the miracle
of our empty hands
by Douglas Messerli
Robert Bresson (screenwriter and director,
based on a novel by Georges Bernanos Le
Journal d’un curé de champagne) Le
Journal d’un curé (Diary of a Country Priest) / 1951, USA 1954
Robert Bresson’s third film, Le Journal d’un curé de champagne,
brought him international attention and awards, including the 1951 Grand Prize
at the Venice Film Festival. Like his later film, Mouchette, Diary of a Country
Priest was based on a novel by the noted French Catholic writer Georges
Bernanos, and like that later film, this work is a bleak portrait of French
provincial life.
His one regular churchgoing worshiper, Miss Louise, a nanny at the
chateau, unintentionally involves him with the family at the chateau. While the
husband eventually dismisses the aspirations of the priest, the young daughter
of the house further draws him into the life of her family by reporting that
her father and her nanny are having an affair. When the priest finally
determines to approach the girl’s mother, he discovers a woman who, long aware
of his husband’s infidelities, has determined to forgive them at the expense of
her own salvation and happiness.
In a long and fascinating discussion about human will in relation to
God’s grace, the priest attempts to reconcile the woman to her savior.
Countess: Love is stronger than
death. Your scriptures say so.
Curé d’Ambricourt: We did not invent
love. It has its order, its law.
Countess: God is its master.
Curé d’Ambricourt: He is not the
master of love. He is love itself. If you
would love, don’t place yourself
beyond love’s reach.
Miraculously, he succeeds in her returning to her faith, but when she
dies that same evening her family and the entire community is even more
outraged by his intrusion into this woman’s and other’s lives.
Meanwhile, the priest himself is suffering not only from severe doubts
about the power of his faith and his ability to lead this village, but is
unable to eat most foods, surviving primarily on bread crusts and the wine into
which he has dipped them; in short, he eats only the elements of the sacrament,
bread and wine. A trip to a doctor in a neighboring town reveals that he is
terminally ill with cancer, and, upon visiting a seminary friend living in that
town—a man who, having failed to finish his education, leads a desultory and
poverty-stricken life as a writer—the young priest dies after apparently coming
to terms with his own failures and recognizing that “All is grace,” that God
himself is grace.
Such a plot summary, however, can give one no idea of the power of
Bresson’s film, which in scene after scene pits the beautiful, finely-boned,
almost monk-like priest—Laydu, a nonprofessional actor, who apparently studied
the mannerisms of priests and fasted to achieve the wan, fragile look of the
priest—against the everyday commonness and earthiness of these village folk.
The film begins with an image of young couple in the midst of a lusty kiss,
breaking away from each other as the priest enters their terrain. The nearby
priest, a hard-headed pragmatist, has few delusions about the people, and it is
clear that he has survived only because he has demanded petty obedience to the
church’s laws as opposed to sweeping change. The local doctor, Delbende—one of
the few men of intelligence of the community—has apparently never heard of
Semmelweis and antiseptic techniques. He literally looks and smells of the
earth, and returns to the earth by killing himself.
As in many later films, Bresson focuses on bodily parts, particularly
the hands, to help engage the reader in the priest’s sense of displacement.
Throughout the film, the priest’s hands seem almost to flutter into motion—with
many of the sexual connotations that word suggests—while those around him stand
stolidly against or stomp into space.
The priest, on the other hand, represented significantly by pen in hand,
repeats the words of his journal as if they were a sacred text. Repeatedly he
signs the blessing. When the countess throws her locket containing the picture
of her dead son into the fire, the young priest quickly reaches into the flames
to retrieve it.
Moreover, he speaks of the role hands have in his beliefs, recalling the
hands of “the virgin rocking the world’s cradle,” and, as he lifts the
countesses’ veil as she lies upon her deathbed, rhapsodizing: “Oh, the miracle
of our empty hands!” in his apparent startlement of discovering the
effect—having blessed the countess at the end of their conversation—one can
achieve, despite his feelings of inadequacy, with a simple touch.
Part of the dilemma of this man’s life is that no one dares to show him
love or even encourage his acts. Only once or twice is he blessed by the touch
of other’s hands, the most important of these moments being when Séraphita
discovers him face down in the mud, and he awakens to the touch of her washing
away the blood and mud from his face before pulling him into the safety of a
temporary hiding place where we can comfortably sleep off the drug-laced wine
he has drunk, gently stroking blueberry juice on his cheeks so that can explain
his “drunkenness.”
The second such event is when a relative of the count invites him to
ride on the back of his motorbike, and with hands intently placed upon the
handlebars, takes this man of God on a wild ride, so delighting the priest that
we suddenly recall he is after all a young boy who might, had he chosen another
path, be thrilled by life.
In the isolated village of Ambricourt there is no one to embrace—not only sexually, of course, since he has taken the vow of chastity—but symbolically or spiritually, the only methods left to him. The emptiness with which he faced is indeed the disease which kills him, a cancer which leaves him equally with an empty stomach. Despite his own dying perception, we can only ponder why he was offered so little earthly grace.
Los Angeles, March 19, 2000
Reprinted
from World
Cinema Review (March
2000).
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