Diary of a Country Priest Page #5

Suffice it to say that

I disapprove of your indiscretions.

Your character and your habits

are a danger to the parish.

My habits?

I bid you good day, Father.

The countess was buried

this morning.

Her long ordeal is over.

Now mine begins.

Where did that mixture of joy and fear

come from when I'd blessed her?

That strange tenderness?

She already belonged

to the unseen world.

Without realizing it,

I'd glimpsed on her brow

a reflection

of the peace of the dead.

One must surely pay for that!

Though I thought I must

destroy those pages

written in a moment of true delirium,

yet I would bear witness

against my own self

that my difficult ordeal,

the greatest deception

of my poor life-

for I couldn't imagine worse-

found me lacking in both resignation

and courage,

and that I was tempted to-

- Did you come on my account?

- Never mind that, my boy.

I do as I please.

You should pay a little attention

to how you dress.

That cape, for instance.

And then there's your health.

- I can't control that.

- Yes, you can.

Your diet's absurd.

Indeed, I must give you

a good talking to about that.

And you're surprised

when you feel ill!

I'd get stomach cramps too

if I ate as you do!

As for the inner life,

my lad, I'm afraid it's the same thing:

You don't pray enough.

You suffer too much to pray.

That's how I see it.

But I can't pray.

If you can't pray,

just repeat the words!

Listen, I don't think

I've been wrong about you.

Try to answer this.

I've thought a lot about vocation.

We've all received the calling,

only not in the same way.

And to simplify things,

I try to put each of us

in his place - in the Gospels.

In short, I think- or I imagine -

if our soul could drag

this wretched body of ours

back up that slope of 2,000 years,

it would lead it straight

to the very place where -

What? What's the matter?

Are you crying?

I hadn't realized I was crying.

The truth is that I always

return to the olive grove.

It was a very familiar

and natural movement for my soul.

I'd never realized it

until that moment.

Suddenly, Our Lord

had shown me grace

and revealed through

my old master's lips

that nothing would tear me

from my chosen place in eternity.

I was a prisoner

of the Holy Agony.

I didn't think you were such a child.

Your nerves are shot to bits, my son.

That's enough, now.

We can't stay here all day.

After all, maybe God

means to keep you in misery.

But trials never warp our judgment

when the welfare of souls

is in question.

I've been hearing

some disturbing things about you.

But no matter. I know

how malicious people can be.

But the foolish way you dealt

with the countess - melodrama!

I don't understand.

That business with the medallion.

The medallion?

Don't be silly! There was a witness.

Nothing miraculous about it.

- Who saw us?

- Her daughter.

You call that resignation?

Forcing a mother to burn

the one relic of her dead child.

It's like a story

from the Old Testament!

And to speak of eternal separation!

One doesn't blackmail souls,

my child.

That's your version of what happened.

I could tell a different one.

But it's essentially true.

Is that all you can say?

Yes.

Whatever happens, don't see

the daughter again. She's a demon!

I won't close my door to her.

I'll close my door to no one

while I am the priest here.

She claims her mother

fought you to the last,

and that you left her upset

and spiritually distraught.

Is that true?

You left her-

I left her with God.

The memory of your harsh words

may have tormented her as she died.

She died in peace.

How would you know?

In any case, she's dead now.

What do you expect people to think?

Scenes like that aren't good

for someone with heart trouble.

I wasn't even tempted

to speak of the letter.

I returned to the rectory.

Instead of suffering, it felt like

a great weight had been lifted.

That meeting with the priest

from Torcy was like a rehearsal

for those I was to have

very shortly with my superiors.

I'd discovered, with something bordering

on joy, that I had nothing to say.

For two days, I'd feared being accused

of something I hadn't done...

and honesty would have

forbidden me to remain silent.

But now, I could let everyone

judge my actions for himself.

I was very relieved as well

to think Miss Chantal

could have been sincerely mistaken

as to the real meaning of our talk,

which she may well have misheard.

My poor child!

So that's how it is.

I didn't understand yet.

I didn't understand anything.

Except that the strange peace

I'd just enjoyed

was the harbinger

of a new misfortune.

This isn't wine.

It's some monstrous poison.

It's all I have.

You should have asked me.

I swear.

Silence! With that stuff inside you,

it's a wonder you're not dead.

I'm glad I came.

Come, sit down.

My voice trembled

in my chest as it always did

whenever something inside told me

I had to stand my ground.

No force in the world

could have made me sit.

Listen, I'm not angry with you,

and I don't take you for a drunk.

We country people of these parts

are all more or less

drunkards' children.

Delbende put his finger

on the trouble right off.

You were born pickled

in the stuff, my poor friend.

I'm sure you had no idea.

But you slowly drifted into expecting

from wine - and what wine! -

the strength and courage you might

have gotten from a good roast.

Mind you,

you've not been offending God.

But now you've been warned,

and you'd offend Him now.

I looked at him distractedly.

He's a strong and steady man.

A true servant of God.

He too has faced up to it.

It was as if we were bidding

farewell to each other

across some invisible highway.

Above all, don't let your imagination

run away with you.

I've only one thing to say:

You are a wonderful little priest

in spite of everything.

And with no malice

to the poor woman who died -

Please don't.

You're right.

We'll not speak of that.

And now, work.

Do little things, from day to day,

while you wait.

Little things don't seem like much,

but they bring peace.

And try to pray.

Persevere.

Pray to the Holy Virgin.

She is, of course,

the mother of mankind,

but she is also its daughter.

The ancient world,

the world before grace,

rocked her in its cradle.

For centuries

its old hands protected

the wondrous young girl

whose name it didn't even know.

A little girl,

this queen of the angels,

which she still is to this day.

Never forget that.

Thank you.

Give me your blessing.

No, it's your turn today.

Here you are, Father.

No, thanks. Nothing.

It will pass.

This will put you right again.

Feeling better?

Much better, thank you.

I should have gone home.

My stomach hurt less.

I just felt a slight dizziness.

I must have fainted the first time

beyond the Auchy woods.

I thought I was

still struggling upright,

and yet I could feel

the frozen earth against my cheek.

''They'll find me half dead, ''I thought.

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