Don Camillo and the devil

GIOVANNI GUARESCHI  lived at Parma near the River Po where he was born in 1908 exactly 100 years ago. As he himself recounted, his parents wanted him to be a naval engineer consequently he studied law, made a name as a sign-board painter and among other jobs gave mandolin lessons. As a young man he drew cartoons for Bartoldo an Italian publication. When the war came he was arrested by the political police for howling in the street all night. In 1943 he was captured by the Germans and adopted the slogan “I will not die, even if they kill me.” Guareschi died in 1968.

 A CONFESSION

Don Camillo had been born with a constitutional preference for calling a spade a spade. Upon a certain occasion when there had been a local scandal involving landowners of a ripe age and young girls of his parish, he had in the course of his sermon become aware of the fact that one of the chief offenders was present among the foremost ranks of his congregation. Flinging all restraint to the wind and also flinging a hastily snatched cloth over the head of the crucified Christ above the high altar in order that the Divine ears might not be offended, he had set his arms firmly akimbo and had resumed his sermon. And so stentorian had been the voice that issued from the lips of the big man and so uncompromising had been his language that the very roof of the little church had seemed to tremble.

When the time of the elections drew near Don Camillo had naturally been explicit in his allusions to the local communist party. Thus there was a fine evening when as he was returning home at dusk, an individual muffled in a cloak sprang out of a hedge as he passed by and, taking advantage of the fact that Don Camillo was hampered by his bicycle and by a large parcel containing seventy eggs attached to the handlebars, belaboured him with a heavy stick and promptly vanished as though the earth had swallowed him. Don Camillo had kept his own counsel. Having arrived at the presbytery and safely deposited the eggs he had gone into the church to discuss the matter with the Lord, as was his invariable habit in moments of perplexity. “What should I do?” he had enquired “anoint your back with a little oil beaten up in water and hold your tongue” the Lord had replied from above the altar. ”We must forgive those who offend us, that’s the rule ”…”Very true Lord” agreed Don Camillo ” but on this occasion we are discussing blows not offences” …”And what do you mean by that? surely you are not trying to tell Me that injuries done to the body are more painful than those aimed at the spirit?”… ”I see Your point Lord, but You should also bear in mind that in beating me, who am Your minister, an injury has been done to Yourself also, so really I am more concerned on Your behalf than on my own,”…”And was I not a greater  Minister of God than you are? and did I not forgive those who nailed Me to the cross?”…”There is never any use in arguing with You!” Don Camillo had exclaimed “You are always in the right. Your will be done, we must forgive, all the same don’t forget that if these ruffians, encouraged by my silence, should crack my skull the responsibility will lie with You, I could cite several passages from the old testament…” “Don Camillo, are you proposing to instruct Me in the old testament? As for this business I assume full responsibility, moreover, strictly between ourselves, the beating has done you no harm. It may teach you to let politics alone in My house”

Don Camillo had duly forgiven. But one thing stuck in his gullet like a fish bone , curiosity as to the identity of his assailant. Time passed. Late one night while he was sat in the confessional he discerned through the grille the countenance of of the local leader of the communist party, Peppone. That Peppone should come to confession at all was a sensational event and Don Camillo was suitably gratified ” God be with you my brother, you who, more than any other man have need of His holy blessing, is it a long time since you went to confession last?”…”Not since 1918″ replied Peppone… “You must have commited a great many sins in the course of those 28 years, with your head so crammed with crazy notions…?” “a good few undoubtedly” sighed Peppone… “For example?”…”well for example 2 months ago I gave you a hiding.”…”That was very serious indeed,” replied Don Camillo “since in assaulting a minister of God you have attacked God Himself.”…”but I have repented” exclaimed Peppone. “and moreover it was not as God’s minister that I beat you but as my political opponent. In any case I did it in a moment of weakness .”…”Apart from this and apart from your membership of that accursed party have you any other grave sins on your conscience?” Peppone spilled all the beans. Taken as a whole his offences were not too serious and Don Camillo let him off with a score of Paters and Aves. Then, while Peppone was kneeling at the altar rails performing his penance, Don Camillo went and knelt before the crucifix. “Lord, ” he said, “You must forgive me but I am going to beat him up for You .”…”You are going to do nothing of the kind,” replied the Lord. “I have forgiven him and you must forgive him also, all things considered he is not a bad soul”…”Lord, You can never trust a red! they live by lies, only look at him, Barabbas incarnate!” …”It’s as good a face as most Don Camillo, it is your heart that is venomous!”… “Lord, if I have ever served You at all, grant me one small grace, let me at least break this candle over his back, dear Lord, after all what is one candle?”…”No,” replied the Lord, “your hands were made for blessing, not for striking.” Don Camillo sighed deeply, He genuflected and left the sanctuary. As he turned to make a final sign of the cross he found himself exactly behind Peppone who, on his knees, was apparently absorbed in prayer. “Lord,” groaned Don Camillo clasping his hands and gazing at the crucifix. “My hands were made for blessing, but not my feet!”… “There is something in that” replied the Lord from above the altar…”But remember Don Camilllo…only one.” The kick landed like a thunderbolt and Peppone recieved it without so much as blinking an eye. Then he got to his feet and sighed with relief. “I’ve been waiting for that for the last 10 minutes” he said “I feel better now”… “So do I! exclaimed Don Camillo, whose heart was now as light and serene as a May morning.

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 

 

On Easter morning, Don Camillo, leaving his home at an early hour was confronted at the door of the presbytery by a colossal chocolate egg tied up with riband of handsome red silk, or rather by a formidable egg that resembled a chocolate one but was actually a 200lb bomb shorn of it’s fins and painted a rich brown.

The war had not omitted to pass over Don Camillo’s parish and planes had visited it on more than one occasion dropping bombs, a number of these had remained unexploded, half buried in the ground or even lying on the surface for the planes had were low flying. When all was over a couple of engineers had arrived from somewhere or other, exploded the bombs lying far from any buildings and dismantled those too close to occupied places,these they had collected to be disposed of elsewhere. One bomb had fallen upon the old mill destroying the roof and remaining wedged between a wall and a main beam, it had been left there because the house was derelict and the dimantled bomb no longer dangerous. It was this bomb that had been transformed into an easter egg by unknown hands-” “unknown” that is to say as a figure of speech since there was an inscription “Happy eester” (with two ‘e’s) and there was also the red riband. The business had been carefully orchestrated because when Don Camillo had turned his eyes away from the strange egg he found the church square thronged with people. These scoundrels had all conspired to be present in order to enjoy Don Camillo’s discomfiture. Annoyed he had allowed himself to kick the object, which naturally remained unmoved  ” it’s quite heavy!” someone shouted “needs the bomb removal squad!” suggested another, there was a sound of sniggering “why don’t you try blessing it and see if it doesn’t walk off of it’s own accord!” cried a third voice. Don Camillo went pale and his knees began to tremble, slowly he bent down and with his immense hands grasped the bomb at it’s two extremities. There was a deathly silence, the crowd gazed at Don Camillo holding their breath their eyes staring ing in something akin to fear.

“Lord!” whispered Don Camillo desparately, “heave ho Don Camillo!” replied a quiet voice that came from the high altar. The bones of that great frame literally cracked, slowly and implacably Don Camillo staightened his back with the enormous mass of iron welded to his hands. He stood for a moment contemplating the crowd then set out, each step fell like a ton weight. He left the church square and step by step, slow and inexorable as fate  Don Camillo crossed the big square. The crowd followed in silence, amazed. On reaching the far end of the square, opposite the communist party headquarters he stopped, and the crowd stopped too. “Lord!” whispered Don Camillo desperately “heave ho, Don Camillo!” came a rather anxious voice from the now distant high alter of the church. Don Camillo collected himself then in one sudden movement he brought the great weight up to the level of his chest, another effort and the bomb began slowly to rise higher watched by the now frightened crowd.

Now Don Camillo’s arms were fully extended with the bomb poised above his head. For a moment he held it there, then he hurled it from him and it landed on the ground exactly in front of the door of party headquarters. Don Camillo looked at the crowd ” returned to sender,” he observed in a ringing voice. “easter is spelt with an “a” please correct and re-deliver.” The crowd made way for him and Don Camillo returned triumphantly to the presbytery.

Peppone did not re-deliver the bomb, with two helpers  he loaded it onto a cart and it was removed and thrown down a disused quarry at some distance from the village. The bomb rolled down a slope but it did not reach the bottom  because it was arrested by a tree stump and remained wedged in an upright position.

Three days later it happened that a goat found the quarry and discovered a an alluring patch of fresh grass at the roots of the tree stump. In cropping the grass it pushed the bomb which resumed it’s downward descent, and having travelled some two yards it struck a stone and exploded with terrific violence. In the village a considerable distance away the windows of thirty houses were shattered. Peppone arrived at the presbytery a few moments later gasping and found Don Camillo going upstairs. “and to think that I spent an entire evening hammering away at those fins!” he groaned “and to think that I…” moaned Don Camillo and could get no further because he was visualizing the scene in the square. ” I’m going to bed” gasped Peppone. “I was just on my way there now” gasped Don Camillo. He had the crucifix from the high altar brought to him in his bedroom ” I have to thank You on behalf of the whole village” he told the Lord and his temperature was raging “no need of that Don Camillo,” replied the Lord with a smile “no need at all.”