Maude with an 'E' - Chapter 2

t the Top of the Stairs

As Henriette had been making her case to Alice in the musty office that morning, on a sunnier side of the city, the ever so ‘popular’ painter in question had been waking up to another glorious day of creative work ahead.

On getting out of bed she reached for her favourite shiny silk robe and slipped on lush, golden velvet slippers… gliding her way through the house over richly woven rugs. She sprang open the shutters to an upper room in the house, and looked out on the tree-lined streets outside - framed by a flower box lining the lower edge of the outlook from her art studio. Sunlight bedazzled the room as it gushed in and lit her red hair, turning it a brighter tint of red-orange. The unsettled dust from the opened shutters created a sparkle in the air throughout the shaft of light now piercing the space. Colourful works of art leaning against the walls and hanging haphazardly around the place became visible in their full glory. She made her way straight toward the easel angled away from the window, and quickly resumed work on an unfinished painting… the paint still slightly wet to the touch. She forgot to put on her protective painter’s apron and had forgotten that she hadn’t yet breakfasted. She dabbed at the wet, glistening paint, darting between palette and canvas… pausing to evaluate every so often, how the work was measuring up to the image in her mind’s eye.

Her creative reverie was interrupted only when the maidservant came through the door, bashfully and yet with a knowing look of light-hearted disapproval, carrying a tray of breakfast. She reminded her mistress of the fact she hadn’t eaten yet.

“Ma’am, your breakfast.”

“Oh! Mary, you’re a dear. Days could go by with my forgetting to eat if it weren’t for you! Thank you, just lay it here please.” She fretfully tried to clear a space on a surface full of messy painting supplies… with the only hand she had free as the other was taken up with paint palette and brush. The maid set the items down, aware that the items on it will probably go cold before they are given attention again.

“Ma’am, would you like me to help you put this on?” Fanny offered, motioning to the painter’s apron.

“Oh goodness me, you’re right, look at me I haven’t given myself a thought this morning, have I? What would I do without you?” She proceeded to remove the elegant silk robe, which the maid then protectively collected and placed to one side out of paint’s way… and helped her mistress don the apron. While she attended to this she also set about reminding Maude of her engagements for the day… one being an imminent interview with the lady reporter from “Girl’s Realm” magazine.

This set Maude off in a frenzied scurry. Lost in her creative flow, the appointment had completely slipped her mind. The rest of the house, in turn, took on the state of emergency, mirroring her own frantic state.

Just as they had finished making necessary preparations, the stately bell of the house sounded throughout the house. On the doorstep, Henriette was at first hesitant, but then had briskly rung the bell, as if to denote with what pains it had taken her in order to arrive at this point. In the shadow of this impressive and imposing town house, she breathed in and out slowly, attempting to relax her nerves.

The maid was sent. As the door opened, Henriette ignored the butterflies in her stomach. She otherwise and for appearance’s sake confidently announced herself, “Miss Henriette Corkran, from the Girl’s Realm. Here for the 10:30 appointment with Mrs. Scanes.”

She had never found herself in this position before and felt like a trailing duck playing catchup, seemingly calm on the surface but paddling like mad beneath the surface. There was no turning back now. Thankfully, her desire to maintain an air of professionalism, overruled the feeling of utter overwhelm. The nervous thrill throughout her was not an entirely new feeling, and she knew she’d pay for it later, but in the meantime she fully intended to simply enjoy the moment. And so she carried on, as if this were the most natural thing in the world to her.

Welcomed into the house, Henriette’s hat became the first matter of business between herself and the maid. Once removed and safely set aside, the maid set about leading her further on into the house. Neither of them said anything further to the other. The maid’s silence rather begot Henriette’s. This allowed Henriette’s full attention to become occupied with what she observed as she was led through.

As quietly as the maid was leading her, Henriette was quietly feeling uplifted by her new surroundings – it was as if she had stepped right into one of Miss Goodman’s own pretty paintings. She drank in the details and noted that the atmosphere of the place, delicate and feminine as it was, also seemed to carry a weight and imbibe a certain strength of will. Therein was true grace, quaint - and yet refined.

There were the Chippendale pieces which stood rather prominently, the grandfather clock in the hallway, Empire mirrors… gold and white panels all about her, all of which reminded her of certain scenes from Maude’s paintings.

The maid conducted Henriette further along and up to the top of the stairs, to the doorway of the art studio – to meet the Queen of interiors within, Henriette didn’t doubt. To the side of the door however, Henriette noticed that there was something she’d never seen in any of Maude’s paintings before and yet here it was featured and encased in a protective glass cover: a small, aged and well-used paint box, tilted open to display the ingenious design of its unfolded inner shelving. Where once there must have been an array of colourful paints, now there were just whispery traces of colours that once had been.

The maid knocked timidly on the door and as she opened it and entered, she announced the name of the appointed visitor.

“Ms. Henriette Corkran, mi’lady…” she said, curtsying.

Henriette followed her in and did her best to concentrate on the newly forming acquaintance at hand, rather than allow her reaction at the room to overtake her. It was airy and extremely spacious, the space of which, however, had been broken up by the presence of so many works of art leaning about, finished or unfinished as the case may have been. The walls were a soft tone of green, light and cool, creating a rather airy and relaxed feel, despite the disarray of painter’s items within it. She couldn’t help but notice too, that half of the room had been rendered into a sort of billiards room, with accompanying billiard table. She thought it strange that Miss Goodman, perhaps in between bouts of painting, would vary her day by playing at billiards? There was a question to be asked there. But for now she forced her attention upon the lady of the house, as introductions were being made and she was quickly becoming the focal point of Miss Goodman’s own thoughtful attention. She came toward Henriette to greet her.

Maude was dressed in white and had taken up a white kitten in her arms. Henriette noted to herself how slender and graceful she was, in harmony with so many of the house’s decorations. Her bright red hair could be seen in stark yet charming contrast to the vision of white. The sun shining through the window seemed only to further brighten the red that was her hair, making her seem almost angelic.

Maude thanked Henriette for making the journey on such a hot day and asked, “Would you like anything to drink?” With manners gentle, and voice sweet, she succeeded in putting Henriette at ease immediately. She rang again for the maid, who by now was halfway down the stairs already and she bit her lip as she thought she may as well have waited at the top, to see if anything was needed, before heading down. New to being in service, she was learning as she went.

To fill some of the silence as they waited for the maid’s return, Maude began pointing out elements of the house’s design and décor, which she took great pride in. She was eager as well, to not give away the fact that in an artistic moment of forgetfulness earlier that morning, she’d become oblivious to the requirements of the impending interview… and missed eating breakfast in the process. She was simultaneously distracting herself from her own hunger by welcoming the reporter thus.

Henriette was cheered by the warm reception, optimistic of the chances of building a friendly rapport with Miss Goodman. She felt the interview was going swimmingly.

When the maid had returned, Henriette stole a moment to scribble some observations in her notebook. Maude gave some subtle direction to the servant girl, in a gently modified tone, “Could we have tea and biscuits in the studio please Mary… and some cucumber sandwiches,” she added as an afterthought, catching Mary just before she compliantly headed off to fulfil the commission. Retracing her steps back down the stairs, she wondered why the art studio couldn’t be set up on the ground floor of the house. She’d already lost count of how many times she’d run up and down these steps today.

“You’ll have to forgive us Miss Corkran - as the house is not the same as when Mr. Scanes is at home…” Maude began again, apologetically. And yet, Henriette felt she had found it just as she should would have hoped: the floor half-strewn with interesting rugs, artistic knick-knacks and curiosities squirrelled away here and there, all of these objects inter-mingling with intimations of happy family life and signs of the family’s recreational habits, evident in some of the objects left out and about. Musical instruments too, not clearly evident whether for practical purpose or for ornament, but she did recognise the lute-harp from another of Maude’s famous paintings.

“But you see it is exactly because he is away, that I thought today best to entertain you and answer your questions. He has taken the children to see their grandparents and therefore, I am as you find me - at my ease and leisure! Quite a contrast I assure you, from the usual ‘to do’ of a day, having to see to the two children. I’m sure you’ll understand when you have children of your own one day.” She remarked in a kind tone, having already noted Ms. Corkran’s single state.

Henriette’s pleasant ease suddenly vanished from within her, and she felt her neck stiffening. She managed to stifle an urge to look away in efforts to re-collect herself, in response to said assumption, and thereafter resumed a more guarded inner posture, while still maintaining a pleasant tone as she spoke with Miss Goodman. As charming as this picture of family conviviality was, Henriette was determined to pursue a career as a journalist and didn’t believe that getting married, and certainly not having children, would ever do anything to help propel her forward in such aims. She subscribed to the views of Maria Grey, Harriet Martineau and Frances Power Cobbe… in that a lone woman could be not only happy but grateful for never having married, and lead as productive a life as any man. And yet, for that very purpose, she reminded herself that now was not the instance to air such views on the subject - as she was needful of this interview going as well as possible. She maintained her focus on the true subject of this interview: Miss Maude Goodman, otherwise known as Mrs. Arthur Scanes.

Henriette’s sister Alice, editor of one of the most popular girls’ periodicals of London, had hesitantly given her the assignment as a long awaited probationary favour. And that had only been half the battle. Indeed, it had taken Henriette the better part of a year to even secure this interview, unsure of whether her sister would even approve it in the end. She had made such efforts and preparations in spite of Alice’s continual resistance to the idea. Her sister thought it unlikely that a famous painter, raising a family, would desire to receive a reporter into her home. But Henriette had persevered, remaining optimistic. Through preliminary research, Henriette had become aware of Maude’s humbler beginnings, and this being the case she was sure that Maude would be approachable and desire to do whatever she could to alleviate the plight of the progressive modern Victorian woman, even if it simply meant relating her story of success.

To be sure, she was confident that in Maude’s triumphant tale there would be something that could inspire other striving females, not only within the art world, but beyond. An inkling of this strand in the story had sparked much of Henriette’s own determination, throughout the year. And though Maude’s current existence was quite different from Henriette’s own personal views on what an independent woman should be striving towards, she was willing to put such views to one side for the time being and take a ‘big-picture’ approach to what could be gleaned from the story and the opportunity. If she could just make a success of this interview and procure a post within her sister’s publishing company, Henriette might just have a secure platform of her own one day, from which to espouse even grander schemes and slowly ply away the boards of society’s “crate”… the one that kept so many women confined to domestic life as supposed “angels.”

The irony Henriette now felt, in beholding one such 'domestic angel’ now, was poignant. She was wrapping her mind around this as Maude further embellished upon the interview pre-amble, and while both were still waiting patiently for refreshments to arrive.

As nothing very important was being said just yet, the art surrounding Henriette was sparking further discontented thoughts…she found her mind musing… she was wondering what the art critic John Ruskin would think of all of this. Her previous research into to the art world had brought her in touch with hist writings. In fact, one didn’t have to be researcher to be exposed to nor be familiar with his opinions on art… so often were they to be found in daily and annual papers. And they had their place. Indeed, his opinions on what constituted good art had a great degree of influence in the minds of the public, as one Punch poem illustrated: "I paints and paints, hears no complaints, and sells before I'm dry. Till savage Ruskin, he sticks his tusk in, then nobody will buy."

It was because of his acclaim... and having seen that he had given attention to the work of Kate Greenaway, that Henriette had thought it not unlikely that Ruskin would have, at some point, commented on either the work or the growing popularity of Maude Goodman. Her works had, after all, been exhibited regularly at the RA for more than 25 years. Henriette had thought it appropriate to further acquaint herself with his postulations and reassure herself as to whether he’d ever written any comments or reviews on Maude’s art.

She had at first been innocuously drawn in, somewhat like a bee to a flower, by Ruskin's seemingly pleasant, albeit common, concept of what constitutes a home, found in his work 'Of Queen's Gardens'. He had said, "Wherever a true wife comes... home is yet wherever she is." At the time, Henriette had thought, "Home is yet wherever she is" to be a nice quote to perhaps use in further describing one of Maude's paintings. For example, "Love's Young Dream" or "Home Sweet Home". Both Maude’s depictions and Ruskin’s line seemed to share a similar ideal in this regard.

However when she later came across his opinion of women’s place in the world, it had made Henriette’s stomach turn. Much like when you find out that something you’ve eaten which seemed fine at the time, has actually been contaminated in some way, only it’s too late to be able to do anything about it.

Ruskin’s further thoughts on the subject had thus shattered Henriette’s pleasant notion when within paragraphs, she found him blaming woman for all the suffering in the world: "There is not a war in the world, no, nor an injustice, but you women are answerable for it; not in that you have provoked, but you have not hindered. Men, by their nature, are prone to fight; they will fight for any cause, or for none. It is for you to choose their cause for them, and to forbid them when there is no cause. There is no suffering, no injustice, no misery in the earth, but the guilt of it lies with you."

Henriette felt embittered at reading this. Ruskin had been raised closely under the supervision of his parents, as an only child, with privileges of education and travel resulting in extensive exposure to the "outside world" he described. Henriette would agree to have her hair cut off, to have had a chance to make even one of the many journeys Ruskin had gone on during his youth. Equal opportunities of education or travel were simply not as available to women as they were to men like Ruskin. His privileged background only added insult to the injury of his words.

At that point she couldn’t countenance the idea of letting an opinion of his, or lack of opinion, have any bearing whatsoever on the question of Maude Goodman's success story as a painter. Even if she could have pressed on further, and found a mention worthy of repetition, she would have had to wade through the mire of his aforementioned diseased opinions, in order to get there.

Additionally, in light of the fact that Maude so clearly personified a complete family picture of domestic bliss - along with children, held up as 'the ideal' in her paintings (children being something Ruskin could never produce within his own marriage - in fact, it was as Maude was coming into the world in the early part of 1853 that Ruskin's failing marriage had been on its way out. Whereas Ruskin had idealised family life, he failed to realise such ideals himself. On the other hand, Maude idealised the picture of happy family life, but also successfully achieved it.)

Due to all of these reasons, Henriette thought better of her initial idea, thinking that it would be unfitting indeed to attempt to build a Ruskin quote into a review of Maude’s success story. Who was he really to have ever passed comment on what she was able to achieve, whether positive or negative? Perhaps he was wise to have kept his counsel. Still, it was into this society, a male-dominated and critic-driven art world, that Maude was born into.

These ponderings were flitting through her journalistic mind, as she sat, still waiting for the tea to come.

But these thoughts needed to become secondary to the task at hand. And, ironically, Henriette was also sensibly aware of the privilege she now found herself enjoying - that of being somewhere other than a stuffy crowded tramway, looking forward to drinking tea from something other than a chipped mug, eating something other than soggy egg on a burned bap, talking to someone other than stuffy male clerks demanding payment on last month’s unpaid bills.

Indeed, it was a pleasure by comparison, to find herself in an environment such as this - even if it was a stereotype of ‘angelic’ domesticity. She was slowly beginning to feel that even the blister on her foot, had been worth the journey.

The maid came in with the tea and sandwiches.

“Thank you, Mary. Just set it here please and we can help ourselves.”

“So Mrs. Scanes, or shall I call you Mrs. Goodman?”

“Oh my dear,” she replied in a soft, kind voice, “you must call me Maude please. It is the name I paint by and your doing so will help my conversation stay on track, I trust.” She intimated jokingly, as though she was prone to such distraction as would lead to losing herself among wandering tangential thoughts, and as if she might otherwise forget why this reporter was seated in front of her, which of course, she would not.

Smiling to show her understanding of the self-deprecating jest, Henriette continued, “So Ms. Maude…. I know it may often be a logical place to start, the beginning that is... and we will get there, but I’d like to try something unusual and ask you to start telling me your story from the point when you knew you had made it as a successful artist. When was that moment, may I ask, and how did you know?”

“Hmmmm... Success is a multi-coloured concept. So I suppose I should ask what you mean by successful... though I can venture a guess. Perhaps you mean financially successful. That is one measure of success, but if my answer to this question is to convey anything about me as a character, I would hope that it conveys to other aspiring artists that success, like beauty, is ‘in the eye of the beholder’, that is to say, it is a subjective experience… it is to be found not in the thing itself but in the mind of the one that beholds, or enjoys it. If your belief about what it means to be successful includes the making of plenty of money, then you will look to examples of artists who manage to make a living at what they do. I do think that solvency is a major consideration, but it is not the only one, to be sure. I think in some ways perhaps, as a woman in this world and as a daughter....... coming to be financially independent has indeed been one of my own personal considerations, when it comes to establishing myself and staking a claim as it were, in this territory. Does anyone really feel secure in this world, if they are not capable of looking after or providing for their physical needs somehow? Or for those they love? I think Brontë said it best, ‘There is no more respectable character on this earth than a woman who makes her way through life quietly, perseveringly, and who, having attained the age of 45 or upwards, retains in her possession a well regulated mind, a disposition to enjoy simple pleasures, fortitude to support inevitable pains, sympathy with the sufferings of others, and willingness to relieve want as far as her means extend.’ So if by success you mean secure due to one’s own means, I do remember the first time I began to feel secure, as an artist.”

Henriette noticed that in her quote, and one that Henriette herself was quite familiar with… Maude omitted the qualifying descriptives: “unmarried” and “without support of a husband or brother”… but again, Henriette was pre-disposed to yield on all debatable points. “Please do go on.” Henriette urged with a smile.

"Well, I was still quite young when I first sold a picture, “A Girl going to her First Ball”. At first the interested person wanted to pay fifteen guineas for it, but then Mr. Wallis told him that he thought the painter of it deserved at least twenty! Still, it was let go for the fifteen. Anyhow, some days later, Mr Wallis received a cheque for the additional five. An accompanying letter from the buyer explained that, after bringing the picture home, it had been admired so, that the new owner felt it was ‘his duty to Maude Goodman to see that she receive the full sum that the art director had put upon it'. I can’t tell you how delighted and encouraged it made me to hear that… not simply because of the extra funds, mind you, but because it reassured me that my picture had appealed to another and brought pleasure to others."

Henriette mused upon the anecdote for the moment… she recalled that she had read something along similar lines, in newspaper articles. All about how one of Maude's paintings called "Ready for the Ball" had sold for 20 guineas. It had been a point on which she had made a note, hoping to receive further clarification from Maude during this interview. She also thought of all the things 20 guineas could afford her just now. More suitable shoes, for one.

The fact that the buyer had been willing to part with the remaining 5 guineas after already negotiating a bargain, did speak to the enchanting nature of her art. This may have been a first, only and last in the world of art buying. "'Ready for the Ball' was a picture of a young lady, with fan and flowers who had just completed her evening toilette.” Perhaps looking at it had reminded the new owner, or rather his wife, of her first ball and subsequent events that followed, most likely pleasant ones. It reminded Henriette of the power of art to transport the viewer, either to places one might rather be, or to the land of a long lost happy memory. Not unlike the way a familiar scent or taste can do.

“Solvency however, is only one marker of perceived success. You’ve given me cause to pause and reflect... perhaps I prefer to look back on my story to date, more as a string of small successes, and not necessarily related to earning an income. Some victories so small that perhaps I didn’t even think of them as anything, on the day... but you know, without those tiny achievements, the successful ‘end’ would simply not have been possible. Of course there are the big pivotal triumphs in life, ones that really stand out but let me think for a moment, if you will please, on what may have been others that weren’t as overt. I believe that perhaps it’s only when we are looking back like this, that we can see them for what they truly meant, in the long run. Perhaps I can tell my story of that string as I see it now.... which as in the arrangement of a delicate pearl necklace, the moments may be lined up, each one a minuscule pearl, which when placed together like that, amount to something tangible.”

Henriette’s view of Maude was softening again, as Maude was making the job of writing about this interview, much easier.

“And yet it’s difficult to assign those mini triumphs value in terms of beauty... truly, I look back on so many of my past endeavours and creations, as hideous, in truth.” Her neck arched somewhat as she scanned the room for an example she could point out. “They are representations of a former, less developed talent... a version of one’s past self that one is always somewhat loathed to encounter. And not because I’m inclined to self-loathing in general, no indeed... I suppose it’s simply due to our general inclination to prefer to think of ourselves as always improving, always stretching forward... and so to look back on past selves.... one can’t help but simply be... embarrassed? Look here for example…” she said, finally landing her gaze on a work she remembered as old enough to look back on in disgust… and she got up from the settee to dislodge the work from behind the many works in front of it, “…a landscape painting I tried my hand at, oh I don’t know, about 30 years ago? I’m only slightly better at landscapes now, but still better enough to look at this and not be surprised that no one thought it worth a farthing!” She remarked with a chuckle.

Henriette smiled too, to share in the joviality, though she was equally scanning her mind to find an appropriate retort to indicate her disagreement, and that she thought the picture well executed, but truth be told, she couldn’t find the words. So there was nothing to do but smile and return to her notes, as if busied with writing important facts down.

“There’s also something to explain this I suppose, in that a creative work is an exercise in purging one’s thoughts and emotions.... one pours these things into a creative work, and is thus rid of them. However, to then consume that art again... at some later date, is almost like reintroducing the purged elements back into your system! It’s only natural there should be some form of repulsion in response. Some of them feel like past failures staring right at you, right in the heart.”

She spoke emphatically this time, looking at the painting again as if looking into a mirror, holding it with one hand as she gestured toward her heart with the other. The kitten had been left on the settee for the time being and was batting around the tassel of one of the plush cushions thereupon. Putting the painting back down, Maude sauntered back to the settee.

Henriette offered, “And I suppose that sometimes the need to earn a living becomes the impetus behind the creation of certain works... as opposed to only ever painting when a feeling of inspiration comes over you, to paint a certain scene... or would that be an incorrect assumption?”

“Ah, yes it’s a very difficult cycle and one we creatives are loathed to enter into... a kind of chicken or egg conundrum. We often get chided for our creative working habits… putting things off until the last possible moment. Perhaps it’s a penalty of the artistic temperament, that we can’t seem to work unless under pressure? Or is it perhaps a sub-conscious effort to protest against the confines of space, time, and matter… elements governing the literal world which we must bend our abstract minds to conform to, especially when rates and taxes are to be paid.” She mused.

“Of course we’d prefer if our work was always the product of spontaneous inspiration... but I’ll admit that I’ve often forced my hand to the plow as it were, in the face of upcoming exhibitions or even as you say, in the face of financial need and the desire to produce something that will sell and perhaps finance the purchasing of further art supplies or doctor’s bills, what have you.”

“Doctor’s bills? Oh dear, yes, I can believe that. I hope it’s not impolite of me to inquire whether your family has been burdened with many over the years? Not for the article of course, I just mean, out of concern.”

“You are very kind, well, I don’t think we’ve suffered more or much less than most. I did have two children and with the joys of that, there were also doctor’s bills.” She said with a smile.... “and my father’s health, as he aged, only seemed to worsen... I suppose it was all those years of cigar dealing and with that there was of course, as you can anticipate, years of cigar smoking.” “...years of cigar-smoking.”

They both laughed as Henriette had chimed in with Maude, anticipating how she was going to end her sentence.

Henriette was pleased that Maude was as agreeable a person as she was turning out to be, and pleased that such a friendly, though still formal, rapport was building.

Henriette may have been unmarried but she knew what it was to have a father or brother who liked to indulge in a cigar now and then. Feeling comfortable again, she said, “How ironic that his chosen way of providing for you would lead to be the reason that he might later depend on you to provide for him. He must be very proud of you.”

The mood chilled suddenly, as she brought up the subject of her father’s pride. She realised that perhaps she’d touched on a nerve and made a mental note to tread more carefully next time. It reminded her of the nerve Maude had equally tread upon earlier, as unknowingly, perhaps. In this, she suddenly related to Maude’s unease, and became invested in recuperating the previously ambivalent atmosphere.

“Perhaps you could elaborate upon some of these pearls of success? That’s a beautiful word picture.” Her quick mind had come to the rescue, to salvage the momentum she’d built, and she was relieved as she beheld Maude’s demeanour softening again, noticing her changed expression as it reflected the redirected line of thought.