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If there were any plan
in the universe,

any pattern to a human life,

surely it could be discovered
mysteriously latent

in those lives
so suddenly cut off.

Either we live by accident

and die by accident,

or we live by plan

and die by plan.

So it seemed to you, did
it not, Brother Juniper,

that it was high time
for theology to take its place

among the exact sciences?

That what you had lacked hereto
was a laboratory?

A sheer 'act of god'?

And that the collapse
of the bridge of San Luis Rey

provided a perfect 'control'?

Here at last you thought
you could

surprise God's intentions?

No one had descended
without baggage

rather than cross by the famous
bridge of San Luis Rey...

[Brother Juniper]
Hundreds of people had travelled
over it every day

for more than a century.

St. Louis of France himself
had protected it

with a little mud church
on the farther side.

Bridge itself seemed to be among
the things that last forever...

It was...

It was unthinkable
that it should just,

break.

♪♪

The day of the funeral,

all Lima was
in a state of trance.

The bodies of the victims

had been
approximately collected but...

only approximately separated.

There was a great service.

And resolute rendering of hearts
among soul searchers.

Why did this happen
to those five?

We have all had hallucinations
of ourselves

falling into that gulf.

There but for the grace of God,

why not me?

So I resolved to inquire
into the secret lives

of those five persons

falling through the air
at that moment

and to surprise the reasons
of their taking oath.

The result, as we know, was
this torrid testament

as heretical in title as in
content, sheer treachery.

It is but a book of findings.

Nothing more sinister.

The mere facts
of these five lonely people

so tragically cut off.

So we may never know their
central passions. And you,

who claim to have inquired after

every detail
of their existences.

Isn't it possible that even you

have missed
the very spring within the well?

If parable is the fountainhead
of faith,

enlightenment is found
in each of their journeys

from guilt to grace.

If you will permit,

what I wrote down
were the particulars

of those precious portraits.

There was no thesis,

no design of mine or the devil's

to question
the fundamentals of faith.

I began my research

in the Franciscan
reading room at San Martin,

with a book that is bound
between two great wooden covers.

It was there that I came upon
the only copy

of the volumes of letters from
the Marquesa de Montemayor

to her daughter, Dona Clara.

[chattering]

I will write often,

I will write every day, my love,

and when my little daughter
has a little moment-

It must take six months
at least Marquesa,

to receive an answer to
one's letter from Spain.

[sobbing]

Is it such a sin to want
one's daughter's devotion?

To long to hear her say,

'You are the best
of all possible mothers'.

To hear her whisper,

'Forgive me.'

♪♪

There's not another ship
for a month.

[Brother Juniper]
She devoted her days entirely

to this quest for her daughter's
love.

Sending daily missives to Spain.

But she rarely received
a letter in return.

She felt less
than a little loved.

Be back, won't you?
Before the next ship sails.

[Brother Juniper]
One of life's lonely souls.

[Dona Maria]
Rest easy, my love.

I am sending his most Catholic
majesty a perfect gold chain.

He need never know
that in order to obtain it

I had to walk into a picture.

Do you remember that in the
sacristy of San Martin,

there is a portrait
by Velazquez;

of the Viceroy who founded
the monastery,

and of his wife and brat

and that his wife is wearing
a gold chain?

I have resolved
that only that chain will do.

The most beautiful girl
in Spain, you see,

wishes to present the finest
golden chain that can be found

to the most gracious king
in the world.

The Marquesa de Montemayor,
my mother,

most insisted
that you should have it.

On the occasion
of the christening

of The Infante.

It is the most perfect
gold chain.

Isn't it just, your highness?

She stepped into a Velazquez
portrait to procure it.

I must meet this Marquesa.

Be sure she is invited to court.

We might spend an evening
together in a Titian...

How could you have?

How could I?

Refer to those ridiculous
and ill-judged remarks

in my mother's letters?

I delight in them. They
have richness and style.

Style is such
a contemptible vessel...

How so, my love?

As it serves only to recommend
its bitter liquid to the world.

We cannot possibly
entertain her at court.

You must rest easy,
my love, it's done.

History may yet revere her

as one of the few great women
of Peru.

Her indiscretions could
get us both

into a great deal of trouble.

We have interceded three times

to inure her
from the inquisition.

There is no doubt now that
His Most Catholic Majesty

will make formal his invitation.

His compliments
no doubt delivered

by The Archbishop
and extended by His Excellency

the Viceroy of Peru.

His Excellency has the gout
again. I say 'again' because

the flattery of court insists

that there are times
when he is free of it.

He started out,

this being St Mark's day,
to visit the university

where twenty-two new doctors
were being brought out

he had hardly been carried
from his divan to his couch

where upon he broke
a most delicious cigar,

and while we were listening
to his long doctrinal address,

more or less in Latin,

he summoned for you,

more or less in Spanish,

all the while in the same humor
of the gout.

So...

[laughing]

Oh, she represents well
the reports of her oddities

made to the Inquisition,
does she not?

My dear Marquesa,
you have been denounced

three times by the Inquisition

and but for the influence
of your son in law in Spain

might have been burned
at the stake.

Pass me De Blasiis' 'Maps
of the New World'

'Dedicated
to The Condessa D'Abuirre;

daughter of The Marquesa
de Montemayor'-

who is the admiration
of her city

and a rising sun in the west

[laughing]

My dear Marquesa...

having sustained the career
of this cartographer,

your daughter has a reputation

as one
of the most out-standing women

of intelligence
at the Spanish court.

So how is it possible
that her mother

the daughter
of a conniving cloth merchant,

the wife of a ninny
of a ruined nobleman.

How is it possible, that from
the womb of such witlessness...

is born such wisdom?

You have my permission.

To travel to Europe,

and attend to her
at court in Spain.

The King has issued
your invitation personally...

Oh! Your Excellency!

♪♪

[laughing]

And my next project is
with the scientist Azuarius.

His treatise
on the law of hydraulics was

originally suppressed
by The Inquisition

as being too exciting,

so it will take quite some funds

to dampen the criticisms
of certain persons

of the church.

My clever little Clara.

My allowance from you is
simply not sufficient.

Am I literally to sustain all
the arts and sciences of Spain?

Some of your schemes
seem so grandiose

as to require
all the wealth of Peru

to maintain them.

It is just too torturous of
you to reproach my expenses.

I knew nothing good could come
of your being called to Spain.

It is not my fault
that nothing memorable

has been produced in this time.

Nothing memorable?

Nothing memorable?

Nothing memorable?

♪♪

[Brother Juniper]
The visit was anticipated
with resolutions

well-nourished on self-reproach.

The one to be patient,

and the other undemonstrative.

Both failed.

The knowledge that I may
never be loved in return

is just too much to bear.

We have all of us fallen victim
to the tyranny of loving more

for the sake of ourselves.

May God grant you
the gift of a daughter

who will truly loves her Mother.

Rather than dazzle her
with secret indifference.

God go with you.

♪♪

It is almost impossible
to imagine the pains Dona Maria

endured in order to seduce
her daughter's affections.

She would force herself
out into society

in order to cull its ridicules,

and insinuate herself
into the company

of the most celebrated
conversationalists.

Too often unfortunately,

among harborers
of heretical opinions,

some of us harbored fears
for her sanity.

False fears as it happened,
Archbishop.

Madness; the devil's diagnosis.

Artistic more accurately
describes her distracted nature.

Though I know
that The Archbishop

paid great personal attention

to the perceptions
of The Inquisition.

Mio Padre, il Figlio,
e Santo Spirito, Amen...

Evening prayers, forgive me.

So,

Archbishop,

to what,
at such an hour as this,

do we owe the pleasure
of your visit?

I have come, dear Mother,
in search of a companion.

I am well aware
of the low opinion

with which The Archbishop
regards this establishment

No, no. Not for myself...
No, no, my own tastes

are a little more sophisticated
than it appears that in short,

The Inquisition has recommended
that that mad woman,

The Marquesa de Montemayor,

might not be quite so mad,
they say,

were she not always so alone.

I am therefore directed to find
her a suitable companion

and as no suitor
in his right mind

would have a widow such as she,
I thought to approach you.

Although I would do
almost anything to obtain

the good offices of my superiors

in my search of funds
for this establishment,

Madre Maria, hear me out.

Here, in your convent;
in your establishment,

you have
so many bright young girls.

Good girls! Every last one of
them a blessing from above.

Quite well disciplined girls,
who might benefit

from the worldly experience
of living with,

and after all she is one of

the wealthiest women
in all Peru.

I thought she might borrow one.

I will think on it.

Think no more on it.
Consider it settled.

The Marquesa herself will
call upon you tomorrow

and I suggest that in the
interests of your work,

should you desire
your little establishment

to flourish
according to your ambitions,

that you prepare one of your
charges to take up the post.

Thank you, Pepita! I'm sure

The Archbishop has no call
to command your curtsey.

Such courtesies serve only to
demean the worth of women.

As ever, I count the cessation
of these meetings

as one of the compensations
of dying.

Good night, Abbess.

'A virgin's virtue, then,

is the most probable miracle
of Santa Rosa'

[laughing]

Pepita, accompany me.

You know that even this work is

as much an education
for your future

as instruction on begging or
how to plan contagious wards,

or any spiritual direction.

Every task has its own tedium
and reward.

I know that you value
the way we work here,

and some day, it's my wish is
that you may walk this way

and succeed me here.

You know that there is a place
for you among the Sisters,

but, before you put away
the ways of the world,

you must know what they are.

You will leave tomorrow

and take up the position at
the Palacio de Montemayor.

It will be a burden, I know,
but one that strengthens.

[birds chirping]

♪♪

Stop.

I have some errands
to do in the city.

We'll walk from here.

♪♪

[Brother Juniper]
Dona Maria knew
that she too sinned.

And that though her love for
her daughter was vast enough

to include
all the colors of love,

it was not without a shade
of tyranny.

She had loved her daughter,

not for her daughter's sake,

but for her own.

She long to free herself
from this ignoble bond,

but the passion
was too fierce to cope with.

♪♪

[Brother Juniper]
How could she rue her daughter,

when her daughter saw to it

that four thousand miles lay
between them?

All she could ask
of a god or of immortality,

was some sign
of her daughter's devotion.

Kind word,

and affection at her side,

a letter from Spain...

♪♪

Ah, my child,

what is your name?

Pepita.

My eyes are tired...

Can you read, Pepita?

Yes Ma'am.

Read this, then. Let me hear it.

My imperfect letters, you see.

'They have Moreto's
Trampa Adelante

playing at La Comedia,

where La Perichole gives

a wonderful
performance as Dona Leonor.

You should know that I have
decided to go

to La Comedia
to find out for myself.

Pepita will accompany me.

Very good, carry on...

'Scold me all you like
for a provincial ninny,

but you have
no such actresses in Spain.

And that curious man, Uncle Pio,
is by her side all the time.

Is he her father, her lover,
or her son?'

[laughing]

Am I not assured of my
daughter's admiration?

♪♪

[cheering]

[yawning]

♪♪

[laughing]

Oh!

Hold on to my arm.

Oh!

Let's go

- Is it over?
- Please come with me.

[crowd laughing]

[crowd cheering]

[cheering continues]

♪♪

I was a great success this
evening! A great success!

My most triumphant night!

Oh! if only you had been there.

I heard all about it, your
performance this evening,

and there is a little task

I would
like you to perform for me

well within the requisite
range of your charms.

His Excellency does not find
me attentive enough?

Well...

what would he fancy?

A little verse? Perhaps a song?

Take off your shoes.

A dance?

Barefoot? Like the gypsy woman?

Oh, well your throat
must be near choked

with the weight
of this necklace.

I do so love our little games.

And how can you breathe corseted
up quite so tightly?

Oh! Is that for me?

Go on! Open it,

put it on...

Put it on.

What...

What little game is this?

This is no game, my dear.

There is nothing funny
about baiting a member

of the aristocracy in public.

It is offensive, an offence, and
it must be publicly punished.

You will call upon the Marquesa
and apologize.

And you will make
the trip barefoot,

wearing this humble black smock.

But I am La Perichole...

And I am The Viceroy of Peru!

One of the first men
of the world.

As for The Marquesa whom
you so roundly humiliated

at La Comedia this evening.

Even if she is a half-wit,

she is also a member
of the aristocracy.

But I...

As is her son in law

who is also
an increasingly important

personage at court in Spain.

Neither must be vexed. Nor I!

W... what reason have I ever
given His Excellency to...

[sobbing]

And I hope for your sake

that there is no truth
in the rumor

that you are deceiving me
with a matador!

Or is it an actor?

You forgot your slippers!

Whichever!

♪♪

[bells chiming]

La Perichole desires an
audience with Dona Maria

La Marquesa de Montemayor.

Wait here please.

Tell the lady that I have
a letter

from the Viceroy himself,
presenting me to her.

Very well ma'am.

-The Lady says-
-I know what she says,

thank you.

Bid her wait outside,
and I'll see what I can do.

Very well.

La Perichole is here to see you.

The actress from La Comedia,

the lady from last night
in the 'Moreto',

she's outside.

No...

She is wearing the rags
of public humiliation.

She says,

La Perichole,
that she has a letter

of presentation
from The Viceroy himself.

[sighing]

Bring me a bowl of snow.

And a veil.

♪♪

Your Grace is not offended
by her humble servant?

How can I be offended, señora?

All I can remember is that you
gave a beautiful performance.

I felt my daughter as

though I were surprising

the conversation
of angels through a cloud.

At the end,

after the curtain call,

I was afraid Your Grace might
have been offended.

Offended?

Offended at you?

My gifted child,
you are a great artist.

My handkerchief, Pepita.

You are so kind, Señora.
I mean, Your Grace,

to overlook my childishness.

Permit me, please,
to kiss your hand.

Who am I?

An unwise and unloved old woman
to be offended at you?

I feel as though...

as though you were
my own daughter.

My daughter is very beautiful,

everyone thinks so.

Did you know
my Dona Clara, señora?

I knew The Countessa
well by sight.

Why do you remain so on
one knee, my child?

Thank you.

One day we fell out.

I forget over what.

We both said hasty things
and went off to our rooms

then each turned back
to be forgiven.

Finally,
only a door separated us and...

and there we were,

pulling it opposite ways.

But at last

she took my face

like this

in her two white hands

so...

♪♪

she had not a warm and impulsive
nature, I know that.

She, oh my child,
she has such a store of...

Intelligence,
and graciousness, and...

any misunderstandings between
us were plainly my fault.

Is it not wonderful that she
was so quick to forgive me?

Truly wonderful.

The fault was mine

and the... the look she gave me.

Is it not some mistake

that made me the mother
of so beautiful a girl?

I am difficult,

I am trying.

You and she are great women...

- Oh, y... your grace.
- No!

Don't stop me.

You are a rare lady,

and I am a foolish
and stupid old woman.

Let me kiss your feet.

Oh I am impossible.

- Oh... Y... Your Grace...
- I am impossible!

I... I am impossible.

♪♪

♪♪

[people chattering]

♪♪

I will bring it in to her.

Pepita?

Is that a package from Spain?

Let me see.

Here, quick, read it to me.

'My Dear Mother...

the weather here
has been most exhausting.'

And the fact that the orchards
and gardens are in bloom

only makes it more trying.

'I could endure flowers if
only they had no perfume'

Pass on to the end. ls there
nothing of more consequence?

'If Vicente returns
before the post leaves

he will be delighted

to finish out the leaf
and supply you

with those tiresome details

about myself
which you seem to enjoy so.

I shall not go to Grignan
in Provence

as I expected this fall,

as my child will be born
in early October.'

What child?

How could she be so casual?

Santa Maria Rosa...

Take that knot out of your hair.
Go tell the maids

they are all to take their knots
out of their hair.

And get me some red chalk!

Mother of God...

Quickly, undo the knots,
every single one.

♪♪

Will all be well,

sweet Mother Maria Santa
Rosa of Cluxambuqua,

will all be well?

And while I am making
my pilgrimage,

you must be sure
not one foot falls on

any of the red chalked steps.

♪♪

[Brother Juniper]
At last, the supreme right
of Peruvian households,

looking forward
to this happy event.

She set out on a pilgrimage

to the shrine
of Santa Maria de Cluxambuqua,

to pray for a safe delivery.

And further the Marquesa
was carried,

high up into the Andean hills,
on her pilgrimage.

Reciting all the glorious
and sorrowful mysteries

of her rosary along the route.

Pepita devoutly devoted to
her prayer for purpose.

Following behind, on foot.

♪♪

[birds chirping]

♪♪

♪♪

'Dear Abbess...

♪♪

[people begging]

Mother in God

I want only to do what you want,

but I am so alone here

and not talking to anyone.

So if you could let me come back
to the convent,

just for a few days maybe,

and if you could find a minute

to write me a letter
or something,

I could keep...

though I know how busy you are'

Read me what you have written.

Is it a letter?

I must go down stairs and
get you some new charcoal.

It can wait.

I would so like to hear
how you write.

'Dear Abbess,

though I never see you,
I think of you all the time,

and I remember what you told me

about my future
with the sisters.

Sometimes I do not know
if you have forgotten.

For I would like to leave
this world forever,

and take my place at the foot
of the cross of Christ

and follow his way.'

My dear Pepita...

It is very beautiful,

believe me, I know.

It isn't.

It isn't brave.

♪♪

[Brother Juniper]
And at last she wrote what she
called her first letter.

Her first stumbling misspelled
letter, in courage.

It is the famous letter,
'Fifty-six'.

Known to the encyclopedists
as her First Corinthians,

because of its immortal
paragraph about love;

'Of the thousands of persons we
meet in a lifetime, my child, '

And so on...

♪♪

Two days later
they started back to Lima,

and upon crossing The Bridge
of San Luis Rey,

the accident which we know,
befell them.

This, the last letters,
is at the very least, immortal,

though I know now
that her daughter

barely glanced at any of them,

in spite of their appeals
for her attention,

everyone was returned.

And that it is to Pepita,

that we owe their preservation.

Such anecdotes belie the notion

of a guided world, and encourage
those who derive some joy

from the conviction that much
is wrong with our world.

Precisely why I persisted
with the project.

To explain why such stories hold
no difficulties for faith.

And this was not the first time

that Brother Juniper had
resorted to experiment.

Often on the long trips
he had to make

between his far flung parishes
he would

fall to dreaming of ways
to justify the existence of God.

For instance,

a complete record of the Prayers
for Rain and their results.

Splendid rituals,

but not a cloud
on the horizon reported.

For further tabulated proof
of his convictions;

when a pestilence visited
his dear village of Puerto

and carried off a large number
of peasants,

he secretly drew up a diagram

of the characteristics
of fifteen survivors.

Here is a fragment

of that ambitious chart.

So Brother Juniper, when you
add up the total for victims

and compare it
with the totals for survivors,

You discover that... that what?

That the dead are five times
more or less worth saving?

Yes.

But the pestilence seemed
to have been directed

against all the really valuable
people in the village of Puerto,

thus totally confounding
your theory.

What do you extrapolate
from this finding?

Only that the discrepancy
between faith

and the facts is greater than
is generally assumed,

though there are some who
say we shall never know.

And that like flies to wanton
boys, so are we to the gods.

They kill us for their sport.

There are some
who say on the contrary,

that the very sparrows
do no lose a feather

that has not been brushed
away by the finger of God.

[laughing]

As well as the stories of
Cid and Judas Maccabeus,

and the thirty-six misfortunes
of Harlequin,

have I not also related to you
most of the lives of the Saints

and of Jesus Christ our Lord?

The Archbishop has found
positions for you both

both about the town,
attached to various sacristies,

that you may better consider
your calling.

It is no fault of yours,

rather the nuisance
that is nature.

Makes it impossibly distracting

that you remain resident here
at the convent.

♪♪

[Brother Juniper]
From the years when they
first learned to speak,

they had invented a secret
language for themselves.

This language was a symbol

of their profound identity
with one another.

You may or may not know that
I am something of a philologist.

I dabble in dialects,

and I am storing up notebooks

of quaint vowel
and consonant changes

from Latin into Spanish and from
Spanish into Indian-Spanish

against an amusing old age.
So when I heard about your

secret language...

Which one of you is Manuel
and which Esteban?

Well, let us start
by extracting verbs.

How would you...

How would you say, say,

'I saw'?

Do you have a preference
for Latin, or Spanish?

Do you either of you comprehend
either language?

Either spoken or written?

Do you write?

Here,

write something here.

[church bells ringing]

Entirely unsuited
to clerical work

they neither read nor write.

They do write, very well.

They've copied endless parts

of the motets of Morales and
Vitoria for the choirmasters.

Then let them become scribes.

But not apostles.

♪♪

Are you the brothers
Manuel & Esteban?

From The Convento?

You are required at La Comedia

to transcribe some parts
for La Perichole.

[door knocking]
Please come in.

Which are you?
Manuel or Esteban?

It doesn't matter.

What do you mean
by that look, Manuel?

Are you my friend?

Oh,

so you are Manuel.

Come sit down.

Can I trust you?

If I ask you
to write one letter for me,

do you promise never
to mention to a human being

even that you wrote it?

Not even to Esteban.

Well?

Good.

Now,

'Have you gone mad?

Do not ever think of dedicating
another bull to me again.

It has caused a frightful war.

Heaven protect you my colt,

until tonight, the same place.

I may be a little late,

for the fox is wide awake.'

That will be all.

There's your money.

I shall want you to write me

some more letters
from time to time.

Usually Uncle Pio
writes my letters, but...

I do not wish him
to know about these.

Go with God.

[sighing]

♪♪

♪♪

Manuel...

[laughing]

[cheering]

[gasping]

[horse snorting]

[Brother Juniper]
Love is an inadequate word
to describe the tacit,

almost ashamed one-ness

of these brothers.

Side by side, there existed
a need of one another,

so terrible
that it produced miracles

as naturally as lightning.

Separation was a devastation

as eerie as the calm that
follows a ferocious storm.

[clapping]

Which of you waited
for La Perichole

by the stage door tonight?

Follow me.

Manuel, is it you?

Yes, you must do another letter
for me at once. Write this,

'I, La Perichole,
am not accustomed

to wait at a rendezvous.'

Have you finished that?

'Have you gone completely mad?

Don't ever think of dedicating
another bull to me again.

You are only a cholo,

and there are better
matadors than you, even in Lima.

I am half Castillian

and there are no better
actresses in the world.

You shall not have
the opportunity, '

Have you got that?

'To keep me waiting again,
cholo.

And I shall laugh the last,

for even an actress

does not grow
old as fast as a bull-fighter.'

[sobbing]

[Brother Juniper]
This was the first time
that his will and imagination

had been overwhelmed.

He had lost that privilege
of simple nature.

The dissociation
of love, and pleasure.

Pleasure was being complicated

by love.

♪♪

La Perichole wants Manuel.

Urgently.

Where is he?

'Manuel respectfully informs
the actress, regretfully,

that he can write
no more letters for her.'

How dare he?

[singing]
La la la la la la

Get rid of them.

Who?

Those damn
half-wit orphan freaks

with their insane sniveling!

How dare he deign to disrespect
me in this way, it's disgusting!

Get them out of my house,

out of this theatre

and they're never to darken
this door again. Out! Out!

You hear me!

[crashing]

[people chattering]

Will these do?

We will be unloading until dawn.

Double-quick,

double time.

[birds tweeting]

♪♪

[groaning]

[screaming]

[sighing]

[shouting]

[shouting]

Every hour,

on the hour,

until the pain subsides.

Do your work well,
and the miracle of science

will work wonders on this leg.

Don't forget prescriptive order

of each of the ointments
and draughts.

♪♪

[horse neighing]

Manuel!

♪♪

[groaning]

[exhaling]

'In nomine Patris et fillii
et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.'

[church bells chiming]

My friend...

God give me grace.

Let me help you,

at least eat a little...

if you won't let me help you,

will you tell me which you are?

Manuel?

God has taken him
into his hands.

I, too Esteban...

I too have lost.

For The Captain Alvarado,

he is the diamond of sincerity.

You will never find anyone
who has travelled so far,

and I hear he is starting
on a trip just now.

I will deliver it directly.

Go with God, Don Pio.

Go with God.

♪♪

Bring me to him.

[knocking]

[groaning]

[groaning]

We do what we can.

We push on, Esteban,

as best we can.

It isn't for long,

as time keeps going by.

You'll be surprised at how
quickly time passes.

♪♪

I am looking
for some strong fellows

to go on my next trip with me.

Hard work, good wages,

a long way from Peru?

Well?

I said, do you want to go
on my next trip with me?

That's settled then.

You may not be used to the cold,

I have a mind to sail
between the islands of ice.

You see son,

I had a daughter,

and many times
she waved me farewell

and welcome.

There is no way of knowing
if she was more intelligent

or more beautiful than the
thousands of other girls about,

but she was mine

and God took her from me.

Just when I wasn't looking.

It sometimes seems to me now

that she is away
on a long voyage,

and that I shall see her
again somewhere.

So I wander
about the hemispheres

to pass the time
between now and old age.

He was the most awkward
speaker in the world,

apart from the lore of the sea,

though there are times

when it requires a high courage
to speak the banal...

And so they started out

for the far flung ports
on the Atlantic coast

by way of the Inca Trail,

having trekked the Andes

for goods
to trade on their travels.

♪♪

♪♪

[Brother Juniper]
When they reached The Bridge
of San Luis Rey,

the Captain
descended to the stream

in order to supervise

the passage of some merchandise.

But Esteban

crossed by the bridge.

I will let you down to rest
when we've crossed the bridge.

Some sorrowful secret escaped me

in the piecing together
of their lives.

In compiling my book, I was
pursued by the fear that

in omitting the slightest detail
I might lose some guiding hint.

So you put down
every insignificant detail

on the notion perhaps
that to the reader,

these countless facts would
suddenly start to move,

to assemble,
and betray their secret.

I did not intend to betray
the secrets of the dead,

for those are surely forgiven.

Even if their lives
were forsaken.

The apostles, if you recall,
in The New Testaments,

rightly reserved such an
accolade for Christ our Lord,

He alone was forsaken,

crucified on the cross
for the forgiveness of sins.

I make no mention of martyrdom.

Merely marking
the everyday miracle that is

present in so many unexpected
acts of selflessness.

I first found mention
of Uncle Pio, and later,

Don Jaime mysteriously
among The Marquesa's letters,

her characterization
of Uncle Pio

did not contradict the store of

unsavory testimonies that
he had acquired elsewhere.

[The Marquesa]
'Our aged harlequin Uncle Pio.

If only he would write
my letters for me,

then generations would rise
up and call me witty.

Isn't it a pity he is so...'

'...moth-eaten
with diseased bad company

that I shall have to discard him
like a soiled pack of cards

and leave him
to his own underworld.'

Pepita,

see how like an ant he is?

[Man] Señor Pio.

[Woman] Señor Pio.

Send word to Uncle Pio to drop
in and see me at sunset.

My daughter must know
of everything and know it first.

♪♪

La Marquesa de Montemayor
requests you

call upon her at the palacio.

They say you could
have been connected

to the court in Spain,

procuring provisions
for the army

and inciting insurrections
on instruction.

Your discretion
being so profound

that the French party used you

even when they knew that the
Spanish party used you too,

they say you were
a circus trainer,

an antique dealer,
a trader in Italian silks

or a merchant in many a manner
of dissipations and pleasures,

but that you have a reluctance
to own a single thing!

You've sold bales of deep-red
porcelain from Persia,

chests of Chinese artefacts,

even Ming vases
to collectors of virtu

and although you started
a smart trade in pills

you purchased from the sovereign
remedies of the Incas,

as soon
as any endeavor threatens

to prosper enormous gains,

you abandon it!

Even when making investigations
for the Inquisition,

and inspiriting
half-hearted rebellions

on behalf of governments

so that they
can presently arrive

and wholeheartedly crush them,

an anomaly The Viceroy finds
most amusing,

sir, please keep up.

As La Pericholes' maid
or errand boy they say you

were once her singing master.

Some say her coiffeur,

her masseur, others insist
that you are her father.

His Excellency most needs
a little reassurance, however,

that you are not,
absolutely not,

her lover.

I am surrounded
by oceans of boredom!

A boredom Uncle Pio,
so pervasive, it is like a pain.

I wake up with it,
I spend the day with it,

and it sits
by my bedside all night

watching me sleep.

There are no aims
in my existence

Are there any aims in yours?

My life has three aims,
Your Excellency.

The first is a need
for independence,

out of a desire to be varied.

The second

is to always
be near beautiful women.

I worship them all

[laughing]

They torment me!

And are singularly comforted
here at court, I hear

by the discretion
of your dogged devotions.

I can come and go in their rooms

and foolish friend
that I am, I never

expect to be loved in return.

For that, I carry my money to
the obscurer parts of the city.

And thirdly,

I need to be near those who love
the literature of Spain.

You cannot be careless to the
lack of contempt His Grace

carries for the verses
of Cervantes and Calderon.

There are affairs on which
I would judge it tactful

to engage your services,
you see,

and although I make little use
of my position

for the perpetual pursuit of
power or frivolous fantasy,

and I delight little
in dalliance,

there still is
a little Castillian salt in me

for the verses
of Calderon and such

and for the fashionably rich and
reverential rendition of them

by the performance
of them by La Perichole.

My discovery of La Perichole

combines all three of the
great aims of my life.

Perhaps you could procure
her presence

for a little private eh...

une petite performance
some evening?

After La Comedia?

'For the amusement of the
gracious La Perichole.

Her ladyship is commanded

to sup with His Excellency
after The Calderon at midnight.'

Oh, my...

[gasping]

Her ladyship no less.

[people chattering]

♪♪

[crowd cheering]

[Spanish music playing]

[sighing]

♪♪

♪♪

[insects chirping]

[laughing]

What passion!

Do you really think so?

You know there
is such a paucity of

passionate women's roles in
the classic Spanish theatre,

all gentlemen heroes torn

between the conflicting claims
of honor,

and the cross.

None of the rich studies in wit,
and charm

passion and hysteria of
The French and the uh...

and the venetian theatres.

Uncle Pio?

As a result of one

of those quarrels that arise
so naturally in brothels,

his life became too complicated,
and he moved to Peru

where he found me
singing ballads

in cafes at the age of twelve.

No...

He took me in,

wrote songs for me,

taught me how to listen
to the quality of my tone.

He even bought me a new dress

but never asks
for anything in return

so nothing in the world
would surprise me now.

♪♪

You shall have your Moreto,

Dona Leonor.

And my personal patronage
with it.

He is a delightful man,

Don Andres de Ribera.

You mean His Excellency?

Yes,

or at least the remnant of one

being broken a bit by the table

Which, no doubt,
he gained his gut.

He also collects coins
with which he gains debts,

and wines
which gave him the gout,

but books made him myopic

and actresses...

Give him what?

Atendency to convulsions...

Three parts each for the
principle players immediately.

♪♪

Put La Perichole's name
above the title!

Vulgar love affairs of the
theatrical warehouse

can never prepare a performer

for the playing
of such a legendary lover.

The mastery
of passionate entrancement

such as this scene requires,

demands all the colors of
love one could experience.

Once experienced, the actress
can much more truthfully

encompass the required effects
into her performance

alluding to the new and
rich wisdom in her heart

♪♪

recollecting some amorous
moment from memory.

♪♪

[clapping]

[ Crowd cheering]

In the name of passion

I dedicate this bull

to the actress

La Perichole.

[clapping]

[crowd cheering]

[horse neighing]

[crowd cheering]

Never!

Never have I ever been so...

so humiliated!

May I proffer to His Excellency

La Perichole's most
distinguished good wishes

and commend him for his
patronage of our play

the marvel that is The Moreto.

You may return such wishes
as La Perichole extends

and add to them
my own humble indignation

that a matador might commend
a bull to her

in the name of passion while
I...

I...

am simply lost for words.

Pray you silence the siren
on that Matador's horns.

Come with me, sir.

His Excellency
doesn't tolerate rivals

you understand me.

A La Comedia.

Thank you.

♪♪

A letter from Spain?

No, Ma'am, an invitation,
I believe to La Comedia.

Uncle Pio...

[Spanish music playing]

Dona Maria La Marquesa
de Montemayor,

her daughter is a Condessa
and connected to court.

[crowd cheering]

♪♪

[sneezing loudly]

♪♪

Bravo!

[yawning]

She's drunk or demented
or something!

How dare she mock me in such
a manner? How dare she!

Now, now, my crescent moon.

Last call! One minute till
final curtain!

Camilla!

- One minute call!
- Where is the Viceroy?

The Royal Box is distinguished
only by his absence.

[crowd cheering]

[crowd cheering]

Jump in.

[door opening]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

This play is closed!
By order of The Viceroy!

[sighing]

And what of the Moreto
I brought back from Spain?

Wretched business.

I warrant that that woman will
be the ruin of us all.

La Perichole
is wretchedly unhappy...

Actresses, what now?

In the wake
of all her humiliations

her humor has left her.

We will need to produce
a pair of parents,

perhaps even a cousin or two
if they can be procured.

And pray, what possible business
is this of mine?

Or of yours, for that matter?

Have you not indiscretions
enough for your fees?

You see, she is about to bear
The Viceroy a brat...

and he knows nothing of it.

He will never marry me,
in spite of my beauty!

Why as an actress
is it inconceivable?

Am I incomparable to a lady?

The Archbishop,

following my intercessions
is sure to intervene.

They are all those ladies
who marry for position

parasitic in their passion
for privilege.

Well I too shall acquire
a footman

and go to church
at a fashionable hour.

So you would walk side by
side with women who have

nothing to regret but a furtive
glance at a page of Descartes

or an occasional outburst
of temper...

It is just too horrible
a life...

but I will rise
above this cesspit

of vice and calumny...

and claim my place
among the virtuous

in the name
of The Viceroy's son.

[birds tweeting]

I can find nothing nowadays,
more nourishing to the soul

than the notional anecdote;

that the poor never having known
happiness

are insensible to misfortune.

Look at their houses
and their clothes.

Only the widely cultivated
could be said to know

that they are unhappy.

There is a fashionable watering
place in the hills

not far from...

from Santa Maria de Cluxambuqua.

It is reached
by The Bridge of San Luis Rey.

I will give her

La Perichole

a little vichy villa

in that vicinity...

And she can sip
the hateful waters

during her confinement

until her health returns.

♪♪

Excuse me.

Come, my dear...

My dear...

[ethnic music playing]

We won't be raising
the curtain tonight.

Inform the company.

We can't compete
with the carnival

and neither can I countenance

that we play to yet another
empty house.

[birds tweeting]

You have a visitor My Lady,
Uncle Pio.

Have him wait
in the conservatory.

Your indiscretion
is trying my patience.

I know you would prefer not
to meet with me in public

but this hardly precludes our
meeting in private, Camilla.

My name is Dona Michaela now.

Perhaps I could spend my hour
in the nursery with Don Jaime.

♪♪

You are mad, Uncle Pio,

if you think you can make me
come back to the stage.

I look back
on those days with horror.

The daily payment of insults
in that filthy place...

you are wasting your time.

Dear Camilla, just suffer
me for a few moments.

I would be no good
to you now, Uncle Pio.

You never even come to see the
theatre, and they all notice it.

The audiences
are falling away now too.

They only put on the old
masters twice a week.

You are foolish to try to keep
alive the old masters.

Wonderful, Camilla,

I was not just to you
when you were on the stage,

you were some foolish pride
in me,

you have always been
a great artist.

If you come to see that you are
not happy among these people,

you might think
about going to Madrid.

You could have
such a triumph there.

No, we shall never see Spain.

All the world is alike,
Madrid or Lima.

Oh, if we could only go
to an island

where the people would know you
for yourself

and love you...

You are fifty years old

and you are still dreaming
of such islands.

There is no such thing
as that kind of island

or that kind of love, Uncle Pio,

it's only in the theatre
that you find such things.

♪♪

I must go in...

♪♪

[Brother Juniper]
Now he discovered that secret,

from which one never
quite recovers.

That even
in the most perfect love,

one person loves less profoundly
than the other.

There may never be two people

that love one another,
equally well.

Perhaps...

perhaps it was
the devil's own work?

Perhaps this too,
was the devil's own work

where you Brother Juniper, were
his willing accomplice in mind,

body and spirit.

This is why we are here,
is it not?

To protect the fundamental
theological tenets of faith

without question,
this book of yours is

undoubtedly the work
of the devil, evil!

A feeble Franciscan composition
exalting the incidence

of coincidental facts
over faith.

Belief, in an 'Act of God',

subversive at best
superstitious at the very least

it invites an Inquisition
at the highest level

every copy, every copy
to be burned at dusk.

Quick!

Uncle Pio!

Quick!

His Excellency, Don Andres needs
to speak with you urgently.

What in the devil about?

The epidemic, you old fool.

- What epidemic?
- What else is all Lima
discussing?

Hundreds have been struck
down with the pox

and the cup of the envious
fairly overfloweth of the rumor

that La Perichole has it too.

[shouting]

And all gifts are to be
returned.

Only my maid will move
with me to the farmhouse,

thank you.

Goodbye.

Every gift I ever gave to her

returned without comment.

I must go to her at once.

Oh I have tried...

Has anyone seen her?

She will see no one at all,
but her maid,

and will neither confirm
nor deny the rumors

that she has been marked.

His Excellency has made
repeated attempts

to contact her to no avail

save a large sum of money,

and a letter compounded

by all that is possible
in bitterness and pride

and now
this angry little dispatch...

[crying]

[sobbing]

[birds tweeting]

Up you come,

that's it...

♪♪

She will not allow you in here.

I shall stay out here,
most happily then.

It is just her pride
that I might pity her.

[sobbing]

Tell her I respect
her discomfort at this time

and that I love her all the more
for her humility of spirit.

I might make myself useful
with the child

or take a hand
with the management

of the yard here?

♪♪

♪♪

Go away! Get away from
me get out of my house!

I never want to see you again!

I gave you orders! I told you
he was forbidden to come in!

Get out!

- Camilla!
- Go!

Oh mother of God, when will
I ever be free of you?

Just listen to me...

just listen to me, just... just
this once I beg of you!

What is it then?

Camilla...

let me take Don Jaime

for a year or two,
and we'd be in Lima.

Let me be his teacher.

Here, he is among servants,
he will never learn anything.

No.

Camilla,
what will become of him?

- No.
- I shall love him and-

cherish him and take every care
with him.

Did I not teach you well?

Did I ever harm you?

You are too cruel
to keep urging gratitude!

Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude,
yes! I was very grateful, good!

But now that I am no longer
the same woman,

there remains nothing left
to be grateful for.

[sighing]

If Jaime wishes to go
with you, very well.

You will find him at the inn,
about noon.

Stop.

♪♪

♪♪

Uncle Pio.

[woman coughing]

[baby crying]

I will let you down to rest when
we've crossed the bridge...

[baby crying]

[woman screaming]

In love it seems,

their very mistakes
did not seem able to last long.

That was its grace.

And in compiling your book
about the people who fell

from The Bridge of San Luis
Rey, what did you divine?

In my final calculations,

I concluded with a passage
that tried to describe

why God had settled upon that
person and upon that day

for his demonstration of wisdom.

I have read your conclusions,

you seem unable to determine

that there
were any characteristics common

consistently to all
of the victims.

I suppose the art of biography

is more difficult than is
generally supposed.

Those who knew most,
Captain Alvarado, for instance,

ventured least.

Perhaps if I could have
interviewed La Perichole...

she at least was in some way

associated
with all of the victims.

And like many beautiful women
who have been brought up amid

continual tributes
to their beauty

she assumed,

without cynicism,

that it was the basis
of other's attachment to her.

And what?
That any future attentions

must spring from a pity

so full of condescension as to
be sodden with the satisfaction

at such a complete reversal
of fortune? Please...

you patronize His Excellency,
and the court.

Allow him his thesis...

I am curious as to how he
can conclude the matter.

It wasn't until she had endured
significant servitude

that she came to understand some
sense of the loyalty of true

and devoted love.

[Brother Juniper]
Mocked, she believed, from
afar...

she wandered the hills
in her memory,

searching for the souls
of her loved ones.

She was convinced
that for a second time,

the skies had commented.

First, there was the smallpox.

And then the fall
from the bridge.

These were not accidents.

[sobbing]

♪♪

On Friday at noon, the finest
bridge in all Peru broke,

and precipitated five travelers
into the gulf below.

We have all of us,

since we have heard
of the accident,

made the sign of the cross,

and a mental calculation

as to how
recently we had crossed by it;

and how soon we had intended
crossing by it again.

We live in a country...
in a place

where catastrophes

which are shockingly
called 'Acts Of God'

are more than usually frequent.

Tidal waves have washed away
entire cities,

earthquakes arrive
every week in some parts,

and diseases are forever

flitting in and out
of the provinces.

Old age carries away some
of our most admirable citizens,

and towers fall on good men
and women all the time.

But we have all of us been
deeply impressed

and especially touched

by the rent
in The Bridge of San Luis Rey.

♪♪

[Brother Juniper]
For six years while I worked

and pieced together the lives
of those who had died...

Mother?

She showed herself out
from the world

at the Convento Santa Maria
Rosa De Las Rosas.

Do I know you, my daughter?

I was the actress,
La Perichole...

Oh, I have wanted to know
you for a long while.

You too, I know,
lost in the fall of the bridge.

I lost two would-been children
in here, at the orphanage,

but you, I know you lost
a real child of your own.

Yes, Mother...

And a great friend.

Yes, Mother...

Come into the garden,
you can rest here.

All of us have failed,

come...

[trumpets buzzing]

The Abbess of The Convento
Maria Rosa de las Rosas

Sister Camilla, La Perichole,
will take the stand.

Is she La Perichole?

She is.

[people whispering]

Were you the actress, Camilla
Michaela Villegas

known as La Perichole?

Kindly identify yourself
remove your veil.

I said kindly remove your veil.

Abbess...

She has, Your Excellency,

a God-given
fear of appearing in public.

An actress... A God-given fear
of appearing in public?

[laughing]

Your Excellency,
surely we cannot

accept evidence from...

from an actress masquerading
in the habit of holy orders

Your Excellency, I can vouch
absolutely for her

Talent? Or reliability?

The more able the actress,
the less worthy the witness.

[laughing]

♪♪

Your Excellency, can you
confirm that this is...

forgive my calling on you, but
do you recognize La Perichole?

No.

No.

No.

I cannot...

say that I recognize her.

What? Sir...

I do not know this woman!

For all her passion,

La Perichole
had no love in her eyes.

There are none so blind,
Your Excellency,

who will not see...

[people talking]

Silence!

Silence!

Archbishop, pray continue
in your summing up

and be brief, please,

before we all of us
suffocate in this hellish heat.

You, Your Excellency,
and I can see clearly

now how this plan
of Brother Juniper's

was intended to sow the seeds of
a flower of perfect skepticism.

It is entirely evident,

and as I have never been obliged
to go so long without smoking...

As a plan,

it resembles the efforts
of those presumptuous souls

who want to walk
on the pavements of heaven

and who built the Tower
of Babel to get there.

For our Franciscan, our doubting
Thomas, faith was not enough.

He wanted tabulated proof
of the hand of God.

Historical proof,
mathematical proof,

doubt springs eternal.

Even in countries
where The Inquisition can

read the very thoughts
in our eyes.

Spare us your thesis
on the merits

of The Inquisition,
if you would.

You are here to implement our
statutes, not to praise them.

I shall spare you Brother
Juniper's generalizations.

Save to say that he thought
he saw in the same accident,

the wicked visited
by destruction,

and the good called
early to heaven.

He saw pride and wealth

confounded as an object lesson
to the world,

while at the same time,

poverty and humility

were crowned the
edification of the forlorn.

But Brother Juniper was not
satisfied with his reasons...

the book, being done,

must be judged
and pronounced heretical

and with that,

undone!

I submit, Your Excellency,
to the inquisition,

that Brother Juniper here
has been put to use

to do the devil's work,

that this testament, this
tome of his is heretical

and should be pronounced
for the evil that it does

as the work of the devil!

Therefore any copies
still in existence,

should be burned at dawn

along with their author.

Your submission is accepted.

Prepare the stake for tomorrow
morning at daybreak.

♪♪

[Brother Juniper]
Is this God's desire?

The pattern that escaped me

in the lives of those five
alludes me

even now...

♪♪

[fire crackling]

Will you do me a kindness,
my daughter?

Will you let me
show you my work?

I can't help thinking

that something could be done
for the deaf and dumb,

a special language perhaps.

My husband, El Conde D'Abuirre,

it is he who has sent

and charged
me to commend to you,

all that has been taken
and confiscated

from the Franciscans
in the name of The Inquisition.

He does not wish to remove
this wealth back to Spain,

but would rather... would prefer
that you should have it.

To enhance your work here.

If you will excuse me,
I will go into this room

of the very sick and dying,

and say a few words for them to
think on when they cannot sleep.

Even now,
almost no one remembers

Esteban and Pepita but myself.

Sister Camilla, La Perichole,
remembers her Uncle Pio

and her son,

and this woman, her Mother...

but soon we shall all die,

and all memory of those five
will have left the earth

and we ourselves shall be loved
for a while, and then
forgotten...

but that love
will have been enough,

all those impulses of love

return to the love
that made them.

Even memory
is not necessary for love.

There is a land of the living

and a land of the dead,

and the bridge is love.

The only survivor,

the only meaning...

♪♪

♪♪