Yesterday a stranger made his appearance, whose name I was already familiar with, and who has the reputation of a skilful connoisseur.[3] I was pleased to see him, made him acquainted generally with my possessions, let him choose what he would from what I exhibited to him. I soon noticed his cultivated eye for works of art, and especially for their history. He knew the masters as well as the scholars; in cases of doubtful works he was familiar with the grounds of uncertainty, and his conversation was highly interesting to me. Perhaps I should have been hurried on to open myself in a more lively manner towards him, had not my resolve to sound my guest made me from the first take a more quiet tone. His judgment in many cases agreed with mine; in many I was forced to admire his sharp and practised eye. The first thing that struck me was his unmitigated hatred of all Mannerists. I was in pain for some of my favorite pictures, and was curious to discover from what source such a dislike could spring.... Before we were all assembled I seized an opportunity to lend a helping hand to my poor mannerists against the stranger. I spoke of their beautiful nature, their happy handling, their grace, and added, to keep myself safe: Thus much I say only to claim for them a certain degree of forbearance, though I admit that that high beauty, which is the highest end and aim of Art, is in fact quite a different thing. He replied--with a smile that did not altogether please me, inasmuch as it seemed to express a special self-satisfaction and a sort of compassion for me:--Are you then stanch in the old-fashioned principle that Beauty is the last aim of art? I answered that I was not aware of any higher. Can you tell me what Beauty is? he exclaimed. Perhaps not, I replied; but I can show it to you. Let us go and see, even by candlelight, a fine cast of Apollo or a beautiful marble bust of Bacchus that I possess, and try if we cannot agree that they are beautiful. Before we go upon this quest, said he, it would be necessary for us to examine more closely this word Beauty and its derivation. Beauty (_Schönheit_) comes from show (_Schein_); it is an appearance, and not worthy to be the object of art. The perfectly characteristic only deserves to be called beauty; without Character there is no Beauty. Surprised by this mode of expression, I replied: Granted, though it be not proved, that beauty must be characteristic; yet from this it only follows that character lies at the root of beauty, but by no means that Beauty and Character are the same. Character holds to the beautiful the same relation that the skeleton does to the living man. No one will deny that the osseous system is the foundation of all highly organized forms. It consolidates and defines the form, but is not the form itself; still less does it bring about that last appearance which, as the veil and integument of an organized whole, we call Beauty.