Diary of a Country Priest Page #5

What you promised to do

must be done today.

Tomorrow will be too late.

She knew I'd been to the rectory.

She is as sly as an animal!

I trusted her.

You get used to her eyes.

You imagine they're kind.

Now I'd like to tear out

those eyes of hers

and stamp on them

with my foot, like this!

Have you no fear of God?

I'll kill her!

Kill her or kill myself!

You mustn't stay here.

There's only one place

I can listen to you.

On your knees.

I don't want to confess.

You know quite well

all I ask is justice.

Ever since that beastly

woman came to the house -

Stay calm.

I am calm.

I wish you could be as calm as I am.

I heard them last night.

I was under their window.

They don't even draw the curtains!

I know they'll get rid of me somehow.

I am to leave next Tuesday.

Mama finds it very proper

and practical.

Proper!

It's enough to make you laugh.

But she believes

anything they tell her,

like a frog swallowing flies.

Don't speak of your mother that way.

You don't love her.

You even -

- Go on. I hate her!

I've always hated her.

She's a fool and a coward.

Never could stand up

for her own happiness.

Why do you look at me like that?

Leave me alone.

If you loved your father,

you wouldn't be

in this state of revolt.

I no longer respect him.

I think I hate him.

I hate them all.

I'll get my revenge.

I'll run away.

I'll disgrace myself

and make sure he hears of it.

Then he'll suffer as I have.

It seemed I could read on her lips

other words that went unspoken.

You'll do no such thing.

I know that's not

what's really tempting you.

Give me that letter.

The letter you have in your pocket.

I said whatever came to me,

and yet, strangely enough,

I was sure I was right.

Give it to me.

She didn't try to resist

and handed me the letter.

You must be the devil!

TO MY FATHER:

I threw the letter

into the fire, unread.

Hers was a distress no priest

should approach without trembling.

I thought I read suicide in her eyes.

But perhaps it was

only a fleeting impulse

whose very fervor made it suspect.

I was nothing

but a miserable, unworthy priest.

I shouldn't have received Miss Chantal

or listened to her.

God was punishing me.

I knew my words

could not be taken back

and that I had to see it to the end.

I fear she may do something rash.

That's the last thing she'd do.

She's terribly afraid of death.

Those are the ones

who kill themselves.

Someone must have told you that.

It's outside your personal experience.

Are you yourself afraid of death?

Yes, madam.

But let me be quite frank:

To die is difficult.

Especially for the proud.

I fear my death less than yours.

My husband can keep

whomever he likes here.

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