Gladly, and with absolute disdain, he leaves to others the applause of the mob, the gilded patronage of American purchasers, and the right to wear lace cuffs.

In short, in an age when the artist is often half a manufacturer and half a charlatan, he is an artist only.
Now and then he is rich, but never for long.

Half of his earnings goes in alms; half into the pockets of his mendicant brethren.

They hear the gold jingle before it is counted, and run with outstretched palms.

Each is in the depths of misfortune; on the eve of ascending the fatal slope; lost, unless the helpful hand of Lampron will provide, saved if he will lend wherewithal to buy a block of marble, to pay a model, to dine that evening.