Diary of a Country Priest Page #4

An hour ago,

my life seemed to me in order,

each thing in its place.

You have left nothing standing.

Give it to God just as it is.

You can't understand.

You think I'm so quickly meek!

The pride still left in me -

Give Him your pride

along with everything else.

Give Him everything.

What madness.

Forgive me.

God is no torturer.

He wants us to be

merciful with ourselves.

What's done is done.

There's nothing I can do.

Peace be with you.

I had to leave immediately

thereafter for Dombasle

and arrived home very late.

Clovis, the old gardener, gave me

a parcel from the countess.

I knew what was in it.

The small medallion, now empty,

and its broken chain.

There was a letter as well.

''Dear Father, the hopeless

memory of one young child

had me isolated from everything

in a terrifying solitude,

and it seems as if another child

has drawn me out of it.

I hope I don't hurt your pride

by calling you a child.

You are one,

and may God keep you so always.

I ask myself how you did it,

or, rather, I have ceased to ask.

All is well.

I didn't believe resignation

was possible,

and in fact it's not resignation

that's come over me.

I'm not resigned - I'm happy.

I desire nothing.

I had to tell you these things

this very evening.

We shall never speak of them

ever again, shall we?

Never.

It is good, that word 'never.'

I feel it expresses, beyond words,

the peace you have given me.''

The countess died last night.

I arrived at the manor

streaming with sweat.

The count pretended not to see me.

She fell out of bed,

breaking objects on the night table.

Angina pectoris, no doubt.

She hasn't been quite herself

for some time.

On her face I had hoped to see-

I don't know-perhaps a smile.

But she wasn't smiling.

My arm was like lead

in raising it to bless her.

I left the manor about 2:00,

and catechism class ended

much later than I thought it would.

Upon returning, I found

a continuous parade of cars,

and the murmur of voices

filled the manor.

I'd have liked to spend

the night at the countess' side,

but the nuns were there,

and the canon, the count's uncle,

had decided to keep watch with them.

I didn't dare insist.

I entered her room for the last time.

The memory of our struggle

came back so vividly

that I thought I would faint.

I parted the muslin veil

and brushed her forehead

with my fingers.

I had said to her,

''Peace be with you, ''

and she'd received

that peace on her knees.

What wonder, that one can give

what one doesn't possess!

Oh, miracle of our empty hands!

I thought I heard murmuring

as I passed.

They seemed to be talking

about me.

You saw my great-niece here?

Yes, Canon.

Here, and in the church.

She worked her way around you,

I've no doubt.

I treated her harshly.

Indeed, I think I humiliated her.

Do you feel you influence her?

Not at the moment.

But she won't forget I stood up to her

and that you cannot deceive God.

Her version of your meeting

is very different.

Miss Chantal is too proud

not to blush one day at such a lie.

She'll feel ashamed,

and she needs to feel ashamed.

What about you?

Oh, me...

You neglect your health.

My stomach is very touchy.

It digests only bread, fruit, wine.

In your state, I fear wine

may do more harm than good.

The illusion of health is not health.

Father,

there probably aren't two things

we agree on about how to run a parish,

but this is your parish

to run as you see fit.

One has only to hear you.

I needn't know what happened

between you and the late countess,

but I wish to cut short

some foolish and dangerous talk.

My nephew is moving

heaven and earth.

The bishop, a simple man,

takes him seriously.

Sum up in a line or two

your conversation of the other day.

I'm not asking you

to be inaccurate,

still less to reveal anything

confided to you as a priest.

The paper won't leave my pocket except

to be placed before his grace's eyes.

You distrust me?

I don't see how there could be

any report of such a conversation.

There were no witnesses.

The countess alone

could give authority for that.

Very well.

Let's drop the idea.

We'll meet again tomorrow,

if you agree.

I meant to prepare you

for your conversation with my nephew.

You're not one of those

who can speak and yet say nothing,

but unfortunately

that's what is called for.

But what have I done wrong?

What have they got against me?

That you are what you are,

and nothing can be done

about that, my child.

People don't hate your simplicity-

they shield themselves from it.

It's like a flame that burns them.

I went to the manor

as I'd promised.

Miss Chantal came to the door,

which made me suspicious.

She almost pushed me

into the drawing room.

The shutters were closed.

The countess' armchair

and the blackened logs

were still in the same place.

Young lady, I've very little time.

I will speak standing up.

Why?

My place is not here,

and neither is yours.

Are you afraid of the dead?

The governess is packing

and leaves this evening.

You see, I get what I want.

Little good it will do you.

If you stay as you are,

you'll always find someone to hate.

But the only person

you really hate is yourself.

I'd hate myself the same

if didn't get what I wanted.

I must be happy! Otherwise -

Anyway, it's their fault.

Why keep me cooped up

in this ghastly place?

Blood pounding in my veins,

but never allowed to raise my voice!

Hunched all day over boring needlework,

biting my tongue!

It's awful!

That's when I can feel -

I don't know -

this extraordinary force

building up inside me.

Life itself won't be

long enough to let it all out.

Aren't you ashamed

of such chatter?

The count arrived just then

from the fields,

smoking his pipe

with a contented air.

Has my daughter given you

the papers from

my father-in-law's funeral?

I should like this one

to be the same.

- She gave me nothing.

- Didn't you see her?

Father and I spoke of other things.

You ought to give him a free hand.

All these complications

are ridiculous.

You should sign

the governess' check, too.

Remember she's leaving this evening.

- She's not staying for the funeral?

Everyone's sure to wonder why.

Everyone?

I'd be surprised

if anyone noticed her absence.

And six months' wages?

That's ridiculous!

She deserves a bit of a break.

Life here hasn't been much fun.

Your checkbook is in the desk.

Later, later.

Very well.

I only wanted to spare you

having to discuss it with her.

She's quite distressed.

Father, I may as well be frank.

I respect the clergy.

My family's always been on good

terms with your predecessors,

terms of mutual respect

and friendship.

But no priest shall meddle

in my family affairs!

We get involved sometimes

against our will.

You have been unwillingly,

or at least unknowingly,

the cause of a great misfortune.

I don't wish you to speak

to my daughter again.

How have I caused a misfortune?

My uncle must have explained.

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