Evening star., 1880-02-14
ANITA.
BY ELSIE LEIGH wHrTTlEsEY.

BY ELSIE LEIGH WHTTTLESEY.
Going from Chicago to New York in a parlor
car some years ago CHANGED to find myself
plainly dressed who attracted me strongly.
| voice. had never before heard any ything like
| it, clear, deep and sympathetic, every syllable
| perfectly accentuated, and so even, full and
flowing that to listen to it charmed one irreSst-
| IDLY.
ihad just finished reading the New York Her.
| aid when her 'Please permit me to look at your
paper moment" fell on my ear like note of
music.
OF course gave her the paper.
She was q woman not far from sixty, large
| framed and deep-enested Her features were
| Irregular, but her blue eyes were replete with
| genius, and finer shaped head never sat on a
/, Woman's shoulders than that which caught
myself eg lrding with more OF interest than po-
| litenesS Marranled.
When the train stopped at Toledo, hand
| window and held up for our inspection basket
| OF oranges. The lady selected two or three
from the great golden pile and tossed half
dollar to the youthful fruit vender.
THAT italian girls face reminds me OF one
| once saw in Rome" said my travelling compan-
! ion handing the oranges she had purchased to
her colored maid, who sat just behind her, the
very pink Of dusky attendants.
was so fascinated by her voice and manner,
that before well knew what was saying,
had blurted out the question:
"a girl with story am sure, and one which
should dearly like to know"
The old lady smiled, and wonderful smile it
was, lighting up beautifully one Of the most ex-
pressive countenances had ever seen. l can
do no more than repeat her words: to catch the
spirit OF her marvelOuSly dramatic way Of speak
ing would be simply impossible.
while at Rome, some years ago, one day
visited the studio of rising American sculptor.
great favorite. Flushed with his hrst success,
ambitious and gifted he had some reason to be
pleased with the world and the world with him.
adne forSaken, and it was to see this last AMI
best work of his chisei that l had been Inv to-
to visit the studio. II represented Ar1adne, u.s.
after awaktl g. alone on the Island of Noxes. de-
serted by Theseus, terrified and heart-5rol en-.
The grief, alarm, and despair depicted in tn,
maj Bile features were the very perfection OF art,
sorrowfu lOvelineSS of the dropping head an
tmploring, out-stretched hands. A crimson silk
curtain, arranged so as to throw soft, arm
light over the statue, became slightly displs ced,
and behind It's heavy folds with her head resting
against the pedestal of an unfinished Demeter,
saw young Italian peasant girl asleep The
dark eyes that were intensely mournful In their
slow, upward gaze The small brown hands, the
exquisitely turned wrist and arm, the large sad
eyes, dark as night wtne-red lips and long
smooth braids of ebon hair were purely Italian.
could not help looking at her In undlsguised
admiration. The young sculptor smiled, ana
viii not be wanted to-day, but do not fail to
come Tomorrow
with dumb, dog like obedience, the girl
arose, and, without word, silently dlsap-
":Anita is the model who stood for Arladne.
She has the mute, grieved, startled expression
that one respect, at least. my Ariadne cannot be
surpassed. You see her here again in Demeter
searching for her daughter. Even the hand
that holds the uplifted torch has something in
describably sad about 1t. That's Anta's own
sorroWful look, I'd know 1t among a thousand"
81 Anita had been model of wood, instead
Of flesh and blood, he could not have spoken
more indifferently. l can't tell why, but the
girl interested me deeply. She seemed so lone
~, so poor and friendless- of the many
hundreds of models who haunt the studios Of
Rome, living heaven only knows where or how.
With her passionate southern blood she tnher-
tied the dark, dreamy beauty Of the Tuscan
she had given, unasked and uncared for, to the
young sculptor He did not return her love,
and she knew tt-just as one knows they can
not possess STAR because it is so high above
them.
"Anitas affection was nothing to the hand
some American-absolutely nothing; for he was
and lovely, to whom his poor model was no
more to be compared than the light from a
bundle of fagots Is to be hkened to the moon.
song on his lips, and his heart overrunning with
gladness, for on the morrow he would marry
the woman he loved-loved best In all the
world-entered, to find Anita lying at the feetof
The unutterable pathos Of the word as it fell,
slow and distinctly, from the narrator's lips,
girl lying cold and still at the base Of the
statue, as wildly as If the scene had been enac-
ted before ones very eyes.
"Dead!" echoed, blankly. I had not expec-
ted quite so tragic climax.
"Aye, dead! That was Anita's way OF ending
her troubles. She had taken narcotic poison,
gu etly tuOwed her head on her shapely arm
turned her white face up to the still whittier
Ariadne's, and SO died, peacefully, and with no
outw ard sign of either pain or regret"
l thanked my travelling companion for the
story, wondered meanwhile where had seen
that peculiarly striking countenance before. II
derby lady with the melodious voice and mag
nifcent breadth of brow was Charlotte Cush-