All language subtitles for I, the Worst of All_Yo la Peor de Todas 1990 Eng

I, THE WORST OF ALL

Mexico, 17th century

It's a fortunate coincidence.

I assume command...

and you, at the same time,
the Archbishopric of Mexico,

which is no lesser power,

although more spiritual
than earthly,

yet in Spain,

God's and Caesar's domains
have been rather entwined.

Confused, perhaps.

That's the right word.

There's been too many
misunderstandings in the past,

an absurdity in a country
that boasts about being...

the paladin of Catholicism.

It is.

Europe is infested
by disbelief...

and God,
in His unfathomable ways...

decided to save Spain.

Our responsibility,

both mine and yours, Sire,

is to save this New Spain,

this innocent people
that Heaven sent us.

Let's govern together, then.
And in harmony.

Such is God's will.

And Caesar's, as well.

As long as the drought lasts,

the collection of rural rents
will not return to normal.

The farmers become deaf
to our claims.

Plus, the drop in sales of our
preserved food and needlework...

In one word, sisters,

the Community must work harder.

One more subject.
A pleasant one.

A letter from the Palace.

The Viceroy informs that
our convent will be...

the first one for him
to visit.

He says what?

The Viceroy.
The new Viceroy.

He is a Medinaceli
and she's a Manrique de Lara!

A descendant of the poet.

Spanish grandees!

And he adds...

"We ardently wish to meet
Sister Juana In�s de la Cruz,

"celebrated in Spain as
'The Tenth Muse'."

Not only will they be able
to meet Sister Juana,

- but they'll see her new play.
- What play?

Why isn't she here and tell us
all about it?

Because she's rehearsing
the last act.

No-one is to miss the Chapter.

Is she not the accountant
after all?

She's the pride and joy
of this Convent!

Sisters. Sisters!

What's with Sister Juana
that upsets our minds...

up to the point of making us forget
our monastic discretion?

And you, Leonor of mine,
you give me your hand!

Oh, Celia, say some
sweet words...

and see if there's
a hand at hand.

I left it in the kitchen!
Is one finger enough?

Bad finger it is, for
it's the only one I find.

And here, noble...

And here, noble Lords.
And here, discreet Assembly...

"House of Desires" reaches the end.
Please, forgive its flaws.

Bravo, Juanita!

Bravo, Sister Juana!

Bravo, Sister Juana!

Bravo!

Bravo!

How delightful! So fresh!

We don't have plays like this
in Madrid anymore.

Mar�a Luisa, how's that poem that
leaves us men at the rock bottom?

Foolish men...

- who accuse...
- Yes, I remember.

Foolish men who accuse
women without reason

Not seeing that you are
the cause of... of...

of what you blame her for.

If you so eagerly persist
on provoking her contempt

Why you expect virtues from them
when you incite them to Evil?

Not only talented,
but beautiful, as well!

I was so keen on meeting you.

There must be few cultured women
in Mexico.

Or elsewhere, Madam.

There aren't many
in Spain, either,

according to Cervantes and
Friar Luis de Le�n.

Saint Teresa was called insane.

And maybe she was, for
daring to write and to think.

A Spanish woman.

Beautiful,

passionate, ironical...

Shall we adopt her, Mar�a Luisa?

This is not a convent.

It's a brothel.

The fact that I...

temporarily excused you from
your vow of enclosure...

and let you come
to the Archbishopric,

doesn't allow you to break
the rules. Lower your veils!

Forgive us, Excellency.

My first decision,
as the new Archbishop...

of Mexico City...

is to fight against the laxity
of habits in the convents.

As I understand,

change of administration will take place
in your convent in two months.

In two months and five days,
Excellency.

I hear that you're ready
to fight against...

the outrageous worldly debauchery
that took over this convent.

Are you influential among the nuns?

Many of us think that
the Abbess is much too weak.

Others could be enticed...

or lured into voting for
a stricter Abbess.

Such as you, Sister Ursula?

Why not?

All the more so, if I could
promise them some benefits.

You mean, like, the protection of
the Archbishopric concerning...

goods supply and financial stability?

For example.

You can promise that
in my name.

Thank you, Excellency.

But with the utmost discretion.

Secrecy is the key to
the Church's influence.

Count on me, Excellency.

Right.

Now, I need a list
of all the nuns.

Three lists.

The pious,

the faint-hearted and
the stray ones.

None must be discarded.

They all can be useful to us.

On which of those lists
is Sister Juana In�s de la Cruz?

No, give that to my secretary.

Juana. Come.

Wait, wait.

Follow me a few steps behind.

What's all this mystery about?

Just follow me.

Thanks.

Well, what is it?

My child, you are aware of...

His Excellency the Archbishop's
animosity towards our House.

And towards me, too.

But he won't dare attack you.

The Viceroy is too powerful
a protector.

"Protectors". The Vicereine too.

My mandate is coming to an end.

Elections are drawing near.

Sister Ursula has launched
a campaign of intrigues,

of alliances...

Of promises, of bribery.

We think there is but
one way to defeat her.

That you accept to be
our new Abbess.

I don't whip my flesh,

nor do penance to earn
my place in Heaven.

I'm not very pious, either.

But here I am,

offering God without shame
what I do best: my poetry.

The joy of this convent.

Right now, I'm writing
a long poem.

It's called "First Dream".

It's just a speculation about
the adventure of knowledge.

Don't ask me to give it up.
I just couldn't.

I wouldn't know how.

Don't ask me that.

Just don't.

Couldn't we get rid of
these bars?

No, Madam. I'm sorry.

I no longer see them.

It's 13 years they've been
cutting me off from the world.

But our Mother the Abbess
spoils me so much.

She allows me to study.
And to write.

I just teach singing
to the pupils...

and do the accounting.

And don't you ever feel
overwhelmed?

I have no time for that, Madam.

No.

Because I'm allowed
to have books,

the calm silence of my books.

You learned to read
all by yourself at 3, I heard.

Yes.

I was a curious child. Solitary.

So was I.

Oh, really?

We lead similar lives,
Sister Juana.

I don't think so, Madam.

Yes, really.

You wear a veil.
I wear a crown.

You're not allowed
to leave the convent.

Do you think I can escape
from the Palace?

You abide by the Rule,
and I, by the Protocol.

At 20 you entered the convent.

I've been told this, too.

At that same age,
I was married off.

I wonder...

which of our worlds
is the most stifling.

Madam,

may I answer that with
four of my humble lines?

Yes.

There is...

no prison or enclosure
to restrain the soul.

The only prison for the soul
is the one created by itself.

I would like us
to become friends.

Yes?

Is this empty chair
somekind of symbol, Sire?

It's his latest obsession.

The Archbishop now refuses
to sit at a table with a woman.

And that includes my wife.

Yesterday, he expelled two friends
of mine from the Cathedral...

due to, as he would put it,
lack of decorum.

Coming from him,
one may think...

that he intends to expel women
from the world. Or kidnap them.

Meaning Sister Juana?

He hasn't attacked her, yet,
thank God.

You mean, because the Viceroy
and I protect her?

I don't think that will stop him.

The Spanish Church has poor manners.

But Sister Juana is very smart.

She keeps away from conflict
with her superiors.

She reads Lucretious and
Erasmus, but...

she's careful enough as
not to quote them.

She knows how not to mix
Theology and Philosophy.

So did Giordano Bruno.

- And yet...
- What happened to him?

The Inquisition burned him.

I prefer not to harbor
too much hope, Doctor.

I've lost three children.

Well, Madam, you will bear
this one. You'll see.

There are some herbs around
the volcanoes...

that work miracles.

The Vicereine will have this child.

You are surrounded
by vanities, Juana,

and you don't seem
to realize it.

Those poems to the Viceroys,
so impassioned.

Where's God in them?

They're just pure protocol.

You know our world demands it.

Why not mention my poems to St. Peter
and to the Virgin of Guadalupe?

That unfortunate skill for poetry.

That writing and writing.

Have you forgotten our talks
13 years ago?

You convinced me that my love
for literature and knowledge...

was not incompatible with
life in the convent.

I'm here because
you wanted me to.

What are you saying?

- You wanted it, too.
- No.

I just wanted to study.

Where else was I to do it,
if not in a convent?

I don't know what you expect
from me, now, Father.

Nothing, my child. Nothing.

Just to keep on being
your confessor,

your spiritual father,

if you'd let me admonish you
every once in a while.

Madam.

I cannot stand the bars
of your parlor.

You have splendid books.

Gifts from friends, Madam.

Word has it you have
the largest library in America.

But these books are dangerous.

Descartes.

Gassendi.

Kircher.

No-one dares read them in Spain.

But this is New Spain, Madam.
We're farther away from Rome.

But not from the Inquisition.

I want no conflict with them, Madam.

It's my own confessor Miranda
who censors my books.

In Madrid, before we embarked,
we had to witness an Auto-da-Fe.

My brother-in-law was Prime Minister
and decided to amuse the people,

to stave off their hunger and rage
with that spectacle.

There were more than 100
condemned people.

They entered the square
on skinny mules,

their hands tied, bearing
insulting inscriptions,

and wearing penintents' caps
on their heads.

What had they done?

They were just poor people,

who had somehow
forsaken the faith.

Vagrants, prostitutes,

lunatics. Some Jews.

They were all burned alive.

I beg of you, Juana,

don't defy the Church.

Loosen my bodice.
It is too tight.

What is it?

I didn't know.

I had not noticed
your condition, Madam.

You seem horrified.

No. It scares me.

I don't understand motherhood.

In one of my romances,
I call my body "abstract".

Don't you feel sad for
having given up on motherhood?

No. But I do have children!

Come.

My telescope.

My sundial.

My obsidian mirror,

where I see the past
and glimpse the future.

My automaton.

My astrolabe.

My lyre...

so old that I like to think
Orpheus himself played it.

My magnets.

My quills.

My writings.

These are my children!

Passion becomes you.

But, you know, a woman without
children is incomplete.

You cannot deny Nature.

Not all women are alike, Madam.

Some of us need solitude.

Solitude and silence,
in order to think.

God didn't give me
the yearning for knowledge...

above the desire to love.

It is a rough path, Madam.

No sweetness at all.

This bittersweet torment
that's taken over my heart

I know I feel it but I know not
the reason why I feel it.

I feel a profound agony
for a sweet loving feeling

It starts as a craving
and finishes as melancholy.

Aunt Juana, don't you hear
your bell? You have visitors.

You have misinterpreted me.
Absolutely.

For all the classics, Phaethon is
the symbol of imprudence.

No, no. For some of them.
For me, Phaethon...

is an infinite longing for knowledge.

It's just pure limitless audacity.

And perhaps a certain attraction
towards the Abyss.

Why not?

Knowledge is always a transgression.

All the more so for a woman.

Ask the Archbishop!

Well... Sister Juana,
read the tercets once more.

They're so beautiful.

Well, gentlemen...

"Phaethon", according to
Sister Juana.

If the risks at sea were considered,
no-one would ever leave port.

Should one foresee the danger,
no-one would dare.

Nor the brave fighting bull provoke.

Or if the unleashed fury of
the fiery beast were pondered,

the rider--

May I interrupt?

Madam.

Madam.

As a sign of gratitude
for all your poems...

in paying homage
to the Viceroy and I.

Those are quetzal feathers, Madam.
Our sacred bird.

- The Mexican bird.
- I've never seen anything like it.

It's too much.

Thank you, Madam.

Moctezuma falls down on his knees
at the Conqueror's feet!

You have prayed
and mortified your flesh.

You have asked to the Almighty...

the justice of the vote
you're about to cast.

Remember.

The vote has nothing to do
with affection...

or the affinities of each of you,

but with your conscience.

You may vote.

Long live Sister Ursula,
the new Abbess!

Long live Sister Ursula!

O world, what's your point

in persecuting me?

How am I offending you?

I just try to put beauty
in my understanding

not my understanding on
beautiful things.

No! Not my doll, please!

Excuse me, Sister Juana.

All of our Sisters...

let go of their
worldly possessions.

Perhaps you'd like to give up
some of your prized objects...

for your Sisters' edification.

It's among these things
you wish to take away from her...

that she writes what is
the pride of the Convent,

which certainly pleases God
more than your penances.

Would you leave us,
Mother Abbess?

Had I known
you were here, Madam,

I would not have dared
interrupt your visit.

I have something for you.

Good news, Sisters!

Such wonderful news!

Thank God... Thank God!

What happened? What is it?

Juana!

The little Marquis has been born!
It's a boy!

And the Vicereine?
How is she?

Alive, thank God.

I suppose that,
with every new born child,

God is telling us
He is not tired of men, yet.

You are so unique.

A baby brings out a reflection,
not a caress.

May I, Madam?

- Let's go back to our reading.
- Yes, Madam.

Why are you smiling?

Memories of the Palace.

Did you know, Madam, I was
a lady-in-waiting?

The doctors of the University...

refused to admit that
a lady-in-waiting,

much less a 17 year-old-girl,
could be knowledgeable.

So, the Vicereine--

No. I will not hear
about another Vicereine.

So, the Vicereine...

decided that I was brought
to examination.

Aconite.

Aconitum napellus.

It grows in high lands.
It's medicinal.

Its ripe seed
is poisonous, though.

The Indians use them to make
poisoned arrows.

Reverend Father N�jera.

When did the founder of the Jesuit
Order, St. Ignatius of Loyola,

start to write his
"Spiritual Exercises"?

When he was neither Saint,
nor Jesuit,

and had not yet founded the Order.

He was not a priest, either.
Not until... 15 years later.

And his name was not Ignatius,
but ��igo.

When did he start to write them?

In 1532. In Manresa.

Master Sig�enza.

Horses race in a hippodrome.

Dromedaries also run races.

What animals race
in a palindrome?

Letters.

A palindrome is
a word or a phrase...

which reads the same
backwards or forward.

For example, the most famous is:

"Able was I ere I saw Elba".

Gentlemen.

Last question.

The professor of Theology
of the University of Mexico.

What was...

Sabellianism?

The heresy of Sabellius.
Rome, 3rd. Century.

It denied the Holy Trinity.

God was one and indivisible.

The Son and the Holy Spirit
were not divine.

The heresy reappeared
in the last century...

with the Spaniard Miguel Servet.

He was condemned
by the Inquisition...

but he escaped.

Then he was burned alive
in Geneva,

under the Protestants, by order of
the abominable Calvin.

Correct.

Very Good! Bravo!

- Excellent!
- Bravo!

You won't find this in books.

No. Now I know
what a kiss is.

So I remember.

Enough of this strain, my love,

enough.

Let not tyrannical jealousy
haunt you anymore

Nor vile mistrust trouble your calm
with foolish shadows,

with vain signs,

because you already saw and touched
the blood

of my shattered heart
between your hands.

"With foolish shadows,
with vain signs..."

"because you already saw
and touched the blood"

"of my shattered heart
between your hands".

My shattered heart
between your hands...

Magnificent. What passion!

Still a heartbreaker, Mar�a Luisa.

"First Dream"

"Love begins with unease,

"devotion, fervor and worries;

"it grows with risks, quarrels,
and distrust;

"It lives on tears and pleas."

Is there or not cause for deep
unease for our Archbishop?

It is not due to my own unease
that I have summoned you,

but the Church's.

Each line is a new spear wound
in the Saviour's side.

My hands burn from
just touching these papers.

I read and re-reread it... I just
see no perverse intention.

Poetry has its own laws...

which us, guardians of the Faith
are not able to grasp.

Think of Solomon...

or St. Theresa.

I can see but lasciviousness,

an extremely morbid sensuality.

- And it's written by a woman.
- To another woman.

It's a tribute to the Vicereine.

They are poems of praise.
Adulation, if you will.

It's customary in all
the European courts.

Not in the court of Spain.

No poet ever wrote
about the eyes...

or the lips of Isabella
the Catholic Queen.

Maybe they were not that pretty.

As St. Bernard said so well:

"When I hear a woman,

it is as though
a snake were hissing".

A snake...

with a soul, just like us.

That makes her more vulnerable.

Those who have a soul,
may lose it.

Father Miranda,
you mentioned Solomon.

He also said:

"Woman is bitterer than death".

Let us pretend I am happy
-sad thought- for a while.

Perhaps you can persuade me,
although I know it is not so,

that, as they say, all the pain
is a matter of perception.

If you imagine yourself happy,
you will not feel so miserable.

How I wish my understanding
let me rest a bit.

Juana.

Who are these men?

By order of the Archbishop,

you are forbidden
to access your books.

That crazy old man!

I'll just pretend
I didn't hear that.

Breaking those seals entails
a worse punishment.

They confiscate my books.
Very well.

Tell the Archbishop
I will study in the sky,

in the grass, in the kitchen.

That pride of yours
will lead you to Hell.

Are you not capable
of contrition?

Why am I punished this way?

Josefa!

Josefa...

My little Juana.

Hush... It's alright now.

One more thing, my child.

In the convent, that kind of
romantic disorder...

can only lead you
to punishment,

and the outside world
will not allow it, either.

Reverend Father...

help me.

You must help yourself first.

Find out what Jesus Christ
wants from you.

I don't know...

I wish I knew.

Knowledge gives no answer
to my faith, Father.

The Devil is very sneaky, Juana.

He always disguises
to resemble God.

The quest for knowledge
is just that. A disguise.

You have attacked in her spiritual
well-being a person I protect.

What do you accuse her of?

Of writing poetry?

You may give your opinion
about her poetry, Sire,

according to whether or not
it pleases the Vicereine.

But the Church will give
its opinion about the author.

She's a Hieronymite nun and
that Order is under my jurisdiction.

Her "spiritual well-being",

as you call it,
is my concern.

Is this a declaration of war,
Excellency?

What are you saying, Sire?

Or shall we appeal to Madrid?

I represent here
His Majesty the King.

This very afternoon, Sister Juana
will be in her library reading...

Luther, if such is my fancy!

As long as we are in Mexico,
no-one will harm you.

That sealed door.

I am nothing
without my books, Madam.

And your prayers?

It is not that God is deaf
to my pleas.

I am the one who is deaf.

I lose His voice
amidst the noises of the universe.

I have never met a woman like you.

More of a poet than a nun,

more of a nun than a woman.

I've wondered for years.

How is Juana by herself?

When she is alone,

when no-one is watching her.

Take off your veil.

It's an order.

All of it.

This Juana is mine.

Only mine.

So I remember.

Authorized.

Authorized.

You can publish this one,

but I have censored
the 4th chapter. All of it.

To explain Protestantism
is a way of spreading it.

His Reverend Eminence sends them.

Thank His Excellency
the Archbishop.

Reverend.

"The Sermon of the Maundy".

He sent me another 200 copies.

But I wonder...

who's going to come and buy
an essay by a Portuguese thelogian?

I am. I'm taking one.

Master Sig�enza.

What's wrong?

Bad news, Mar�a Luisa.

I have been dismissed.

We, the Medinacelis,
have lost the royal favor.

The new Viceroy is on his way.

Be seated.

Today I won't teach you music.

It's the last day of classes and,
for you, the last day of school.

Perhaps, we will not see
each other again.

Here, you've been taught
how to read and write,

how to embroider,
to cook and to dance.

All this is very important.

But for me, there is something
more important.

I would like you to
always remember...

that God did not give you
perception and curiosity in vain.

That none of that is
men's private property.

Intellect has no sex.

And if anyone says that
- in fact, many do -

they lie.

Neither is the freedom to explore
the secrets of the universe...

a privelege of men.

Don't miss your music lesson.
Orders from the Mother Abbess.

She wants to hear
your latest Christmas carol.

Remember:

eyes wide open,
and ears, too,

so you can perceive everything.

And don't forget me.

"The Dream of Jesus"

The Vicereine...

goes with you, naturally.

Unavoidably.

This is all very painful for her.

She fell in love with Mexico.

Mexico won't be the same
without her.

It'll sink in the lake.

It would relieve her greatly...

that you let her publish
all your works in Madrid.

Would you do us that honor?

The honor is all mine.

It has been a privilege to
take you under my protection.

Take care.

Envy grows wherever you tread.

Good-bye, Juana.

I pray to the Lord
for your protection.

Our Church is ruthless
with its rebellious daughters.

First Dream

Christmas Carols

Stop, shadow of my elusive love,

image of the charm I love the most,

beautiful dream,
for whom I gladly die,

sweet fiction,
for whom I painfully live.

Mind you,

I'm not condemning the burning
of heretical books.

Satan found shelter
in the printed word.

Accurate metaphore, Sire.

Anyways, I've been informed...

the Archbishop of Mexico
is an ambitious person...

set out on weakening
the power of the Crown.

Perhaps he does not have
the serenity that's required of...

any member of the clergy.

He's a fanatic, Monsignor.

So they say in Madrid,
in ecclesiastical circles.

You should have been Archbishop,
not he.

That was the result of
a malevolent scheme, Sire.

A terrible injustice...

and a mistake, of course.

Yes, of course. And the victim
is Mexico, as always.

Tragically, Madrid makes
wrong decisions for us...

and does not even realize it!

The reason of this meeting
is to ask you for advice.

What can be done...

to prevent the excesses of
such a harsh person?

Nothing.

The harm is done now.

We can only mutter
and regret...

about the Archbishop's
eccentricities. And meanness!

About his lice!

We can only harass him...

by taking little
retaliatory measures.

For example, by means of...

provocation.

You intrigue me, Monsignor.

What "provocation"
are you talking about?

Nevertheless, as I feel,

"the greatest gift of Christ
is the favor God grants us...

"of not granting us
all the favors we want.

"May God bestow upon us the grace...

"of leaving the speculative speech
and move on to practical services...

"and transforming negative services
into positive ones."

Splendid!

An ingenious rhetoric, indeed.

Is that enough provocation?

Our dear Archbishop will be furious!

That you, of all people...

dare refute the ideas of the
Portuguese he so worships.

And brilliantly, too.

I enjoyed refuting him.

At any rate, every theology
is questionable...

since it emerges from reason,
not from faith.

Don't say that out loud.

As of now, you have only tread
on the serpent's head.

Careful, Monsignor.

I don't want the serpent
to bite me.

I enjoy debates...

and you have given me the chance
to get back at the Archbishop.

But I want no trouble with him.
Or the Inquisition.

Oh, please. It's not going
to be published.

Only a small group will read it.

Not to be published.

And I wrote it only because
you ordered me to.

Agreed?

Excuse me, Monsignor.

Sister Juana, I have received
this message from Chimalhuac�n.

Your mother is dying.

You have permission
to leave the convent.

If you'll excuse me, Monsignor.

Just a bit more, mother.

Juana,

why did you become a nun?

You're not happy this way, either.

Would I have been happier
subjected to a man?

Like you to my stepfather?

With children clinging to my skirt
every time I look for a rhyme?

You know I've always
loathed marriage.

Take off that indecent disguise.
You hear me?

I will, but I'll wear it when
I go to the University.

I told you women are not admitted,
not even in disguise.

In the spring, I'll take you
to Mexico City.

You're 9 years old, now.
You don't help with the chores.

Too many mouths to feed.

How is Mexico City?

What does it matter?
You have rich uncles there.

You'll be able to eat as you please,
put on some weight.

It'll do you good.

Since I couldn't dress as a man,
I dressed as a nun.

Mother,

who was my father?

Don Pedro Miguel de Azbaje,
the Basque navigator?

Or Francisco de Azbaje,

the priest of Chimalhuac�n?

Please, Juanita,
let me stay here.

I was born here,
I want to die here.

They ask me to stay.

My sons ask me to.

My grandchildren, too.

I want to see them grow up.

Please, Juanita.

I never heard you say
so many words in a row, Josefa.

I'll miss you.

How does that reprobate dare...

refute the doctrine of the wisest
theologian of the century?

To argue about the love of Christ!

She! A nun!

Her remarkable intelligence
gives her all the right--

Hush!

Do you think I don't know,
Master Sig�enza,

that you were expelled
from the Jesuits...

due to your promiscuous behavior?

Say what you want about me,
Excellency, but please...

do not offend Sister Juana.

Allow me.

Listen to her theological subtlety.

Here.

"God wanted to examine
Abraham's faith...

"and ordered him to sacrifice
his son, Isaac.

"Was not Ismael a son, too?

"Was God jealous of Isaac,

"because he was
the most loved one--?"

Aunt Juana,
I was waiting for you.

What's the matter, Felipa?

The Reverend Mother Leonor wants
to see you as soon as you arrive.

Regardless of the time.

But...

this was not to be published!

You have been betrayed.

What has that
bishop Santa Cruz done?

Theology is not for women, Juana.

You shoud have been more careful...

not to refute the ideas
of a renowned theologian.

But that's not the worst.

Your work is accompanied
by a letter addressed to you...

in the form of a prologue.

Listen, it's dangerous.

"It's not about Sister Juana changing
her temper and disposition...

"by forsaking books...

"but try to improve them by reading
the Gospel now and then."

Listen to this.

"Instead of delving into Heaven...

"she prefers to stoop to
the vile news of the Earth.

"So, why not dig deeper...

"and find out
what happens in Hell?"

You must defend yourself.

Sister Filotea de la Cruz.

Who is Sister Filotea?!

The pseudonym of a coward.

What have you done
to Sister Juana?

I am a Bishop.
You can't question me.

You promised not to publish
that damned book, but you did.

And now, the fury of the Archbishop
scares you.

Come, come, Sig�enza.

You really don't expect
this little joke...

Addressed to a fanatic!

...to poison my relationship
with the Curia, do you?

You wrote that letter that may send
Sister Juana to the Inquisition!

Do not mention the Holy Office!

"Ever since the first light
of reason touched me...

"the inclination for literature was
so vehement and powerful in me...

"that no pressure, either my own
or from others,

- "was enough to make me--"
- Juana, why don't you rest?

You haven't eaten since last night!

He accuses me of impiety,
of loathing my state and my sex.

He reprobates all of my work.
My poetry, my plays.

My "First Dream"!

And you talk about resting.

Where were we?

- "...no pressure, either my own..."
- "or from others...

"was enough to make me...

give up this natural drive
to study and to write...

"which God has put in me...

- Only He knows why...
- Not so fast, Aunt.

"which burst out in me like gunpowder
when I was little."

Excellency.

Monsignor. Reverend Father.

Here I have...

my answer to the accusations
of my persecutors.

Have you been able
to identify them?

It is not easy.

Some hide behind authority.

Others, just pretend.

Can you mention at least
one of your "persecutors"?

Sister Filotea.

That faceless nun who
reprobates my life's work.

A work rather far from the piety
one would expect from a nun,

and not mindful of God's matters.

Out of humility!

It is the first time I dare
interpret the sacred texts.

Your Excellency know
I wrote that theological essay...

in due obedience to a man
of the Church who keeps silent...

instead of defending me.

You have always defied
the Church...

with your scientific digressions
so in fashion in the impious Europe,

and with romantic poems
unbecoming to your condition.

Here is my answer
to those accusations.

Won't you ever learn?

Won't you ever stop your scribbling?

Here is the person who
advised me to take the veil...

because, according to him,

it was not incompatible
with my literary vocation.

And he, too, remains silent.

That's true.

I induced her to profess the faith.

I thought such a
remarkable mind...

would be a great addition
to the Church.

With time...

I would find a way
to persuade her...

to give up the worldly literature.

I failed.

You will have to explain
that nonsense, Father Miranda.

You pushed a penitent onto a path
she was not ready to walk through.

Moreover,

you trusted the right sense
of a woman.

Well...

The Archbishop finally did say it!

If I weren't a woman,
nothing would matter.

Not even my theological insolence.

God did not create woman
to philosophize.

Where is that written?

What "revelation" authorizes you
to exclude women from knowledge?

Enough!

I haven't come to submit
to the impertinence...

of a poor bastard.

What did you just say?

- May God take pity on you.
- Wait! Don't go!

Women are different, true.

We smell different,
our shape is different.

Smell. Smell and admit it!

Smell!

We are evil for you, aren't we?
Admit it!

You have the Devil
nested in your heart!

Find yourself
another confessor, my child,

who gives you the peace
of mind I couldn't.

So, you're going back
to Mexico, Sig�enza?

Tomorrow, Madam.

Tom�s, remember those books
we received yesterday?

Bring me two copies,
if you please.

What have you heard
about our poor Mexico?

Well, the floods continue.

Hunger and poverty everywhere.

People are still
full of resentment.

They can't get over the way
the uprising was put down.

Nor the death of
those poor Indians.

How did we ever come to that?

Any news from Sister Juana?

She no longer answers
my letters.

Mine, neither.

Thank you, Tom�s.

This is the first volume
of Sister Juana's works.

I received it yesterday.

This one is for you.

Give this other one to her.

Tell her I'm sending it
on behalf of my late husband.

They were close friends.

I'm scared.

...Patris, et Filii et
Spiritus Sancti. Amen.

I have always wanted to see
my poems published.

Everything comes late.

So, the Viceroy died...

I still call him "Viceroy".

Every time a friend dies is like...

I'm running out of air.

I find it hard to talk
even with you, you see.

What happened, Juana?

It's the first time
you call me Juana.

What happened?

I'm putting you at risk
of infection by keeping you here.

Good-bye, Sig�enza...

my good friend.

I've been waiting for this Juana
for over 20 years, now.

I knew she existed.

Self-sacrificing, devoted to
the service of God.

We're out of laudanum, Father.

Do you still want me
to be your confessor?

Since you left me...

I have had no support.

I have asked you
so many times, Father.

Get ready.

We'll begin tomorrow.

It will be a long confession.

O Lord, take pity on us!

Let Your mercy fall over
this impious and dissolute country...

you decided to punish
with your sword of justice!

O Lord, take pity on us!

Lord, shed light on the villains
who act against God and the law.

O Lord, take pity on us!

God, stop this rain that
rots our fruits and grains.

O Lord, take pity on us!

It is also pride that you take...

the guilt for all
we're going through:

the rain, the plague...

the people in revolt.

Pride? I never felt more
insignificant, Father.

I'm scared.

I'm so scared, Father.

Of God?

If I were also afraid of God
I would go insane.

It's...

fear...

fear of myself.

Fear of not complying with
the way of life the Church demands.

Oh, Father,
what do they want from me?

God wants a different Juana.

Different from the one
who loved herself too much.

Yes.

Different from the one
the world praises.

A different Juana.

Or none.

From your wrath,
O Lord, deliver us!

From the sudden
and untimely death...

O Lord, deliver us!

From the tricks of the Devil
O Lord, deliver us!

From the scourge of the earthquake
O Lord, deliver us!

From the lightning and the tempest
O Lord, deliver us!

You loved that woman too much.

Can one love too much?

For a nun, to pin her love
in a worldly object...

means infidelity
to the Divine Spouse.

And yet, the more I loved her,
the nearer I felt to God.

In prayers, in my poems,

in the little things
of daily life.

But I'll also feel guilty for that
if you ask me to.

Do you renounce profane literature,
which led you out of...

the state of obedience you
should never have left?

Command me to do so.

Do you renounce glory and vanities,
as you promised in confession?

Command me to do so.

Do you renounce
your diabolical creativity?

Command me to do so.

Your penance will be...

to part with all your worldly
prized possessions.

You will sell for the poor
your books,

your papers,

your precious objects...

and, above all,
your souvenirs.

And thus... I...

Juana In�s de la Cruz,

the most unworthy creature
created by Your omnipotence...

and the most unknown
of those created by Your love,

I appear...

before the Tribunal of Your divine
justice and declare that...

in the action brought against me
for having lived in religion...

without religion,
like a pagan would,

I find that...

to be sentenced to eternal death
would be clemency...

because my crimes deserve
everlasting Hell.

Still,

knowing Your divine mercy,

I implore to be granted an appeal
for that act of love...

by which You died on the Cross
for my sins.

And as a sign of
what I say,

I wish to spill...

blood in defense
of my supplication.

I, the worst of all

Sister Juana In�s de la Cruz

died shortly after
from the Plague.

Today she is regarded

as one of the greatest poets
of the Spanish Golden Age.

Subtitles: LadyOfThe80s