of the three, did better still, though being English, he had to keep
to the surface of things and leave the depths to be divined. Oscar
evidently expected Plato and Renan to have surpassed comparison.
It seemed to me, however, that the illiterate Galilean fishermen had
proved themselves still more consummate painters than Boswell, though
they, too, left a great deal too much to the imagination. Love is the
best of artists; the puddle of rain in the road can reflect a piece of
sky marvellously.
The Gospel story had a personal interest for Oscar; he was always
weaving little fables about himself as the Master.
In spite of my ignorance of Hebrew the story of Jesus had always had
the strongest attraction for me, and so we often talked about Him,
though from opposite poles.
Renan I felt had missed Jesus at his highest. He was far below the
sincerity, the tenderness and sweet-thoughted wisdom of that divine
spirit. Frenchman-like, he stumbled over the miracles and came to
grief. Claus Sluter's head of Jesus in the museum of Dijon is a finer
portrait, and so is the imaginative picture of Fra Angelico. It seemed
to me possible to do a sketch from the Gospels themselves which should
show the growth of the soul of Jesus and so impose itself as a true
portrait.
Oscar's interest in the theme was different; he put himself frankly
in the place of his model, and appeared to enjoy the jarring antinomy
which resulted. One or two of his stories were surprising in ironical
suggestion; surprising too because they showed his convinced paganism.
Here is one which reveals his exact position:
"When Joseph of Arimathea came down in the evening from
Mount Calvary where Jesus had died he saw on a white stone a
young man seated weeping. And Joseph went near him and said,
'I understand how great thy grief must be, for certainly
that Man was a just Man.' But the young man made answer,
'Oh, it is not for that I am weeping. I am weeping because I
too have wrought miracles. I also have given sight to the
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