THE INAUGURATION OF THE STUDIO
MAUD succeeded in obtaining the studio on which she had set her heart,
and for the next fortnight she was engaged in the delightful occupation
of furnishing it. No considerations of expense restricted the
gratification of her artistic love of beautiful things. She searched
the shops and sale-rooms of Rome for quaint furniture, rare tapestries,
rugs, and costly fabrics of various kinds. She bought pictures,
statuettes, plaques, vases, in such numbers, that Enid, accustomed to
spend money carefully, was amazed at her cousin's extravagance.
"If I have a studio at all, I must have an elegant one," Maud would say.
She wanted to begin where most artists finish. She was ambitious of
having a studio which would compare with those of the famous painters
of Rome, whose art treasures had been slowly and lovingly accumulated
during many years of work.
Enid did not always accompany her cousin on her shopping expeditions.
Sometimes Maud preferred to be accompanied by an artist friend, in
whose judgement she placed more confidence than in Enid's, whom she
did not credit with much taste or knowledge of artistic effects. Enid
was not sorry to be left free to go sight-seeing. With her "Baedeker"
as her guide, she spent many a delightful hour in wandering about the
neighbourhood of the Roman Forum and the Capitol. She did not again
meet Julius Dakin.
Maud seemed often to meet him as she transacted her business. She came
home one morning in excellent spirits, and told Enid that she had met
Julius Dakin on her way to the shops, and he had been good enough to go
with her from place to place, and give her his opinion with regard to
various important purchases.
"Is he an artist?" enquired Enid.
"No; he only paints a little as an amateur; but he has perfect taste,
and understands art thoroughly."
"Has he nothing to do, that he can afford to spend the whole morning in
attendance on a lady?" asked Enid.
Maud shrugged her shoulders. "He is supposed, to help his father in
the bank, I believe," she said; "but I am sure I cannot tell when he
attends to business, for he goes everywhere, and one meets him out at
all hours."
"I don't approve of a man who does nothing," said Enid, thinking of her
father's busy, hard-working life.
"Oh, Julius Dakin is such a careless, light-hearted creature; the life
of a 'dilettante' suits him exactly. And there is no need for him to
work; his father has plenty of money, so what does it matter?"
Enid was silent. She thought it mattered a great deal; but she hardly
knew how to explain her ideas on the subject to her cousin.
When the workmen who had been employed upon the studio had finished
their tasks, and the time had come for the actual arrangement of the
room, Maud found her cousin of the utmost service. If Enid was not
so learned with respect to things rare and beautiful as her cousin,
she understood the simple, practical details on which the realisation
of Maud's ideas depended. With needle and cotton, or with hammer and
nails, she was equally skilful, and curtains were hung and fixtures
adjusted with a knack which astonished Maud.
"I think it will about do," said that young lady at last, surveying
her room with an elated air. "The general effect is good. I am not
sure, though, that the Venus would not look better in this corner. Oh,
I do hope Julius Dakin will pronounce it good. He will see at once if
anything is out of harmony."
"I don't believe he 'can' find much fault," said Enid, tired but well
pleased with the result of her labours. "Shall I bring forward this
other easel, Maud, or will you have it left here behind the screen?"
"Oh, bring it forward," said Maud; "there should always be plenty of
easels visible in a studio. Besides, you will want one: you are to work
too, you know. Don't you remember I told your father I would make an
artist of you? And really those little paintings of yours are not bad;
you will do something good in time if you work. Put that blackberry
spray of yours on the easel."
It seemed to Enid that there was only one objection to be made to
the studio, and that was that it was too elegant. There was too much
decoration, and not sufficient evidence of work. Everything, even to
the palettes and brushes, looked new, and the few sketches which Maud
had taken from her portfolio and pinned here and there about the walls
hardly appeared to come up to the standard which the room demanded.
There were some of Maud's more ambitious attempts handsomely framed
upon the walls; but Enid found herself looking at these with a sense
of regret that she could not admire them more. She supposed that they
represented Maud's earlier efforts, and that she had not yet seen her
cousin's best work.
Almost every room in the large old-fashioned house in the Via Sistina
was let as a studio. As she went up or down the stairs—as in those busy
days of preparation she did many times in the day—Enid occasionally met
a middle-aged woman, small and pale, with a melancholy expression, and
whose dress was not only shabby but exceedingly odd in its style. There
were many curious turns and twists in the old house, and one day Enid
saw this woman pass along a narrow passage turning off from the main
staircase and enter a room marked "Studio No. 8."
"Maud," she said, when she returned to her cousin, "do you know who has
Studio No. 8 in this house?"
"No. 8," said Maud; "I believe that is Miss Strutt's. She is a thorough
old maid; one of the queerest-looking creatures you ever saw."
"Then it was she I met on the stairs," said Enid. "Does she live at her
studio? For I believe she was carrying a loaf when I met her."
"Yes, she lives there, if you can call it living, for they say she is
as poor as a church mouse. She is a Scotch-woman. I hope you admired
the fashion of her dress. Someone told me that she was once about to be
married, and had her 'trousseau' all ready, when the match was broken
off, and she has been wearing her wedding gowns ever since. I am sure
the one I last saw her in looked as if it might have been made fifty
years ago."
"Poor thing!" said Enid. "She must be dreadfully lonely if she lives
there by herself. Has she no friends in Rome?"
"I can't say, I am sure," replied Maud. "Everyone who speaks to me
about her seems to regard her as a kind of joke."
"What is her painting like?"
"Nothing remarkable. She paints in water-colour. By-the-by, I heard she
had several pictures in the last 'Esposizione dei Belli Arti,' and they
were highly commended, so I suppose she can sell her work. Perhaps she
is miserly."
The next time Enid met Miss Strutt on the stairs she ventured to utter
a "Good-day."
The poor artist looked up in surprise, and a faint tinge of colour
appeared on her worn cheek as she returned the greeting of the English
girl.
Maud had lost no time in issuing to her friends cards intimating the
day on which she would be "At home" at her studio. She had talked so
much about her studio that people were curious to see it, and when the
day arrived she had quite a crowd of visitors. One of the earliest to
enter was Julius Dakin. Maud welcomed him with one of her most winning
smiles.
"Now you have come to criticise. I know," she said, "and I give you
leave to say what you like. Look round and tell me just what you think
of things, and suggest any improvements that occur to you. But first
allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Enid Mildmay."
Enid was busying herself at the tea-table. She had not looked up at
the sound of Julius Dakin's voice, though she had known in an instant
that it was he who entered. She was not subject to nervousness, but her
hands were rather unsteady as she tried to kindle the spirit-lamp, and
she was conscious of a strange sensation of shyness.
Her colour deepened as she met the look of surprise and pleasure which
came into the young man's eyes. Maud saw it and was astonished.
"I think we have met before, Miss Mildmay, and at a more famous place,"
he said easily, "though who knows how famous this studio of Miss
Marian's is destined to become?"
"What!" said Maud, amazed. "You have met Enid before!"
"Yes," murmured Enid, in some confusion, "I met Mr. Dakin at the
Colosseum on the day of our arrival in Rome."
"And Miss Mildmay was good enough to allow me to act as her guide,"
added Dakin. "You know how proud I am of my knowledge of the ruins,
since, unlike most of the inhabitants of Rome, I have really made a
study of them."
Maud felt an annoyance which she could hardly conceal. But as Julius
Dakin began to admire her studio, and delicately insinuate compliments
on her good taste, the cloud faded from her brow.
More visitors arrived, everyone ready to admire the room and compliment
the fair owner. For some time Enid was kept busy at the tea-table,
whilst Julius Dakin made himself useful in handing the cups to and
fro. At last, when everyone was supplied, there was a pause of a few
minutes, and Enid had leisure to observe the social qualities which
Julius Dakin was displaying. He seemed a different being as she watched
him now from the man who had explained to her every point of interest
attaching to the Colosseum. What an inexhaustible supply of small talk
he seemed to possess! What nonsense too he talked; and yet it was a
clever kind of nonsense. It was clear that he was a great favourite
with the ladies present, and no wonder, Enid thought, as she heard
some of the words he addressed to them. Now he was admiring the pretty
gown worn by a girl present, and subtly suggesting to her that it was
becoming; now he was talking to a young mother of her fine boy; and now
congratulating a rather worn-looking spinster who wore glasses on the
hanging of one of her pictures at a recent exhibition.
"He aims at making himself generally agreeable," thought Enid. "I shall
know what it means when he pays me compliments."
The next moment he was at her side. Catching sight of the easel Enid
had drawn into the corner by the tea-table, hoping it would escape
observation, he said, "Miss Marian did not paint that?"
"No," said Enid, "that is an attempt of mine. Don't look at it, please."
"Indeed, I must look at it. It is very good. The bloom of the fruit and
the colour of the leaves is excellent. It is really—" he lowered his
voice—"the best thing of the kind in the room."
Enid coloured.
"Oh, please don't," she said hurriedly. "I hate to be complimented."
"But I am not uttering an empty compliment," he said, looking at her.
"What! You do not believe me?"
"I think you are clever at making pretty speeches, Mr. Dakin."
He laughed, and evidently felt complimented.
"So you have been taking notes, I see. That is the way with you quiet
people. But surely one is bound to try to make oneself agreeable, and
ladies as a rule like that kind of thing."
"And men are quite superior to it, I suppose?" said Enid mischievously.
"Oh, of course," he said, laughing again. "But really, Miss Mildmay,
you mistake me if you think I was not speaking sincerely when I said
that was the best thing in the room."
"And yet you would not tell Maud that."
"Why should I? It would be most 'gauche' to do so, now I know it is
not her work. Surely one may have regard for truth without saying with
brutal frankness exactly what one thinks?"
"Well, yes, I suppose one must exercise some reserve," said Enid. "Yet
I like people who say straight out what they mean, even though they are
sometimes guilty of bluntness."
"Then I will try to please you in that respect, Miss Mildmay. I promise
you I will pay you no compliment from henceforth save that involved in
telling you the exact truth on every occasion."
"Thank you," said Enid. "I assure you I shall consider that a
compliment. But who is this gentleman?" she asked, glancing at one
who had just entered the studio, and whom Maud was welcoming with
enthusiasm. "He is surely an artist?"
"He is," replied Dakin, "and one of the most distinguished in Rome. He
will please you, Miss Mildmay, for Herr Schmitz is famous for saying on
every occasion exactly what he thinks. Really I wonder at Miss Marian's
audacity in sending him an invitation."
The painter was a man of short, thick-set figure, with a large leonine
head covered with abundant grizzly hair. His countenance was homely
in the extreme, and pitted by small-pox; but his gray eyes were keen
and farseeing, and though his expression was not exactly amiable, Enid
fancied she could detect a gleam of humour in his eyes, and indications
of the same in the lines about his mouth. He was explaining to Miss
Marian that he had not come to the house for the purpose of calling on
her, but to see a friend of his, an artist, who had a room below; being
there, however, he thought he might as well take a look at her studio.
"It is very good of you—indeed, I feel highly honoured," said Maud
sweetly.
Herr Schmitz frowned. Apparently he liked compliments as little as
Enid. He raised his "pince-nez" and began to look critically about the
room.
"Too pretty, too pretty," he said, speaking in English, though with a
strong foreign accent. "A very charming 'salon,' but not a workshop. It
does not please me to see all this luxury in a studio."
"Oh, don't call it luxury," said Maud, with an air of deprecation.
"Everything looks horridly new at present, I know, and so spick and
span; but the place will be littered enough when I begin to work."
"You'd better lose no time in beginning," said the painter gruffly.
"Don't make a plaything of your studio that will beguile you from your
work. What have we here? A child holding an apple with an impossible
arm. My dear Miss Marian, don't attempt things of that kind till you
have learned to draw. Get plaster casts of arms and legs, or dummies
with moveable joints, and draw them in every possible position. You
should not think of painting till you have mastered form."
Maud coloured, and looked intensely mortified; but her self-possession
did not desert her.
"You are right—I need more practice," she said. "I knew there was
something wrong with that arm. Of course all my poor attempts must
appear very faulty in your eyes."
"Nonsense! Any eyes that know what arms are would see that that is out
of drawing. And here we have a bit of the Tiber and St. Peter's in
the distance. Colour fair, but don't you see the shore-line could not
possibly have been so?"
"Yes, yes, I see what you mean," said Maud hurriedly, feeling it
unendurable that the defects in her paintings should thus be exposed
to the company gathered to admire her studio. "But before you look at
anything more, you must have a cup of tea. Yes; indeed, my cousin will
be quite disappointed if you do not taste the tea she has made. We
English pride ourselves, you know, on being able to make good tea."
"I never drink tea," said the painter brusquely; "but I shall be happy
to make your cousin's acquaintance."
So Herr Schmitz was brought to where Enid sat, and introduced to her,
and almost immediately, to her horror, his eyes fell on her little
painting.
"Ah, let me see!" he exclaimed, moving nearer to the easel. "This is
a new departure." He examined it critically for a few moments, and
then, aware perhaps that Miss Marian was hurt by his previous remarks,
he began to commend warmly the one thing he had found which he could
praise.
"This is good," he said; "you have taken pains with this. There is
careful drawing here, and the colour is good. That shadow might be
deepened with advantage, and this leaf should be more transparent;
still, it is a distinct advance. I did not know that you went in for
this sort of thing."
"Nor do I," said Maud coldly. "That is the work of my cousin."
"Ah you paint too then," said Herr Schmitz, turning upon Enid a keen,
interested gaze. "You are very fond of painting—is it not so?"
"Yes, indeed I like painting," replied Enid; "but I have had little
instruction."
"No matter—you have talent; and if you work, work, work, you will
get on. You have an eye for form and an eye for colour—two excellent
gifts; but you must develop them. Practise drawing constantly; accustom
yourself to draw all kinds of forms—there is no other way to attain
freedom of hand."
He went on to give Enid quite a lesson, to which she would have
listened with pleasure but for her consciousness of the mortification
Maud was enduring. Then, without noticing anything more of Maud's, or
giving her a word of encouragement, the great man took his departure.
Miss Marian's friends rallied round her when he was gone. She must
not think anything of what Herr Schmitz had said, they assured her.
Everyone knew he was a perfect bear; for their part they believed he
was envious because her studio was so much better furnished than his
own. Julius Dakin told an absurd story to prove that Herr Schmitz
believed there was but one great modern painter, and that was himself.
An Italian gentleman present—not an artist—foretold that Herr Schmitz
would learn one day that he was mistaken, for there was at least one
other artist in the world, the fair painter of the Studio Mariano.
This speech was received with applause, not because his prophecy was
believed, but because everyone was struck with the happy way in which
he had named the studio. It was a name which stuck to it. Henceforth
Miss Marian's place of work was constantly spoken of by her friends as
the Studio Mariano. Happily she never knew how often the mention of it
raised a laugh, since amongst the artists of her acquaintance who were
permitted to visit her there, the Studio Mariano came to be regarded as
an excellent joke.
Maud did her best to hide her wounded feelings. She admitted that Herr
Schmitz was very hard to please, and that she was properly punished
for her presumption in inviting him to her poor studio. But though she
laughed and joked about it, Enid could see that she was sorely hurt,
and when her company had departed, she no longer attempted to hide that
she was so.
"Horrid man!" she said, as she threw herself into an easy chair. "He
has put me out of heart with everything. Just as I was so pleased with
my studio too! I wish he had not come."
Enid was silent. She was afraid of saying the wrong thing if she spoke,
and Maud was certainly not in the mood to be soothed by any words from
her cousin. As she glanced at the little painting which had received
such praise from the master, a feeling of envy and bitterness crept
into her heart. She nursed her sore feelings in silence for some time,
but when she next addressed her cousin, her voice expressed somewhat of
the bitterness she felt.
"Why did you not tell me, Enid, that you met Julius Dakin at the
Colosseum?"
"I meant to tell you," said Enid, "but when I got back to the house,
you were out, and when you returned it was almost dinner-time. There
was really no opportunity that evening."
"There have been opportunities since," said Maud drily.
"Of course," replied Enid. "I really hardly know myself how it is I
have not told you. You must remember I did not know when I met him that
he was a friend of yours."
"You must have known on the following afternoon, when we saw him on the
Pincio."
"Yes, I knew then," said Enid.
"Please understand, Enid," said Maud, her voice quivering with passion,
"that you and I shall never get on together unless you are perfectly
straightforward with me. There is nothing I detest like underhand ways."
"Maud!" exclaimed Enid. "What do you mean?" She was naturally
quick-tempered, and the insinuation conveyed by her cousin's words
excited her warm indignation.
"Pray explain what you mean by 'underhand ways,'" she went on, as Maud
continued silent. "No one has ever accused me of such; what can you
have seen in my conduct that can give you any right to suspect me of
deceit?"
"I have not accused you of anything," said Maud; "I have only warned
you."
"Then you might wait till such a warning is necessary," said Enid.
Maud made no reply, but rose and began to put on her hat and cloak.
Having uttered the last word, Enid had time to discover that she was
actually quarrelling with her cousin. She was dismayed at the thought.
They had barely been three weeks together, and they were disagreeing
already! Still, Enid could not feel that she alone was to blame. She
set to work to gather the cups and saucers together and put the room in
order with a sense of grievance on her mind.
Suddenly she felt Maud's hand on her shoulder, and Maud's voice said,
"Forgive me, Enid; I should not have spoken to you so, but that horrid
Herr Schmitz has made me as savage as a bear."
Enid accepted the apology, and kissed her cousin. Apparently all was
as before between them, but in truth, the incidents of the day had
effected a breach in their friendship, though as yet so slight as to be
almost imperceptible.