On August 1, 1941, the parish openly said no for the first time. The week before, the town hall gave us an order from the government: “August 1 is a national holiday. Clergymen will have the bells of their churches rung at full peal for fifteen minutes starting at noon.”
I showed the order to Amélie, our tiny concierge, who worked in our home from time to time. “It goes without saying,” I told her, “that you will do nothing of the sort, even if someone tries to make you do so.” Amélie understood completely.
On August 2, I encountered Amélie in the village. The bells of the Catholic church had rung resoundingly, while those of our church had remained silent.
“Well, Amélie, did everything go well yesterday? No incidents?”
“Fine, Mr. Trocmé. No problems.”
“No visitors?”
“Oh, yes, two women from the villas in the hills. You know, women who were all made-up.”
“And?”
“They came looking for me. ‘You’re not ringing the bells, Amélie? Today is a national holiday.’”
“‘The pastor didn’t tell me to,’ I told them.”
“Well, given your pastor, that’s no surprise. Hurry up, Amélie. It’s already noon. It’s an order from the Maréchal.”
Amélie recounted these events with a sly, little smile.
“And how did you respond?” I asked her.
“I told them, ‘The bells don’t belong to the Maréchal, they belong to God. We ring them for God; otherwise not.’”
“Bravo! And what happened?”
“They ordered me to open the door for them so that they could ring the bells since I wouldn’t do it. I defended my church! I told them I would not open the door and they had no right to enter without the pastor’s permission. I stood firmly in front of the door. Wait, I’ll show you.” Amélie stationed herself squarely in front of me as she had before the two women, her short arms courageously spread wide apart to defend her church.
“How did everything end, Amélie?” Once again, she smiled mischievously.
“Oh, as you know, yesterday at noon, it was raining buckets. I was sheltered under the beam of the heavy door. They were in the courtyard. Soon they were drenched and left.”
Nothing had happened, Amélie had told me, since the bells had not rung. Her courageous resistance was nothing to her, hardly worth mentioning. If, like pulling teeth, I hadn’t drawn it out of her, I never would have known this story, so worthy of the Huguenots of old, who were unable to recant because they didn’t know how.
