Chapter IV: 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.