VILLA 
Winckelmann, who was of a simple, open nature, 
took a liking to the man, talked freely of his 
journey, and displayed a gold medal given him 
by Maria Theresa, and admitted having a con- 
siderable sum of money in_ his possession. The 
stranger was a certain Francesco Archangeli, a 
malefactor who had been condemned to death, 
but whose sentence - had been commuted to 
banishment. One evening as  Winckelmann 
sat writing in his room, working on the last 
references of his forthcoming book, Archangeli 
came in, and, with many protestations of regret, 
announced his impending departure. He begged 
the professor, as a last favour, to show him his 
gold medal once more, in order that he might 
take away a final remembrance of it. Winckel- 
mann willingly agreed, and while he was stooping 
down to take it from his trunk the villain stole up 
behind him and tried to strangle him with a cord. 
He resisted desperately, and almost succeeded in 
throwing off the assassin, who thereupon drew a 
knife and stabbed him in five places. Archangeli 
then fled, without, however, obtaining possession 
of the medal. The unfortunate man succeeded 
in arousing help, and a doctor was fetched, 
only to pronounce at least two of the wounds to 
be mortal. Winckelmann lived long enough to 
make his will, and the register of the tribunal 
records that he died with the firmness of a hero 
and the piety of a Christian, resigning himself 
without lamentation and pardoning his murderer. 
The latter was caught, convicted, and broken on 
the wheel. His victim was buried in Rome amid 
universal mourning, and his bust was placed 
in the Pantheon with an_ inscription recording 
all he had done for the cause of art, while 
another has been placed by Prince Torlonia, in 
the garden that he loved. 
The greatest service he rendered to art was 
to take the antique once more into the province 
ALBANI. 
of the artist. Hitherto only antiquaries had 
written about it, it was only looked upon as 
interesting from a historical or mythological point 
of view, but Winckelmann set it forth at once 
as the standard and guide, which all artists 
should set before them. 
The Cardinal lived for eleven years longer, 
and died at eighty-nine. In 1868 the villa was 
bought by Prince Torlonia, who has spent enor- 
mous sums on keeping it up, in improving it, 
and in repairing the ravages which time was 
beginning to make. 
It is a fortunate thing that the great Cardinal’s 
famous collection has not been dispersed, but 
remains a wonderful monument of beauty and 
interest, and of the magnificent liberality of those 
great art patrons of the past. Small wonder if men 
grew selfish, so shut away from the world, and 
that the cutting of a cameo, the authenticity of a 
bronze, became all-important. The world has 
crept nearer, the houses have risen up all round 
and shut out much of the beautiful view; but 
sitting out of sight of them in an ilex grove, or 
in one of the pavilions, it is easy to forget all that 
is not perfect and artistic. How still it lies on a 
hot summer afternoon! The breeze only stirs 
enough to carry the scent of orange-flowers. The 
silver toss of fountains, the flutter of a white 
butterfly, the only movement, the singing of birds 
and the plash of water the only sound. The 
marble men and women keep watch and ward. 
Do the great Cardinal and his murdered friend 
ever come back to visit the scenes they 
both loved so well? We can almost believe 
they must do so, on some summer night 
when the moon is high and_ the garden is 
bathed in silver light, when the marbles gleam 
and the shadows lie black under the porticoes 
and all is still as death in the enchanted 
palace, 
