s here."[4] His wandering life, at first so full of charm, now began
to weigh upon him. "The foxes," said he, "have holes, and the birds of
the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his
head."[5] Bitterness and reproach took more and more hold upon him. He
accused unbelievers of not yielding to evidence, and said that, even
at the moment in which the Son of man should appear in his celestial
glory, there would still be men who would not believe in him.[6]

[Footnote 1: John vii. 5.]

[Footnote 2: Matt. xii. 39, 45, xiii. 15, xvi. 4; Luke xi. 29.]

[Footnote 3: Matt. xi. 21-24; Luke x. 12-15.]

[Footnote 4: Matt. xii. 41, 42; Luke xi. 31, 32.]

[Footnote 5: Matt. viii. 20; Luke ix. 58.]

[Footnote 6: Luke xviii. 8.]

Jesus, in fact, was not able to receive opposition with the coolness
of the philosopher, who, understanding the reason of the various
opinions which divide the world, finds it quite natural that all
should not agree with him. One of the principal defects of the Jewish
race is its harshness in controversy, and the abusive tone which it
almost always infuses into it. There never were in the world such
bitter quarrels as those of the Jews among themselves. It is the
faculty of nice discernment which makes the polished and moderate man.
Now, the lack of this faculty is one of the most constant features of
the Semitic mind. Subtle and refined works, the dialogues of Plato,
for example, are altogether unknown to these nations. Jesus, who was
exempt from almost all the defects of his race, and whose leading
quality was precisely an infinite delicacy, was led in spite of
himself to make use of the general style in polemics.[1] Like John the
Baptist,[2] he employed very harsh terms against his adversaries. Of
an exquisite gentleness with the simple, he was irritated at
incredulity, however little aggressive.[3] He was no longer the mild
teacher who delivered the "Sermon on the Mount," who had met with
neither resistance nor difficulty. The passion that underlay his
character led him to make use of the keenest invectives. This singular
mixture ought not to surprise us. M. de Lamennais, a man of our own
times, has strikingly presented the same contrast. In his beautiful
book, the "Words of a Believer," the most immoderate anger and the
sweetest relentings alternate, as in a mirage. This man, who was
extremely kind in the intercourse of life, became madly intractable
toward those who did not a