he science
of aesthetics was in its infancy when Lessing wrote. Pedantic and
conventional rules were laid down regarding beauty, and the greatest
confusion of ideas existed concerning the provinces and limits of the
respective arts. Poetry and painting were treated as arts identical in
purpose and scope; indeed each was advised to borrow aid from the
resources of the other. Simonides' dictum that "Painting is silent
poetry, and poetry eloquent painting," was regarded as an
incontrovertible axiom. Winckelmann's lately published 'History of Art'
had supported this view of the matter; a point of view that encouraged
allegorical painting and didactic poetry. The 'Laokoon' strove to
expose the radical error of this idea, as its second title, 'or the
boundaries of Poetry and Painting,' proves. The conclusions established
by the 'Laokoon' have become to-day the very groundwork of cultured art
criticism, and though the somewhat narrow scope of its aesthetic theory
has been extended, the basis remains untouched and unshaken. The book
is of as much value now as upon its first appearance. Its luminous
distinctions, its suggestive utterances, point the way to exact truth,
even where they do not define it. Like the celebrated Torso of the
Vatican, it can be made an object of constant study, and every fresh
investigation will reveal new beauties, new subtle traits of artistic
comprehension hitherto overlooked.

This work, so grand and ultimately fruitful, fell, nevertheless, very
flat on its first issue, and only gradually assumed the position that
was its due. It had indeed to educate its public, so new were the
principles it enunciated. Three years after its publication, Lessing
told a friend that hardly any one seemed to know at what goal he had
aimed in his 'Laokoon.' Critics arose in plenty, but their criticism
was of such a character that Lessing, usually so combative, did not
hold them worthy of a reply. Little wonder, therefore, that even the
discerning Frederick did not recognise the value of its author, and
finally decided against Lessing's appointment as royal librarian.

In November 1766 Lessing describes himself as standing idly in the
market-place waiting for hire. He was discontented with his
surroundings, eager to find himself in a wider and more congenial
mental atmosphere than that of Berlin, uncertain whither to turn, and
hampered by money difficulties, private debts and family demands. At
this juncture an invita