an is
vanity. The same holds good of the diagnosis of our own conscience; if
we are blind and deaf, innumerable symptoms will pass unobserved, and
we shall not know on what to found our judgment. The tedium of futile
undertakings will oppress us from the first moment.

On the other hand, it is "feeling" which spurs us on towards
perfection.

There have been persons with an extraordinary power of recognizing
good and evil, just as the Greek artists showed extraordinary powers
of recognizing the normal forms of the body under the guidance of the
aesthetic sense. Saint Teresa tells us that when some worldly person
who was not good approached her, she suffered as if she were inhaling
a bad smell. She explained that of course she did not smell anything
at all, in the material sense; but that she actually suffered, not
merely in imagination; her suffering was a real spiritual distress
which she could not tolerate.

More interesting still is the following story which refers to the
early Fathers of the Church, who lived in the desert. "We were seated
at the feet of our Bishop," says one of the monks, "listening to and
admiring his holy and salutary teaching. Suddenly there appeared on
the scene the leading 'mime,' the most beautiful of the public dancers
of Antioch, covered with jewels; her bare legs were almost concealed
by pearls and gold; her head and shoulders were uncovered. A throng of
persons accompanied her; the men of the period never wearied of
devouring her with their eyes. An exquisite perfume which exhaled from
her person scented the air we breathed. When she had passed, our
Father, who had looked steadfastly at her, said to us: 'Were you not
fascinated by so much beauty?' We were all silent. 'I,' continued the
Bishop, 'experienced great pleasure in looking at her, for God has
appointed that some day she shall judge us. I see her,' he added, 'as
a soiled and blackened dove; but this dove shall be washed and shall
fly heavenwards, white as snow.' As a fact, this woman returned and
asked to be baptized. 'My name is Pelagia,' she said, 'or such is the
name my parents gave me, but the people of Antioch call me The Pearl,
because of the quantities of jewels with which my sins have adorned
me.' Two days later she gave all her goods to the poor, put on a hair
shirt, and took up her abode in a cell on Monte Oliveto, which she
never left until her death." (Montalembert, _Les Moines d'Occident_,
vol. 1, p. 86.)

*