Wilhelm bethought himself for a short time, and then shook his head. After a suitable pause, they exclaimed "Veneration!"

Wilhelm was startled.

"Veneration," they repeated. "It is wanting in all, and perhaps in yourself. You have seen three kinds of gestures, and we teach a threefold veneration, which when combined to form a whole, only then attains to its highest power and effect. The first is veneration for that which is above us. That gesture, the arms folded on the breast, a cheerful glance toward the sky, that is precisely what we prescribe to our untutored children, at the same time requiring witness of them that there is a God up above who reflects and reveals Himself in our parents, tutors and superiors. The second, veneration for that which is below us. The hands folded on the back as if tied together, the lowered, smiling glance, bespeak that we have to regard the earth well and cheerfully; it gives us an opportunity to maintain ourselves; it affords unspeakable joys; but it brings disproportionate sufferings. If one hurts oneself bodily, whether faultily or innocently; if others hurt one, intentionally or accidentally; if earthly chance does one any harm—let these be well thought of, for such danger accompanies us all our life long. But from this condition we deliver our pupil as soon as possible, directly we are convinced that the teachings of this stage have made a sufficient impression upon him; but then we bid him be a man, look to his companions, and guide himself with reference to them. Now he stands erect and bold, yet not selfishly isolated; only in a union with his equals does he present a front toward the world. We are unable to add anything further."

"I see it all," replied Wilhelm; "it is probably on this account that the multitude is so inured to vice, because it takes pleasure only in the element of ill-will and evil speech; he who indulges in this, soon becomes indifferent to God, contemptuous toward the world, and a hater of his fellows; but the true, genuine, indispensable feeling of self-respect is ruined in conceit and presumption."

"Allow me, nevertheless," Wilhelm went on, "to make one objection: Has it not ever been held that the fear evinced by savage nations in the presence of mighty natural phenomena, and other inexplicable foreboding events, is the germ from which a higher feeling, a purer disposition, should gradually be developed?"

To this the other replied: "Fear, no doubt, is consonant with nature, but not reverence; people fear a known or unknown powerful being; the strong one tries to grapple with it, the weak to avoid it; both wish to get rid of it, and feel happy when in a short space they have conquered it, when their nature in some measure has regained its freedom and independence. The natural man repeats this operation a million times during his life; from fear he strives after liberty, from liberty he is driven back into fear, and does not advance one step further. To fear is easy, but unpleasant; to entertain reverence is difficult but pleasing. Man determines himself unwillingly to reverence, or rather never determines himself to it; it is a loftier sense which must be imparted to his nature, and which is self-developed only in the most exceptionally gifted ones, whom therefore from all time we have regarded as saints, as gods. In this consists the dignity, in this the function of all genuine religions, of which also there exist only three, according to the objects toward which they direct their worship."

The men paused. Wilhelm remained silent for awhile in thought; as he did not feel himself equal to pointing these strange words, he begged the worthy men to continue their remarks, which too they at once consented to do.

"No religion," they said, "which is based on fear, is esteemed among us. With the reverence which a man allows himself to entertain, whilst he accords honor, he may preserve his own honor; he is not at discord with himself, as in the other case. The religion which rests on reverence for that which is above us, we call the ethnical one; it is the religion of nations, and the first happy redemption from a base fear; all so-called heathen religions are of this kind, let them have what names they will. The second religion, which is founded on that reverence which we have for what is like ourselves, we call the Philosophic; for the philosopher, who places himself in the middle, must draw downward to himself all that is higher, and upward to himself all that is lower, and only in this central position does he deserve the name of the sage. Now, whilst he penetrates his relations to his fellows, and therefore to the whole of humanity, and his relations to all other earthly surroundings, necessary or accidental, in the cosmical sense he lives only in the truth. But we must now speak of the third religion, based on reverence for that which is below us; we call it the Christian one, because this disposition of mind is chiefly revealed in it; it is the last one which humanity could and was bound to attain. Yet what was not demanded for it? not merely to leave earth below, and claim a higher origin, but to recognize as divine even humility and poverty, scorn and contempt, shame and misery, suffering and death; nay, to revere and make lovable even sin and crime, not as hindrances but as furtherances of holiness! Of this there are indeed found traces throughout all time; but a track is not a goal, and this having once been reached, humanity cannot turn backward; and it may be maintained, that the Christian religion having once appeared, can never disappear again; having once been divinely embodied, cannot again be dissolved."

"Which of these religions do you then profess more particularly?" said Wilhelm.

"All three," answered the others, "for, in point of fact, they together present the true religion; from these three reverences outsprings the highest reverence, reverence for oneself, and the former again develop themselves from the latter, so that man attains to the highest he is capable of reaching, in order that he may consider himself the best that God and nature have produced; nay, that he may be able to remain on this height without being drawn through conceit or egoism into what is base."

"Such a profession of faith, developed in such a manner, does not estrange me," replied Wilhelm; "it agrees with all that one learns here and there in life, only that the very thing unites you, that severs the others."

To this the others replied: "This confession is already adhered to by a large part of the world, though unconsciously."

"How so, and where?" asked Wilhelm.

"In the Creed!" exclaimed the others, loudly; "for the first article is ethnical, and belongs to all nations: the second is Christian, for those struggling against sufferings and glorified in sufferings; the third finally teaches a spiritual communion of saints, to wit, of those in the highest degree good and wise: ought not therefore in fairness the three divine Persons, under whose likeness and name such convictions and promises are uttered, to pass also for the highest Unity?"

"I thank you," replied the other, "for having so clearly and coherently explained this to me—to whom, as a full-grown man, the three dispositions of mind are not new; and when I recall, that you teach the children these high truths, first through material symbols, then through a certain symbolic analogy, and finally develop in them the highest interpretation, I must needs highly approve of it."

"Exactly so," replied the former; "but now you must still learn something more, in order that you may be convinced that your son is in the best hands. However, let this matter rest for the morning hours; rest and refresh yourself, so that, contented and humanly complete, you may accompany us farther into the interior tomorrow."



WINCKELMANN AND HIS AGE (1804)

TRANSLATED BY GEORGE KRIEHN, PH. D.

TO HER MOST SERENE HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS ANNA AMALIA OF SAXE-WEIMAR AND EISENACH

Most Serene Princess,

Most Gracious Lady,

Another benefaction has been added to the many which art and science owe to Your Highness by the most gracious permission to publish the following letters of Winckelmann. They are addressed to a man who had the happiness of counting himself among your servants, and soon afterward of living in close relation with Your Highness, at the time when Winckelmann found himself in the most embarrassing circumstances, the straightforward and touching narration of which one cannot read without sympathy.

Had these pages come to the attention of Your Highness in those days, the dictates of your noble and charitable heart would have immediately put an end to such distress, changed the fate of a most excellent man, and directed it more happily for the future.

But who indeed ought to think of what might have happened, when so many gratifying things that actually took place lie before us?

Your Highness has, since that time, established and supported much that is useful and promotive of happiness, while our gracious and sympathetic Prince adds constantly to the great number of his benefactions.

One may without vainglory recall the good that for us and for others has been accomplished in our limited circle, the least significant aspects of which cannot but excite the observer's admiration, which would be greatly increased if a well informed writer should take the trouble to describe its origin and growth.



The intention of the benefactors was never selfish but was always directed toward the good to be accomplished. The higher culture of this land all the more deserves an annalist, since much formerly existed and flourished of which all visible traces have now disappeared. May Your Highness, in the consciousness of having been the prime mover and constant participant in these enterprizes, attain that peculiar domestic happiness, a hale and hearty old age, and long continue to enjoy the brilliant period now opening for our circle, in which we hope that all that has been accomplished will be further increased, unified and strengthened, and thus handed down to posterity.

Cherishing the flattering hope that I shall continue to rejoice in that inestimable favor with which Your Highnesses have deigned to adorn my life, I am, with respectful devotion,

Your Most Serene Highness' obedient servant,

J. W. VON GOETHE.

PREFACE

The friends of art who have for several years been associated at Weimar are surely privileged to speak of their relation to the general public, because (and this is the final test) they have always expressed similar convictions and have been guided by well tried principles. Not that, limited to certain modes of apprehending matters, they have obstinately maintained a single point of view. On the contrary, they willingly confess that they have learned much from diverse expression of opinion, all the more so as they now learn with pleasure that their efforts in behalf of culture are constantly becoming more closely allied to the general progress of higher education in Germany.

With much gratification they call attention to the _Propyloea_, to the critical and descriptive programs of no less than six exhibitions of painting and statuary, to the many expressions of opinion in the _Jenaisische Litteraturzeitung, and to the published translation of the Life of Benvenuto Cellini.

Although these writings have not been printed and bound in the same volumes and do not form parts of a single work, they have, nevertheless, all been written in the same spirit. They have proved a leaven to the whole, as we are learning slowly, but not without gratification; so that there is no longer occasion to remember ingratitude often experienced, and open or secret opposition.

The present publication is an immediate sequel to the foregoing works, and of its contents we mention here only the most important.

PLAN FOR A HISTORY OF ART DURING THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

The historical conception of related conditions promotes the more rapid development of the artist as well as of the man. Every individual, especially if he be a man of capacity, at first seems far too important to himself. Trusting in his independent power, he is inclined to champion far too quickly this or that maxim; he strives and labors with energy along the path he has himself chosen; and when at length he becomes conscious of his one-sidedness and his error, he changes just as violently, enters upon another perhaps equally erroneous course, and clings to principles equally faulty. Not until late in life does he become aware of his own history and realize how much further a constant development in accordance with well tested principles might have led him.

If the connoisseur owes his insight to history alone, which embodies the ideas which give rise to art, for the young artist the history of art is of the greatest importance.



He should not, however, search in it for indistinct models, to be pursued passionately, but for the means of realizing himself and his point of view, with its limitations. But unfortunately, even the immediate past is seldom instructive to man, through no fault of his own. For while we are learning to understand the mistakes of our predecessors, time is itself producing new errors which, unobserved, ensnare us, and the account of which is left to the future historian with just as little advantage to his own generation.

But who would indulge in such mournful observations, and not rather endeavor to promote the greatest possible clearness of view in his own branch of study? This is the duty assumed by the writer of the present sketch, the difficulty of which will be seen by connoisseurs, who, it is hoped, will point out its deficiencies and correct its imperfections, thereby making a satisfactory future work possible.

WINCKELMANN'S LETTERS To BERENDIS

Letters are among the most important monuments which the individual leaves behind him. Imaginative persons often picture to themselves, even in solitary musings, the presence of a distant friend, to whom they impart their most private opinions; and in the same manner a letter is a kind of soliloquy. For often the friend to whom, we write is rather the occasion than the subject of the letter. Whatever rejoices or pains, oppresses or occupies us, is poured forth from the heart. As lasting evidences of an existence or a condition, such papers are the more important for posterity, the more the writer lives in the moment and the less he is concerned with the future. Winckelmann's letters sometimes have this desirable character.

Although this excellent man, who educated himself in solitude, was reticent in society, serious and discreet in his personal life and conduct toward others, he was free and unconstrained in his letters, in which he often reveals himself, without hesitation, just as he felt. We see him worried, troubled, confused, doubting and dilatory, but also cheerful, alert, bold, daring, and unrestrained to the degree of cynicism; altogether, however, as a man of tempered character and confident in himself; who, although the outer conditions offered to his imagination so much to choose from, usually chose the best way, except when he took the last impatient step which cost him his life.

His letters, having the general characteristics of rectitude and directness, differ according to the persons to whom they are addressed, which is always the case when a clever correspondent imagines those present with whom he is speaking at a distance, and therefore no more neglects what is proper and suitable than he would in their presence.

Thus the letters addressed to Stosch (to mention only a few of the larger groups of Winckelmann's letters) seem to us fine testimonials of honest cooperation with a friend for a definite purpose; a proof of his great endurance in a difficult task, thoughtlessly undertaken without proper preparation, but courageously and happily concluded; they sparkle with the liveliest literary, political, and society news, and form a charming picture of life, which would have been more interesting if they could have been printed entire and unmutilated. Charming also is his frankness, even in passionate disapproval of a friend for whom the writer was never tired of testifying as much respect as love, as much gratitude as attachment.

The consciousness of his own superiority and dignity, combined with a genuine appreciation of others, the expression of friendship, cordiality, playfulness and pleasantry, which characterize the letters to his Swiss friends, make this collection extremely interesting and lovable as well as exceedingly instructive, although Winckelmann's letters cannot on the whole be termed instructive.

The first letters to Count Buenau, in the valuable Dassdorf collection, reveal an oppressed, self-absorbed spirit, which hardly ventures to look up to such an exalted patron. That remarkable letter in which Winckelmann announces his change of religion is a real galimatias, an unfortunate and confused document.

The first half of our own collection serves to make this period comprehensible, yea, immediately intelligible. They were written partly at Noethenitz, partly at Dresden, and are directed to an intimate and trusted friend and comrade. The writer stands revealed in all his distress, with his pressing, irresistible desires, but on the road to a new and distant happiness, earnestly sought.

The other half of our letters are written from Italy. They preserve their direct, unrestrained character; but above them hovers the joyfulness of the southern sky, and they are inspired with an exuberant delight in the goal which he has attained. Besides this, they give, compared with other contemporary letters that are already known, a more complete view of his position.

The pleasure of appreciating and passing judgment upon the importance of this collection, which is perhaps greater from the psychological than from the literary point of view, we leave to receptive hearts and judicious minds. We shall add only a few words about the man to whom they were written, in accordance with our available information.

Hieronymus Dieterich Berendis was born at Seehausen in the Altmark in the year 1720, studied law in the University of Halle, and was for some years after his student days auditor of the Royal Prussian Regiment of Hussars, usually called the Black Hussars from their uniform, but at the time named after their Commander von Ruesch. After leaving that rude life, he continued his studies in Berlin. During a sojourn at Seehausen he made the acquaintance of Winckelmann, whose intimate friend he became, and through whose recommendation he was afterward engaged as tutor of the youngest Count Buenau. He conducted his pupil to Brunswick where the latter studied at the Karolinum. When the Count afterward entered the French service, his father, who was at that time minister of state at Weimar, conducted Berendis into the service of the Duke, in which he first became military counsellor, entering afterward the service of the Dowager Duchess as Financial Councillor and Keeper of the Privy Purse. He died on the 26th of October, 1783, at Weimar.

DESCRIPTION OF WINCKELMANN

The most deserving citizen, no matter how great his service may have been to his country and his city in a wider or narrower field, receives but one funeral. Others, however, have so distinguished themselves by worthy benefactions that they are honored by a public celebration of the anniversary of their death, on which occasion the lasting influence of their beneficence is praised. In the same sense we have every cause to offer from time to time a well meaning tribute to the memory of the men who have bestowed inexhaustible mental benefactions upon us.

From this point of view the slight tribute which friends of similar opinions now offer should be regarded as a testimonial of their appreciation, not as an account of his services. The feast at which it is offered will be participated in by all appreciative minds on the occasion of the recently discovered letters of Winckelmann, now for the first time published.

SKETCHES FOR AN ESSAY ON WINCKELMANN

PREFACE

The following essays, written by three friends, whose opinions on art in general, as well as on the services of Winckelmann, coincide, were intended as a basis for a more extended essay on this remarkable man, and to furnish the materials for a work which should have at once the merit of diversity and of unity.



But as in life many an undertaking encounters all kinds of obstacles, which hardly allow the requisite material to be collected, to say nothing of giving it the desired form, so here only half of the whole as planned appears.

In the present instance, however, the half may be prized more than the whole, since, by the study of three individual opinions on the same subject, the reader may to a greater extent be stimulated and incited to form an individual conception of the significant life and character of Winckelmann, which can now be easily accomplished by the aid of the earlier and more recently published materials. We therefore hope to merit gratitude if, instead of waiting for a later opportunity and promising a future achievement, we freely offer, in Winckelmann's own refreshing manner, only that which is already prepared, even though it be not complete, in order that it may after its own fashion exert a timely influence in the great world of life and culture.

INTRODUCTION

The memory of noteworthy men and the presence of important works of art, awaken from time to time a spirit of contemplation. Both stand before us as legacies of each succeeding generation, the former by reason of their deeds and fame, the latter actually preserved as indefinable realities. Every judicious observer knows full well that only the contemplation of these men and monuments in their entirety would be of real value, and yet we are always attempting to make them more comprehensible by our reflection and our words.

One is especially impelled to this when something new relating to such subjects is discovered and made known. We trust therefore that the public will find our renewed observations on Winckelmann, his character and his achievements a timely contribution, since the letters which are now published throw a more vivid light upon his mode of thought and the conditions under which he labored.

ENTER WINCKELMANN

Even to ordinary mortals Nature has not denied a very precious endowment—I refer to that lively impulse felt from earliest childhood, to take hold of the external world, to learn to know it, to enter into relation with it, and to form with it a complete whole. Certain chosen spirits, on the other hand, often have the peculiarity of feeling a kind of aversion to actual life, withdraw into themselves, and create in themselves a world of their own, in this wise achieving the highest inner development.

But when, in especially gifted men, appears the need common to all of us of seeking in the external world a corresponding realization for all the gifts with which Nature has endowed them, thereby raising their inner being to a self-relying whole, we may be assured of the development of a character in which both the present and the future world will rejoice.

Winckelmann was a man of this kind. Nature had placed in him whatever makes and adorns the true man. Furthermore, he devoted his entire life to the search for that which is harmonious and worthy in man and in art, which is primarily concerned with man.

An obscure childhood, insufficient instruction in his youth, disjointed and scattered studies in early manhood, the pressure of a school position, and all the worry and annoyance that are experienced in such a career—all these he had suffered as many others have. He had reached the age of thirty without having enjoyed a single favor at the hands of fate; yet in him were planted the germs of an enviable happiness, very possible to realize.

Even in these unhappy days we find the trace of that impulse to know for himself with his own eyes the conditions of the world, gloomy and disjointed traces it is true, but expressed with sufficient decision. A few attempts to see strange lands, undertaken without sufficient reflection, were unsuccessful. He dreamed of a journey to Egypt; he set out by way of France, but unforeseen obstacles turned him back. More wisely guided by his genius, he at last seized upon the idea of forcing his way to Rome. He felt how very profitable a sojourn in the Eternal City would be for him. This was no whim, no mere thought; it was a decided plan, which he undertook to realize with cleverness and decision.

THE ANTIQUE

Man can accomplish much by the opportune use of individual powers, he can even accomplish extraordinary things by the combination of several powers; but the unique, the startling, he can only achieve when all capabilities are evenly united in him. This last was the happy lot of the ancients, especially of the Greeks in their best period; to the other two alternatives we moderns are unfortunately limited by fate.

When the healthy nature of man acts as a unit, when he realizes his place in the world as part of a great and worthy whole, when a harmonious well-being accords him a pure and free happiness—then the universe, if it had the power of self-realization, its end attained, would rejoice and admire this culmination of its own genesis and existence. For to what purpose is the array of suns, planets and moons, of stars and milky ways, of comets and nebulae, of worlds existing and arising, if it be not that a happy man may unconsciously rejoice in his own existence?

While, in almost every act of contemplation, the modern thinker, as we have just done, projects himself into the infinite, to return only in the end—if he is happy enough in succeeding therein—to a limited proposition, the ancients, without following a long, round-about path, found their exclusive happiness within the lovely confines of this world. Here they were placed, to this end they had been called, here their activity found its field, their passion its object and nourishment.

Why are their poets and historians the wonder of the judicious, the despair of rivals, unless it be because the actors introduced by them were so deeply concerned in their own selves, in the narrow circle of the fatherland, within the circumscribed path of their own life as well as that of their fellow citizens, and because with all their mind, inclination, and power, they worked in and for the present? Under such conditions it could not be difficult for a writer of their opinion to immortalize such a present. What was actually occurring was for them the only thing of value, just as for us only what is thought or felt seems of greatest worth.

In a certain sense the poet lived in his imagination, just as the historian lived in the political, and the investigator in the natural world. All held fast to the nearest, the true, the actual, and even the pictures of their fantasy have bone and marrow. Man, and whatever was human, was considered of the highest value, and all his inner and external relations to the world were represented with the same great intelligence with which they were observed. Feeling and observation had not been separated; that almost incurable breach in the healthy power of man had not yet occurred.

Not only in enjoying happiness, but in enduring unhappiness also, these natures were remarkably gifted. For as a healthy tissue resists illness and is speedily restored after every attack, so the wholesome mind of such natures quickly and easily recovers from internal and external misfortune. Such an antique nature, in so far as one can make this statement of any of our contemporaries, was reincarnated in Winckelmann. At the very beginning it endured its mighty probation, and was not tamed by thirty years of humility, discomfort, and sorrow; it could neither be diverted from its path, nor blunted by adversity. As soon as he attained a worthy freedom, he appears well rounded and complete, quite in the antique sense. He was to live a life of action, enjoyment and self denial, joy and suffering, possession and loss, exaltation and debasement—yet in such a strange medley he was always satisfied with the beautiful world in which such a variable fate befalls us.

Just as in life he possessed a really antique spirit, so in his studies he was faithful to the same ideal. In the treatment of science in general the ancients were in a rather unfortunate position, since for the comprehension of the varied objects of nature a division of powers and capabilities, a disintegration of unity (so to speak) is almost unavoidable. In a like case the modern scholar encounters an even greater danger, because in the detailed investigation of manifold subjects, he runs the risk of scattering his energies and of losing himself in disconnected knowledge, without supplementing the incomplete, as the ancients succeeded in doing, by the completeness of his own personality.

However much Winckelmann wandered about in the fields of possible and profitable knowledge, guided partly by pleasure and inclination, partly by necessity, he always came back sooner or later to antiquity, especially to Greek antiquity, with which he felt himself most closely related, and with which he was destined so happily to be united in his best days.

PAGANISM

The description of the ancient point of view, concerned only with this world and its assets, leads us directly to the observation that such advantages are conceivable only in a pagan mind. That confidence in oneself, that activity in the present, the pure worship of the gods as ancestors and the admiration of them quasi as artistic creations only, resignation to an all-powerful fate, the yearning for future fame, itself dependent upon activities in this world—all these belonging necessarily together, constitute such an inseparable whole that they form a condition of human existence planned by Nature herself. In the highest moment of happiness, as well as in the deepest of sacrifice, even of destruction, we are always conscious of an indestructible well-being.

This pagan point of view pervades Winckelmann's deeds and writings, and is expressed especially in his early letters, where he is still wearing himself out in the conflict with more modern religious opinions. This mode of thought, this remoteness from the Christian point of view, indeed his repugnance of it, must be remembered in judging his so-called change of religion. The churches into which the Christian religion is divided were a matter of complete indifference to him, because in his inmost nature he never belonged to any of them.

FRIENDSHIP

Since the ancients, as we boast, were really entire men, they must, as they found all happiness in themselves and the world, have learned to know the relations of human beings in the widest sense; they could not therefore be lacking in that delight which arises from the attachment of similar natures.

Here also a remarkable difference between ancient and modern times is revealed. The relation to woman, which with us has become so tender and spiritual, hardly rose above the limits of the lowest satisfaction. The relation of parents to children seems to have been of a somewhat more tender character. The friendship of persons of the male sex for one another, with them took the place of all other sentiments; although they pictured the maidens Chloris and Thyia as inseparable friends, even in Hades.

The passionate fulfilment of loving duties, the joy of inseparability, the devotion of one for the other, their avowed allegiance during life, and the duty of sharing death itself, if necessary, fill us with astonishment. One even feels ashamed of one's own generation when poets, historians, philosophers and orators overwhelm one with amazing stories, events, sentiments and opinions, all of the same tenor and purport.

For a friendship of this character, Winckelmann felt himself born—not only capable of it, but requiring it to the highest degree. He realized himself only in the relation of friendship; he recognized himself only in that image of the whole which requires a third for its completion.

Even at an early period he applied this ideal to a probably unworthy object; to whom he consecrated himself, for whom he vowed himself to live and to suffer; for whom he found even in his poverty the means of being rich, of giving and of sacrificing; indeed he would not have hesitated to surrender his existence, his very life. It is in this relation that Winckelmann, even in the midst of poverty and need, feels rich, generous and happy, because he is able to do something for him whom he loves above everything else, and in whom he has, as the highest sacrifice, to excuse even ingratitude.

However the times and circumstances might alter, Winckelmann reshaped every object of worth with which he came in contact, to fit this ideal of friendship. Although many of these attachments easily and quickly vanish, the fine sentiment underlying them won for him the heart of many an excellent man, and brought him the happiness of living in the most beautiful relation with the best men of his age and environment.

BEAUTY

Although such a deep need of friendship really creates and idealizes the object of its affection, the lover of antiquity would, through it alone, achieve only a one-sided moral excellence. The external world would offer him little, if along with it a related, similar need and a satisfying object of this need did not fortunately appear—we refer to the demand for the sensuously beautiful, as revealed in a tangible object. For the supreme product of an ever evolving nature is the beautiful man. It is true that Nature can but seldom produce him, because the ideal is opposed by many existing conditions, and even her almighty power cannot tarry long with the perfect, and perpetuate the beauty it has produced; for, to be exact, we may say it is only for a moment that the beautiful man remains beautiful.

Against this mutability art now enters the lists. For, by being placed at the summit of nature, man views himself as a complete nature, which must now produce another consummation. He attains this end by striving for virtue and perfection, by appealing to selection, arrangement, harmony and significance, through which he at length rises to the production of a work of art, which achieves a brilliant place among his other works and actions. Once achieved and standing in its ideal reality before the world, it produces a lasting and supreme effect. For in its spiritual development from all of man's powers, it adopts all that is noble and lovable; and by spiritualizing the human form and raising man above himself, it closes the circle of his life and activity, and deifies him in the present, in which both past and future are included. By such emotions were those overwhelmed who saw the Olympian Jupiter, as we gather from the descriptions and testimony of the ancients. God had become man in order to raise man to God. One beheld supreme dignity and was inspired by supreme beauty. In this sense we can only acknowledge that the ancients were right when they said, with profoundest conviction, that it was a misfortune to die without having seen this great work.

For the appreciation of this beauty Winckelmann was by nature fitted. He first learned of it in the writings of the ancients, but encountered it personified in the works of art, in which we all first learn to know it, that we may recognize and treasure it in nature's living creations.

When, however, the requirements of friendship and of beauty both find inspiration in the same object, the happiness and gratitude of man seem to pass all bounds. All that he possesses he would gladly give as a feeble testimony of his attachment and his devotion.

So we often find Winckelmann in friendship with beautiful youths, and never does he appear more animated and lovable than in such, though often only flitting, moments.

CATHOLICISM

With such opinions, with such needs and longings, Winckelmann for a long time served objects alien to his own desires. Nowhere about him did he see the least hope of help and assistance.

Count Buenau, in his capacity of a private gentleman, needed only to buy one valuable book less in order to open for Winckelmann the road to Rome; as a minister of state he had influence enough to have helped this excellent man out of every difficulty; but he was probably unwilling to lose so capable a servant, or else he had no appreciation of the great service he would have rendered the world by encouraging a gifted man. The Court at Dresden, from which Winckelmann might eventually hope for adequate support, professed the Roman faith, and there was scarcely any other way to attain favor and consideration than through confessors and other members of the clergy.

The example of a Prince is a mighty influence in his country, and incites with secret power every citizen to like actions in private life, especially to moral actions. The religion of a Prince always remains in a certain sense the ruling religion, and the Roman faith, like a whirlpool, draws the quietly passing waves to itself and into its vortex.

In addition to this Winckelmann must have felt that a man, in order to be a Roman in Rome, in order to identify himself with the life there, and to enjoy confidential association, must necessarily profess the religion of his associates, must yield to their faith, and accommodate himself to their usages. The final result actually shows that he could not have attained his end without this early decision, which was made much easier for him by the fact that, as a thorough heathen by nature, he had never become Christianized by his Protestant baptism.

Yet this change in his condition was not achieved without a bitter struggle. We may, in accordance with our convictions, and for reasons sufficiently weighty, make a final decision which is in perfect harmony with our volition, desires and needs, which indeed seems unavoidable for the maintenance and continuance of our very existence, so that we are in perfect accord with ourselves. But such a decision may contradict the prevailing opinion and the convictions of many people. Then a new struggle begins, which, while it may cause no uncertainty, yet may occasion discomfort, impatience and annoyance, because we discover occasional inconsistencies in our actions while we suspect the existence of many more in ourselves.

And so Winckelmann, before his intended step, seemed anxious, fearful, sorrowful and swayed by deep emotion when he thought of its probable effect, especially upon his first patron, Count Buenau. How beautiful, sincere and upright are his confidential expressions upon this point!

For every man who changes his religion is marked by a certain stigma from which it seems impossible to free him. From this it is evident that men cherish a steadfast purpose above all else, all the more so because they, divided into factions, constantly have their own safety and stability in mind. This is not a matter of feeling or conviction. We should be steadfast precisely there where fate rather than choice places us. To remain faithful to one people, one city, one Prince, one friend, one woman; to trace back everything to them; to labor, want and suffer everything for their sake—this is estimable. To desert them is hateful; inconstancy is contemptible.

Thus is indeed the harsh, the very serious side of the question, but it may also be viewed from another point of view from which it has a more pleasing and less serious aspect. Certain conditions of society, which we in no sense approve of, certain moral blemishes in others, have an especial charm for the imagination. If the comparison be permitted, we might say that it is in this matter as it is with game which, to the cultivated palate, tastes far better slightly tainted than when fresh. A divorced woman or a renegade make an especially interesting impression. Persons who would otherwise appear to be merely interesting and agreeable, now appear admirable. It cannot be denied that Winckelmann's change of religion considerably heightens in our imagination the romantic side of his life and being.

But to Winckelmann himself the Catholic religion presented nothing attractive. He saw in it only the masquerade dress which he threw around him, and expressed himself bitterly enough about it. Even at a later period he does not seem to have sufficiently observed its usages, and by loose speech he perhaps made himself suspicious to devout believers—here and there at least a slight fear of the Inquisition is perceptible.

REALIZATION OF GREEK ART

The transition from literature, even from the highest things that have been expressed in word and language, from poetry and rhetoric, to the plastic and graphic arts is difficult, indeed almost impossible. For there lies between the two a tremendous chasm, over which only a specially adapted nature can help us. We have now a sufficiently large number of documents lying before us to enable us to judge how far Winckelmann succeeded in doing this.

Through the joy of appreciation he was first attracted to the treasures of art; but in order to use and judge them, he required artists as intermediaries, whose more or less authoritative opinions he was able to comprehend, revise, and express. In this manner originated his treatise Concerning the Imitation of Greek Masterpieces in Painting and Sculpture, with two appendices, published while he was still in Dresden.

However much Winckelmann appears, even here, to be upon the right path; however many delightful, fundamental passages these writings contain, however correctly the final aim of art is already defined in them, they are nevertheless, both as regards form and subject, so baroque and curious, that one would in vain seek their meaning, unless he had definite information concerning the personality of the connoisseurs and judges of art at that time assembled in Saxony, and concerning their abilities, opinions, inclinations and whims. These writings will therefore remain a sealed book to posterity, unless well informed connoisseurs of art, who lived nearer those times, should soon decide either to write or cause to be written a description of the then existing conditions, in so far as this is still possible. Lippert, Hagedorn, Oeser, Dietrich, Heinecken and Oesterreich loved, practised and promoted art, each in his own way. Their purposes were restricted, their maxims were one-sided, yea, very often, freakish. They circulated stories and anecdotes, the varied application of which was intended not only to entertain but also to instruct society. From such elements arose the earliest treatises of Winckelmann, which he himself very soon found unsatisfactory, as indeed he did not conceal from his friends.

Although not sufficiently prepared, yet with some practical experience, he at length began his journey, and reached that country where for the receptive mind the time of real culture begins—that culture which permeates the entire being, and finds expression in creations which must be as real as they are harmonious, because they have, as a matter of fact, proved powerful as a firm bond of union between most different natures.

ROME

Winckelmann was at last in Rome, and who could be worthier to feel the influence which that great privilege is able to produce upon a truly perceptive nature! He sees his wish fulfilled, his happiness established, his hopes more than satisfied. His ideals stand embodied about him. He wanders astonished through the ruins of a gigantic age, the greatest that art has produced, under the open sky; freely he lifts his eyes to these wonderful works as to the stars of the firmament, and every locked treasure is opened for a small gift. Like a pilgrim, the newcomer creeps about unobserved; he approaches the most sublime and holy treasures in an unseemly garment. As yet he permits no detail to distract him, the whole affects him with endless variety, and he already feels the harmony which finally must arise for him out of these infinitely diversified elements. He gazes upon, he examines everything, and to make his happiness complete, he is taken for an artist, as every one in his heart would gladly be.

In lieu of further observations, we submit to our readers the overpowering influence of the situation, as a friend has clearly and sympathetically described it.

"Rome is a place where all antiquity is concentrated into a unity for our inspection. What we have felt with the ancient poets, concerning ancient forms of government, we believe more than ever to feel, even to see, in Rome. As Homer cannot be compared with other poets, so Rome can be compared with no other city, the Roman country with no other landscape. Most of this impression is no doubt due, it is true, to ourselves, and not to the subject; but it is not only the sentimental thought of standing where this or that great man has stood, it is an irresistible attraction toward what we regard as—although it may be through a necessary deception—a noble and sublime past; a power which even he who wished to cannot resist, because the desolation in which the present inhabitants leave the land and the incredible masses of ruins themselves attract and convince the eye. And as this past appears to the mind in a grandeur which excludes all envy, in which one is more than happy to take part, if only with the imagination (indeed, no other participation is conceivable); and as the senses too are charmed by the beauty of form, the grandeur and simplicity of the figures, the richness of the vegetation (though not luxuriant like that of a more southern region), the precision of the outlines in the clear air and the beauty of the colors in their transparency—so the enjoyment of nature is here a purely artistic one, free from everything distracting. Everywhere else the ideas of contrast appear and the enjoyment of nature is elegiac or satiric. It is true that these sentiments exist only for us. To Horace, Tibur seemed more modern than does Tivoli to us, as is proved by his 'Beatus ille qui procul negotiis,' but it is only an illusion to imagine that we ourselves would like to be inhabitants of Athens or Rome. Only in the distance, separated from everything common, only as a thing of the past, must antiquity appear to us. This is the sentiment of a friend and myself, at least, in regard to the ruins; we are always incensed when a half sunken ruin is excavated; for this can only be a gain for scholarship at the expense of the imagination. There are only two things which inspire me with an equal horror: that the Campagna di Roma should be built up, and that Rome should become a well policed city, in which no man any longer carried a knife. Should such an order-loving Pope appear—which may the seventy-two cardinals prevent—shall move away. Only if such divine anarchy and such a heavenly wilderness remain in Rome, is there place for the shadows, one of which is worth more than the whole present race."

RAFAEL MENGS

But Winckelmann might have groped a long time among the multitudes of antique survivals in search of the most valuable objects and those most worthy of his observation, if good fortune had not immediately brought him into contact with Mengs. The latter, whose own great talent was enthralled by the ancient works of art and especially by such as were beautiful, immediately introduced his friend to the most excellent—a fact worthy of our attention. Here Winckelmann learned to recognize beauty of form and its treatment, and was immediately inspired to undertake a treatise, Concerning the Taste of the Greek Artists. But one cannot go about studying works of art for any length of time without discovering that they are the productions not only of different artists but of different epochs, and that all investigations concerning the place of their origin, their age, their individual merit must be undertaken together. Winckelmann, with his unerring perception, soon found that this was the axis on which the entire knowledge of art revolves. He confined himself at first to the most sublime works, which he intended to present in a treatise, Concerning the Style of Sculpture in the Age of Phidias, but he soon rose above these details to the idea of a history of art, and discovered a new Columbus, a land long surmised, hinted at and discussed—yea, a land, we might say, that had formerly been known and forgotten.

It is sad to observe how at first through the Romans, afterward through the invasion of northern peoples, and the confusion arising in consequence, mankind came into such a state that all true and pure culture was for a long time retarded in its development, indeed was almost made impossible for the entire future. In any field of art and science that we may contemplate, a direct and unerring perception had already revealed much to the ancient investigator which, during the barbarism which followed, and through the barbaric manner of escaping from barbarism, became and remained a secret; which it will long continue to be for the masses, because the general progress of higher culture in modern times is but slow. This remark does not apply to technical progress, of which mankind happily makes use without asking questions as to whence it comes and whither it leads.

We are impelled to this observation by certain passages of ancient authors, in which anticipations, even indications, of a possible and necessary history of art appear. Velleius Paterculus observes with great interest, the coincidence in the rise and fall of all the arts. As a man of the world, he was especially concerned with the observation that they could be maintained only for a short time at the highest point which it was possible for them to reach.

From his standpoint he could not regard all arts as a living entity [Greek: (psoon)], which must necessarily reveal an imperceptible beginning, a slow growth, a short and brilliant period of perfection, and a gradual decline—like every other organic being, except that it is manifested in a number of individuals. He therefore assigns only moral causes, which certainly must be included as contributory, but hardly satisfy his own great sagacity, because he probably feels that a necessity here exists which cannot be compounded out of detached elements.

"That the grammarians, painters and sculptors fared as did also the orators, every one will find who examines the testimony of the ages; the highest development of every art is invariably circumscribed by a very short space of time. Just why a number of similarly endowed, capable men make their appearance within a certain cycle of years and devote themselves to the same art and its advancement, is a matter upon which I have often reflected, without discovering any cause that I might present as true. Among the most probable causes the following seem to me the most important: Rivalry nourishes the talents; here envy, and there admiration, incite to imitation, and the art promoted with so much diligence quickly reaches its culmination. It is difficult to remain in a state of perfection, and what does not advance retrogrades. And so in the beginning we endeavor to attain our models, but when we despair of surpassing or even approaching them, diligence and hope grow old, and what we fail to attain, is no longer pursued. We cease to strive after the possession already obtained by another, and search for something new. Relinquishing that in which we cannot shine, we seek another goal for our efforts. From this inconstancy, it seems to me, arises the greatest obstacle to the production of perfect works of art."

A passage of Quintilian, containing a concise outline of the history of ancient art, also deserves to be pointed out as an important document in this domain. In his conversations with Roman art lovers, Quintilian must also have noticed a striking resemblance between the character of Greek artists and Roman orators, and then have sought to gain more exact information from connoisseurs and art-lovers. In his comparative presentation, in which the character of the art is each time associated with that of the age, he is compelled, without knowing or wishing it, to present a history of art.

They say that the first celebrated painters whose works are visited not by reason of their antiquity alone, were Polygnotus and Aglaophon. Their simple color still finds eager admirers, who prefer such crude productions and the beginnings of an art just evolving, to the greatest masters of the following epoch—as it seems to me in accordance with a point of view peculiar to themselves. Afterward Zeuxis and Parrhasius, who lived at about the same period—at the time of the Peloponnesian war—greatly promoted art. The former is said to have discovered the laws of light and shadow, the latter to have devoted himself to a careful investigation of lines. Furthermore, Zeuxis gave more content to the limbs and painted them fuller and more portly. In this regard, as is believed, he followed Homer, who delights in the most powerful forms, even in women. Parrhasius, however, has such a determinative influence that he is called the law-giver of painting, because the types of gods and heroes which he created were followed and adopted by others as norms.

Thus painting flourished from about the time of Philip to that of the successors of Alexander, but with great diversity of talent. Protogenes surpassed all inexactitude, Pamphilius and Melanthius in thoughtfulness, Antiphilus in facility, Theon the Samian in invention of strange apparitions called fantasies, Apelles in spirit and charm. Euphranor is admired because he must be counted among the best in all the requirements of art, and excelled at the same time in painting and sculpture.

"The same difference is also found in sculpture. Kalon and Hegesias worked in a severe style, like that of the Etruscans; Kalamis was less austere; Myron more delicate still.

"Polyclitus possessed diligence and elegance above all others. By many the palm is assigned to him; but that some fault might be ascribed to him, it was said that he lacked dignity. For while he has made the human form more graceful than nature reveals it, he does not seem to have been able to present the dignity of the gods. Indeed, he is said in his art to have avoided representing mature age, and never to have ventured beyond unfurrowed cheeks.

"But what Polyclitus lacked is ascribed to Phidias and Alcamenes. Phidias is said to have formed the images of gods and men most perfectly, and to have far surpassed his rivals, especially in ivory. One would form this judgment even if he had designed nothing else than the Minerva of Athens or the Olympian Jupiter at Elis, the beauty of which was of great advantage, as has been said, to the established religion; so closely does the work approach the majesty of the god himself.

"Lysippus and Praxiteles have, according to the universal opinion, most nearly approached truth; Demetrius, on the other hand, is blamed because he went too far in this direction, in that he preferred mere resemblance to beauty."

LITERARY PROFESSION

Man is rarely fortunate enough to secure the aids for his higher education from quite unselfish patrons. Even those who believe that they have the best intentions only promote that which they love and know, or, more readily still, what is of advantage to them. Thus it was literary and bibliographical accomplishments which recommended Winckelmann formerly to Count Buenau and later to Cardinal Passione.

The connoisseur of books is everywhere welcome, and he was even more so at a time when the pleasure of collecting notable and rare books was livelier than it now is, and the profession of librarian was more restricted. A great German library resembled a great Roman library; they could vie with each other in the possession of books. The librarian of a German count was a desirable member of a cardinal's household, and immediately found himself at home there. Libraries were real treasure-houses, instead of being, as now, with the rapid progress of the sciences and the useful and useless accumulation of printed matter—nothing more than useful store-rooms and useless lumber-rooms. So that a librarian has cause, now far more than before, to be informed of the progress of science and of the value and worthlessness of writings, and a German librarian has to possess attainments which would be lost in other countries.

But only for a short time, and only as long as it was necessary to secure a moderate means of support, did Winckelmann remain true to his original literary occupation. He soon lost interest also in everything that related to critical investigation, and was willing neither to compare manuscripts nor to give information to German scholars who wished to question him upon many subjects.

But even before this his attainments had served him as an advantageous introduction. The private life of the Italians, especially of the Romans, has, for many reasons, something of a secret character. This secrecy, this isolation, if you will, extended also to literature. Many a scholar devoted his life in secret to an important work, without either desiring or being able to have it published. Here also, more than in any other land, were to be found men who, with diverse attainments and great insight, could not be moved to make them known, either in written or printed form. The way to the society of such men Winckelmann soon found opened. He mentions particularly among them Giacomelli and Baldani, and speaks with pleasure of his increasing acquaintances and his growing influence.

CARDINAL ALBANI

But his greatest good fortune was to become a member of the household of Cardinal Albani. This prelate, possessed of a large fortune and wielding a powerful influence, showed from his very youth a great love of art; he had also the best opportunity of satisfying it and a luck in collecting which verged upon the miraculous. In later years he found his greatest pleasure in the task of placing this collection in worthy surroundings, in this wise rivaling those Roman families who had at an earlier period been cognizant of the value of such treasures. It was, in fact, his chief pleasure to overload the assigned spaces, in accordance with the manner of the ancients. Building crowded upon building, hall upon hall, corridor upon corridor; fountains and obelisks, caryatides and bas-reliefs, statues and vases were lacking neither in court-yard nor in garden, while the greater or smaller rooms, galleries and cabinets contained the choicest art specimens of all times.

We observed in passing that the ancients had in a similar manner filled their palaces and gardens. The Romans so overloaded their capital that it seems impossible that everything recorded could have found place there. The Via Sacra, the Forum, the Palatine were so overloaded with buildings and monuments that the imagination can hardly conceive of a crowd of people finding room in any of them. Fortunately the actual results of excavated cities come to our assistance, and we can see with our own eyes how narrow, how small, how, so to speak, like architectural models rather than real buildings these structures are. This remark is true even of the Villa of Hadrian, in the construction of which there were space and wealth enough for something extensive.

In such an overloaded condition was the villa of his lord and friend when Winckelmann departed this scene of his highest and most gratifying education. So also it remained after the death of the cardinal, to the joy and wonder of the world, until in the course of all-changing, all-dispersing time, it was robbed of its entire adornment. The statues were removed from their niches and pedestals, the bas-reliefs were torn from the walls, and the whole enormous collection was packed for transportation. Through an extraordinary change of affairs these treasures were conducted only as far as the Tiber. In a short time they were returned to the possessor, and the greatest part of them, except a few jewels, still remain in the old location. Winckelmann might have witnessed the first sad fate of this Elysium of art and its extraordinary return; but happily for him, death spared him this earthly suffering for which the joy of the restoration would hardly have made sufficient amends.

GOOD FORTUNE

But he also encountered many a good fortune upon life's journey. Not only did the excavations of antiquities proceed energetically and fortunately at Rome, but the discoveries at Herculaneum and Pompeii were at that time partly new, or had remained partly unknown through envy, secrecy and delay. He thus reaped a harvest which furnished work enough for his mind and his activities.

It is a sad thing when one is compelled to consider the existing as accomplished and completed. Armories, galleries and museums to which nothing is added have something funereal and ghostly about them; the mind is restricted in such a limited field of art. One becomes accustomed to regard such collections as completed, instead of being reminded of the necessity of constant acquisition and of the fact that, in art as in life, nothing is completed but is constantly changing.

Winckelmann found himself in a fortunate position. The earth gave up her treasures, and through a constant, active commerce in art many ancient possessions came to light, passed before his eyes, aroused his enthusiasm, challenged his judgment, and increased his knowledge.

No small advantage accrued to him through his relations with the heir of the large Stosch collection. Not until after the death of the collector did he become acquainted with this little world of art, over which he presided in accordance with his best judgment and convictions. It is true that all parts of this exceedingly valuable collection were not treated with equal care; the whole of it deserved a catalogue for the delectation and the use of later amateurs and collectors. Much was squandered; but in order to make the excellent gems which it contained better known and more marketable, Winckelmann undertook in conjunction with the heir of Stosch to write a catalogue, concerning which undertaking, its hasty but always able treatment, the surviving correspondence furnishes remarkable testimony.

Our friend was thus intently occupied with the Stosch possessions before their dispersal and with the ever increasing Albani collection; and everything which passed through his hands, either for collection or dispersal, increased the treasure with which he was storing his mind.

Even when Winckelmann first approached the study of art and learned to know the artists in Dresden, appearing in this branch as a beginner, he was fully developed as a writer. He had a comprehensive view of ancient history and, in many ways, of the development of the various sciences. Even in his previous humble condition he felt and knew antiquity, as well as what was worthy in the life and in the character of the present. He had already formed a style. In the new school which he entered, he listened to his masters, not only as a docile pupil but as a learned disciple. He easily acquired their special attainments, and began immediately to use and to adapt to his purposes everything that he learned.

In a higher sphere of action than was his at Dresden, in the nobler world revealed to him at Rome, he remained the same. What he learned from Mengs, what he was taught by his surroundings, he did not keep long to himself; he did not let the new wine ferment and clarify; but rather as we say that one learns from teaching, so he learned while planning and writing. How many a title has he left us, how many subjects has he not mentioned upon which a work was to follow! Like this beginning was his entire antiquarian career. We find him always active—occupied with the moment, which he seizes and holds fast as if it only could be complete and satisfactory, and even so he let himself be instructed by the following moment. This attitude of mind should be remembered in forming an estimate of his works.

That they ultimately received their present form, printed directly from Winckelmann's manuscript notes, is due to many often unimportant circumstances. A single month later and we should have had works, more correct in content, more precise in form, perhaps something quite different. Just for this reason we so deeply regret his premature death, because he would have constantly rewritten his works and enriched them with the attainments of the (ever) later phases of his life.

Everything that he has left us, therefore, was written as something living for the living, not for those who are dead in the letter. His works, combined with his correspondence, are the story of a life; they are a life itself. Like the life of most people, they resemble rather a preparation for a work than the latter in its accomplishment. They give cause for hopes, for wishes, for premonitions. If one tries to correct them he sees that he must first correct himself; if he wishes to criticize them, he sees that he might himself, upon a higher plane of knowledge, be subjected to the same criticism; for limitation is everywhere our lot.

PHILOSOPHY

With the progress of civilization, not all parts of human labor and activity in which culture is revealed, flourish equally; rather in accordance with the favorable character of persons and conditions, one necessarily surpasses the other, and thus arouses a more general interest. A certain jealous displeasure often arises in consequence, among members of a family so varied in its branches, who often are the less able to endure one another, the more closely they are related.

It is for the most part a baseless complaint, when this or that adept in science and art complains that just his branch is being neglected by contemporaries; for an able master has only to appear in order to concentrate attention upon himself. If Raphael should reappear today, we should bestow upon him a superabundance of honor and riches. An able master arouses excellent pupils and their activities extend their ramifications into the infinite.

From the earliest times philosophers especially have incurred the hatred, not only of their fellow scientists, but of men of the world and bons vivants, perhaps more by the position they assume than by their own fault. For as philosophy in accordance with her nature must make demands upon the universal and the highest, she must regard worldly objects as included in and subordinated to herself.

Nor are these pretentious demands specifically denied; every man rather believes that he has a right to take part in her discoveries, to make use of her maxims, and to appropriate whatever else she may have to offer. But as philosophy, in order to become universal, must make use of her own vocabulary of unfamiliar combinations and difficult explanations, which are in harmony neither with the life nor with the momentary needs of men of the world, she is despised by those who cannot find the handle by which she might easily be grasped.

Yet, if, on the other hand, one wished to accuse the philosophers because they do not know how to translate doctrine into life, and because they make the most mistakes exactly where all their convictions should be converted into action, thereby diminishing their own credit in the eyes of the world—no lack of examples might be found to verify such accusations.

Winckelmann often complains bitterly of the philosophers of his day and their widespread influence; but I think one can escape from every influence by limiting oneself to his own line of work. It is strange that Winckelmann did not attend the University at Leipsic, where, under the direction of Johann Friedrich Christ, he might, without troubling himself about a single philosopher in existence, have made much more comfortable progress in his favorite study.

This is perhaps the proper place for an observation which we should like to make, in view of recent events—that no scholar can afford to reject, oppose, or scorn the great philosophical movement begun by Kant, except the true investigators of antiquity, who by the peculiarity of their study seem to be especially favored above all other men. For since they are occupied with the best that the world has produced and only examine the trivial and the inferior in their relation to the most excellent, their attainments reach such fullness, their judgment such certainty, their taste such consistency, that they appear within their own circle most wonderfully, even astonishingly, cultured. Winckelmann also attained this good fortune, in which indeed he was greatly assisted by the influence of the fine arts and of life itself.

POETRY

Although Winckelmann in reading the ancient authors paid great attention to the poets, an exact examination of his studies and of the course of his life reveals no particular inclination to poetry; on the contrary, an aversion occasionally appears. His preference for the old and accustomed Lutheran church hymns and his desire to possess an uncensored song book of this kind in Rome reveals the typical and sturdy German, but not the friend of poetry.

The works of the poets of past ages appear to have interested him at first as documents of ancient languages and literature, later as witnesses for the fine arts. It is all the more wonderful and gratifying when he himself appears as a poet, as an able, unmistakable one, in his description of statues and in almost all of his later writings. He sees with his eyes, he grasps with his mind, works indescribable, and yet he feels an irresistible impulse to master them by the spoken and the written word. The perfect master-work, the idea in which it had its origin, the emotion that was awakened in him in beholding it, he wishes to impart to the hearer or the reader. Reviewing the array of his aptitudes, he finds himself compelled to seize upon the most powerful and dignified expression at his command. He is compelled to be a poet, whatever he may think, whether he wishes or not.

ATTAINED INSIGHT

As much value as Winckelmann placed upon the world's esteem, as much as he desired a literary reputation, as much as he endeavored to present his work in the best form and to elevate it by a certain dignified style, he was nevertheless in no wise blind to its faults, but rather was the first to observe them, as one would expect from a man of his progressive nature, always seizing upon and working over new materials. The more he had labored upon a subject, dogmatically and didactically, had maintained and established this or that interpretation of a monument, this or that explanation or application of a passage, the more conspicuous did his own mistakes seem to him. As soon as he had convinced himself of them by new data, the more quickly was he inclined to correct them in any way possible.

If the manuscript was at hand, it was rewritten; if it had been sent to the printer, corrections and additions were appended. Of all this penance he made no secret to his friends, for his character was based upon truth, straight-forwardness, frankness, and honesty.

LATER WORKS

A happy thought became clear to him, not suddenly but as the work progressed—we mean his Monumenti Inediti. It is quite evident that he was at first tempted by his desire to make new subjects known, to explain them in a happy manner and to enlarge the study of antiquity to the greatest possible extent; added to this was the interest of testing the method once set forth in his history of art, by means of objects which he laid before the eyes of the reader. For he had finally developed the felicitous resolve, in this preliminary treatise, quietly to correct, purify, compress, and perhaps even partly supplant, his already completed work on the history of art.

Conscious of former mistakes which people who were not inhabitants of Rome could scarcely have reproached him with, he wrote a work in the Italian language, which he intended should be appreciated in Rome itself. Not only did he devote to it the greatest attention, but he also selected friendly connoisseurs with whom he carefully went over the work, most cleverly using their insight and judgment, and thus created a work which will go down as a heritage for all ages. Not only did he write it, but he undertook its publication, achieving, as a poor layman, that which would do honor to a well established publisher, or to academies of large means.

THE POPE

Should so much be said of Rome without remembering the Pope, who had, at least indirectly, conferred many, many benefits upon Winckelmann? Winckelmann's sojourn in Rome fell for the most part under the government of Benedict XIV. Lambertini, a gay and easy-going man, who preferred letting others rule to ruling, himself; and so the different positions which Winckelmann filled may have come to him rather through the favor of his exalted friends than through the appreciation of his services by the Pope.

Nevertheless, we find him on one important occasion in the presence of the Head of the Church; he was honored by being allowed to read several passages of the Monumenti Inediti to the Pope, thus achieving also, along this line, the highest honor which an author could receive.

CHARACTER

In the case of very many men, especially in the case of scholars, their achievements seem the important thing, and in these their character finds little expression. With Winckelmann the reverse was the case. All that he produced is principally important and valuable because his character is always revealed in it. As we have already expressed certain generalities concerning his character under the headings, The Antique, Paganism, Friendship, and Beauty, the more detailed account deserves a place here, near the end of our essay.

Winckelmann was in all respects a character who was honest with himself and with others. His native love of truth constantly developed, the more independent and unhampered he felt, until he finally considered the polite indulgence of errors traditional in life and in literature to be a crime.

Such a nature could comfortably withdraw into itself; vet even here we discover in him the ancient characteristic of always being occupied with himself, but without really observing himself. He thinks only of himself, not about himself; his mind is occupied with what he has before him; he is interested in his whole being, in its entire compass, and he cherishes the belief that his friends are likewise interested therein. We, therefore, find everything mentioned in his letters, from the highest moral to the most common physical need; indeed he directly states that he preferred to be entertained with personal trifles rather than with important affairs. At the same time he remains a complete riddle to himself, and even expresses astonishment over his own being, especially in consideration of what he was and what he had become. But every man may thus be regarded as a charade of many syllables, of which he himself can spell only a few, while others easily decipher the whole word.

Nor do we find in him any pronounced principles. His unerring feeling and cultured mind served him as a guide in morals as well as in aesthetics. His ideal was a kind of natural religion, in which God appears as the ultimate source of the beautiful and hardly as a being having any other relation to man. His conduct was most beautiful in all cases involving duty and gratitude.

His provision for himself was moderate, and not the same at all times. He always labored most diligently to secure a competence for his old age. His means are noble; in his efforts to attain every end he shows himself honest, straightforward, even defiant, and at the same time clever and persevering. He never works after a fixed plan, but always instinctively and passionately. His pleasure in every discovery is intense, for which reason errors are unavoidable, which, however, in his rapid progress are corrected as quickly as he sees them. Here also he always maintains an antique principle; the certainty of the point of departure, the uncertainty of the aim to be reached, as well as the incomplete and imperfect character of the treatment as soon as it becomes extensive.

SOCIETY

Little prepared by his early mode of life, Winckelmann did not at first feel at ease in company, but a feeling of dignity soon took the place of education and custom, and he learned very rapidly to conduct himself in accordance with his surroundings. The gratification felt in association with distinguished, wealthy and celebrated people and the pleasure of being esteemed by them everywhere appears. As regards facility of intercourse, he could not have found himself in a better place than Rome.

He himself observes, that however ceremonious the Roman grandees, especially the clerical, appeared in public, at home they were pleasant and intimate with the members of their household; but he did not observe that this intimacy concealed the oriental relation of lord and servant. All southern nations would find it intolerably tiresome to have to maintain the constant mutual tension in association with their dependents which the northerners are accustomed to.

Travelers have observed that the slaves in Turkey behave toward their masters with more ease than northern courtiers toward their princes, or dependents with us toward their superiors. Yet, examined closely, these marks of consideration have been really introduced for the benefit of the dependents, who by these means always remind their superior what is due them.

The southerner, however, craves for hours in which to take his ease, and this accrues to the advantage of his household. Such scenes are described by Winckelmann with great relish; they lighten whatever dependence he may feel, and nourish his sense of freedom which was averse to every fetter that might restrain him.

STRANGERS

Although Winckelmann was very happy in his association with the natives, he suffered all the more annoyance and tribulation from strangers. It is true that nothing can be more exasperating than the usual stranger in Rome. In every other place the traveler can better look out for himself and find something suitable to his needs; but whoever does not accommodate himself to Rome is an abomination to the man of real Roman sentiment.

The English are reproached because they take their tea-kettles everywhere along with them, even dragging them to the summit of Mt. AEtna. But has not every nation its own tea-kettle, in which its citizens on their travels brew a bundle of dried herbs brought along from home?

Such hurrying and arrogant strangers, never looking about them, and judging everything in accordance with their own narrow limitations, were denounced by Winckelmann more than once; he vows never to show them about, and yet finally allows himself to be persuaded to do it. He jests over his inclination to play the schoolmaster, to teach and to convince, and indeed many advantages accrued to him through the association with persons important by reason of their rank and services. We mention only the Prince of Dessan, the Crown Prince of Mecklenburg-Strelitz and Brunswick, and Baron von Riedesel, a man who showed himself quite worthy of our friend in his attitude toward art and antiquity.

THE WORLD

Winckelmann constantly sought after esteem and consideration; but he wished to achieve them through real merit. He always insists upon thoroughness of subject, of means, and of treatment, and is therefore very hostile toward French superficiality.

He found in Rome opportunities to associate with strangers of all nations, and maintained such connections in a clever, effective manner. He was pleased with, indeed he sought after, honorary degrees of academies and learned societies.

But he achieved greatest prominence by that great document of his merits, over which he silently labored with great diligence—I refer to his History of Ancient Art. It was immediately translated into the French language, and made him known far and wide.

The real value of such a work is perhaps best appreciated immediately after its publication: its efficiency is recognized, the new matter is quickly adopted. The contemporaries are astonished at the sudden assistance they obtained, while a colder posterity nibbles disgustedly at the works of its masters and teachers, and makes demands which would never have occurred to it, if the very men criticised had not accomplished so much.

And so Winckelmann was recognized by the cultured nations of Europe at a time when he was sufficiently established at Rome to be honored with the important position of Director of Antiquities.

RESTLESSNESS

Notwithstanding his recognized and often vaunted happiness, Winckelmann was always tortured by a restlessness which, as its foundations lay deep in his nature, assumed various forms.

During the times of his early poverty and his later dependence upon the bounty of a court and the favor of many a wellwisher, he always limited himself to the smallest needs, that he might not become dependent or at least not more dependent than absolutely necessary. In the meantime he was always strenuously occupied in gaining by his own exertions a livelihood for the present and for the future, for which at length the successful illustrated edition of his Monumenti Inediti offered the fairest hope.

But these uncertain conditions accustomed him to look for his subsistence now here, then there; now to accept a position with small advantage to himself—in the house of a cardinal, in the Vatican or elsewhere; then, when he saw some other prospect, magnanimously to give up his place, while looking about for something else and lending an ear to many a proposition.

Further, one who lives in Rome is constantly exposed to the passion for traveling to all parts of the world. He finds himself in the centre of the ancient world, and the lands most interesting to the investigator of antiquity lie close about him. Magna Graecia, Sicily, Dalmatia, the Peloponnesus, Ionia, and Egypt—all of them are, so to say, offered to the inhabitants of Rome, and awaken an inexpressible longing in one who, like Winckelmann, was born with the desire to see. This is increased by the great number of strangers on their passage through Rome making sensible or useless preparations to travel in these lands, and who on their return never tire of describing distant wonders and exhibiting specimens of them.

And so Winckelmann planned to travel everywhere, partly on his own responsibility, partly in company with such wealthy travelers as would recognize the value of a scholarly and talented comrade.

Another cause of this inner restlessness and discomfort does honor to his heart—the irresistible longing for absent friends. Upon this the ardent desire of a man that otherwise lived so much in the present seems to have been peculiarly concentrated; he sees his friends before him, he converses with them through letters, he longs for their embraces, and wishes to repeat the days formerly lived together.

These wishes, especially directed toward his friends in the North, were awakened anew by the Peace of Hubertusbury (Feb., 1763). It would have been his pride to present himself before the great king who had already honored him with an offer to enter his service; to see again the Prince of Dessau, whose exalted, reposeful nature he regarded as a gift of God to the earth; to pay his respects to the Duke of Brunswick, whose great capacities he well knew how to prize; to praise in person Minister of State von Muenchausen, who had done so much for science, and to admire his immortal foundation at Goettingen; to rejoice again in the lively and intimate intercourse with his Swiss friends—such allurements filled his heart and his imagination; with such images was his mind so long occupied that he unfortunately followed this impulse and so went to his death.

He was devoted body and soul to his Italian lot to such an extent that every other one seemed insufferable to him. On his former journey, the cliffs and mountains of Tyrol had interested, yea, delighted him, and now, on his return to the fatherland, he felt terrified, as if he were being dragged through the Cimmerian portal and convinced of the impossibility of continuing his journey.

DEPARTURE

And thus upon the highest pinnacle of happiness that he could himself have wished for, he departed this earth. His fatherland awaited him, his friends stretched their arms toward him; all the expressions of love which he so deeply needed, all testimonials of public honor, which he valued so highly, awaited his appearance, to be heaped upon him. And in this sense we may count him happy, that from the summit of human existence he ascended to the blessed, that a momentary shock, a sudden, quick pain removed him from the living. The infirmities of old age, the diminution of mental power, he did not experience; the dispersal of the treasures of art, which he had foretold, although in another sense, did not occur before his eyes. He lived as a man and departed hence as a complete man. Now he enjoys in the memory of posterity the advantage of appearing only as one eternally vigorous and powerful; for in the image in which a man leaves the earth he wanders among the shadows, and so Achilles remains for us an ever-striving youth. That Winckelmann departed so early, works also to our advantage. From his grave the breath of his power strengthens us, and awakens in us the intense desire always to continue with zeal and love the work that he has begun.



MAXIMS AND REFLECTIONS OF GOETHE[5]

TRANSLATED BY BAILEY SAUNDERS

There is nothing worth thinking but it has been thought before; we must only try to think it again.

How can a man come to know himself? Never by thinking, but by doing. Try to do your duty, and you will know at once what you are worth. But what is your duty? The claims of the day.

The longer I live, the more it grieves me to see man, who occupies his supreme place for the very purpose of imposing his will upon nature, and freeing himself and his from an outrageous necessity—to see him taken up with some false notion, and doing just the opposite of what he wants to do; and then, because the whole bent of his mind is spoilt, bungling miserably over everything.

In the works of mankind, as in those of nature, it is really the motive which is chiefly worth attention.

In Botany there is a species of plants called Incompletae; and just in the same way it can be said there are men who are incomplete and imperfect. They are those whose desires and struggles are out of proportion to their actions and achievements.

It is a great error to take oneself for more than one is, or for less than one is worth.

From time to time I meet with a youth in whom I can wish for no alteration or improvement, only I am sorry to see how often his nature makes him quite ready to swim with the stream of the time; and it is on this that I would always insist, that man in his fragile boat has the rudder placed in his hand, just that he may not be at the mercy of the waves, but follow the direction of his own insight.

If I am to listen to another man's opinion, it must be expressed positively. Of things problematical I have enough in myself.

Piety is not an end, but a means: a means of attaining the highest culture by the purest tranquility of soul. Hence it may be observed that those who set up piety as an end and object are mostly hypocrites.

Reading ought to mean understanding; writing ought to mean knowing something; believing ought to mean comprehending; when you desire a thing, you will have to take it; when you demand it, you will not get it; and when you are experienced, you ought to be useful to others.

The stream is friendly to the miller whom it serves; it likes to pour over the mill wheels; what is the good of it stealing through the valley in apathy?

Theory is in itself of no use, except in so far as it makes us believe in the connection of phenomena.

"Le sens common est le genie de l'humanite." Common-sense, which is here put forward as the genius of humanity, must be examined first of all in the way it shows itself. If we inquire the purpose to which humanity puts it, we find as follows: Humanity is conditioned by needs. If they are not satisfied, men become impatient; and if they are, it seems not to affect them. The normal man moves between these two states, and he applies his understanding—his so-called common sense—to the satisfaction of his needs. When his needs are satisfied, his task is to fill up the waste spaces of indifference. Here, too, he is successful, if his needs are confined to what is nearest and most necessary. But if they rise and pass beyond the sphere of ordinary wants, common-sense is no longer sufficient; it is a genius no more, and humanity enters on the region of error.

There is no piece of foolishness but it can be corrected by intelligence or accident; no piece of wisdom but it can miscarry by lack of intelligence or by accident.

Justice insists on obligation, law on decorum. Justice weighs and decides, law superintends and orders. Justice refers to the individual, law to society.

The history of knowledge is a great fugue in which the voices of the nations one after the other emerge.

If a man is to achieve all that is asked of him, he must take himself for more than he is, and as long as he does not carry it to an absurd length, we willingly put up with it.

People whip curds to see if they cannot make cream of them.

Wisdom lies only in truth.

When I err, every one can see it; but not when I lie.

Before the storm breaks, the dust rises violently for the last time—the dust that is soon to be laid for ever.

Men do not come to know one another easily, even with the best will and the best purpose. And then ill-will comes in and distorts everything.

In the world the point is, not to know men, but at any given moment to be cleverer than the man who stands before you. You can prove this at every fair and from every charlatan.

Not everywhere where there is water, are there frogs; but where you have frogs, there you will find water.

In the formation of species Nature gets, as it were, into a cul-de-sac; she cannot make her way through, and is disinclined to turn back. Hence the stubbornness of national character.

Many a man knocks about on the wall with his hammer, and believes that he hits the right nail on the head every time.

Those who oppose intellectual truths do but stir up the fire, and the cinders fly about and burn what they had else not touched.

Those from whom we are always learning are rightly called our masters; but not every one who teaches us deserves this title.

It is with you as with the sea: the most varied names are given to what is in the end only salt water.

It is said that vain self-praise stinks in the nostrils. That may be so; but for the kind of smell which comes from unjust blame by others the public has no nose at all.

There are problematical natures which are equal to no position in which they find themselves, and which no position satisfies. This it is that causes that hideous conflict which wastes life and deprives it of all pleasure.

Dirt glitters as long as the sun shines.

He is the happiest man who can set the end of his life in connection with the beginning.

A state of things in which every day brings some new trouble is not the right one.

The Hindoos of the Desert make a solemn vow to eat no fish.

To venture an opinion is like moving a piece at chess it may be taken, but it forms the beginning of a game that is won.

Truth belongs to the man, error to his age. This is why it has been said that, while the misfortune of the age caused his error, the force of his soul made him emerge from the error with glory.

I pity those who make much ado about the transitory nature of all things and are lost in the contemplation of earthly vanity: are we not here to make the transitory permanent? This we can do only if we know how to value both.

A rainbow which lasts a quarter of an hour is looked at no more.

Faith is private capital, kept in one's own house. There are public savings-banks and loan-offices, which supply individuals in their day of need; but here the creditor quietly takes his interest for himself.

During a prolonged study of the lives of various men both great and small, I came upon this thought: In the web of the world the one may well be regarded as the warp, the other as the woof. It is the little men, after all, who give breadth to the web, and the great men firmness and solidity; perhaps, also, the addition of some sort of pattern. But the scissors of the Fates determine its length, and to that all the rest must join in submitting itself.

Truth is a torch, but a huge one, and so it is only with blinking eyes that we all of us try to get past it, in actual terror of being burnt.

The really foolish thing in men who are otherwise intelligent is that they fail to understand what another person says, when he does not exactly hit upon the right way of saying it.

One need only grow old to become gentler in one's judgments. I see no fault committed which I could not have committed myself.

Why should those who are happy expect one who is miserable to die before them in a graceful attitude, like the gladiator before the Roman mob?

By force of habit we look at a clock that has run down as if it were still going, and we gaze at the face of a beauty as though she still loved.

Dilettantism treated seriously, and knowledge pursued mechanically, end by becoming pedantry.

No one but the master can promote the cause of Art. Patrons help the master—that is right and proper; but that does not always mean that Art is helped.

The most foolish of all errors is for clever young men to believe that they forfeit their originality in recognizing a truth which has already been recognized by others.

It is much easier to recognize error than to find truth; for error lies on the surface and may be overcome; but truth lies in the depths, and to search for it is not given to every one.

No one should desire to live in irregular circumstances; but if by chance a man falls into them, they test his character and show of how much determination he is capable.

An honorable man with limited ideas often sees through the rascality of the most cunning jobber.

Against criticism a man can neither protest nor defend himself; he must act in spite of it, and then criticism will gradually yield to him.

The masses cannot dispense with men of ability, and such men are always a burden to them.

If you lay duties upon people and give them no rights, you must pay them well.

I can promise to be sincere, but not to be impartial.

Word and picture are correlatives which are continually in quest of each other, as is sufficiently evident in the case of metaphors and similes. So from all time what was said or sung inwardly to the ear had to be presented equally to the eye. And so in childish days we see word and picture in continual balance; in the book of the law and in the way of salvation, in the Bible and in the spelling-book. When something was spoken which could not be pictured, and something pictured which could not be spoken, all went well; but mistakes were often made, and a word was used instead of a picture; and thence arose those monsters of symbolical mysticism, which are doubly an evil.

The importunity of young dilettanti must be borne with good-will; for as they grow old they become the truest worshippers of Art and the Master.

People have to become really bad before they care for nothing but mischief, and delight in it.

Clever people are the best encyclopaedia.

There are people who make no mistakes because they never wish to do anything worth doing.

A man cannot live for every one; least of all for those with whom he would not care to live.

I should like to be honest with you, without our falling out; but it will not do. You act wrongly, and fall between two stools; you win no adherents and lose your friends. What is to be the end of it?

If a clever man commits a folly, it is not a small one.

I went on troubling myself about general ideas until I learnt to understand the particular achievements of the best men.

The errors of a man are what make him really lovable.

As in Rome there is, apart from the Romans, a population of statues, so apart from this real world there is a world of illusion, almost more potent, in which most men live.

Mankind is like the Red Sea; the staff has scarcely parted the waves asunder before they flow together again. Thoughts come back; beliefs persist; facts pass by never to return.

Of all peoples, the Greeks have dreamt the dream of life the best.

We readily bow to antiquity, but not to posterity. It is only a father that does not grudge talent to his son. The whole art of living consists in giving up existence in order to exist.

All our pursuits and actions are a wearying process. Well is it for him who wearies not.

Hope is the second soul of the unhappy.

At all times it has not been the age, but individuals alone, who have worked for knowledge. It was the age which put Socrates to death by poison, the age which burnt Huss. The ages have always remained alike.

If a man knows where to get good advice, it is as though he could supply it himself.

A man must pay dear for his errors if he wishes to get rid of them, and even then he is lucky.

Enthusiasm is of the greatest value, so long as we are not carried away by it.

Error is related to truth as sleep to waking. I have observed that on awakening from error a man turns again to truth as with new vigor.

Every one suffers who does not work for himself. A man works for others to have them share in his joy.

Common-sense is born pure in the healthy man, is self-developed, and is revealed by a resolute perception and recognition of what is necessary and useful. Practical men and women avail themselves of it with confidence. Where it is absent, both sexes find anything necessary when they desire it, and useful when it gives them pleasure.

All men, as they attain freedom, give play to their errors. The strong do too much, and the weak too little.

The conflict of the old, the existing, the continuing, with development, improvement and reform, is always the same. Order of every kind turns at last to pedantry, and to get rid of the one, people destroy the other; and so it goes on for a while, until people perceive that order must be established anew. Classicism and Romanticism; close corporations and freedom of trade; the maintenance of large estates and the division of the land—it is always the same conflict which ends by producing a new one. The best policy of those in power would be so to moderate this conflict as to let it right itself without the destruction of either element. But this has not been granted to men, and it seems not to be the will of God.