That which costs little is of little worth. This thought should make us
tremble. In our self-examination we may experience at times a certain
satisfaction in noticing the little virtues we may possess, above all,
those that render us pleasing in the eyes of others.
For instance, we may like to pray at a certain place, with certain
sentiments, and we think ourselves devout; we are gentle, polite, and
smiling towards one person in particular; patient with those we fear, or
in whose good opinion we would stand; we are devoted, charitable,
generous, because the heart experiences an unspeakable pleasure in
spending and being spent for others; we suffer willingly at the hands of
some one we love, and then say we are patient; we are silent, because we
have no inclination to speak; shunning society because we fail to shine
there, and then fancy that we love retirement.
Take these virtues that give you such self-satisfaction, one by one, and
ask yourself at what sacrifice, labor, or cost, above all, with what care
you have managed to acquire them.... Alas! you will find that all that
patience, affability, generosity, and piety are but as naught, springing
from a heart puffed up with pride. It costs nothing, and it is worthless.
As self-sacrifice, says De Maistre, is the basis and essence of virtue, so
those virtues are the most meritorious that have cost the greatest effort
to attain.
Do not look with so much pride on this collection of virtues, but rather
bring yourself to account for your faults. Take just one, the first that
comes, impatience, sloth, gossip, uncharitableness, sulkiness, whatever it
may be, and attack it bravely.
It will take at least a month, calculating upon three victories every day,
not indeed to eradicate it,--a fault is not so short-lived,--but to prevent
its attaining dominion over you.
That one subdued, then take another. It is the work of a lifetime; and
truly to our faults may we apply the saying, "_Quand il n'y en a plus, il
y en a encore._"
"Happy should I think myself," said S. Francis de Sales, "if I could rid
myself of my imperfections but _one_-quarter of an hour previous to my
death."