not fail to increase his desire to visit the countries of the classical tradition. 'It is my misfortune,' he writes, 'that I was not born to great place, wherein I might have had cultivation and the opportunity of following my instinct and forming myself.' Probably the purpose of visiting Rome was already formed, and he silently preparing for it. Count Bünau, the author of an historical work then of note, had collected at Nöthenitz, near Dresden, a valuable library, now part of the library of Dresden. In 1784 Winckelmann wrote to Bünau in halting French: 'He is emboldened,' he says, 'by Bünau's indulgence for needy men of letters.' He desires only to devote himself to study, having never allowed himself to be dazzled by favourable prospects in the church. He hints at his doubtful position 'in a metaphysical age, when humane literature is trampled under foot. At present,' he goes on, 'little value is set on Greek literature, to which I have devoted myself so far as I could penetrate, when good books are so scarce and expensive.' Finally, he desires a place in some comer of Bünau's library. 'Perhaps at some future time I shall become more useful to the public, if, drawn from obscurity in whatever way, I can find means to maintain myself in the capital.'
Soon after we find Winckelmann in the library
