d agreed, if
Meissonier would support him, to secure fame and fortune for them both.

Meissonier declined the offer with thanks, and struck boldly out on his
own account.

The woman who had so recklessly agreed to share his poverty must surely
have had faith in him--or are very young people who marry incapable of
either faith or reason? Never mind; she did not hold the impulsive young
man back.

She couldn't--nothing but death could have stayed such ambition. His will
was unbending and his ambition never tired.

He was an athlete in strength, and was fully conscious that to be a good
animal is the first requisite. He swam, rowed, walked, and could tire out
any of his colleagues at swordplay or skittles.

But material things were scarce those first few years of married life,
and once when the table had bread, but no meat nor butter, he took the
entire proceeds of a picture and purchased a suit of clothing of the time
of Louis the Grand: not to wear, of course--simply to put in the
"collection."

Small wonder is it that, for some months after, when he would walk out
alone the fond wife would caution him thus: "Now Ernest, do not go
through that old-clothes market--you know your weakness."

"I have no money, so you need not worry," he would gaily reply.

Of those times of pinching want he has written, "As to happiness--is it
possible to be wretched at twenty, when one has health, a passion for
art, free passes for the Louvre, an eye to see, a heart to feel, and
sunshine gratis?"

But poverty did not last long. Pictures such as this young man produced
must attract attention anywhere.

He belonged to no school, but simply worked away after his own fashion;
what he was bound to do was to produce a faithful picture--sure, clear,
strong, vivid. He saw things clearly and his sympathies were acute, as is
shown in every canvas he produced.

Meissonier had the true artistic conscience--he was incapable of putting
out an average, unobjectionable picture--it must have positive
excellence. "There is a difference," said he, "between a successful
effort and a work of love." He painted only in the loving mood.

No greater blessing than the artistic conscience can come to any worker
in art, be he sculptor, writer, singer or painter. Hold fast to it, and
it shall be your compass in time when the sun is darkened. To please the
public is little, but to satisfy your Other Self, that self that leans
over your shoulder and watche