Original subtitles

- Director Brandt, he's... - Secret Military Police.

You want what is best for Saint Josse.

But the true invader, the socialist, the Jew, was already within.

- We're not building barges for the Germans. - They'll shoot you.

The army's gone but I'm still a soldier of France. It's my duty.

I'm Héléne.

- Do you think that was clever? - They shouldn't dance with our girls.

There's a lot of things they shouldn't do.

Enough!

In whose name do you commit such sacrilege?

This town has seen only one side of German rule.

It's within your power to show another.

Links! Rechts!

Are you hoping to see that young boy who saved the child? Alois is his name?

No, of course not. No.

Anyway he's not RAD, he's a soldier.

I know he's on duty today, so I just thought...

Labour corps, soldier, it's all the same to me.

As a matter of fact, Alois told me they all have to do labour corps until old enough for the army.

Did you see them? Too stupid to feel the cold.

Too thick to put their shins on!

- Where are you going? - Nowhere.

I've got a new job. At the sawmill.

Cutting timber for the invasion barges.

She's mooning about some boy.

She had to one day. Is it Etienne?

No.

Good. Is it the German?

I hope not.

They're going to be here a long time.

As soon as this lot invade England, there'll be another lot. Then more.

This café is making money at last.

- Would pay her to learn German. - That's not what she wants to do.

No. But it's how she will.

Rechts! Links!

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

Halt, Dieb!

Alois.

ZurUck!

Please don't let it be him.

- Herr Major? - Yes. Come, come.

Is he one of your Arabs, one of your noble savages?

Do you feel you must say something for the repose of his soul?

Allah...

Yes. That will do, I'm sure.

Why was he shot?

I suspect he ran when challenged.

For a loaf of bread?

A hungry, noble savage.

Bitte...

lm Laufschritt!

See that the mare is taken back to the house of Monsieur Dufosse.

- Do you want the body? - Will you tell his people?

- When we know who he is. - 42nd Machine-Gun Regiment of Madagascar.

A mitrailleur.

(Only a b0)'-

Who was starving.

It is forbidden to enter Place du Mars.

- This square is ours. - Isn't the town yours?

Yes, it is. But we wish to be correct.

There are few places we reserve exclusively for our use.

- This is one. - Do you intend to shoot me? I'm in it.

- Don't be silly. - Silly?

That will provoke an incident.

And what will this do?

Nothing.

See? They already lose interest.

Go away, Catherine. Take Gaston.

There's nothing anyone can do.

He was a soldier of France.

His number came up... Nicht wahr?

Achtung!

Wegtreten.

- Héléne. - Who was shot?

A young man. A young French soldier on the run.

Thank you, God.

I thought... I knew it was someone else.

A sharp stab of ice, I felt it.

There was no reason but I did.

Is that God telling me...

What?

Nothing.

You've got children. Do you want the eggs or don't you?

I don't like charity from the Pope.

Neither do I.

In fact, I wouldn't accept it.

But do you want them or not?

- Where did you get them? - Malo Gagnepain.

- Did he steal them? - He probably did.

I'm sure he'll confess it.

But while we're waiting on that day, if you don't want them,

I'll give them to someone who'll be glad of them.

It's all the same to me, but not to your children, I imagine.

- What do you think of the war? - Not much. What do you?

- I'm glad it's over. - It's not.

I hate the bastards.

Boche!

That's not what your party says.

The French Communist Party has always been against Hitler Fascism.

But we've no interest in fighting a war for that drunk Churchill or the British Empire.

Not against German workers in uniform. They're exploited as much as we are.

Do you know what the young people call them?

Haricots Vens.

I'll have the eggs.

You really are a grudging bastard, aren't you?

Here. Have them.

I know you'll give them to your children.

You're all kinds of things, but I didn't think you were a wife-beater.

Do you think I'm proud of that?

I don't like her doing their washing.

She said if I didn't bring more money home, that's not all she'd do.

She didn't mean it.

I shouldn't have hit her. It won't do, you're right.

It's that sort of a time, Father.

I don't like that. People should be honest with each other.

I know. But people aren't, are they?

I try to be honest.

What will happen to you?

Will you be punished for this morning?

Not so much. We're going to have to do some work sometime.

I'm with the first working group tomorrow.

- Where? - Near the airfield.

We've got a lot of destruction to rebuild.

This place gets more like a dummkopf barracks every day.

Kaserne, ja? By which I mean a shitbed.

Be careful, Etienne, some of them speak French.

Bingo, Rene.

I know. How else would they insinuate themselves?

"Insinuate." Sounds like a slithery, wet, one-eyed snake slipping from Haricot VGIT flies.

Forgive me, they're all drunk.

Arschloch, Mensch!

Otto! Otto!

Arschloch!

You wouldn't have the guts, Etienne.

Find me a gun, Francgois, and I would.

Find your own gun.

Go home, you silly little prick, before somebody sees you and doesn't know you're drunk.

Remember, there's still a curfew.

Quick, she's coming!

Good morning, Mademoiselle.

Good morning, children.

♪ Allons enfants de la Patrie

♪ Le jour de gloire est arrivé

♪ Contre nous de la tyrannie...

Father Renard would like to discuss the route

of the Harvest procession for our town's name-saint.

I've told him we're busy.

We have to find billets for more German officers next week.

Why must we discuss it?

I've looked up the usual route and it crosses Place du Mars.

Pardon me, but I know it can't go that way this year. Sorry.

- No. Of course it can't. - Why not?

- I'm not sure why you're here, Lefranc. - Well, you find out.

If I'm here all morning, I'll lose money, so if we...

Place du Mars is forbidden. Somebody was just shot in it.

- He was a thief. - Some nigger.

Not some commie, then? Was that the excuse?

Father, I don't know.

(I'm doing m)' 10b-

He was a mitrailleur of the 42nd Regiment.

And I suppose trying to avoid being put in one of the POW camps.

He's done that.

We've always gone through Place du Mars. It's holy.

Ha!

- Holy, comrade? - Are you going to carry it?

Are you? Yes?

Are you? If you're going to carry it, you can go where you like, but if my lads...

You have always carried the...

If my lads are carrying the statue, then I say what I like and that is why I am here.

It is heavy.

- Anybody else want to carry it? - There's no reason why you should carry it.

Saint Josse is the patron saint of barbers, if he's anything. Not sawyers. There's no reason.

Well, I think there's two reasons, which is we have always clone it and it's a holy rite

and it's not just heavy, it's top-heavy, which means it's all right if... if we keep going.

The Harvest procession is obviously important to the town,

but it doesn't have to go through Place du Mars.

When I was a boy, it didn't.

- He'll turn in his grave. - Who will?

Sam Woody Jesse. Over my dead bow.!

- Let's get back to Place du Mars. - Yes. You're right.

Yes, we will get back to Place du Mars.

And when we do go back,

we will stop and put down the statue

and I will say prayers on your behalf,

for the soul of that poor black boy,

in whatever denominational heaven he now inhabits,

who came here to fight as a machine-gunner,

in the sure and certain knowledge

that he was surrounded by compatriots and friends.

How will you get the Germans to let you into Place du Mars?

I won't ask them. I'll first of all ask our police.

And if Commissaire Cabache can't help me, then I will askthe Germans.

I shall tell them that we've always done it, that it's our holy right.

Shoot your bloody head off, they will.

Monsignor, how many rooms do you have in the presbytery?

- Good morning, Father. - God bless you, children.

Now, I said that I would come and talk to you

when something happened in our town that I thought you ought to know about.

Well, a young French soldier has been shot and killed.

You will hear him called a lot of nasty things, but you are not to heed them.

He was a young man who came from a long way away, to do what he thought would help us.

Children, children. Can I have those bits of paper?

For Mama and Papa.

No, no, no. Gabrielle.

You mustn't do this. Is this your idea?

It's a newspaper published secretly in Paris. I copied some things from it.

Where is it? Show me.

Destroy these.

You must never use the children. They are innocents.

How many did you copy? Have I got them all?

Gabrielle.

Yes, of course, you must do it. Of course.

But you mustn't do it on your own.

Not yet. These things must be planned.

Clear off. You've got enough.

Pay for it and clear off.

What's left is for the workers. it's probably all you will get.

- Are we laid off? - Monsieur Dufosse pays your wages, not me.

He'll tell you.

You, last in, first out. You were warned.

You'll get a day's wages.

The Germans want no more barges. They have enough to invade England.

It's all the same to me. I didn't like working for the Germans, anyway.

You weren't working for the Germans, you were working for Dufosse.

Now you're not working for anyone.

Or you.

Nor you.

Or you.

Or you. Get your money from the cashier.

The rest of you I'll keep on for maintenance and to clear the order for another three days.

After that, you're out as well, unless something else turns up.

Then you can come back or not, as you feel.

No.

One out, all out. Yeah, lads?

Whatever happened to the union?

Military law is what happened to the union.

The Pas de Calais is now under German military law and I can't say I'm sorry to see it.

Perhaps we can work to help France recover from a disastrous war,

forced on us by French socialists and English Jewry.

I'm going on leave for a few days to Paris.

And before going I wanted you to have this.

I've never met a less happy priest than you are.

But, Father, this war is a great opportunity for you and your country.

For at last, Germany and France must come together as friends and allies.

I think, at this moment, the whole of Europe basks in a golden sun.

But I will have you hear my confession, Father.

I thought I just did.

I wish I could forgive you,

but that is for God.

I think it's Alain who was shot.

Yes. You think that, but you're wrong.

It was a black from Madagascar.

- How do you know? - I was told.

Monsignor Renard saw it.

- He was there? - Yes. He was there.

A young boy, yes, but not as young as Alain. And black.

Father Renard is just trying to protect us. He knows it's Alain.

Morning.

Madame Baquet still seems to be in great distress.

She is always. You know why, don't you?

She and Flandin are carrying on.

It'll be that.

Everybody knows.

Her husband knows.

She used to be a fine-looking woman, a good mother and a good wife.

Now she's Flandin's whore.

No, she isn't. It's all over.

Are you sure of that, Father?

Sergeant, show me the body of the boy who was shot.

- No. You can't ask that. - I can! I can.

I want to see the boy.

I have to see the boy!

- Aren't you going to go to her? - No. Are you?

Yes. I am.

- I have to see the boy! - All right. All right.

- Have you heard anything of her boy? - I have, as a matter of fact.

I know where he is. I found out this morning.

Where?

Perhaps you ought to close the door.

- Mind you, I'm not sure she'll want to know. - Of course she'll want to know.

Would you want to know that your child had been ritually dishonoured,

slaughtered, dismembered and eaten by communists?

Or was it Jews?

Yes. It was Jews.

In this version it usually is, but there are variations.

The whole ghastly business was witnessed by an anonymous illiterate.

That's disgusting!

It's nothing. We've only just got going.

The French have always taken readily to denunciation, you know that.

Father, it comes naturally.

It's one of the reasons why we make such good communists.

Where would we police be without our informers?

They don't have to tell the truth.

Just a version of it

can have all sorts of ramifications and consequences, once we start looking.

Get her out of here, Henri, she is unhinged.

Can't you just let her see the body? Then she'll know.

She knows now, Henri, I've told her.

I knew your boy... know your boy.

This was a mitrailleur from Madagascar.

A boy certainly,

but they grow up quickly in the colonies.

The biggest I've ever seen.

You wouldn't want her to see that now, would you?

You've got worries enough that way.

Henri, take the silly bitch away.

I hope you enjoyed yourself, Father.

Please, spare me the jokes.

- You can keep it. - I'd rather not.

Are any of them signed?

Not many. Some.

But I can't let you see those.

Nor would I have let you see that

if it were about your activities against the state, rather than your amorous adventures.

I asked you to spare me the jokes.

Somebody, one day, will want me to arrest you for something really serious.

Or for something that you've done that is treasonous or criminal. it will happen.

To whom? Treason to what?

- I've drawers full of these letters. - Burn them.

If I acted on them all, there would be nobody left to run the town, including me.

Don't you listen to the wireless?

Lists of names on Radio Paris every day.

Everybody listens.

What ought I to do about these? I don't like to usurp you in your calling.

- But some of them are genuine confessions. - Confessions?

"I just killed a German with my bare hands."

That son of thing.

All lies. No German has died yet since the...

...catastrophe armistice.

Not at a Frenchman's hands, at any rate.

And precious few when we were fighting them, it seems.

Not to spare our glorious army's blushes.

And it will eventually come to murdering them, won't it?

And where will you stand then?

Me?

As I say, confessions are your province.

Then treat them as confessions.

You must remember. You were once a member of the communion.

It's called "the sanctity of the confessional".

Burn every filthy scrap of them.

That you keep them degrades you more than it does the poor, sick wretches who wrote them.

Oh, does it? Sick or not, we're talking about the whole town.

If you can't help me about the procession of Saint Josse, I'll have to talk to the Germans.

- If you would rather I did... - No.

Gabrielle, let's go home now.

It means nothing to me to talk to our conquerors. Nor do I obtain any kudos from doing so.

- Let's go home now. - No.

- No! - Yes.

- I hear you charge. - Only when I'm successful,

which is more than you can say for your intercessions.

No. Please.

Henri! Henri, stop! Stop it.

Henri, stop.

Henri, stop.

You're hurting her.

I suppose you would say that I don't love my wife, that I don't care for her.

I know you love your wife!

I know it's not Alain in there,

but I must...

I want to make sure, because there are those who would lie.

No. No.

Hold my hands.

Put them together and say a prayer with me.

Yes. Yes.

As you did as a child, as you taught Alain and all your children.

Say with me.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

Blessed an thou amongst women...

Amen.

- Do I know you, monsieur? - I don't know you, Father.

I'm Jean-Paul Dufosse.

- Army? - Yes.

Not a prisoner of war?

No.

Then which army?

There is still a French army.

Vichy?

I'm a captain in the army of Maréchal Pétain.

A very select band.

From what I hear, the Germans allow hardly enough to form a regiment.

- Is it safe for you to be here? - My papers are in order.

It probably wouldn't be a good idea for me to wear a uniform.

The Germans might not like that.

They allow us to exist, but it's better not to remind them that we do when out of Vichy.

- What are you doing here? - Your letter.

There's nothing you could do about my letter.

I don't understand it.

- Father. Will you share lunch? - Thank you.

What is this I hear, that all Jews are to be sent to Madagascar?

I think that's unlikely, don't you'?

It's as well they were sent somewhere, but it's of no interest to me.

This is not discussed by Vichy?

In the messes of the army of the armistice?

Not by me. I'm totally indifferent to the future of the Jews.

Very well. Did you discuss the communists, what to do with them?

They need to be dealt with. Lefranc.

Mama.

Jean-Paul.

I suppose it depends on what is called a Jew.

Yes?

What is the definition of a Jew?

Is it someone from Jerusalem?

How can a Jew be born in France?

Or, conversely, how can one be a Jew if born in France?

And how long does one remain a Jew?

If one's parents were...

are Jews, is one a Jew?

Undoubtedly.

But if only one of one's parent is or was a Jew...

No!

...which one makes one a Jew?

These things need to be addressed.

It is impossible otherwise to know whether one needs to fear or not.

Don't.

Whether one has been wasting one's time and effort

on such Christian things as the Church and good works.

As your mother has always done, has she not, Father?

Oh.

You don't know. You've only just come here.

It's useless asking you to speak for her.

- He doesn't know. - It's all right.

It isn't all right.

Is Major Drexler going to join us? It would be convenient for me if he did.

Though, I came to see you.

Very probably not.

He rarely has lunch, but we feel we must be ready should he wish to.

He allows his servant to be here, which is kind of him.

- Is he at the Kommandantur? - It really is better not to ask.

Very well.

I shall ask you, Monsieur Dufosse, what I came to ask.

Will you let us have some new cut and planed timber

to make the bier for the statue of Saint Josse?

I always do.

You see? Anyone will tell you what we do for the Church.

- My brother will make it. - He always does. Very well.

Though, I was surprised to find that a new one is made every year.

It gives everybody something to do.

I provide the wood and the bearers.

Your brother makes the bier. The Jew from Berlin makes the vestments.

And it gives everybody a chance to contribute something, however small.

But you tell me.

What makes a Jew?

Christ Our Lord was a Jew, was he not, Father?

When did he stop being a Jew and become a Christian?

I defy anyone to call me a Jew.

You, my dear, I fear for.

Jean-Paul, are you a Jew, because your mother's half a Jew?

What is the worst or best kind of Jew?

The Jew who was born here or the Jew who came here uninvited?

You call them uninvited and maybe they are.

But some of the uninvited

walked every step of the way.

From Russia, from Hungary, from Poland...

..everywhere.

Perhaps they were all trying to get to England.

And we should have helped them get their feet wet, for...

...for if we had done so, those of us who were born French, but not wandering Jews...

...would not now fear for our lives.

It is undoubtedly the fairness and correctness of the Germans

that lumps us all together, but...

Can you not make them see the difference, Father?

You know, madame,

I don't think I could.

No.

No.

Well, somebody must try.

Jean-Paul?

Your letter simply said you were worried about Mama.

That she was in a desperate situation.

Is this it?

- Monsieur Dufosse... - I feel I should leave.

Thank you.

Is Major Drexler coming here today?

Herr Major does not like to be approached at home.

- Home? - Yes. That is what we say to him.

That he should not regard our house as a place he is billeted, but as his home.

Does the gen...

the gentleman have my room?

He chose it. We felt we could hardly argue.

We felt no need to... argue.

Then it is obviously inconvenient for me to stay. I shall stay in Saint Josse.

No, Jean-Paul, you must stay at home. One of the other rooms.

You can't know how I've looked forward to sleeping in my own room.

If I can't, there's no reason for me to stay.

You didn't know?

I swear I didn't.

I suppose it must have been Grandmama.

She's the only person who could be remotely thought to be...

I hate Jews!

I blame them for all our ills. We all do.

Jews and socialists and communists.

What a mess they've made of our country.

And now, thanks to le Maréchal, we have a chance to put it right.

But I'm not going to be allowed to see it through.

Every day, I see people in fear turning to hate.

It's disgusting.

That is not the way to face fear.

I suppose I must have known, but I loved her.

She was the kindest person.

I always thought that Grandmama hugged a secret.

Perhaps a lover, I thought.

I rather liked that.

Or perhaps her family weren't quite as good as ours.

I didn't like that, but it didn't matter.

But this matters very much.

Yes, I can see it does.

Well...

I'm at your service, of course.

Assn!

Guten Tag, Vater.

- Thank you, Father. - What for?

For giving me a gallop.

Monsignor Renard, how is the town?

In what respect?

You're the best person to know, I think, how the town is.

I've been pleased to relax the curfew.

Is it becoming resigned to its fate?

I wouldn't say that.

I think, at the moment, the town is still stunned by the events of the last year.

The collapse of its government, the defeat of its army.

The piecemeal disposal of its country.

- How long will it stay stunned? - I don't know.

Is that the man that shot the Madagascan soldier dead?

Yes, it is.

I decided a return to barrack life would help their good discipline reassert itself.

Can we make procession through Place du Mars when we celebrate the harvest?

I can see no reason why not. Is it just one day?

Yes. We carry the statue of Saint Josse.

I know what you do.

I can see no reason why it should not go through Place du Mars on this one day.

Every year.

Thank you, but I wouldn't dream of asking you to commit yourself

to a promise you may not be able to keep.

Why should I not be able?

You might not be here.

Well...

I hope most sincerely that I'm not.

I'm a combat engineer, not a town commandant.

And these young men are soldiers of the Reich.

Not policemen.

What are they making glue from these days?

Please don't tell me.

Horse carcass, as usual.

And it beats incense.

I talked to Dufosse and he says you can have all the wood you want from the sawmill.

- I still get paid? - Of course you do.

I'll do anything. But not what I do for a living.

Michelangelo charged, you know.

And you're cheaper. I know.

And every bit as good at busted chairs.

They're laying people off at the sawmill.

Yes, so I'm told.

- Lefranc won't be happy. - He's not.

In the old days, he'd have had us at the barricades.

Now they really would shoot him.

They would have then, if they'd thought they could get away with it.

Tell me,

have the Germans given up the idea of invading England or haven't they got enough barges?

I'll get the van out.

I might as well go up there now while it's quiet.

While I'm waiting for that glue.

I'd come with you, but I've got a broken tooth.

- Can you still get petrol? - That's essential war work, that is.

The chair's for the Kommandantur.

Last him a lifetime, that will.

- What, a couple of years? - You're an optimist.

I suppose you have to be in your trade.

I just hope they give it back to the mayor when they leave.

Augustin, if we stay here, we're done for.

You know that.

This is no place to be. It's not even France any more.

- What are you going to do? - Do?

I've no thought of doing anything but my job.

- I've always wanted to be the priest here. - Not always.

That was too long ago to matter.

I've always, since I became old and wise, wanted to be priest here.

There's some who think of going to London, to join Tintin.

He couldn't wait to hop on a plane at Lourdes and leave us all in the shit.

I'm sure de Gaulle didn't see it quite like that.

And what are you doing working for the Germans?

I am not working for the Germans.

I am working for that chair.

You're working for Claudette and the girls.

You can't go anywhere, either, Yves.

- How long ago did you have this done? - Two years ago.

Ah. It's very well done.

In Berlin, I could afford the best, here I cannot.

What a thing to say, Monsieur Rosenbaum. I am excellently qualified.

Oh, no, no, you mistake my meaning. I generalise.

Here, I can afford nothing, however much it is best.

Rinse.

Father, I want to do the vestments for the statue of Saint Josse.

For nothing, which I did last year.

Think nothing of it, monsieur.

- But I cannot. - Everybody is worthy of their hire

and if a carpenter can ask to be paid, so too can a tailor who has children to feed.

I cannot understand why last year vestments may not be used again.

Oh, no. That would be bad luck.

Superstition, monsieur, is the cornerstone of commerce.

We need all the luck we can get. All of us.

I more than you, my friend.

It is beginning here, also, the pogrom.

Would you be better off in Vichy?

It is possible. I don't know.

I only know that here we will not be better off, while there are Germans,

and I say that as a German, which is sorrowful for me,

for still when I hear German spoken, I am home.

But then I hear the other noises, as well, which are not so comfortable.

Breaking glass and screams, my dear padre.

It can be arranged.

For a price.

A price?

Yes?

I have my get-out Geld.

Good evening. Please sit down.

We have the most dreadful thing on our minds, Herr Major.

What will happen to us?

Your wife is unwell.

Should you not go to her, Monsieur Dufosse?

Yes, she is unwell and she has good reason to be.

For she qualifies, I fear, as...

Jewish.

She was born in France and until we made enquiries we knew nothing of...

of her...

but it transpires that her mother was a French... a French Jew.

Unknown to all of us.

So now we know that she is, by the new laws...

I am most decidedly not...

Stop.

I shall do what I can, but my immediate action must be to find somewhere else to live.

Oh, no, surely...

Do the Vichy authorities know that your son is a Jew?

- No. He didn't know... - I shall not tell them, but he must.

It's the only honourable thing to do.

It's the end of his career, but he must do it.

However, he could not hope to make a good officer. That's impossible for a Jew.

I regret to say.

Goodnight, Monsieur Dufosse.

I shall leave in the morning, early.

My men will see to my belongings.

Two German officers for the night, Father.

You seem to have more rooms than they thought.

- Where are they? - One's gone to bed, Father.

The other's in church.

Don't worry, I'll cook it.

They say they're priests.

He's asleep.

I take it you're my other guest.

Oh, you've met him?

He was taken ill.

Ill? He's drunk!

Yes.

He's a bishop.

A field bishop of the army.

- Is he... - And he's one of yours.

So that's the reason.

- Reason? - Why he's drunk.

- You? - No. I don't drink.

More fool you.

You eat, do you?

Foie gras?

He's just sitting there, listening to the wireless and humming.

And he's still got his hat on.

Catherine, you don't have to tell me everything they do...

- He's still upstairs. - ..in that ridiculous whisper.

I ought to send Gaston away for the night.

His uncle.

Catherine, they're priests,

not pederasts.

They don't look like priests to me.

They look like Boche!

They are, Catherine, make no mistake about that.

Oh, in this house...

And it's Sunday tomorrow.

Sssh.

Sssh.

Yes.

- Get out. - Why?

I don't know what to do with it.

Erm... you go back and I'll er... find somewhere to hide it.

Thank you.

You assume that he won't eat?

- Who? - His Grace.

A misnomer if ever there was one.

He has as much grace as a tank.

You're right not to expect him. He'll need some hours to sleep it off.

I don't expect him because he's not here.

The boy saw him leave.

Leave?

He has taken the car. He has gone.

They say he's a priest.

He's more than that, he's a bishop, who's given his chaplain the slip.

Augustin, I want to talk to you about Héléne.

Now?

Yes.

Now, while Albert isn't here.

I want you to talk to her.

She's very involved with a German soldier.

Ahh.

There's nothing more in it for him than a pretty girl.

It's obvious from her mooning about the place that she's in...

She's thinking about him all the time.

She only has to hear the sound of jackboots and she rushes to the window.

It's awful!

Oh, dear.

Yes. I never thought I'd despise my own daughter.

You mustn't say that.

I'll talk to her.

- What is he like? - It doesn't matter what he's like.

Why doesn't it?

You know why.

She could have been your daughter, Augustin.

Amen.

SOLDIERSI Halt, halt!

- Do you want something to eat? - A drink!

- What have you been up to? - Nothing.

- Why are you in a sweat, then? - Nearly got caught.

The trouble is there is no network, no planning.

Planning?

No point being a middle-man if there's no beginning or end man.

- I didn't know what to do with it. - Didn't know what to do with what?

Nothing.

But I've been here all night, haven't I?

Doing what?

Talking to you.

Nobody needs a reason to talk to a priest, do they?

Talking to you.

Gaston.

Get on up to bed now!

Don't involve Gaston, do you hear?

Not in anything you do.

Where is he?

His Grace? I put him to bed again.

He went for a drive and held a drumhead service.

- Drumhead? - Well, something like that.

Off you go.

Good morning.

Good morning.

Father,

I...

I would be very much obliged if you would let me celebrate Mass.

Do you think you can?

Of course, in my sleep.

It may be the very last time I do.

Surely not, surely not.

But I would be very glad for the opportunity, as I'm always very glad.

Then, I'll assist you.

Thank you.

Will you hear my confession, please?

Would you not rather confess to your own chaplain?

He's not my chaplain!

He's my bloody guard!

Damn him! Damn his soul in hell for a Nazi bastard.

Very well.

- What are we doing down here? - It's really...

We welcome the Very Reverend Gustav, a field bishop of the German army.

Your prayers are asked for those of our town,

soldiers, prisoners, children, whose whereabouts are unknown,

and, in particular, Alain Baquet and his parents Henri and Clara.

There is a Christian morality...

...which transcends all others.

It is a human morality, which imposes duties, and recognises rights.

The rights of everyone,

whoever he may be.

I have heard, in the last months,

dreadful things said about people who are not the same as us.

I have heard the word "nigger" uttered.

The word "Jew" uttered with scorn.

The word "Boche", "gypsy", "whore", uttered with hatred and fear.

These names are used to slight, insult and degrade...

...those people who have duties and rights

also derived from the nature of man.

It is in the power of no mortal person to suppress these duties and rights.

Can't we go home?

Jews are men and women...

Oh, my God!

"Foreigners are men and women.

And to them we owe every right that we ourselves possess. Nothing less!

Not the merest inflection

of scorn...

...or indifference to their plight.

- Please, help me!

For it is beginning.

And I see it building up, until who knows what atrocity will happen.

France, our beloved country,

must bear, in the conscience of its children, the tradition of respect for human beings.

From Madagascar.

From England.

From everywhere.

Men and women who are loved by God.

Call them the names God has given them.

Do not damn them, any of them.

And do not bear swords in God's house,

spears at his altar

or hatred at his feast.

Monsieur Denez, please!

I can't show this to my children, please!

Be humble.

And speak the soft words of our Lord.

- Monsieur Denez, please!

He's a nasty piece of work, your chaplain.

He is, isn't he?

Thoroughly disgusting in everything he does.

He's a believer in this new religion of the Fuhrer.

I'm shocked to see him wear a pistol.

He was ordered to do so by the general in command of the division.

A joke, I think.

You and I have worn weapons and used them, both of us, at Verdun.

We know, don't we, that he would never dare?

But us, we would, and still might.

For all our sermons, we are not Christians entire, I suspect.

I hope I am and pray to be.

For I fear what I might become without the grace of God.

That will never leave you, Renard.

That one has yet to find it.

He takes me under arrest to Berlin for making just such a sermon as you did.

This little pipsqueak.

I still ask God to damn him.

Ein Hinweis. Lesen Sie die Gebrauchsanweisung sorgféltig.

I just gave him a few words of advice to make sure he read the instructions properly

before he tries to shoot me!

Yes, shoot me.

Shoot me.

Renard, God bless us all.

♪ Ave, ave

♪ Ave, Maria

♪ Ave, ave

♪ Ave, Maria...

Help! Help!

I think I speak for all the people of Saint Josse,

when I thank Major Drexler for allowing us to pass through Place du Mars.

And tell him that we resent his presumption most deeply,

and will not avail ourselves of this opportunity

to pass through the square of our own town on this occasion,

and, indeed, never again.

Until France is once again in the hands of its people!

I would like us all to stand now for a moment in silence,

to remember the death of a young soldier of France...

...who died at this place some few days ago.

Let us dedicate this day...

...and this place to him.

Our unknown soldier.