ULF.
“She’ll deeply mourn—yet still in dreams with thee
Will ever be;
And be consoled, for soon will that sad smart
Break her true heart;
And then in Odin’s halls, whilst mead is quaffing,
The maid thou’lt meet—the golden-tressed and laughing.”
SVEN.
“Ah! would that I had won myself a name
Of deathless fame!
To my forefathers equal could I prove
In war and love.
Neglected now the harps are silent lying,
Whilst thro’ their strings the mournful breeze is sighing.”
ULF.
“Now near and nearer draws, in floods of light,
Walhalla bright—
These high imperial courts, whence bolts are hurled
That shake the world.
Soon, with the good and great from us departed,
We there shall rest, for ever joyous-hearted.”
SVEN.
“Oh, Father! wherefore call me hence away,
In youth’s bright day;
Ere yet brave deeds on many a battle-field
Adorn my shield?
Ah! shall I, ’midst those true and mighty spirits,
Obtain the place which my high courage merits?”
ULF.
“Yes! there is One who to each noble deed
Will give due meed,
And crown the man who for his country dies
Beyond the skies.
Rejoice—rejoice—the vanquished foe is flying!
Heav’n opens—see! ’tis there our goal is lying.”
THE FAN.
Some seventy years ago no name stood higher in commercial repute at Havre than that of Duravel. The founder of the house had just died at the time when we commence the story; but though the designation was altered from “Claude Duravel and Sons” to “Duravel Brothers,” public trust was unshaken even by envious conjecture. For Claude, the elder of the two sons, had for some years managed the business, and nothing could exceed the caution and withal enterprise of the transactions of the house under his direction, save the uniform and splendid fortune which illustrated them. The Duravels, in short, were a proverb for their sterling character, their munificent liberality, and their rare luck. In this last regard, indeed, they might be said to bear a charmed life. If their vessels were attacked by English privateers, some opportune fog or friendly sail was certain to deliver them. If they suffered shipwreck it was sure to be on the outward voyage, and owing to their ample insurance the underwriters were ever the greatest sufferers. They weathered panics bravely. No fraudulent clerks undermined them, and failure seemed to be averted from the houses they trusted. But though the vessel was launched so auspiciously, and observers saw no change, all was not as of old in that responsible-looking counting-house. Between the two brothers, Claude and Jerome, there was a great disparity of years, and though the special characteristics of the younger were not developed in his father’s life-time, the two were widely different in disposition. Claude seemed never to have been young. The closest observer could recal no lapse into frivolity, no wild-oat-sowing in his grave and regular progress through a series of inferior posts to the headship of the house. In person, too, he was the counterpart of his father, whose portrait, with its thin lips, sharp profile, projecting forehead, and iron-grey hair, might have been easily mistaken for a representation of his namesake and successor, as was likely, Jerome, who had been brought up entirely with his father and brother, bore a family likeness to them; but there were every now and then discernible traces of a fiery and passionate temper, venting itself in vehement outbursts of wilfulness. Inconsistent and irresolute, however, he usually abandoned of his own accord the object for which a short time previously he had been eagerly battling. The face of Jerome, too, belied the character of a man of routine; for though he had the pointed features of the two Claudes, his mouth was full and sensuous, and his eyebrows were connected or met—a peculiarity of which Goethe, in his description of the profligate Meyer, has rightly noted the effect.
The two brothers resided in the same house, a large and grandiose hotel, situated in a garden profusely adorned with statues, bath-houses, balustrades, and fountains, in the Italian style, and called after their name. For four years after the father’s death they continued unmarried. No differences were ever reported to have taken place between them. But things were not destined to flow long in this quiet course. One evening at a public ball given to celebrate the most brilliant victory of the First Consul, Jerome was introduced to a certain Madame Corisande de Cardillac, who had lately appeared in the gay circles of Havre. Rumour, “painted full of tongues,” told strange stories of the lady’s career in the capital. Certain it was she dressed magnificently, coquetted mercilessly, played extravagantly, and consequently was the last person with whom a prudent man of business should have connected himself; but no less certain was the fact, that within six weeks from the Marengo ball she was married, with the consent and approbation of Claude, to Jerome Duravel. . . . . The explanation of the puzzling words which we have put in italics is short and simple. The elder brother “consented and approved,” because he could not help himself, for Jerome had no sooner made the acquaintance of the all-fascinating Corisande, than he began to play largely. The circle into which he was introduced consisted of reckless men of pleasure. He was elated with the lavish flattery which they bestowed upon him, and tempted to stake enormous sums on the spinning of the roulette ball, or the hazard of the cards at lansquenet. At first the result was invariably the same. The friends of Corisande always lost, and the merchant always won. After awhile the luck changed, and after