dukes in those days--he grew more familiar with them later on--and
we may be sure the poor young artist's heart beat a little more
fiercely than usual when the stranger asked him the price of his
Mars and Cupid in marble. The sculptor had never yet sold a
statue, and didn't know how much he ought to ask; but after a few
minutes' consideration he said, "Five hundred pounds. But,
perhaps," he added timidly, "I have said too much." "Oh no," the
duke answered, "not at all too much;" and he forthwith ordered (or,
as sculptors prefer to say, commissioned) the statue to be executed
for him in marble. Gibson was delighted, and ran over at once to
tell Canova, thinking he had done a splendid stroke of business.
Canova shared his pleasure, till the young man came to the price;
then the older sculptor's face fell ominously. "Five hundred
pounds!" he cried in dismay; "why, it won't cover the cost of
marble and workmanship." And so indeed it turned out; for when the
work was finished, it had stood Gibson in 520 pounds for marble and
expenses, and left him twenty pounds out of pocket in the end. So
he got less than nothing after all for his many months of thought
and labour over clay and marble alike.

Discouraging as this beginning must have proved, it was nevertheless
in reality the first important step in a splendid and successful
career. It is something to have sold your first statue, even if you
sell it at a disadvantage. In 1821 Gibson modelled a group of
Pysche and the Zephyrs. That winter Sir George Beaumont, himself a
distinguished amateur artist, and a great patron of art, came to
Rome; and Canova sent him to see the young Welshman's new
composition. Sir George asked the price, and Gibson, this time more
cautious, asked for time to prepare an estimate, and finally named
700 pounds. To his joy, Sir George immediately ordered it, and also