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
blind, I have healed the palsied and I have raised the dead;
I too have caused the barren fig tree to wither away and I
have turned water into wine ... and yet they have not
crucified me.'"

At the time this apologue amused me; in the light of later events it
assumed a tragic significance. Oscar Wilde ought to have known that in
this world every real superiority is pursued with hatred, and every
worker of miracles is sure to be persecuted. But he had no inkling
that the Gospel story is symbolic--the life-story of genius for all
time, eternally true. He never looked outside himself, and as the
fruits of success were now sweet in his mouth, a pursuing Fate seemed
to him the most mythical of myths. His child-like self-confidence was
pathetic. The laws that govern human affairs had little interest f