Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1880-01-21
N IN A.

Victor Blumenthal was sauntering through
the public garden, thinking about the
picture he was painting, thinking how
the light among the trees suggested certain
strains of music to him, when his eye fell
upon a young girl feeding the swans, and
fingered there. "lf could only carry that
face home in my minds eye, and reflect it
upon my canvas |" he thought. "She is
the very image of Undine herself" just
then the child beside her reached across the
brim of the basin to toss crumb into the
water, and lost her balance. Quick as
thought, Victor sprang to the rescue, brought
the child up dripping, aud confronted I'm.
dine, out of whose face all the rose had
faded, all the sunshine had fed. "Oh, how
shall thank you what shall | do for you !"
she cried. " If you had not saved her, how
could have lived ? She is my little neigh
Dor, and I promised to be so careful of her.
oh, though you are a stranger, feel as if
you were my best friend"
"Then oblige me by meeting me here
again, and telling me how our little friend
bears her drenching," he returned, as he pnt
them into carriage. Then he went to his
studio, and tried to linn the face of Un-
dine, and threw down his brush in despair.
And the next day, happening into the public
garden again, there she was before him,
smiling and blushing, with the child be-
side her.
al thought perhaps we should meet you
here" she confessed. "Jenny brings her
mothers thanks How can we repay you
but with our prayers ?"
"If you could sit to me"
"I? You mean Jenny ?"
re oop1l tr
my studio, and let me paint you"
"Oh, you are laughing at mel"
al was never more serious in my life"
"Let US co. then," she said.
"Your picture is long in finishing" she
remarked one day, after innumerable sit
tings for Victor had every night wiped
out what he had laboriously painted in dur
ing the day, so difficult was it to imprison
the shadow of his model within the canvas,
to lend to Undine the soul that sat and
smiled in Nina's eyes, to endow her with
the spirit that informed the face, flushed in
the oval cheek, or trembled about the mobile
mouth.
"You are tired of coming to me. tax
you too long"
"No," she replied al was only thinking
that If made my flowers so slowly, should
starve."
Victor laughed softly. "Fame is better
than money"
"And life is better than fame"
And then Victor threw down his brush
"The sun is setting" he said let us &C
out upon the bay for inspiration"
And Nina followed, nothing 10th. How
cool and sweet the hour was out there, with
sails blowing out like wings of white gull.
in the offng, and pleasure-boats lettering ol
speeding by How gayly the sun smote the
city's spires, and changed the windows OF
dingy warehouses on the wharves into pre-
cious stones like those of Aaddin's palace
How much pleasanter all this was than sit
ting at home, in dark alley, over her arti
fetal flowers, trying to embody her fancies
in satin and velvet
Victor walked to the dark alley in the dusk
with Nina, and thought Of the white lille.
that grew into perfect beauty and sweetness
though rooted in mould and slime.
So the friendship grew between Victor
and Nina-Nina, the poor little flower
maker, the last of her race, and Victor
Bumenthal, the artist and millionaire-and
the picture grew apace. Somehow he dared
not finish it, lest Nina should feel her debt
paid, and escape him.
"Oh, what is that beautiful thing ?" she
asked one day, as he trilled familiar all
while spreading his palette. "Did you
make it up yourself ?"-her face all aglow
at is an air from an opera" laughed
Victor" from Trovatore. The honor oi
making it up belongs to one Verdi. Have
you never heard an opera ?"
Never"
"Then you shall hear one tonight. Hold
Tropdtore is on the bill for this blessed
night. What coincidence' And so when
the city lamps were trying to outdo the stars
Victor drew Nina's trembling hand within
his arm, and they became part of the gay
and fashionable world inside the theater
And what a world it was, with all the glitter
of lights and beautiful faces, the simmer
of silk and Jewels, the odor of musk and
sandal-wood, and the kind, handsome face
of Victor Bumenthal shining upon her
How the tenor sang out, sweet as syllableS
of lovel how the soprano scared what
depths the bass explored what pathos, what
sorrow, what delight swelled and ebbed with
the chords Did people really love and
suffer and despair and triumph like this
Had she lived through it all herself, some
where, somehow, that it seemed an echo OF
her own experienced or was it but shadow
of things to come When the curtain fell
Victor discovered tears in her eyes. Other
people were Laughing around her. one tall
gentleman almost stooped to look under her
hat as he passed. bowed 10 her companion,
and would have Joined them had RlnmentbaI
been less frigid. al have seen that gentle
man before. said Nina. "he came With a
lady who was in a hurry for some flowers
had promised. He called her Stella"
at was his cousin, Stella Grandelaw, 81
said Victor.
One day Victor. who oould no longer find
a nretext 10 continue the sittinqs. nut his
- 80, ~ a,