Goupil and Company, the art-dealers, contracted to take all the work he
could turn out. And Fortuny did not make the mistake of doing too much.
He possessed the artistic conscience, and nothing left his studio that
did not satisfy his heart and head.

Trips had been taken to Florence, Venice and the beloved Morocco, and the
poise and grace and limpid beauty of Fortuny's pictures seemed to
increase.

Three years had passed, and now came a letter from the authorities at
Barcelona asking for their great battle picture, and a remittance was
sent "to meet expenses."

Fortuny promised, and made an effort at the work.

Another year went by and another letter of importunity came. Barcelona
did not comprehend how her gifted son was now being counted among the
very ablest artists in Paris--that world center of art. Artists should
struggle for recognition, be rebuffed, live on a crust in dingy garrets,
cultivate a gaunt and haggard look, and wear suits shiny at the elbows!

How could the old professors down at Barcelona understand that this mere
youth was pressed with commissions from rich Americans, and in receipt of
a princely income?

Fortuny returned all the money that Barcelona had sent him, regarding it
all as a mere loan, and promised to complete the battle picture whenever
he could bring his mind to bear upon it so that the work would satisfy
himself.