"Let us assume that Michelangelo Lavoratori, here present, was born only two or three hundred years ago. Let us assume that he was the rival of Raphael or Titian, and that he left a name worthy to stand beside those glorious names. I will assume, also, that this palace in which we now are belonged to him, and that it has remained in his family. Lastly, let us assume that you are the last scion of that family, and that you do not cultivate the art of painting. Your inclinations have turned you toward some other profession, or perhaps you have no profession, for you are rich; the noble works of your illustrious ancestor produced a fortune which his descendants have faithfully transmitted to you. You are standing here under your own roof, in the portrait gallery in which your ancestors have their places one after another. Moreover, you know the history of all of them. It is contained in manuscripts which have been carefully preserved and handed down in your family. "Let us suppose, further, that I, a child picked up on the steps of a hospital, wander into this palace. I am ignorant of my father's name, and even of that of the unfortunate creature who gave birth to me. I have no ties whatever that bind me to the past, and, born but yesterday, I gaze with surprise upon this succession of ancestors from whom you have descended through well-nigh three centuries. I question you in open-mouthed wonder, and I am even inclined to make sport of you for living thus with the dead and through the dead; and I doubt whether this brilliant lineage has not deteriorated a little in the lapse of time.