The Portland daily press., 1871-12-16
POETRY.
A Bracelet from Berllh'

prosnerous Paris all steepeu Ill na 81 " ni' ~
gold. The Champs ElyseeS anu VIC iI I've uo
l.",t rayties to the shade and twilight GOODNESS
ct rreigned there after the scorching fervor
Of the summer sun had departed, and along
tbe rue de Rivoli and the boulevard de Sevas-
topol sounded the tramp of soldiers hurrylng
to the seat of war. son to Berlin!' was on
every lip; the Marseillaise and Mourn pour
la Patrie' sounded at every corner, and lie
Rhin Allemand'' was chanted at every thea
ter. Paris was gay with more than It's WIN
try gayety flushed with more than its sum-
mer fever Workmen were busted in wreath
ing the front of public buildings with festoons
of gas-pipe, which, at given signal, were to
burst forth into dazzling tokens of rejoicing
for the victories that were so surely to be
won. There was question whether the i'm
perial fete should not be celebrated in Berlin,
but experienced military critics thought that
the army would hardly be able to capture
the Prussian capital in less than three weeks
more, and that two different days would
therefore have to be devoted to festivals and
rejoicings. Like its minister, France had
gone to war with light heart
Alice Lascellas sat at the window of her
parlor au seconde, in the hotel de Louvre,
and looked down on the noisy scene below.
The windows opened on the wide, smooth
space of the place du Palais Royal, ana pc
yond, her eve could follow on one side the
rue St Honore, and on the other the rue dc
Rivol. Immediately. below was a crowded
cab-stand the coachmen, in their glazed hats
and red waistcoats, jabbering, swearing aud
scolding among themselves, while their pa
tient beasts stood with dropping heads or
partook of frugal mouthfuls from their nose
bags. Now and then voiture de remise,
loaded with eight or ten zouaves, all drunk
and uproarious, would sway slowly past to
the tune of ''Mourir pour la Patrie," shouted
with all the strength of stentorian lungs.
Anon comes breath of martial music and
the ring of hoofs upon the asphalte, and
squadron of cavalry fit along the rue de Ri
wolf, their picked and picturesque little Tar
bes horses fretting and champing their bril-
dies, and, like their masters, overlooking with
fire and Impotence for action. Is this war?
No! it is nation on frolic, drunken with
wine, arrayed in fine clothes, and not ayerse
to little fighting to make things lively.
No wonder that the beautiful Mrs. Las
celles listens with divided interest to the cav
alier beside her, while she leans listlessly
upon the window-sill and gazes with half
averted head upon the scene beneath. She is
SO tired of the tale he is telling her-the old,
old story, unbounded love, unspeakable de-
votion the title of vicomtesse, the entree to
the best society in Paris. She has heard it
all before, and that more than once, for Alice
LaScelles, with her beauty, her wealth, her
grace, her intellect, is too tempting combin-
alton of two favorite Partisan heroines, the
jeune veuve of modern comedy, and the heri-'
there Americana of modern French Society,
not to be an irresistible captivaton to the
jeunesse doree of the court of the second EN-
pire. But she is wise with the wisdom of
serpents, is this lovely widow, and she has
no fancy of purchasing, at the expense of her
money and her life combined, so costly and
unsatisfactory a toy as a French husband
with an empty title.
He is not Unlocking, this vicomte Revannes,
who, leaning against the window frame, looks
down on his obdurate lady-love with wistful
eyes-such dot, and such pretty creature
and he heaves sigh feeling that if his i'm
pending departure and his new uniform fail
to move that frozen heart, then his case is in
deed hopeless. He is arrayed in the uniform
in question, dazzling combination of blue
and crimson, of gold and glitter, and he
knows that he is looking his best. 1t is a
very good ''best," too, for he is, though small,
well built and graceful, his eyes are large and
brilliant, his features good, and his complex
ion, though faded by unhallowed vigils and
unwholesome feasts, has a certain palld deli
cacy which sets off to advantage his thick,
black mustache and wavy dark hair.
He forms very effective contrast to the
lovely woman before him. Alice Lascelles,
though she has been nearly four years a Wild
ow, is but twenty-eight. She is fair and soft
eyed, refined-lookng white-rose sort of a
woman, with an exquisitely-shaped head set
on a long, slender, throat and with slight,
graceful figure OF statuesque perfection. The
beautiful outline and sloping line of her
shoulders are set off by a dress of pale
silver gray crepe de Chine, fashioned as
only a Partisan dress-maker can shape
materials, and looped over an elaborately-
trimmed underskrt of lilac silk. No Won
der that the vicomte heayes sigh as he looks
upon her. He is really almost in love; the
small remnant of heart which Cora Pearl and
Anna Deslion have spared to him is entirely
gone. That fair face and exquisite form
would have lured him to love and had he met
with them in the coarse garb of grisette,
and backed by undoubted wealth and high
social position, they had even decided him
upon committing the objectionable folly of
resolving to get married. But lovely Mrs.
Lascelles has not the slightest idea of be-
coming the vicomtesse de Revannes. His
last card, his approaching departure, COM
bined with his elegant uniform, has been
played and the game is lost. Mrs. Lascelles
obstinately refuses to either look or feel SEN
timental, and perversely insists upon denying
her sympathy to noble, heroic France. She
has warded Off with infinite tact any blank
renewal of the yicomte's already rejected pro-
posals, and he with equal tact has accepted
the situation, though he occasionally verges
into tender speeches and sympathetic looks
for some moments. At last the lady spoke:
ct can hardly forgive the emperor for de-
claring war;" she said, swaying her fan with
dainty finger-tips.
''The honor of France was insulted, mad
ame.'
"Ah, had hoped never to look upon war
again." she answered. a shadow sweeping
across her sweet face. A sudden vision of
the grave on a southern battlefield, where
slept unrecognized the ashes of an only
brother, rose cold before her. War is SOL
emma terrible thingp'
''Such was your rebellion-yes. But Eu-
ropean nations settle their affairs much more
quickly. In three weeks or month we shall
be in Berlin, peace will be declared, and then
will come the grand triumphal entry of the
victorious army into Paris, the distribution of
crosses by the emperor, and all the fetes and
reJofcings wherewith Paris will welcome
home her victorious sons.''
A carriage loaded with yelling, screaming
drunken soldiers drove up the rue ST. Honore
as he spoke. Mrs. Lascelles pointed to it as
it passed. ~
'Is it from such stuff as that that victorious
heroes are nodded ?' she asked. sNo vicomte
you underrate the Germans, and you admire
your own countrymen too highly"
Pardon, madame. We are the first mill
tary nation in Europe. The emperor will un-
doubtedly celebrate the fete of the 18th of
III DcIuIl. LOU Idll TO come
to Paris to see the grand triumphal entry of
the returning troops. Our generals are the
finest in the world, our army the best equip
ped, our soldiers the bravest, our commissa-
riat the most perfect. All, Madame Lascelles,
! should leave Paris with light heart, if you
had only"
LISTEN" interrupted Alice Lascelles. 81
love France, as you know; 1 have passed two
years abroad, and Paris seems to me like
second home. But cannot look forward
with blind confidence to future for her of
triumphant glory. may be wrong, but if
seems to me that there is something hollow
under all this fair outside of military show.
My own countrymen may be different, but
they did not go forth to battle drinking,
shouting, Boosting. kThey talked of victory al
ter the battle-not before.
You are real Prussiene, madame" he
answered, pettishly. 81 have no wish to hear
my country. vified, so will bid you good eve
ming"
Come, come, vicomte," she said, extend
ing her hand with smile that might have
melted the heart of marble saint, eve must
not quarrel in this moment of our parting
we who are such old friends and have been
such good ones. The war has spoiled INV
summer-cannOt you permit me to be a little
cross about it Where in the world am to
60, now that Baden-Baden and Homburr are
closed against me? l must cen make nv
way to England, and waste my Worth toilets
on the desert air of Great Britain
She was far more charming to M de Revan-
mes mes In this most frivolous, and, to his French