LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 620, 14 June 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

STRONGER THAN LOVE,

Chapter I,

One autumn evening, in the year 1812, a gay party of young people had assembled in the library of Monsieur Delapierre’s Alsatian chateau. The house, charmingly situated on the slope of a wooded hill, once belonged to a noble family, the last scion of which perished in the Revolution. The building had consequently been left to dacay, till Monsieur llelapierre, a wealthy financier, purchased the estate and restored the mansion.

Most of the rooms were newly decorated and furnished in the questionable taste of the Empire ; but either the new proprietor or the architect he had employed preferred leaving the library intact, as it had been found in good preservation. The ceiling therefore still displayed, amid its elaborate embellishments, the heraldic devices of the previous possessors. Massive book-cases of richly carved oak alternated with pedestals supporting busts of renowned Frenchmen; and, in the spaces above paintings in fresco illustrated some passages in the life of the celebrity whose marble etilgy graced the corresponding pedestal. Two innovations had been made, however. French windows now opened on to a broad terrace; and in the place of honor at the head of the room stood a bust of Napoleon, the fresco above repre-

senting Victory descending with a laurel wreath.

The young people had been sailing on the river, the silver windings of which were visible in the depths of the valley. Now they were scattered in groups about |jhe room, as inclination drew them together. At one of the windows stood several girls, amusing themselves with weaving garlands of flowers which they had brought in from the garden. * Are you weaving a wreath, Julie ?’ asked Eugene Delapicrre as he joined them. ‘ Who is the happy person for whose brow it is destined ?’

‘ If I weave a wreath, it shall be for the greatest and best,’answered the fair, brighteyed Alsatian girl, looking up from her employment, a smile upon her lips. ‘ And whom amongst these do you deem the greatest and best ?’ said Eugene, glancing round at the busts that decorated the room.

Julie paused a moment, her wreath in hor hand. Then she advanced towards Rousard, and placed the flowers on the sculptured brow. ‘ Honour to him who in his song honoured woman,’ said. * Brava !’ cried those assembled, in chorus.

‘And you, Elise, what do you say?’ * Honor to the best,’ replied Elise, in a lower tone. ‘My wreath is not of roses but of marguerites, and it must rest upon the pure and holy.’ Stepping forwards, with a low reverence she placed it upon the head of Fcnelon. ‘ Now, Lucienne, it is your turn,’ exclaimed Julie.

* Can you ask me my choice ? ’ replied the lovely daughter of the house. * But my wreath must not be of fading flowers, but of the immortal bay,’ So saying, she hast'ly plucked a few sprigs of bay tree that grew on the terrace outside, and, twining them together, crowned the Emperor’s bust with the shining green leaves. Her brcastjheaved, her eyes flashed, as the cry passed round, 4 Viva Napoleon I Vive I’Empercnr ! ’ One only remained silent. As Lucienne observed his grave and troubled countenance, she crossed the room to where he stood somewhat apart from the rest.

* What say you, Waldcmar ? ’ she asked. * Have you no greeting for our great hero ? ’ ‘ You forget, Lucienne,’ he returned. ‘To me he can only appear in the light of the oppressor of my country,’ ‘Ah, you do not love France,’ she cried, her cheeks flushing, her lips quivering. ‘Not love France? When France holds what is dearest to me in the world ? ’ replied the youth, ‘But Napoleon is not France. Trust me, Lucienne, the time will come when France will find the idol she has set up is only a false god a destroyer, not a regenerator, as you would believe.’ * I will not hear you,’ Lucienne exclaimed passionately. ‘lf you really loved me, you would honor what I honor, and hate what £ hate. But lam not first in your heart,’ ‘Dearest, listen,' said Waldemar Steinthal, taking her hand in both his. * I should not be worthy of you, should not dare to claim a place in your warm heart, did I not love my country and feel for my country's disgrace. When the forester had stricken down the fawn that now follows you so faithfully, did I not Avatch you binding its w ound with these tender little hands ? My fatherland lies bleeding, wounded by the mighty hunter, and shall I not at any rate lament over it, if I cannot help to save ? ’ Lucienne stood for a moment thoughtfuL ‘ Waldemar,’ she said at last; ‘ you would fight against France, then, if the opportunity served? Fight against my country, and lose me.’

‘ Lose you, Lucienne ? ’ Waldemar questioned in sorrowful accents.

‘Yes. It would have to be so,’the girl replied. ‘ I would never marry the enemy of France.’

At this moment a large black retriever, that had stolen into the room through the open windows, came up to Steinthal, and, licking his hand, testified his joy at the meeting. ‘ See, here is Gros Noir,’ said Waldemer, somewhat bitterly. ‘Next to Eugene, he likes me. He makes no question of French or German; he know where he loves, and is content.’

Lucienne’s dark eyes filled with tears: she drew closer to her betrothed. ‘Do you think I also shall not be content ? ’ she said. ‘ But you will let me love France ? ’ ‘God forbid I should wish otherwise, little enthusiast; what a terrible tyrant you must take me for,’ said Steinthal, a bright smile lighting up his handsome face, and chasing away the cloud that had rested upon it during the foregoing conversation. Monsieur Delapierre, in Paris, and Herr Steinthal, in Leipsic, were old friends, and had been much engaged in business together, both being devoted to the delightful pursuit of money making; the one following it as ardently in the gay capital of the French Empire as the other in the flourishing German town.

Herr Steinthal had an only son, and Monsieur Delapierre an only daughter, and the two worthy and careful fathers, putting their heads together, concluded that the best and most natural thing in the world would be the union of the two houses by the marriage of Waldemar and Lucienne. When Waldemar had passed through his college course and his year of travel, and Lucienne had left her pensionnat, it was considered time to announce to the young people the happiness that awaited them. Waldemar consequently was despatched to Monsieur Delapierre’s chateau, where the family had assembled for their summer holiday, to make the acquaintance of his bride elect. Contrary to what might have be ; en expected, young Steinthal and Mademoiselle Delapierre became devotedly attached to each other ; the only cloud that ever appeared on their horizon arising from the difference in their political feelings. | To be continued .]