The world never had played him false, nor balked him.

He made the future bend to the fancy of his dreams.

He seldom descended among common men from those loftier realms where the contemplation of endless masterpieces kept his spirit as on wings.

He admired, copied, filled his soul with the glowing beauty of Italian landscape and Italian art.

But one day, without reflection, without knowledge, without foresight, he was rash enough to fall in love with a girl of noble birth whose portrait he was painting; to speak to her and to win her love.