Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/546

 sides, the  chagrin  of  having  encountered  scorn  is  so  much  more lively than  any  pleasure  that  can  accrue  from  retorting  it. Lastly, from the  moment  that  you  live  solely  for  the  world,  and  that  your pleasures or  your  vexations  depend  wholly  on  it,  the  judgments  of the  world  can  never  be  indifferent  to  you.

Nevertheless, it  is  in  the  midst  of  all  these  vexations  that  happiness must  be  at  least  professed. Every thing  attributed  to  you, either by  truth  or  vanity,  is  called  in  question:  your  birth,  your talents, your  reputation,  your  services,  your  success,  your  prudence, and even  your  honour. If you  go  to  wreck,  your  incapacity  accounts for  it:  if  successful,  the  honour  is  given  to  chance,  or  to your  inferiors:  if  you  enjoy  the  good  opinion  of  the  public,  the judgment of  the  more  knowing  is  appealed  to  from  the  popular error: if  possessed  of  the  art  of  pleasing,  it  is  immediately  said that you  have  made  a  thorough  use  of  your  talents,  and  that  you have been  only  too  agreeable:  if  your  conduct  be  superior  to  any attack, the  most  poignant  ridicule  is  directed  against  your  temper. Lastly, be  whom  ye  may,  high  or  low,  prince  or  subject,  the  most desirable situation  for  your  vanity  is  that  of  being  unacquainted with the  world's  opinion  of  you. Such is  the  life  of  the  world. The same  passions  which  bind  us  together,  disunite  us:  envy  and detraction blacken  our  noblest  qualities:  and  our  gratifications  find censurers in  those  who  copy  them.

But a  believing  soul  is  sheltered  from  all  these  uneasinesses. As he courts  not  the  esteem  of  men,  neither  does  he  fear  their  scorn; as he  has  no  intention  of  laying  himself  out  to  please,  neither  is  he surprised  to  find  that  he  has  not  done  it. God, who  sees  him,  is the  only  Judge  he  fears,  and  who,  at  the  same  time,  consoles  him for the  judgments  of  men. His glory  is  the  testimony  of  his  own conscience. His reputation  he  seeks  in  the  fulfilment  of  his  duty. He considers  the  suffrages  of  the  world  as  the  rock  of  virtue  or  as the  reward  of  vice;  and,  without  even  paying  attention  to  its  judgments, he  is  satisfied  with  giving  it  good  examples. But what  do I  say,  my  brethren? The world  itself,  all  worldly  as  it  is,  so  full  of censures,  malignity,  and  contempt  for  its  own  worshippers,  is  forced to respect  the  virtue  of  those  who  hate  and  despise  it. It appears that virtue  imprints  on  the  person  of  a  real  righteous  man,  a dignity,  a  something,  I  know  not  what,  of  divine,  which  attracts the veneration  and  almost  the  worship  of  worldly  souls;  it  appears that this  intimate  union  with  Jesus  Christ  occasions  his  being irradiated, as  I  may  say,  like  the  three  disciples  on  the  holy  mount, with a  part  of  that  celestial  splendour  which  the  Father  shed around his  well-beloved  Son,  and  by  which  all  liberty  ceases  of refusing  homage. It is  an  inalienable  right  which  virtue  has over the  heart  of  men;  and,  by  a  deplorable  caprice,  the  world despises the  passions  it  inspires,  and  respects  the  virtue  it  strives against. Not that  the  esteem  of  the  world,  so  worthy  itself  of being  despised,  can  be  any  great  consolation  to  the  believing  soul. But this  consolation  is,  that  he  sees  the  world  condemned  even  by the  world,  its  pleasures  decried  even  by  those  who  hunt  after  them,