Though he was the life and soul of every social gathering, and in constant
demand, he still read omnivorously, and his mind naturally occupied itself
with high themes.

For some years, the story of Jesus fascinated him and tinged all his thought.
We were talking about Renan's "Life" one day: a wonderful book he called it, one
of the three great biographies of the world, Plato's dialogues with Socrates as
hero and Boswell's "Life of Johnson" being the other two. It was strange, he
thought, that the greatest man had written the worst biography; Plato made of
Socrates a mere phonograph, into which he talked his own theories: Renan did
better work, and Boswell, the humble loving friend, the least talented 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-