ome　new　relation　to　the　age；　so　that　it　becomes　a　vital　portion　of　our　lives；　and　a　symbol　of　what　we　pray　for；　or　perhaps　of　what；　having　prayed　for；　we　fear　that　we　may　receive。　　The　longer　I　study；　Ernest；　the　more　clearly　I　see　that　the　beauty　of　the　visible　arts　is；　as　the　beauty　of　music；　impressive　primarily；　and　that　it　may　be　marred；　and　indeed　often　is　so；　by　any　excess　of　intellectual　intention　on　the　part　of　the　artist。　　For　when　the　work　is　finished　it　has；　as　it　were；　an　independent　life　of　its　own；　and　may　deliver　a　message　far　other　than　that　which　was　put　into　its　lips　to　say。　　Sometimes；　when　I　listen　to　the　overture　to　TANNHAUSER；　I　seem　indeed　to　see　that　comely　knight　treading　delicately　on　the　flower…strewn　grass；　and　to　hear　the　voice　of　Venus　calling　to　him　from　the　caverned　hill。　　But　at　other　times　it　speaks　to　me　of　a　thousand　different　things；　of　myself；　it　may　be；　and　my　own　life；　or　of　the　lives　of　others　whom　one　has　loved　and　grown　weary　of　loving；　or　of　the　passions　that　man　has　known；　or　of　the　passions　that　man　has　not　known；　and　so　has　sought　for。　　To…　night　it　may　fill　one　with　that　＇Greek　text　which　cannot　be　reproduced＇；　that　AMOUR　DE　L'IMPOSSIBLE；　which　falls　like　a　madness　on　many　who　think　they　live　securely　and　out　of　reach　of　harm；　so　that　they　sicken　suddenly　with　the　poison　of　unlimited　desire；　and；　in　the　infinite　pursuit　of　what　they　may　not　obtain；　grow　faint　and　swoon　or　stumble。　　To…morrow；　like　the　music　of　which　Aristotle　and　Plato　tell　us；　the　noble　Dorian　music　of　the　Greek；　it　may　perform　the　office　of　a　physician；　and　give　us　an　anodyne　against　pain；　and　heal　the　spirit　that　is　wounded；　and　'bring　the　soul　into　harmony　with　all　right　things。'　　And　what　is　true　about　music　is　true　about　all　the　arts。　　Beauty　has　as　many　meanings　as　man　has　moods。　Beauty　is　the　symbol　of　symbols。　　Beauty　reveals　everything；　because　it　expresses　nothing。　　When　it　shows　us　itself；　it　shows　us　the　whole　fiery…coloured　world。
  ERNEST。　　But　is　such　work　as　you　have　talked　about　really　criticism？
  GILBERT。　　It　is　the　highest　Criticism；　for　it　criticises　not　merely　the　individual　work　of　art；　but　Beauty　itself；　and　fills　with　wonder　a　form　which　the　artist　may　have　left　void；　or　not　understood；　or　understood　incompletely。
  ERNEST。　　The　highest　Criticism；　then；　is　more　creative　than　creation；　and　the　primary　aim　of　the　critic　is　to　see　the　object　as　in　itself　it　really　is　not；　that　is　your　theory；　I　believe？
  GILBERT。　　Yes；　that　is　my　theory。　　To　the　critic　the　work　of　art　is　simply　a　suggestion　for　a　new　work　of　his　own；　that　need　not　necessarily　bear　any　obvious　resemblance　to　the　thing　it　criticises。　　The　one　characteristic　of　a　beautiful　form　is　that　one　can　put　into　it　whatever　one　wishes；　and　see　in　it　whatever　one　chooses　to　see；　and　the　Beauty；　that　gives　to　creation　its　universal　and　aesthetic　element；　makes　the　critic　a　creator　in　his　turn；　and　whispers　of　a　thousand　different　things　which　were　not　present　in　the　mind　of　him　who　carved　the　statue　or　painted　the　panel　or　graved　the　gem。
  It　is　sometimes　said　by　those　who　understand　neither　the　nature　of　the　highest　Criticism　nor　the　charm　of　the　highest　Art；　that　the　pictures　that　the　critic　loves　most　to　write　about　are　those　that　belong　to　the　anecdotage　of　painting；　and　that　deal　with　scenes　taken　out　of　literature　or　history。　　But　this　is　not　so。　　Indeed；　pictures　of　this　kind　are　far　too　intelligible。　　As　a　class；　they　rank　with　illustrations；　and；　even　considered　from　this　point　of　view　are　failures；　as　they　do　not　stir　the　imagination；　but　set　definite　bounds　to　it。　　For　the　domain　of　the　painter　is；　as　I　suggested　before；　widely　different　from　that　of　the　poet。　　To　the　latter　belongs　life　in　its　full　and　absolute　entirety；　not　merely　the　beauty　that　men　look　at；　but　the　beauty　that　men　listen　to　also；　not　merely　the　momentary　grace　of　form　or　the　transient　gladness　of　colour；　but　the　whole　sphere　of　feeling；　the　perfect　cycle　of　thought。　　The　painter　is　so　far　limited　that　it　is　only　through　the　mask　of　the　body　that　he　can　show　us　the　mystery　of　the　soul；　only　through　conventional　images　that　he　can　handle　ideas；　only　through　its　physical　equivalents　that　he　can　deal　with　psychology。　　And　how　inadequately　does　he　do　it　then；　asking　us　to　accept　the　torn　turban　of　the　Moor　for　the　noble　rage　of　Othello；　or　a　dotard　in　a　storm　for　the　wild　madness　of　Lear！　　Yet　it　seems　as　if　nothing　could　stop　him。　　Most　of　our　elderly　English　painters　spend　their　wicked　and　wasted　lives　in　poaching　upon　the　domain　of　the　poets；　marring　their　motives　by　clumsy　treatment；　and　striving　to　render；　by　visible　form　or　colour；　the　marvel　of　what　is　invisible；　the　splendour　of　what　is　not　seen。　　Their　pictures　are；　as　a　natural　consequence；　insufferably　tedious。　　They　have　degraded　the　invisible　arts　into　the　obvious　arts；　and　the　one　thing　not　worth　looking　at　is　the　obvious。　　I　do　not　say　that　poet　and　painter　may　not　treat　of　the　same　subject。　　They　have　always　done　so　and　will　always　do　so。　　But　while　the　poet　can　be　pictorial　or　not；　as　he　chooses；　the　painter　must　be　pictorial　always。　　For　a　painter　is　limited；　not　to　what　he　sees　in　nature；　but　to　what　upon　canvas　may　be　seen。
  And　so；　my　dear　Ernest；　pictures　of　this　kind　will　not　really　fascinate　the　critic。　　He　will　turn　from　them　to　such　works　as　make　him　brood　and　dream　and　fancy；　to　works　that　possess　the　subtle　quality　of　suggestion；　and　seem　to　tell　one　that　even　from　them　there　is　an　escape　into　a　wider　world。　　It　is　sometimes　said　that　the　tragedy　of　an　artist's　life　is　that　he　cannot　realise　his　ideal。　　But　the　true　tragedy　that　dogs　the　steps　of　most　artists　is　that　they　realise　their　ideal　too　absolutely。　　For；　when　the　ideal　is　realised；　it　is　robbed　of　its　wonder　and　its　mystery；　and　becomes　simply　a　new　starting…point　for　an　ideal　that　is　other　than　itself。　　This　is　the　reason　why　music　is　the　perfect　type　of　art。　Music　can　never　reveal　its　ultimate　secret。　　This；　also；　is　the　explanation　of　the　value　of　limitations　in　art。　　The　sculptor　gladly　surrenders　imitative　colour；　and　the　painter　the　actual　dimensions　of　form；　because　by　such　renunciations　they　are　able　to　avoid　too　definite　a　presentation　of　the　Real；　which　would　be　mere　imitation；　and　too　definite　a　realisation　of　the　Ideal；　which　would　be　too　purely　intellectual。　　It　is　through　its　very　incompleteness　that　art　becomes　complete　in　beauty；　and　so　addresses　itself；　not　to　the　faculty　of　recognition　nor　to　the　faculty　of　reason；　but　to　the　aesthetic　sense　alone；　which；　while　accepting　both　reason　and　recognition　as　stages　of　apprehension；　subordinates　them　both　to　a　pure　synthetic　impression　of　the　work　of　art　as　a　whole；　and；　taking　whatever　alien　emotional　elements　the　work　may　possess；　uses　their　very　complexity　as　a　means　by　which　a　richer　unity　may　be　added　to　the　ultimate　impression　itself。　　You　see；　then；　how　it　is　that　the　aesthetic　critic　rejects　these　obvious　modes　of　art　that　have　but　one　message　to　deliver；　and　having　delivered　it　become　dumb　and　sterile；　and　seeks　rather　for　such　modes　as　suggest　reverie　and　mood；　and　by　their　imaginative　beauty　make　all　interpretations　true；　and　no　interpretation　final。　　Some　resemblance；　no　doubt；　the　creative　work　of　the　critic　will　have　to　the　work　that　has　stirred　him　to　creation；　but　it　will　be　such　resemblance　as　exists；　not　between　Nature　and　the　mirror　that　the　painter　of　landscape　or　figure　may　be　supposed　to　hold　up　to　her；　but　between　Nature　and　the　work　of　the　decorative　artist。　　Just　as　on　the　flowerless　carpets　of　Persia；　tulip　and　rose　blossom　indeed　and　are　lovely　to　look　on；　though　they　are　not　reproduced　in　visible　shape　or　line；　just　as　the　pearl　and　purple　of　the　sea…　shell　is　echoed　in　the　church　of　St。　Mark　at　Venice；　just　as　the　vaulted　ceiling　of　the　wondrous　chapel　at　Ravenna　is　made　gorgeous　by　the　gold　and　green　and　sapphire　of　the　peacock's　tail；　though　the　birds　of　Juno　fly　not　across　it；　so　the　critic　reproduces　the　work　that　he　criticises　in　a　mode　that　is　never　imitative；　and　part　of　whose　charm　may　really　consist　in　the　rejection　of　resemblance；　and　shows　us　in　this　way　not　merely　the　meaning　but　also　the　mystery　of　Beauty；　and；　by　transforming　each　art　into　literature；　solves　once　for　all　the　problem　of　Art's　unity。
  But　I　see　it　is　time　for　supper。　　After　we　have　discussed　some　Chambertin　and　a　few　ortolans；　we　will　pass　on　to　the　question　of　the　critic　considered　in　the　light　of　the　interpreter。
  ERNEST。　　Ah！　you　admit；　then；　that　the　critic　may　occasionally　be　allowed　to　see　the　object　as　in　itself　it　really　is。
  GILBERT。　　I　am　not　quite　sure。　　Perhaps　I　may　admit　it　after　supper。　　There　is　a　subtle　influence　in　supper。
  THE　CRITIC　AS　ARTIST　…　WITH　SOME　REMARKS　UPON　THE　IMPORTANCE　OF　DISCUSSING　EVERYTHING
  A　DIALOGUE：　　Part　II。　　Persons：　　the　same。　　Scene：　　the　same。
  ERNEST。　　The　ortolans　were　delightful；　and　the　Chambertin　perfect；　and　now　let　us　return　to　the　point　at　issue。
  GILBERT。　　Ah！　don't　let　us　do　that。　　Conversation　should　touch　everything；　but　should　concentrate　itself　on　nothing。　　Let　us　talk　about　MORAL　INDIGNATION；　ITS　CAUSE　AND　CURE；　a　subject　on　which　I　think　of　writing：　　or　about　THE　SURVIVAL　OF　THER