WINNER OF THE GRAND PRIZE OF THE CITY OF VENICE 1961
LEON MORIN, PRIEST
It must have been around 8:00 p.m.
I was returning from the next village when, passing the park,
I saw a group of strange young men staring at passers-by.
They wore funny little felt caps topped with long feathers.
I thought they were traveling players until I saw their guns.
Our city had been occupied by Italian troops.
This occupation weighed lightly on me.
Only the censorship recalled the rigors of a now-distant war.
I corrected French assignments
for a correspondence school that had relocated to this town.
Mr. Edelman taught philosophy.
Like me, the fortunes of war had landed him in this school.
I loved Sabine Levy, the administrative secretary.
Seeing her, I flew through time and space.
I thought the beautiful should command.
I felt a pang of pleasure
when my gaze crossed hers, like two duelists...
until I could bear it no longer
and dropped my eyes, taking delight in her victory.
You understand?
She reminds me of those beautiful youths in the scriptures,
with girded loins...
brandishing a traveler's staff, a sword of fire, or a wand,
and who are angels.
She looks like an Amazon, like Pallas Athena...
like a samurai.
When she leans over my desk, she's the shade of a palm tree.
So you'd like to sleep with her.
Are you mad? How horrifying.
Sabine fascinates me because she's like a young man...
a young man with curious charms...
a delicately feminized manliness.
Everything about her enraptured me.
Her wide-ranging knowledge,
her strange beauty.
I felt compelled by her
in a way that went beyond the purely physical.
The papers say we're to be occupied by the Germans.
We'll make eyes at them so they won't shoot us.
Better to be shot.
They're just late baptisms.
Lucienne, Jenny, and I decided to have our children baptized,
they being half-Jewish or born to communist parents.
We'll alter the dates afterwards.
What about godparents?
Yes, that's more of a problem.
I think we should do this:
I'll be godmother to France, your daughter.
You, Barny, will be godmother to my daughter and Jenny's son.
Jenny's husband will be godfather to my daughter
and your daughter, France.
You, Barny...
I'll be godmother to Jenny's daughter.
Your kids just won't have a godfather.
Let's write it down or we'll get mixed up.
It's hot.
Be quiet!
It's too hot.
Hush or I'll call the rabbit-skin merchant.
Barny, help me. Shine her shoes.
No brush? Got a rag?
No, but no matter. Use the curtain.
We mustn't keep the priest waiting.
Pierre and Emile are already there.
Your slip!
Turn around, for heaven's sake.
Stop it!
Let's not break our necks.
If we do, better afterward than now.
Receive the salt of wisdom.
May it be for you a pledge of everlasting life.
It tastes awful.
There's a war on, you know.
Peace be with you.
You sure he won't ring the bells?
Out of the dark church there stepped into the light
four children newly baptized by the grace of God and the Germans.
The partisans kissed their wives and children...
and headed back to the woods.
I find the priest and his followers a real challenge.
They're living off false currency.
I'll give them a piece of my mind. Know what I'll do?
I set my sights on St. Bernard's.
CONFESSION HOURS
I ruled out the oldest priest
as probably insensitive to a good joke.
That left the two curates.
Philippe Demanoir...
and Léon Morin.
I had only their names to suggest which would be more receptive.
Philippe must have been middle-class,
and Léon, with that name, a peasant.
Let's go for Léon! Down with Morin.
I was nervous, but there was no turning back now.
Morin was due at 5:30.
Religion is the opium of the people.
Not exactly.
It's been diluted by the bourgeoisie in its own interests.
But you let them. You're one and the same now.
The church lost the working class, yes. But we're fighting back.
A Catholic worker who has taken communion
will continue the strike with more zeal.
Injustice fills a Christian heart with horror.
That's not all.
Even if religion had remained pure, that's no proof of its truth.
Of course not.
It's good that you came.
Good? I came as an enemy.
I doubt that.
And your last confession?
Not since First Communion. But I'm not confessing now.
It's not easy to admit one's faults to one's neighbor.
It's not a problem, since I don't believe in God.
Are you sure? Don't you ever pray?
Only when I can't help it.
It's a leftover from my childhood. A weakness.
You're proud, aren't you?
Do you ever lie?
Have you ever stolen?
What did you steal? - Food.
Do you ever get angry?
Do you sin against chastity?
I don't know.
Do you ever deprive yourself for others?
Only for my daughter.
Do you perform your civic duties?
More or less.
Do you think you make the most of your abilities?
St. Paul said, "The world would be better if you were."
You've made a good confession. Now ask for forgiveness.
Of whom?
Of X.
We'll sit here like this till the end of the world.
You lack guts.
Forgive me.
Shall I give you penance?
Yes. Penance will do you good.
Go out and kneel down.
On a velvet chair?
Not on a prie-dieu. On the stone floor.
It will hurt your knees.
Say any prayer you wish.
But I'm not a believer.
A pseudo-prayer would be a mockery.
Prayers are always a mockery.
There's such a gulf between them and him to whom they're addressed.
What if a person takes them seriously and truly believes?
Who says effort is inferior to faith?
I feel no remorse.
I hope not.
Judas felt remorse. That's why he hung himself.
We are asked to repent. The opposite of remorse.
I could repent if I chose to live by Christian morality.
Even without choosing Christian morality,
you live in a Christianized world.
You know when you offend the collective consciousness.
Are you always satisfied with your behavior?
But my behavior is determined by my heredity,
my body, and my environment.
So you're a robot.
Bow your head. I'll give you absolution.
It's easy to order me about, isn't it?
Fairly easy.
I absolve you of all your sins...
in the name of the Father, the Son,
and the Holy Spirit.
May the passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ...
the merits of the Blessed Virgin
and all the saints...
all the good you've done and the suffering you've endured
earn you remission of your sins,
the increase of grace, and the reward of everlasting life.
Amen.
Shall I lend you some books?
The presbytery is just across from the Moderne cinema.
When can you come by?
Only at night.
Wednesday at 8:30 suit you?
Fourth floor.
Father Morin.
You won't forget?
Go on now.
Then I remembered the punishment he'd inflicted on me.
I walked along cheerfully,
feeling buoyant, precious,
vulnerable.
But were my high spirits
due to the total freedom of my thinking
or the absolution I'd received?
Wednesday night, I crossed town,
stopping outside shop windows,
taking shortcuts and detours...
until, at the appointed time,
I entered the lane between the church and the presbytery.
NIGHT BELL FOR THE SACRAMENTS
How have you been since the other day?
Were the flagstones of St. Bernard gentle?
I'll only enter a church again as a tourist.
- We're all tourists in a way. - Not the same way.
Some people aren't outraged by the opulence.
I'm as outraged as you. All that junk should be torched.
You, a priest, say that?
You think priests like the knickknacks?
They allow them.
Not all of them do.
It's a struggle, but there's been some progress.
There's now only one class of funeral.
Before, there could be three priests to bury a guy.
What for?
Burial isn't a sacrament.
It's secondary.
We're here for the living. We're not morticians.
If your struggle is only to reduce the number of priests...
We also stopped taking up collections.
In church, money is always an issue,
so those without money don't come.
But that only concerns the misuses of Christ's teaching.
The real question is, is Christ's teaching valid?
What's your idea of Christ?
I've read the Gospels, naturally.
And Renan.
Is that all?
Oh, yes. The Life of Christ by Giovanni Papini.
Papini's not great.
Jesus the Christ by Karl Adams.
Professor at the University of Tübingen. Nothing less.
Take this book.
Can you come again Friday night?
I'll never finish it by then.
It doesn't matter. We must meet.
- You want to convert me? - That's between you and God.
Then why lend me books?
Wouldn't you lend me some I wanted to read?
I don't know.
Why should I come back?
You never feel the need to exchange ideas with your fellow man?
Savage.
I was a savage on Monday. I don't know what got into me.
Please forget that.
No, it was so funny.
See you Friday.
The style and manner of a militant.
Citizen priest, comrade father.
He must act like that to confuse me.
Finished already?
You read it too fast.
I couldn't put it down.
From your Catholic viewpoint,
if I go on living as an atheist, am I done for?
No, child, you're not done for,
even if you go on as an atheist.
"Outside the church there is no salvation."
It's the invisible church.
It extends far beyond the visible church.
What is the invisible church?
All human beings of goodwill.
They're in no order.
I never have time to arrange them. People don't return books.
How funny that I should happen upon you.
It's providence.
Why should I choose your books?
Come over here. Take your pick.
Take it.
Let me see.
Naturally.
I may not be doing you a favor by lending you that.
You split hairs as it is.
Anyway, if that makes you happy.
Just that one? - I have so little time.
And your opinion of Karl Adam?
Powerful. Original.
Reading it, I seemed to believe in God.
Good thing you got over it.
How can I believe without proof?
There's no need of proof in the sense you mean.
Belief in God isn't some scientific, intellectual certainty,
as you seem to imagine.
Belief in God is the harmony of our whole being.
When you love someone, you love without proof.
The same goes for faith: a moral certainty.
But...
lots of religious books list proofs of God's existence.
No, that's not it.
They're guides to help us along a stretch of road.
But there's always a chasm man must cross alone.
If there were proof, everyone would believe.
Belief would even be unnecessary.
We'd understand. We'd know.
We'd see.
This would no longer be the world below, but heaven.
I'll do your portrait.
That's you.
Now I'll do God.
The dot wants to encompass the circle.
That's impossible, as you see.
The dot must be contained in the circle. Don't reverse roles.
What does the circle expect?
It's up to you to make a move.
If God forced our allegiance, we wouldn't be free.
Your comparison between belief in God and love
doesn't make sense.
We love without proof, yes,
but it's thanks to love that we know this person exists.
You keep wondering if God has an existence or not.
God has no existence.
God is existence.
You know, Jehovah said,
"I am that I am."
It's a bit like saying, "X equals X."
What I wondered, after finishing Jesus the Christ,
was whether this existence of God's
is a personal existence.
Are humans endowed with a personality?
Where would it come from,
if not a higher personality?
Not necessarily.
We can be an improvement
over previous non-differentiated species.
What impels progress?
Can the lesser alone produce the greater?
That's all academic.
Maybe the lesser can produce the greater after all.
You seem to believe in spontaneous generation.
Of course, you, Father,
have all the right arguments to make me believe in God.
But atheists can find equally strong arguments for the other side.
Most likely.
We should stop chattering.
What good are words?
God, first and foremost,
is an experimental, individual reality,
different for each of us.
And incommunicable.
Incommunicable.
How awful.
Why?
What can it matter to you if God exists or not?
What can it matter?
It's all that matters.
In philosophy, he nearly drove me to suicide.
Some idea!
My talks with Morin,
one or more times a week,
were now part of my life.
I felt more at home there than I ever had anywhere,
in that parlor that looked like an abandoned laundry
and whose floor shone like a mirror.
The Italians fought all night.
They refused to obey German orders.
They surrendered after running out of ammunition.
Sad to say,
that's the last we'll see of our feathered players.
The Germans are making a show of disinfecting
the locations the Italians had occupied,
as if to establish the fact
that there's a difference between their allies
and themselves.
The deportations began.
I was summoned to the Kommandantur about my name: Holdenberg.
I'm Alsatian.
They asked if I was Jewish.
I assured them I wasn't.
How do you tell you're not Jewish?
You're not baptized.
Neither are Protestants.
Sure, Protestants are baptized.
A Jew's not part of the French race.
There's no such thing.
Just look at all our inventors and scientists!
When France speaks, the world listens.
That night,
I stayed alone in the office to correct papers.
We're closed, sir. If you wish to see the director...
No, my dear colleague. It's you I came to see.
I just want to say good-bye.
I'm going away. I'm leaving you.
Why, you're Mr. Edelman.
I don't know any Edelman.
Edelman is now Georges Mouchin.
The old philosophy teacher's gray eyes, once so sad,
now shone with the fever of adventure.
I've had enough. This has gone on too long.
If my man doesn't escape, too bad. My mother the concierge agrees.
Take these essays to Professor Duval.
Can I have his address, please?
Find it yourself! I don't care!
They go out tonight.
Did you grow up with servants?
It must be her concierge complex and acute marital deprivation.
What did you just say?
I can understand your anger, but not this spitefulness.
Why should spite be easier to check than a temper?
Did you know there's a woman like you, the Aryan widow of a Jew,
and the Gestapo took away her two children?
I'll say he wasn't France's father.
I'll invent an Aryan father, one she looks like, who won't deny it.
What a slap.
I tell you, I saw stars.
That Barny... when she lashes out!
I decided to place little Dimitri
with the farmer who'd taken in my daughter.
Do you like it?
Answer me!
They're checking IDs.
What do we do?
We'll cut through the fields. It's much nicer.
We'll go through those woods. We'll pick grass for the rabbits.
Help me.
This is Dimitri.
He'll stay with you and be your playmate.
Why can't you be nice?
But you know my friend is Titi Serpolet.
He's got five cows.
Why are your white shoes dyed black?
They were already dirty.
Get them cleaned. You shouldn't have dyed them.
It was her idea.
Tell me why.
Because Papa's dead.
Hello, Mr. Lathuile.
What are you doing here?
No trace of makeup on Christine's face.
Or her swallow earrings.
Are you out of makeup?
I took it off.
What for?
I'm going to my spiritual adviser.
Not Léon Morin?
Yes, Father Morin.
What are you doing here?
I was going to see him. But you go.
Don't go. Wait.
How funny, running into each other there.
The first time I went, I thought, "You found what you needed at last."
It's not in your area.
Danièle Holdenberg took me there the first time.
Now I remember Danièle saying she saw a priest occasionally.
The things he says! Sometimes I want to hit him.
Are Danièle and you Catholics?
Not in the same way. For her, religion is like French history.
And for you?
It's different.
Where I come from, it's in our blood.
Did Father say anything about me?
He said you were an odd girl.
Is that all?
I wasn't to repeat this.
He said, "She's nearer to God than my parishioners."
Madame Sangredin told you?
She did.
Nice sleight of hand.
Meaning the slap in the office or the caress on the stairs?
I had to clear things up.
I'm...
I'm in love with a girl.
No sooner uttered, this dead truth came to life again.
At the thought of Sabine, my heart contracted.
All the men your age are gone.
But you're a man my age.
It's not the same thing.
I'm a separate case.
A girl in your office?
She's beautiful and smart. She's in charge of everything.
She's like a ray of black light.
Her name is Sabine.
Why don't you bring her?
She'd never come. I work under her.
And I don't love her as I used to.
You never loved her. You don't even know what it is.
You live in your shell.
I can't help it. When I hear that noise, it makes me wildly happy.
Without even knowing or hoping it's the Resistance.
Even if I tell myself people are dying tragically, it fills me with joy.
When all hell breaks loose, I want to be part of it.
I'm that way too.
We're all poor wretches. We enjoy a good fight.
Human nature is corrupt. We mustn't resign ourselves to that.
And the war's changed how we live.
There are people in my room all the time.
They sleep in my bed.
What kind of people?
Jews, of course.
Take in one and others show up.
We practically crank out baptismal certificates.
The diocese reprimands me.
Madame Lathuile couldn't keep France,
so I decided to keep her with me until I could find another family.
She went to school.
One day she came home beaming.
I know everything now.
They told us everything. I understand it all.
All what?
Everything. Now I know who made me.
- Who? - God.
- Who told you that? - The man.
What man?
The priest.
- Where? - At catechism.
- But where? - In church.
You were in church?
Lucie Trivoli took me.
They gave me a little book.
They can get rolls without tickets.
Now I know God.
You didn't see him.
We can't see him. He's got no body. But that's all right.
Lucienne Bernhardt introduced me to Reine and Aimée Plantain,
spinster sisters living in the country
and eager to take in a child.
As a girl I had lovely hair. Someone said,
"What a shame, such hair on a worker's daughter."
My sweetheart's mother forbade our marriage
because of class differences.
He was carried off by the Spanish flu.
So she couldn't have him either.
Aimée!
- Take those off. - Why?
I have to see people's eyes.
I hate barriers.
Columns in churches are awful.
You can't see the altar.
And darkness is very bad.
What we need are vast, ultra-modern churches, bathed in light.
Religious skyscrapers.
No, but wouldn't a glass cathedral be something?
Someone thinks this is a boarding house.
Put it on the billiard table.
Who was it?
No one I know.
What's Morin say about your Vichyism?
He'll help me when I go before the firing squad at Liberation.
What did you do to your hair?
He threatened not to give me absolution if I kept dying it.
He knows just what it costs. He must have a repentant hairdresser.
He advised me to imitate the simplicity of communist women.
I understood immediately. By "communist women," he meant you.
You've completely Sovietized him.
Nice work.
He's the one communizing me.
I said my mother criticized young communists
for committing before they were ripe.
He said, "They're right. Maturity comes with commitment."
Beside the Plantain sisters' house was a meadow
where German recruits did training maneuvers every morning.
Have you been good?
I've loved you for so long
I'll always remember you
Will you always stay here?
We're being relieved. We're going to Russia.
I wish you could stay here forever.
She isn't too much trouble?
No, she's a sweet little girl.
And very smart.
You work hard at school?
The teacher died,
but that's all right. They gave us another one.
When you die,
what should I put on your grave?
No expensive flowers. I'll need the money to raise my children.
What's this? Who gave you this bracelet?
That's from my friend Günther.
Your friend Günther?
He's a very nice Kraut. I love him.
Summer came.
The Germans had ordered an indefinite 8:00 p.m. curfew.
I couldn't visit Morin to return books.
I took a chance and stopped by one Saturday morning.
Father, will there be benediction of the Blessed Sacrament tonight?
Take the keys. I'll be right up.
The priest's odd manners, even in front of a third party, amazed me.
I'd never seen anyone so indifferent to what people might say.
I set this aside for you.
You don't accept gifts from others?
I do. I accept the alms of your time.
Alms?
True, I do give you the alms of my time.
Now eat this pear.
No, thank you, Father.
That's pride.
You dislike the bourgeois, but you're even more bourgeois.
Doesn't it tempt you?
Take it.
No, thank you, Father.
Then I'll give it to someone less foolish.
One must take life simply.
Are you simple?
I don't know.
Do I impress you as simple?
You don't impress me at all.
And you, Father, are you simple?
Yes, I think so.
- What do you think of me? - Nothing.
Nothing? That's impossible.
If I pass no judgment on you, no one will ask me your worth.
But when I'm standing here before you,
what do you think of me?
I think of you as an embryo.
You accuse me of pride. Why should pride be bad?
It's a lack of self-respect.
On the contrary. It's a show of great self-respect.
It's self-deception.
Self-deception? How?
You think you're more important than you are.
The Angelus rang.
He'd have to pray like Millet's peasants
or ignore the church's call.
He would be ridiculous or inadequate.
Do you know the Angelus?
"The angel announced unto Mary that she would be the mother of Christ.
She conceived by the Holy Spirit.
And the Word was made flesh
and dwelt among us.
Pray for us, Holy Mother of God."
And if you weren't so clever, you'd respond,
"That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ."
You ought to paint your toenails.
You need a husband.
Too bad. I do it with a stick.
- You'll hurt yourself. - I'm not fragile.
When there are gaps in our conversations,
are you waiting for the Holy Spirit to prompt you?
My poor magpie.
You do love to chatter.
You're not answering my question.
Are your silences private asides with the Holy Spirit?
When I talked nonsense as a child, I was told,
"Go talk to the hayloft walls."
Why am I so awful to you?
That's how you are.
It'll pass.
I'm going.
Not taking any books today?
No hard feelings.
What is it, Sabine?
Mother wrote to say my brother was arrested by the Gestapo.
She got a letter postmarked Drancy
in which he says he's being taken to Germany.
It ends with the words, "Long live France."
He was never heard of again.
Sabine managed the office as usual.
Her face grew gaunt. She lost almost all her former beauty.
Type this up in three copies and have the director sign it.
Within weeks, she seemed years older.
If you'd be so kind as to come in.
Now where were we,
Miss I'm-No-Goody-Two-Shoes?
I think what revolts me about Christianity
is the self-interest involved.
You make yourself do this, or not do that, to get to heaven.
When you plant a seed, don't you want it to grow?
That's heaven, the sprouting of the grain.
Remember the mustard seed Our Lord talked about?
Your Lord.
As much yours as mine.
Not if I refuse.
You can refuse the Earth's turning, but it won't change much.
I'm unhappier than ever
since talking to you about these things.
I can't help but read the books you lend me.
But I know they're bad for me.
They're killing me.
I'm tormented, pursued, persecuted.
I feel I should stop coming here,
but I can't help coming.
We call that the workings of grace.
At night I thought,
Belief in God does make the universe a satisfactory ladder.
But my talks with Morin are disconcerting.
I charge like a bull, but the obstacle vanishes just as I reach it.
Carried by my momentum,
I fall, not knowing where.
I end up lost, for lack of an adversary.
Morin seems faultless to me.
Part of my attic was cluttered with rubble.
I decided to spend Whit Monday clearing it out.
It was then that disaster struck.
Father...
I have something to tell you.
I'm done for.
You're done for?
I'm converting. Tell me what to do.
What happened to you?
Nothing.
I'm going to join - or rejoin - the Catholic Church.
Why?
I'm cornered. I give up.
Have you been overtired or undernourished?
I'm not tired, and we just got potatoes in.
Why do you want to convert?
I don't want to. I have to.
What does conversion mean to you?
Beginning to follow Christ's teachings.
Which teachings?
To always be poor.
Start to love others.
Do my best for them.
Practice self-sacrifice.
Pray to God.
Take the sacraments.
Join the church.
Think before you make such a monumental decision.
It's not a decision.
I have no choice.
You imagine you don't.
You've been a bit nervous and excited lately.
I was quite calm, all alone in the attic.
What happened up there?
Nothing happened.
On the contrary, it all ended.
What do you mean?
Like when the arsenal blew up.
The girl's off her rocker.
Believe me, if I'm converting, it's against my will.
A clear case of possession.
I'll have to exorcize you.
Father...
you naturally did everything you could to make me a Christian.
Now it's as if you want to stop me from following your Lord.
Why should you?
Because I'm not sure what he said was wrong.
You'll poison your existence.
You'll ruin your life. - That's true.
You're saying that to test me.
I know that nothing worse ever has or ever can happen to me.
You never thought of becoming a Protestant?
They're often fine people.
Why are you making fun of me, Father?
I'm not. It's the truth.
Now, practically speaking...
I have to confess before taking communion.
Must I go to my parish church?
You can come to St. Bernard.
Will it be you...?
Yes, since we know each other.
Confession is Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday
from 5:30 to 7:30 or 8:00.
Or mornings before mass.
I'll come tomorrow evening.
If you wish. If not, it doesn't matter.
Now I've seen everything.
- Good evening. - Oh, no, it's not.
- Why are you so overawed? - Out of vanity.
It'll pass, you'll see. There's nothing to it.
Repeat after me.
"Lord, illuminate my conscience
that I may know how I have offended thee
and atone by a humble confession,
true contrition, and sincere penance."
"Lord, illuminate my conscience
that I may know how I have offended thee..."
"And atone by a humble confession..."
Must I repeat that?
Yes, but take your time. There's no rush.
"And atone...
by a humble confession, sincere contrition, and true penance."
"Thy kindly spirit will lead me back to the path of truth."
"Lord, thou shalt restore me in thy justice."
Your hands are still pure, aren't they?
No, Father.
Your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit.
You owe it the greatest respect.
Isn't a human organism wonderful?
Yes.
Then you mustn't abuse it.
You will cease depravity.
Are you kind at work?
The others hate me for converting.
- Do you love them? - I can't.
I adore God, if he exists, because he's perfect and almighty,
but as for them...
"He who says, 'I love God' but loves not his brothers is a liar."
That's St. John.
Anything else wrong?
What is it?
The first time I came here,
I lied to myself by thinking it was out of mockery.
I think I'd been playacting for months,
hiding from myself, running away.
That's known as resisting grace.
Is that all?
As penance for these sins, simply say once,
"My God, make me love my neighbor as myself, for love of thee."
The lightness of this penance overwhelmed me.
You have to start going to catechism.
I've already been going.
What?
Why didn't you tell me? - You'd have gotten mad.
- Why didn't the sisters tell me? - They don't know.
- When do you go? - After school.
- And when you're late? - They think I've been kept after.
It's great to see you back.
It makes me suffer terribly.
Why?
Imagine a snail with its shell torn off, still alive,
covered in sores, crawling across the filthy stones.
The sun will heal its sores.
You're capable of brotherly feeling. How can you collaborate?
France has no other way out.
Even if that were true,
even if the Resistance were doomed to failure,
even if collaboration were the only way to survive,
you have no right, as a Christian, to follow that path.
Why not?
Better that France die than live in mortal sin.
Accepting collaboration as a lesser evil doesn't make it a mortal sin.
Yes, it does.
It accepts the deporting and killing of innocents.
Like Sabine's brother, among thousands of others.
All resistance gets us is reprisals.
In other words, you, a Catholic,
would let my daughter be deported so yours can have milk?
We should sacrifice our own even though it's pointless?
Deportees are your people too.
Kikes? Are you kidding?
Exactly.
Our Lord is a kike.
Sure...
What I want is to get married.
My trousseau will have front-buttoning underclothes for nursing.
The awful thing is,
boys always follow me in the street.
Say, Arlette,
you should meet someone who can help you.
A priest who's interested in young people.
Is he young?
- How old? - My age.
- When can we see him? - Tomorrow.
He's handsome.
Now that Arlette had said it,
I realized that Morin was indeed handsome.
I wondered, with a pang of anxiety,
if it wasn't a sin
to take delight in my confessor's physique.
But what harm could there be in it?
The Gospels imply that Jesus was handsome.
Beauty is a gift of God.
Thank you, Lord, for having made your servant Morin
a refined work of art.
Thought transmission made Arlette seem sensible.
Morin's receptivity was such
that those he talked to came to resemble him.
I'd like to get things clear.
I rarely go to communion. It brings me no joy.
You think it brings me any?
Don't ask for more than it can give.
I have errands to run.
I'll be going.
Did you see? The Hotel Clarmont was blown up.
You didn't notice? Isn't it on your way here?
Yes, it's on my way.
And you passed those ruins and didn't notice?
No, I didn't notice.
Something's definitely wrong.
I'm very absent-minded.
But that's going too far.
What's it matter?
Why should it worry you so?
It's no sin not to notice the Clarmont's been blown up.
Sin or not, having your head in the clouds is a problem.
On my way home, I passed the square where the Clarmont had stood.
My earlier blindness disturbed me.
I'm seeing Father Morin next Saturday.
He lent me a book and asked me to summarize it.
As I was leaving, he said,
"Good-bye, little butterfly."
What book?
It's hard going. I don't understand it.
It's called The Glorious Risk of Faith. I'll never finish.
If I don't, I don't dare go back.
Tell me, Father...
I have a friend who's divorcing and may need your help.
How?
She's boosting the morale of five lovers.
Two in the militia, one in the Resistance,
one black marketeer, and, most recently, a German.
Her bank job leaves little time
to serve the Resistance, Vichy, and Germany.
She can't juggle her meetings, plus she's smuggling gold.
Well, I'd like to meet this interesting individual.
Hello, Father.
This is my friend, Marion Lamiral.
Come in.
You're missing an earring.
I forgot to put it back on
after I made a phone call.
How old are you?
I'll be 26 in the spring.
As I figured. We were in the same class.
So what do you in life?
Loads of things.
Like what?
First, I'm divorcing.
And why, may I ask?
He doesn't want me anymore. He has good reasons.
Father saw Marion's husband.
- Why? - To have him take her back.
- And will he? - You must be kidding.
It's amazing enough that he was polite.
One thing's for sure: Marion has a crush on Morin.
She says she'll have him.
- Can you understand that? - No, I can't.
It wouldn't occur to me.
I couldn't forget that a priest is consecrated to God.
But it doesn't matter to Marion. There's no sacrilege.
He's a man and she wants him.
And she really thinks she can have him?
She's sure she can.
She's never failed in that line.
You should become a country priest.
I'd be your housekeeper.
That's a thought.
Except that priests' housekeepers have to be old hags.
Maybe in a few years' time.
I'd like to make eyes at you.
Your eyes will never make it.
Because it's forbidden?
I don't mean to hurt you, but your gaze isn't very nice.
I didn't use enough mascara. I'll put more on next time.
I can just imagine.
You poor birdbrain.
Maybe by next time they'll have fixed you.
My dear child...
it's crazy how much the Lord loves you.
You're one of his favorites.
Heaven was made especially for you.
Especially you.
Dear God...
grant that I may pray like Marion...
and with Marion.
"Golden" Marion, "Five lovers" Marion,
entered the confessional.
I saw Marion at St. Bernard. She went to confession.
Nothing will come of it. Don't fool yourself.
She left town yesterday with a new protector.
Would you mind hurrying up?
Can't you walk anymore?
Last night there was shooting from the belfry
at the hotel requisitioned by the militia.
They live there with their families.
At 1:00 a.m. there came a yell,
"Hey, Father, for chrissake!
Get down here quick!"
I went down, taking my time.
The belfry was lit up.
I had to open the church,
and we climbed up to the belfry.
And the ones who were shooting?
Vanished.
Father...
what I can't seem to understand
is how Jesus died abandoned by God.
What was that?
His frightening words just before dying:
"My God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Not at all.
Jesus being a Jew and dying a Jew,
he recited Psalm 22, which is a Jewish prayer.
Here.
"My God...
why hast thou forsaken me?
Why art thou so far and hearest not my wailing?"
And it ends with a tribute to God:
"For the kingdom is Jehovah's,
and he governs among nations."
Jehovah, God of Jews and Christians.
Naturally.
That Jehovah is God the Father,
I have to strive not to forget.
You're not the only one.
Jesus didn't choose Psalm 22 by chance.
He chose it because it relates especially to him.
It is also said...
"They pierced my hands and feet.
They share my garments among them
and for my raiment cast lots."
The Old Testament is the book of the Jews...
by which the Messiah lived.
Jehovah chose a human envelope for his earthly life.
So he was granted youth.
He chose to die in the prime of life.
That's why, preserved by this blood of youth,
God will never grow old.
I think that my annoyance
with little old ladies who mumble the Pater Nester
and old people who restrain the church's progress...
yes, I think
that annoyance is specifically Christian.
It's in French too: "No crossing."
I didn't see it!
Then suddenly the atmosphere changed.
What's this little boy doing?
Leave me alone, damn it.
Not nice.
NO SHOES UNTIL THE CITY IS LIBERATED
And one morning the city awoke free.
The Germans had left during the night.
The Iron Army had sneaked off.
- They're sure to shoot me. - Maybe not.
Sit down.
We came to ask that you take your child back.
She wears us out.
She's a nuisance.
You didn't have to come into town.
I wanted to come for her.
We came to see the shaved women, so while we were here...
My bicycle had been stolen. I had to get France on foot.
I tried to cry,
hoping to move him.
Does he want to kill you?
He broke it!
No, he didn't.
Are they Germans too?
I can't come anymore. I can't leave my daughter alone.
So I won't see you anymore?
What if I came to you? Would you mind?
Oh, thank you.
I don't know when I'm free during the day,
but some evening.
You little devil.
Calm down and go to sleep.
You like gymnastics?
You learn a lot of things at seminary.
Even boxing.
Now back to bed. You'll catch cold.
I'd never mentioned him to her,
nor his likely visit.
It was a surprise to see France behaving like that.
First Steps Toward Jesus.
- If you were my daughter... - I'd like to be.
Look at this.
I don't know if it's that book you gave her,
but she's impossible now.
When I scold her, she says, "You see my mote, but not your beam."
When I threatened her with hell, she said,
"Hell is for grown-ups, not children."
I smacked her one.
You're right to teach your child her place,
but careful not to overdo it.
I got some thrashings as a boy. More than my share.
Half the time I went to bed without supper.
Why was your father so harsh?
Why was your father so strict?
Not my father. He never touched me.
Then who?
My mother.
Why did she beat you?
If I came home late from school.
With a switch, you know, on the calves.
I'd clench my teeth.
But it wasn't your fault if you came home late.
Yes, it was.
We'd fight all the way home.
It was four miles.
And she beat you just for that?
Plus I told lots of lies.
Because you were afraid of her?
Did she beat your sisters too?
No, they were well-behaved.
Your mother was too harsh.
She thought she was doing the right thing.
So you didn't have a happy childhood?
Silly! Of course I had a happy childhood.
Don't make that face.
I wasn't beaten every day. What are you imagining?
What made your childhood happy?
The atmosphere.
It felt good in the house.
What was it like?
We got up at 6:00 and left at 7:00.
Sundays, my father tended the goats while reading the paper.
My mother told me how he once spotted a hare on his way to church.
He thought, "I'll go back for my shotgun.
No, I'll be late for mass."
When he passed by again after mass, the hare was still there.
He fetched his shotgun, fired, and bagged it.
You didn't resent your mother?
Sure I was resentful.
Were you still resentful at seminary?
Only as long as it stung. Afterward, not at all.
How old were you when you entered the seminary?
I entered junior seminary at 12.
What made you want to become a priest?
You were a bad boy.
So what?
You become a priest to save souls, that's all.
That idea can inspire even naughty boys.
Your mother was stricter than other mothers.
But you were like other children.
No, I was among the worst.
I once broke a cow's leg trying to make it jump a fence.
I needn't tell you that the owner gave me a real hiding.
It didn't help.
You still try to make cud-chewers do high jumps.
That's what I'm here for.
You'll make one break a leg again.
Doesn't matter, as long as it jumps.
My brothers...
is it the cold that numbs you?
I hope the sunshine will revive you a bit.
Some of you say your rosary during mass.
It's not the time.
Some say their little prayers to a statue,
even with the Sacred Host
waiting for you here, alive and present.
And you all leave before the last Gospel.
Are you Sunday Christians in such a rush to leave your God?
Be not like those disciples who,
crowding so close around Our Lord,
almost smothered him and prevented others from seeing
or approaching him.
If you're Christians in name only, you drive away the undecided.
You crush their desire to come.
Each one of you
should be an apostle in his own setting.
Let me also say this:
Let's sing the mass with greater gusto, without dragging out the last notes.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
There are two things I'm absolutely certain about,
yet they're contradictory.
Father Morin is spiritually the most inspiring fellow I've ever known.
And last Sunday, there's no doubt about it,
he deliberately walked by me,
brushing me with his surplice.
Imagine how I felt.
I've noticed. He sometimes does things like that.
No wonder he's been reprimanded.
You think he does it just to tease me?
Just for fun?
It must be what they call the glorious freedom of God's children.
"Love and do as you wish." But it's destroying me.
He does it to stimulate us, but, of course, it's risky.
It scares him no more than the rest.
It was night.
Forgive me, Lord.
Watch over my dreams.
Let me not offend you, even in my dreams.
Evening.
Here, for power blackouts.
A funeral candle.
What were you doing? - Chopping wood.
I'll do it for you.
No, not you.
Give me that. Out of the way.
There you go.
"Joan of the Hatchet."
Have you got any wire?
If you were a Protestant pastor, would you marry me?
Sure I would.
I'm asking you seriously.
I need to know.
If you weren't a priest, would you take me as your wife?
His hand, in a single gesture,
had given all and taken all away.
I didn't see him for a long time.
One Sunday
I was strolling along the hilltops and looked down
on the red and pink roofs.
I couldn't take my eyes off a belfry.
I thought he was down there at that moment
and that, as it was vespers...
he would be singing.
Evening.
I have some books for Danièle.
Christine said you'd be going up to the sanatorium.
There's one here for you too.
Traditional Dogmatism and Empirio-criticism.
It looks very deep. I doubt I'll understand it.
Sure you will.
You never struck me as being a complete idiot.
"Traditional dogmatism"... you understand that?
Yes? Good.
What about "empirio-criticism"?
Empirio-criticism is a critical doctrine
based on empiricism.
In other words, on experience
more or less considered as the only source of knowledge.
You follow me?
Ah, you're warm.
Look.
God...
grant my wish just once.
Just this once.
Then, blessed be the everlasting torment.
Come!
It's no longer Mademoiselle Sabine. That's progress.
Look at people when you're spoken to.
If only you called to God as you call to a man. That's real prayer.
You won't be back?
Of course I will. Why wouldn't I?
And miss our discussions about hypostasis?
You'll have to confess.
I couldn't tell anyone.
You'll be telling me, and I know already.
You?
Confession is a chore for me too.
But I still go, and often.
You still go, and often!
You never sin. You must borrow others' sins.
Some get off lightly.
You'll come tonight,
won't you? I'll wait from 5:30 until you come.
- My daughter will be home from school. - I'll hear her confession too.
See you later.
My soul felt like a brothel.
Keep your coat on. We're going to confession.
What's your sin?
None of your business.
If you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine.
Father, help me.
You don't need help. I'm listening.
I almost...
I said...
I don't know the word for it.
You're acting like a dead branch. Know what they get?
What do they get?
Cut off.
And once they're cut off?
They get burned.
I'm listening.
I tried to lead astray...
Finish your sentences, if you don't mind.
I tried to induce a priest to break his vows.
I meant to break the ninth commandment.
There we are.
Tomorrow you'll see Danièle.
See that your visit does her good.
You'll do each other good.
As penance, every night,
kneel and read a page of the book I was commenting on.
And now go in peace.
I went...
almost in peace.
I'm off to teach the Gospel to the nations of the earth.
Or rather, the neighboring towns.
What do you mean?
I'm leaving St. Bernard for a small village.
As there are no priests in the other neighboring villages,
I'll make the rounds.
Two of us, and two girls to help us in another village.
They call that a mission.
France is now a land of missions.
I'm not thrilled about going.
Why aren't you thrilled?
In the country, before discussing serious matters,
you have to talk about rabbits and pigs.
I love parish life when things go smoothly.
There, things aren't smooth.
Villages are divided by politics.
On the other hand,
it's nice that there's been no priest for ages.
They're totally dechristianized.
So there are no deviations. It's almost virgin soil.
It will take generations to achieve anything.
What are you doing there?
I'm worried about your backside. I think it's in trouble.
As long as I know what you say.
What do you want to know?
What did God do before he made the world? Nothing?
So he was bored.
Maybe. I don't know.
He created the world out of love.
Why not ask what he did before?
We can't know those things.
- Not even you? - No more than others.
We'll never know?
We'll know when we're dead.
Then I want to be dead.
Until you are, back to bed.
And if you get up again,
I'll come and give you a scolding myself.
I want a prayer that doesn't exist.
A prayer that doesn't exist?
A prayer no one knows. Why keep telling God the same thing?
It's not nice.
We'll do one for you.
Not exactly a prayer for a little girl,
but I'll read it to you anyway.
"Give me, Lord, what you have left over.
Give me what none ever ask for.
I'm not asking for peace,
neither of mind or body.
They ask you for that so much that you must have no more.
Give me, Lord, what you have left over.
Give me what is refused you.
Give me what others don't want.
But give me courage and strength too.
For you alone give what we can only find on our own."
Admirable is the irony of God.
I'd longed for this man to come into this bedroom.
Here he is.
Not a perjured accomplice, as I had wished,
but radiantly devout,
lulling my child, one of his flock, to sleep with a poem.
Lord, thank you for loving him more than I do,
for doing more than I asked you for.
Thank you for your loving care.
Our office was returning to Paris. I was to leave when Morin was.
He'd said he'd come say good-bye, but the days passed,
and I wondered, anxious yet resigned,
if he hadn't already left.
Father's leaving tomorrow.
He wants you to go see him this evening.
Anchors aweigh.
So this was all he owned.
I'm out of socks.
Can I help you finish packing?
Thanks, but it's done. It's all there.
I just have to finish my backpack. Tomorrow morning.
You sent the piano on ahead?
It was rented. They came for it.
I wouldn't have time to play anyway.
That's sad.
I'll make holes in a reed.
I'll be going.
Thank you for everything.
No questions for me this last evening?
I'll have them all my life, so better to keep quiet.
Wipe the chair off with that rag.
Sit down.
So what's the theme of the day?
Nothing much. Just a minor point.
You say the Jansenists were heretics.
What about the Holy Thorn miracle?
Why shouldn't God perform miracles for heretics?
Does he love them less?
Under your guidance, I'd come to imagine God as Catholic.
Let's call him the universal Catholic
in our temporal language.
It doesn't mean he can't be many other things too.
You know what Our Lord said?
"In my father's house there are many mansions."
Contradictory mansions?
Maybe.
But the contradictions are mainly in our mind, Monsignor Mole.
This time I'm leaving for good.
Until we meet again.
Until we meet again? That's just a figure of speech.
No, we will meet again.
Not in this world.
In the next.
God be with you.