After Long Years and Other Stories by Translated from the German by Sophie A. Miller and Agnes M. Dunne
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Translated from the German by Sophie A. Miller and Agnes M. Dunne >> After Long Years and Other Stories
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11 Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Tonya Allen,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: "The Count then opened the door and overcome with emotion
he fell at the feet of the Countess."--From _"Royal Palace to Lowly
Hut"_]
_SUNSHINE AND SHADOW SERIES_
AFTER LONG YEARS
AND
OTHER STORIES
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN BY
SOPHIE A. MILLER
AND
AGNES M. DUNNE
NOTE
These ethical stories have been translated from the German with the view
of instilling into the minds of youthful readers such truths as will
help materially toward building a character that will withstand the
trials and temptations of life.
It is conceded by educators that ethics presented in the lecture form
fails of its purpose; therefore the writers have presented this subject
in the form most appealing to children--the story.
CONTENTS
I. AFTER LONG YEARS
Chapter
I. The Journey
II. Apprenticeship
III. Alfred Banford
IV. The Stranger
II. THE CAPTIVE
Chapter
I. Home-Coming
II. The Slave
III. In the Turkish Family
IV. The Lion
V. The Offer
VI. The Plans
VII. Restored to Freedom
III. THE ARTIST'S MASTERPIECE
Chapter
I. The Gift
II. Under the Emperor's Bush
III. No Prophet in His Own Country
IV. The Condition
V. The Fulfilment
IV. THE VINEYARD ON THE HILLSIDE
Chapter
I. Missing
II. The Faithful Dog
III. The Fond Foster-Parents
IV. The Errand
V. The Old Man
VI. The Legacy
VII. The Journey
V. THE DAMAGED PICTURE
Chapter
I. The Artist
II. The Picture
III. The Discovery
VI. MEMORIES AWAKENED
Chapter
I. The Change of Circumstances
II. The Revelation
VII. THE INHERITANCE
Chapter
I. Mr. Acton and his Son
II. The Uninvited Guest
III. The Flowering Plant
IV. The Two Families
V. The Feast
VIII. HOW IT HAPPENED
Chapter
I. The Wooded Island
II. Far From Home
III. The Smoke
IX. FROM ROYAL PALACE TO LOWLY HUT
Chapter
I. The Suburbs
II. The Retreat
III. The Prison
IV. The Purchase
V. Reunited
X. THE UGLY TRINKET
Chapter
I. The Opened Door
II. The Test
III. Reverses
AFTER LONG YEARS
CHAPTERS.
I. THE JOURNEY.
II. APPRENTICESHIP.
III. ALFRED BANFORD.
IV. THE STRANGER.
[Illustration: "He halted, offered his assistance to the two half-frozen
men, helped them into the sleigh and hurried on with them."]
AFTER LONG YEARS
CHAPTER I
THE JOURNEY
The Duchess of Banford and her two children were driving toward their
villa, when, owing to the roughness of the road, the front wheel of
their coach was suddenly broken. Considerably frightened, mother and
children quickly alighted. The approaching darkness, coupled with the
loneliness of the place, added to the difficulty; for the prospect of
spending the night in the woods was particularly distressing.
Just then a stable-boy chanced along and seeing the predicament, said:
"Oh, that wheel can be easily mended. Not far from here there lives a
wheelwright, and I am sure he can repair it in a very short time." The
boy then looked about him, and seeing a long pole, said: "We can use
this to support the wagon as it drags along. The road is rugged, and it
will take us about an hour to get there."
"Is there no shorter route?" inquired the Duchess.
"This is the only wagon road; but if you wish, I will lead you along a
shorter path across the fields which will cut the distance in half."
The Duchess thanked him, and asked: "Do you think that we may take this
pole? It seems to me as though some wood-cutter had left it here to prop
a tree."
"Oh, yes," he answered, "it belongs to the wheelwright to whom I am
taking you. All the wood around here belongs to him, and he will be glad
to have this pole so handy." So saying, he hurried to get the pole and
helped the coachman fasten it in place. The horses then drew the
carriage slowly over the rocky road, while the coachman walked
alongside.
The family, however, followed the footpath, which led between tall elms
and blooming shrubbery along the edge of a babbling brook.
The silence was broken now and then by the plaintive song of a
nightingale. The Duchess and her two children seated themselves upon the
trunk of a fallen tree and listened to the music till it ceased. A
gentle wind sighed softly through the leaves of the trees, and merrily
flowed the near-by brook. As the nightingale repeated its song, they all
listened intently.
When the song was ended, the Duchess said: "I would give twenty pounds
if I had such a bird in my garden. I have heard many nightingales sing
in the city, but here in the country, in this wooded region and deep
stillness, and at this twilight hour, its song seems doubly enchanting.
Oh, that I might hear it sing in the little bower near my villa."
"Hm," whispered the stable-boy, who stood near her oldest son, Alfred,
"those twenty pounds could be easily earned."
Alfred nodded, and motioned to the boy to be still, for just then the
nightingale began to sing. When the song ceased the Duchess arose to
continue her way. Alfred, however, lagged behind with the stable-boy,
with whom he was soon busily engaged in earnest talk.
"A nightingale in a cage is not what my mother wants; what she wants is
a nightingale that is at liberty, to sing and nest and fly as it pleases
in our beautiful garden, and to return to us in the spring from its
winter home."
"I understand very well what you mean. I should not want to catch a bird
and deliver it into captivity." After questioning Alfred more closely
about the trees near his villa, the boy said: "I feel sure that I can
get a nightingale and its nest for you. I know just how to go about it.
You will soon hear its song resound from all parts of your garden--
possibly not this week, but surely next."
Alfred stood still for a moment and looked at the boy--clothed in a
shabby suit, with his hair protruding from his torn hat. Then he asked,
wonderingly, "What would you do with the money?"
"Oh," said the boy, and the tears stood in his eyes, "twenty pounds
would help us out of our troubles. You see, my father is a day-laborer.
He is not a very strong man, and I was just on my way to visit him, and
do what I could to help him. My foreman has given me a few days' leave
of absence. I don't earn much, but it helps my father a little. I often
feel that it would be a great help to him if I could earn more. I
certainly should like nothing better than to be a wheelwright. It must
be grand to be able to take the wood that lies here in the forest, and
make a beautiful carriage out of it, like the one you own. I have often
talked with the wheelwright, but he will not take me as an apprentice
until I have a certain amount of money. Besides, I should need money to
buy tools. It would cost twenty pounds, and my father and I haven't as
much as that together.
"Poor boy," thought Alfred, "if what he says is true, we must help him."
Then he said aloud, "Bring me a written recommendation from your
schoolmaster; and if the wheelwright really wants to take you, I will
give you ten pounds as soon as the nightingale sings in our garden; and I
know that the missing ten pounds will soon be forthcoming. But you must
say nothing about this to anyone until my mother's wish is gratified. I
should like to give her an unexpected pleasure."
Soon they struck the main road again, and the rest of the distance was
quickly covered.
While the wheelwright was repairing the carriage, Alfred engaged him in
conversation concerning the stable-boy, all of whose statements the man
corroborated. He also showed a willingness to apprentice the boy on the
terms stated.
The damage had now been repaired, so the Duchess paid the charges,
giving the stable-boy a few coins, and seated herself in the carriage
with her children.
After whispering a few words to the boy, to tell him how to reach the
villa, Alfred joined his mother and sister, and with tooting of horns
they proceeded on their journey in high spirits.
CHAPTER II
APPRENTICESHIP
The little stable-boy, Michael Warden, hurried on to his sick father. It
was late, and the journey would take him two hours. On his way he
stopped to buy a few delicacies for his father with the coins the
Duchess had given him. To his surprise, he found on arrival that his
father was very much improved.
Before daybreak on the following morning, Michael hurried to the woods
to find the nightingale's nest he knew so well. When he had last visited
it, he had seen five brownish-green eggs there. But as he now peered
into it he found, to his great astonishment, that the young birds had
broken through their shells. With all haste he set out for the villa,
several miles distant, to study the situation and decide where he could
best fasten the nest. Arriving there, he found a suitable place, and
then hurried back to the woods.
In the course of a few days, he succeeded in caging the parent birds.
Placing the nest beside them in the cage, he carried it to the garden of
the Duchess. He arrived there toward evening, and was hospitably
received by the gardener, who had been fully acquainted with the idea.
Adjoining the villa was a large tract of land, well wooded, which was
beautifully laid out with garden plots, pebbly, shaded paths,
vine-covered bowers and rustic seats. In one corner of the garden there
stood an odd little thatch-covered arbor, nestling between high rocks in
the shadow of the tall trees. A brook which fell in foaming whiteness
flowed past this little nook, clear as crystal, and made the stillness
fascinating by its intermittent murmuring. This spot the Duchess loved
well, and many hours of the day she spent here.
Scarcely a hundred feet distant, there stood a willow tree closely
resembling the late home of the caged nightingales. The boy had chosen
this tree and had prepared a place for the nest on a forked branch. He
went there late one evening, as the moon was shining brightly, and
placed the nest securely on this tree; then he gave the parent birds
their freedom.
The next morning, the boy returned to the spot and hid himself in the
thick shrubbery, to see whether the birds would feed their young, who
were loudly crying for food. In a little while the parent birds returned
and fed them.
"Now I have triumphed," said Michael; and he hurried to the villa to
carry to Alfred the welcome news that in a few days the nightingales
would be singing their song in his garden.
"Fine," said Alfred, "and then the money will be yours. Stay a few days
longer and you can take it with you."
Two days later, the Duchess invited her friends to a lawn-party. The sun
had risen in all its glory, the sky was unclouded, and the breezes were
light and refreshing. The garden, with all its natural beauty, afforded
a most entrancing spot for the feast, which proved perfect in every
detail and was enjoyed in full measure.
After the guests had departed, the Duchess said to her children, "Let us
spend this delightful twilight hour here in quiet. My soul is satisfied;
for what can compare with this blessed evening hour? What comparison can
there be between the grandeur of our salon and the beauty of nature?"
Just then the nightingale broke the stillness with its ecstatic song.
The Duchess was surprised, and listened intently until the song was
ended.
"I wonder how this nightingale came to my garden. The oldest residents
cannot remember ever having heard one in this region."
"Dear mother," said Alfred, "you often wished that a nightingale would
lend its song and its presence to grace this beautiful spot. The same
boy who assisted us out of a difficulty recently, helped me gratify your
wish. You remember, dear mother, that you said at that time: 'I would
give twenty pounds to have a nightingale in my garden.' That boy has
helped us please you, and we have paid him half this amount out of our
savings. The boy is worthy of the money, and it may be the foundation of
his future success."
"You have acted nobly," said the Duchess. "I am transported with ecstasy
at hearing the nightingale sing for the first time in my garden, and
also at the love which you have shown for your mother. It moves me still
more, however, when I think that my children possess a heart big enough
to part with money intended for their own use, and voluntarily give it
up to afford help and joy to others. I, too, will reward the boy
generously. I wonder what use he would make of the money."
"We could not give the money to a more worthy person," said Alfred, who
then related to his mother the boy's aspirations. "Besides, I have
written to his teacher, and this is what he says about him: 'A greater
deed of charity you could not perform than to help Michael Warden carry
out his desire to learn a trade. He is a clever, ingenious boy, and
would learn quickly. I think he would like best to be a wheelwright, and
I would suggest that you apprentice him with the master in our village.'
So you see, mother, the money would not be spent in vain."
"Very well, the money shall be his."
On the following morning, Alfred sent for Michael, and counted out to
him the money, increasing it to fifty pounds. Michael's astonishment
almost carried him off his feet, and he thanked Alfred profusely for the
extra money. He hurried home to his father and laid his wealth before
him on the table. The old man stared at it in blank amazement, and said:
"My boy, I hope you have not stolen this money!"
"No, father, but a little bird in the forest helped me," and Michael
related the incident.
His father, overjoyed, now made all preparations for Michael's outfit.
He then conducted him to the master wheelwright, paid the stipulated sum
and entered him as an apprentice. At the end of three years, the boy was
as accomplished in his trade as his master.
Before starting out into the world, Michael returned to the Castle of
Banford to tell of his progress, and once more thank the Duchess and her
children for their kindness to him. They praised him heartily for the
strides he had made. The Duchess then gave him another gift of money for
his journey, and said: "Success be yours. We must never do good by
halves; the sapling that we plant we should also water." Then with many
encouraging remarks, the Banfords bade him good-bye.
Touched by their interest and charity, Michael was so stupefied that he
could scarcely speak. When he recovered his self-control, he thanked
them all, and promised faithfully to do his best and always remember
their good advice.
CHAPTER III
ALFRED BANFORD
Alfred Banford had always been kind to the poor and dutiful and
affectionate to his mother. Suddenly he was seized with patriotic
fervor. For some time he had nursed the desire to be a soldier. At the
age of seventeen, he studied the art of warfare at a military academy.
He surprised all the officers with his military genius.
The Duchess, too, loved her fatherland, and at last she tearfully
recognized that she must give up her son to fight in defense of his
country.
"Go, then," said she, "fight for the right and your country; and may God
protect you."
Alfred fought valiantly and well, and at last was forced to proceed with
the great French army against Russia. On the way to Moscow the ranks
were greatly depleted, owing to the long, wearisome marches and
privations. After untold hardships and bloodshed, the army at last
reached Moscow, with her many palaces and temples and spires and the old
palace, the Kremlin. It was a pleasing picture. Alfred, like every other
soldier, now hoped to recuperate from the hardships of warfare. But he
found the city uninhabited, the streets deserted, the palaces and houses
empty.
At midnight, a dreadful fire which had been smoldering for several days,
broke out in wild fury and laid the greater part of the city in ashes.
The army was obliged to retreat; and many thousand brave soldiers,
exposed to snow and ice, hunger and cold, met a horrible death. One
single freezing night killed thousands of horses, Alfred's among them.
He was obliged to walk knee deep in icy water.
They traversed miles and miles of country without passing one hut; and
when in the distance a human habitation appeared and gave promise of
warmth and food, they found upon approach that it was deserted and
devoid of everything.
The poor, miserable, weakened soldiers were obliged to spend many a
weary night on the snow-covered ground, with no roof but the sky. The
need of food became more and more imperative each moment; yet if they
had had the wealth of kings, they could not have bought a dry crust of
bread; so they were reduced to the extremity of eating the flesh of
their fallen horses. They quenched their thirst with snow.
The street upon which the greater part of the army had gathered was
marked with deserted cannons and powder wagons; and on both sides lay
the dead, upon whom the fast falling snow had spread a white coverlet.
Many of the soldiers of Alfred's regiment had fallen, and lay frozen in
the snow; others were scattered here and there.
Alfred and a chum, both in a weakened condition, tried to go on. They
descried a little village, about half an hour distant; but before they
reached it, Alfred had become so weak that he fell exhausted in the
snow, saying: "Thus must I die here!" He extended his hand to his friend
and with tears in his eyes said: "Should you ever reach the Castle of
Banford, bear my love to my mother and sisters. Tell them that Alfred
Banford fought bravely, and fell in the service of his country."
These words reached the ears of a Russian gentleman, Vosky by name, who
in a rude sled was going in the direction of the village. He halted,
offered his assistance to the two half-frozen men, helped them into the
sleigh and hurried on with them. A few minutes' drive brought them to a
little inn, half concealed by the drifted snow.
The men were conducted into the house and furnished with food and
warmth. The host asked them no questions, for he saw that they were
benumbed and almost unconscious. At last, when they had recovered, he
raised his glass and said: "To your health, gentlemen. All brave
soldiers should live. I sympathize with you, although I am a Russian
subject. The sad fate of your fellow soldiers pains me. I will do all in
my power to help you. I know you are not our enemy. We have but one
enemy--the man whose iron will has forced all these hundreds of
thousands of men into our country." Then he arose and went about the
place, giving orders to his assistant.
The sleigh still stood at the door, and the horses impatiently shook the
sleigh bells and pawed the snow. As Vosky re-entered the room, his two
guests had finished their repast.
"Now," said he, "let me conduct you to a room where you can rest and
sleep, undisturbed and undiscovered." After climbing a ladder and
walking through a narrow passage, they came to a secret door which
opened into a bedroom. Alfred Banford looked about him, and was startled
when he saw in a mirror the reflection of such a pale, hungry-looking
visage and such tattered clothes.
Pity was plainly written in Vosky's kind face, but all he said was:
"Stay here and recuperate. To my sorrow, I must leave you for a little
while in order to transact some urgent business; but I will instruct my
valet to provide you with every possible comfort. Everything in this
house stands at your service."
Alfred Banford ventured to ask whether it would be perfectly safe to
remain, for he feared that Russian soldiers might capture him and that
he would be sent to Siberia.
"I give you my word," said Vosky. "You will be as safe here as the Czar
is in his Castle. Give me your word of honor to remain until my return.
I will then devise means to help you reach your country. But I must be
off now. Take good care of yourselves." And hurriedly he closed the door
behind him.
Alfred Banford marveled at the friendliness and goodness of this strange
man who had come to his rescue so unexpectedly and so opportunely, like
an angel from heaven. "It seems like awakening from a dream, to find
myself transported from an icy field to a warm, cozy room," said he. "It
borders on the miraculous--I cannot fathom it." But sleep was fast
overpowering him. He had lain for so long on straw, on icy ground, and
even in the snow, that it seemed as if he had never felt anything softer
or warmer than this bed. He soon fell asleep and rested quietly and
peacefully till the dawn.
CHAPTER IV
THE STRANGER
On the following morning, at breakfast, Alfred Banford turned to the
kind-hearted Russian servant, and said: "Do tell me what sort of man
your master is, and what is his name?"
"He is a very good man," said the servant. "I can think of no one who is
kindlier. His name is Vosky, the Czar's chief financial adviser, and he
is particularly concerned with the care of the Russian army. He has
always shown me great consideration, for I was only a poor beggar boy.
"One day one of Mr. Vosky's assistants lost a package containing some
valuable papers and a large sum of money. It was extensively advertised.
I fortunately found the package and brought it to Mr. Vosky, who was so
pleased with my honesty that he offered me a home, had me trained for a
commercial life, and now takes me with him on his journeys, partly as
secretary and partly as valet.
"His home is in St. Petersburg. This house is only used as a stopping
place when his business carries him to this region, which happens quite
frequently. Before leaving yesterday, he gave me strict orders to look
after your welfare. I trust you will be pleased with my efforts, and
give Mr. Vosky a good report when he returns."
By slow degrees Alfred Banford recovered his strength. He found books
with which to while away the time. The stillness of this secluded spot
was a gratifying change from the noisy battlefield.
One night, Mr. Vosky returned. As he entered the house, his face shone
with enthusiasm and gay spirits. "I come," said he, turning to Alfred,
"to give you liberty after your long confinement. I stand at your
service, and wish to do everything in my power to see you safely
restored to your own country. I would suggest that you go with me to St.
Petersburg; from there you can easily return to your own home by water.
I should like to introduce you to my wife and children. Besides, I could
not let you depart without suitable clothing, and I cannot provide you
with that here."
"My good man," said Alfred, "your extraordinary kindness to me exceeds
all measure. I cannot understand how I should merit such consideration
from you."
"But," said Mr. Vosky, almost choked with emotion, "I find nothing
extraordinary or bountiful in my acts. It is my duty, an act of
gratitude."
"I fail to understand you," said Alfred. "I cannot remember the
slightest favor that I have ever proffered you. I never saw you before,
and what is more, I never heard of you in my life."
"Never?" cried Mr. Vosky. "Then listen to what I have to say. My entire
fortune I owe to you. All my success I lay at your door."
Alfred looked at him in astonishment and shook his head.
"Did you never help a poor boy, by giving him fifty pounds?"
"Just now I don't remember ever having done any poor boy such a
charity."
"Now," said Vosky, "perhaps you may remember a nightingale that you
wished to have brought to your mother's garden. You will recall that
poor stable-boy who managed it for you."
"Oh, yes," said Alfred, "I remember the boy very well. He was a poor,
worthy, ambitious lad, named Michael Warden. The last I heard of him was
when he went out into the world as a wheelwright, to make his fortune."
"So, you do remember him. Well, that boy Michael was none other than
myself. Now I am the owner of a large factory, besides being financial
adviser to the Czar. I had my name legally changed to Vosky. I was that
stable-boy, that wheelwright."
"You!" cried Alfred, filled with admiration and astonishment. He sprang
forward and embraced his benefactor. "But why didn't you tell me all
this at first?"
"That was impossible," said Vosky. "It would have taken too long to
explain; and my business affairs were so pressing, and you were so
exhausted, that you could not have listened to a detailed account. I
deferred it for a more quiet, restful time, when I could express to you
my thanks. I saw that you did not recognize me, and I, too, would never
have recognized you had you not said that day as you sank in the snow,
'Give my love to my mother and sisters and say that Alfred Banford fell
in the service of his country.' Let us be thankful that we have been
brought together, and that the opportunity has been afforded me to show
you that I am not ungrateful. I cannot express to you the joy it gives
me to see you, and to be able to serve you."
Mr. Vosky then related some of the events of his life. How he had
visited the principal cities of Europe; and how he had studied under the
best men, in order to make himself proficient in his line of work.
Having heard that many Londoners were competing for the construction of
carriages for Russia, he had hastily sent in his estimate. The work was
accorded to him, and in a few years time he had amassed a large fortune.
He had also opened a large wagon factory, and as soon as the war broke
out with France, he had received orders from the Czar to supply the
Russian army with additional powder wagons. The government had been as
pleased with his promptness as with his honesty. Later, he had received
the title of "Imperial Financial Adviser."
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