All language subtitles for Ars.1960.BDRip.x264-BiPOLAR

Based on the Writings and Sermons
of the Curé of Ars

Jean-Marie Baptiste Vianney

was born
on May 8, 1786, in Dardilly.

Ordained a priest
On August 13, 1875,

he was named Curé of Ars
on February 9, 1818,

and carried out
his ministry there for 41 years.

He died in Ars
on August 4, 1859,

at the age of 73.

Exhumed on June 17, 1904,

his body was found intact.

Only his face,
though recognizable,

has since been covered
with a wax replica.

“God has chosen me
as his instrument of grace to sinners,

for I am the most ignorant
and wretched of priests.

If there were a priest
more ignorant and wretched than I,

God would have
chosen him instead.”

Day after day,

Vianney walks through the village
with his humility,

his joy,

and that grace,
the gift God bestowed upon him.

Day after day,

he murmurs the only word
that doesn't sting

or provoke tears of blood

but guides his innermost thoughts

and the insignificant actions
Of what he calls his "wretched life” -

the word “love.”

“Love is superior to fear.

There are those who love God,
but out of great fear.

It makes their lives miserable.

That's not the way to love him.

God is good.

He knows our suffering.

We must love him.

We go through this life
as in a fog...

but faith is the wind
that disperses the fog

and lets the sun
shine down upon our souls.”

The rectory.

Jean-Marie Vianney
lives in poverty.

He gives everything away,

for by willpower and sacrifice

he's gone
beyond needing anything.

His kitchen.

One is astonished to see
he eats nothing, or very little.

He eats only
what he needs to stay alive.

At times he feels faint.

Only then does he realize
he hasn't eaten in three days.

But he knows that fasting,
like prayer,

brings him peace.

His bedroom.

On the wall,
his favorite engravings.

On the dresser,

relics he contemplates
on sleepless nights.

In these books he finds
subject matter for his sermons.

St. John the Evangelist,
St. Joseph,

St. Francis of Assisi,
St. Louis King of France.

This is the instrument
he uses to whip himself

in the early years of his ministry.

But his most frightening
instrument of penitence

would be the confessional.

For 30 years, he would spend
10 to 12 hours a day inside it.

Here he did his main work
in saving souls.

Within its wooden confines,

the future saint
would encounter mankind's misery.

Here would arise
the miracle we can't grasp

because its mystical beauty
frightens us,

the miracle the saint
would work throughout his life.

To the weak
he would give strength,

to the downtrodden, joy,

to the destitute,
a will to live.

But he would pay a high price.

The parish of Ars is no better
and no worse than any other.

But the priest demands more
from his parishioners,

who are too much
occupied with themselves

and too little with God.

He wants to share with them
that immense, incomparable love

that consumes him.

He's 30 years old
and knows nothing of the world.

His lack of experience
makes him awkward and clumsy.

So he offers himself up to God

and decides to suffer
for the souls of Ars.

God answers his call.

And so this shy man,

profoundly good,
immeasurably kind,

and filled with love,

struggles with himself

and musters the strength
to become ruthless,

almost tyrannical.

He says...

"If a pastor wishes
to avoid damnation,

he must, should an issue
arise in his parish,

banish the fear of being scorned
or hated by his parishioners.

Even if he's sure death awaits
when he descends the pulpit,

that must not stop him.”

He takes up the struggle.

Of cabarets, he says...

“You will frequent them no more.
You will attend my church.

A cabaret is the devil's shop,

where souls are bought and sold,
households are ruined,

health is undermined,
fights break out,

and murders are committed.”

One by one, the cabarets close.

Of village dances he says...

“You will not attend dances.
You will attend my church.

How can you be so bedazzled

as to believe
dancing is harmless?

It is the devil's rope by which
he drags souls down to hell.

He who attends a dance
leaves his guardian angel at the door,

and a demon takes its place.

Soon the dancehall is teeming

with as many demons as dancers.”

So the dancing ceases.

Men work on Sunday.

He says,
“You will work no more on Sunday.

You will attend my church.

For of all sins,

this is the one most able
to call down upon us

frost, hail, floods, cholera,

and all other epidemics.”

His attitude may seem harsh,

but Vianney forces no one.

People listen to him,
and for months

churchgoers are subjected
to reproach,

criticism, and condemnation.

“Brethren...

some of you would not walk
one hundred steps to attend mass.

Others do attend,

all the while
anxious to leave again.

Bad Christians arrive late
and linger near the door,

never joining in the prayers.

They chat and laugh,
as if at the market. It's pitiful.

If they happen upon a friend
on the way to mass,

they invite him home for a drink,

leaving mass for another day.

When the priest takes the altar,
you're still at your mirrors,

fussing over your reflection.

Bad Christians always find
the service too long.

Men think of their businesses,

women, their households,

young men, their pleasure,

young women, their vanity.

The priest hasn't yet
left the altar

when they rush
to be the first out the door.

Poor souls.

How wretched you are.

Go on.
Go back to your daily lives.

Only hell awaits you.”

The faithful don't appreciate
this type of sermon one bit.

They're tired of his severity.

After mass,
they plot and conspire.

The stern penitent annoys,

upsets, and irritates them.

No matter.

He says,
“There is a saintly wrath

born of the zeal
to uphold God's teaching.”

He acts more out of duty
than personal temperament.

He knows that,
but he must continue.

The reaction
would prove extreme.

They murmur about him
in their homes.

They conspire, plot revolts,
and threaten him.

They sully
his door with refuse.

Vile graffiti and posters
cover the rectory walls.

Anonymous letters urge him
to leave town at once.

Rumors fly.

Gossip and slander
are repeated daily.

His sallow complexion is attributed
not to his incessant mortifications

but to a secret life
of debauchery.

Near the rectory,

a pregnant girl claims the priest
is the father of her child

and harangues him nightly
at his window.

No mental suffering
is spared him.

He spends hours in anguish.

The lure of despair
suddenly seizes him.

He decides to flee the parish

and live in seclusion
in a monastery.

He leaves
in the dead of night.

He sets out toward Villefranche
but doesn't get far.

Every step feels
like it's leading him to hell.

His cowardice
fills him with shame

even more
than their insults and lies.

He stops at the Croix des Combes
and reflects on his error.

“No, I'm not doing God's will.

Saving one soul is worth more
than a lifetime of solitary prayer.”

Moments later
he's back at the rectory.

“God, how inept I am!

Another man
would surely do better.

Now I desire only silence,
solitude, and oblivion.”

God is at his side.

And now, once more,
this pious man,

this master of sacrifice,

intensifies his penitence.

He grabs his iron chain

and scourges himself
with all his might.

With one last, painful effort,

he rises.

His bloody back
has stained the wall.

Later he would write...

“If I could but sleep for an hour!

My suffering is so great
that I cannot sleep soundly

for even five minutes.

My God...

I must thus come before you
with empty hands.

All I can do is
throw myself at your feet,

like a dog at his master's.”

Unable to sleep, he rises,

leaves the rectory,
and goes to the church,

his refuge.

He kneels down

and tries to pray.

Slowly and humbly...

he walks the difficult path
leading to God.

He is no longer among us.

He has joined the one to whom
he offers his pain and joy.

The cool dawn breeze
brings him gently back

to his parish,
which he will once again lead,

awakening it
from its long, deep slumber.

He is seized
by a powerful force,

shaking him from within.

The parishioners
begin to feel guilty.

They lower their eyes,
for they feel shame

in the presence
of the man they insulted.

He now knows

that nothing and no one
in this world can defeat him.

He has won his first battle.

His work now begins.

The first penitents begin coming.

Sublime hours of confession follow
that will elevate him above men

and absolve earthly sins.

Painful hours...

that continue until sunset,

for soon he has
so many followers

that the church
is unable to contain them.

Ars becomes
a sanctuary of penitence.

Two hundred people besiege
the confessional every day.

Jean-Marie Vianney will spend
the rest of his life inside it.

At the Procès de l'Ordinaire,
a witness would say of him...

“I never knew him to rest
for even one day.

He carried out
his priestly and pastoral duties

with admirable sensitivity
and scruples.

He persevered to his death,
rigorous in accomplishing his tasks

and utterly devoted
to his fellow man.

The perfection
he preached to others

was the strict guide
for his own behavior.

I've never seen such energy,
such strength of will.

He was a quiet force...

an invincible force...

like the force
emanating from God.”