen far or near to account for it. During the first
few days that this happened every room and corner was searched in
great alarm, to see if anything had been stolen, for the general
idea was that a thief had been hiding in the house and had gone
off in the night with the stolen goods; but not a thing in the
house had been touched, everything was safe in its place. The
door was doubly locked at night, and for further security the
wooden bar was fastened across it; but it was no good--next
morning the door again stood open. The servants in their fear
and excitement got up extra early, but not so early but what the
door had been opened before they got downstairs, although
everything and everybody around were still wrapped in slumber,
and the doors and windows of the adjoining houses all fast shut.
At last, after a great deal of persuasion from Fraulein
Rottenmeier, Sebastian and John plucked up courage and agreed to
sit up one night in the room next to the large council-chamber
and to watch and see what would happen. Fraulein Rottenmeier
looked up several weapons belonging to the master, and gave these
and a bottle of spirits to Sebastian, so that their courage might
not faint if it came to a fight.

On the appointed night the two sat down and began at once to
take some of the strengthening cordial, which at first made them
very talkative and then very sleepy, so that they leant back in
their seats and became silent. As midnight struck, Sebastian
roused himself and called to his companion, who, however, was not
easy to wake, and kept rolling his head first to one side and
then the other and continuing to sleep. Sebastian began to listen
more attentively, for he was wide awake now. Everything was still
as a mouse, all sound had died away from the streets even. He did
not feel inclined to go to sleep again, for the stillness was
ghostly to him, and he was afraid now to raise his voice to rouse
John, so he shook him gently to make him stir. At last, as one
struck, John work up, and came back to the consciousness of why
he was sitting in a chair instead of lying in his bed. He now got
up with a great show of courage and said, "Come, Sebastian, we
must go outside and see what is going on; you need not be afraid,
just follow me."

Whereupon he opened the door wide and stepped into the hall.
Just as he did so a sudden gust of air blew through the open
front door and put out the light which John held in his hand. He
started back, almost overturning Sebastian, whom he clutched and
pulled back into the room, and then shutting the door quickly he
turned the key as far as he could make it go. Then he pulled out
his matches and lighted his candle again. Sebastian, in the
suddenness of the affair, did not know exactly what had
happened, for he had not seen the open door or felt the breeze
behind John's broad figure. But now, as he saw the latter in the
light, he gave a cry of alarm, for John was trembling all over
and as white as a ghost. "What's the matter? What did you see,
outside?" asked Sebastian sympathetically.

"The door partly open," gasped John, "and a white figure
standing at the top of the steps--there it stood, and then all in
a minute it disappeared."

Sebastian felt his blood run cold. The two sat down close to one
another and did not dare move again till the morning broke and
the streets began to be alive again. Then they left the room
together, shut the front door, and went upstairs to tell
Fraulein Rottenmeier of their experience. She was quite ready to
receive them, for she had not been able to sleep at all in the
anxiety of waiting to hear their report. They had no sooner given
her details of the night's experience than she sat down and wrote
straight off to Herr Sesemann, who had never received such a
letter before in his life. She could hardly write, she told him,
for her fingers were stiff with fear, and Herr Sesemann must
please arrange to come back at once, for dreadful and
unaccountable things were taking place at home. Then she entered
into particulars of all that had happened, of how the door was
found standing open every morning, and how nobody in the house
now felt sure of their life in this unprotected state of things,
and how it was impossible to tell what terrible results might
follow on these mysterious doings.

Herr Sesemann answered that it was quite impossible for him to
arrange to leave his business and return home at once. He was
very much astonished at this ghost tale, but hoped by this time
the ghost had disappeared. If, however, it still continued to
disturb the household, would Fraulein Rottenmeier write to the
grandmother and ask her if she could come and do something; she,
he was sure, would soon find out a way to deal with the ghost so
that it would not venture again to haunt his house. Fraulein
Rottenmeier was not pleased with the tone of this letter; she
did not think the matter was treated seriously enough. She wrote
off without delay to Frau Sesemann, but got no more satisfactory
reply from that quarter, and some remarks in the letter she
considered were quite offensive. Frau Sesemann wrote that she
did not feel inclined to take the journey again from Holstein to
Frankfurt because Rottenmeier fancied she saw ghosts. There had
never been a ghost in the house since she had known it, and if
there was one now it must be a live one, with which Rottenmeier
ought to be able to deal; if not she had better send for the
watchman to help her.

Fraulein Rottenmeier, however, was determined not to pass any
more days in a state of fear, and she knew the right course to
pursue. She had as yet said nothing to the children of the
ghostly apparitions, for she knew if she did that the children
would not remain alone for a single moment, and that might
entail discomfort for herself. But now she walked straight off
into the study, and there in a low mysterious voice told the two
children everything that had taken place. Clara immediately
screamed out that she could not remain another minute alone, her
father must come home, and Fraulein Rottenmeier must sleep in her
room at night, and Heidi too must not be left by herself, for the
ghost might do something to her. She insisted that they should
all sleep together in one room and keep a light burning all
night, and Tinette had better be in the next room, and Sebastian
and John come upstairs and spend the night in the hall, so that
they might call out and frighten the ghost the instant they saw
it appear on the steps. Clara, in short, grew very excited, and
Fraulein Rottenmeier had great difficulty in quieting her. She
promised to write at once to her father, and to have her bed put
in her room and not to be left alone for a moment. They could
not all sleep in the same room, but if Heidi was frightened, why
Tinette must go into her room. But Heidi was far more frightened
of Tinette than of ghosts, of which the child had never before
heard, so she assured the others she did not mind the ghost, and
would rather be alone at night.

Fraulein Rottenmeier now sat down to write another letter to
Herr Sesemann, stating that these unaccountable things that were
going on in the house had so affected his daughter's delicate
constitution that the worst consequences might be expected.
Epileptic fits and St. Vitus's dance often came on suddenly in
cases like this, and Clara was liable to be attacked by either
if the cause of the general alarm was not removed.

The letter was successful, and two days later Herr Sesemann
stood at his front door and rang the bell in such a manner that
everybody came rushing from all parts of the house and stood
looking affrighted at everybody else, convinced that the ghost
was impudently beginning its evil tricks in daylight. Sebastian
peeped cautiously through a half-closed shutter; as he did so
there came another violent ring at the bell, which it was
impossible to mistake for anything but a very hard pull from a
non-ghostly hand. And Sebastian recognised whose hand it was,
and rushing pell-mell out of the room, fell heels over head
downstairs, but picked himself up at the bottom and flung open
the street door. Herr Sesemann greeted him abruptly and went up
without a moment's delay into his daughter's room. Clara greeted
him with a cry of joy, and seeing her so lively and apparently
as well as ever, his face cleared, and the frown of anxiety
passed gradually away from it as he heard from his daughter's own
lips that she had nothing the matter with her, and moreover was
so delighted to see him that she was quite glad about the ghost,
as it was the cause of bringing him home again.

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