Original subtitles

Roxane?

I'm so happy! - Me too.

Antoine, of course.

Yeah, we played in the Ducharme a few months ago.

Six.

To be precise.

Six months. - Yeah.

But do you ever really know someone?

So, shall we start?

Sure.

It is fitting,

this absolute union of souls.

Passionate, yet permitted.

Exalted

and pious.

Without deceit,

without reticence.

For us there is no duel

between heart and thought,

body and mind.

Our feelings lift us above the material.

They bring us closer to the divine!

Tell me why these things are so beautiful

Want to see my workshop?

Yes! - You do?

It's private.

Time to take your temperature.

Not now, Dad. I won't be long.

You're skipping supper again?

You have to eat! - I know.

Take my plate.

It's upstairs.

The vegetables, too.

C'mon.

It's beautiful!

Yes, isn't it?

It's for the competition.

Species from the Beaudette River.

Look at my hollyhocks.

And these I've dried.

And this...

Remember the barley we picked?

It's also called foxtail barley.

Yes! Exactly, sweetie.

Right!

It smells good!

Careful!

You mustn't touch, they're fragile.

Are they dead? - That's not how I'd put it.

Are they sick, like you?

Course not.

They're dried.

So we can preserve and admire them.

And I'm not sick anymore. Don't worry.

Hello.

Lovely, miss.

Magnificent.

Thank you.

Your manner of arranging them

is extremely original.

Brother!

Dr Gauvreau! - Glad to see you.

What a surprise. Madame Gauvreau, lovely as ever.

Coming from you, I accept the compliment.

Your competition is a success.

Do you

know our daughter?

Marcelle Gauvreau.

Delighted.

Your study, for it truly is a study...

Unfortunately... - Indeed.

Unfortunately it's ineligible.

It's for my pleasure. - Rules are rules. At 23, she is too old.

The age limit is 18.

Yes, but rules can sometimes be overlooked.

Especially if they discourage such a fine talent.

Dear Brother Léo, we could always

add a special category.

Go on!

My apologies.

Are you studying?

Of course, literature and philosophy.

My Marcelle is special,

so curious.

You two have a lot in common, having faced illness and death.

And so young, too.

It makes you...

It makes you different. - Dad!

It's true, dear.

And professional secrecy? - Well...

Your father's right.

Those who have faced death see life

differently.

The greatest philosophy is that of nature,

and thus, of life.

And that's...

God's great gift.

That's true.

Assembling my herbarium, I felt I was doing something essential.

You know,

it's my goal

to know everything that grows on the Earth,

all that God created,

that forms the world's beauty.

I want to

name all that grows in Québec.

I will call it Laurentian Flora.

I know you'll succeed.

Thank you.

Bravo for your herbarium.

It is unique.

I'm sorry you're ineligible.

I'm sure you'd have won.

Winning's not important.

Looking is.

I mean,

looking properly.

Seeing.

I learned that from lying sick in bed.

It's been a delight, Miss Gauvreau.

...for ever and ever.

Amen. - Enjoy the meal!

Enjoy!

The Habs will win the Stanley Cup!

Boston's strong.

I'd rather we win

the vote for women than the Cup!

I have an announcement.

I'm changing faculties.

Well now,

that's a surprise.

To study what? - Natural Sciences.

I want to know and understand the world.

And botany is more real.

And...

why this sudden change?

Can you still be a secretary?

The university made its decision.

I've been accepted!

So you've been planning this.

Might this be related to meeting Brother Marie-Victorin?

I mean, no...

Well, yes.

Yes, it's completely related to meeting him.

Marie-Victorin is an impressive person.

He makes botany as catching as the Spanish Flu.

But with your health,

do you imagine running through nature, despite winds and tides?

It sounds like you want me sick. - Marcelle!

We only want your welfare.

We've always supported you.

But people won't yield just because you ask. You must earn your way through work.

Women must work harder to be seen as equals.

So imagine, in a world of men...

Science, my girl!

I know, Mom.

But if we want to vote, we must fight!

Absolutely.

If anyone can, it's you!

Our Marcelle!

On blue summer nights

I will roam the paths,

prickled by wheat,

treading the grasses.

Dreaming, I'll feel

the coolness underfoot.

I'll let the wind

bathe my bare head.

Our flora and fauna are extremely rich and varied.

Can you believe that Americans know them better than us?

They do. Just imagine, Harvard University studies our flora.

Why do you think

Father Labelle's project to settle up north didn't go as planned?

He didn't know the particularities of the soil,

which is too acidic for farming, not to mention the forests that were razed.

And once again it was foreigners who profited

and still do.

To come back to our

Nymphaea odorata, which is so aptly named.

Sniff it delicately,

you'll smell a perfume that may recall...

Rita Simard.

I'll begin.

Dried leaves of Pinus res...

Pinus resi...

Pinus resinosa,

commonly known as red pine.

It's a splendid tree,

truly splendid.

It is intolerant of shade from other trees.

Now we have an Arisaema atrorubens,

commonly known as bog onion or jack in the pulpit.

Marcelle, please...

Careful, the stem is very fragile.

It's a bulbous plant that flowers only in spring.

It's autumn now. But still...

I have a drawing here for you

and next spring you will concur that its flower

is absolutely magnificent.

Interestingly, the Iroquois name it kaa-oussa,

meaning Indian cradle.

Indeed,

never overlook what Indians can teach us. They've known our flora far longer than us.

Never forget that.

Marcelle?

Stand here, please.

Come.

It's always useful to take a photo

with a human to show the height of the specimen.

Yes, like that.

May I take one of you?

Perfect.

So, three,

two...

Don't move.

Done.

I think it worked.

No.

Keep it, it's yours.

I couldn't. - I have another. But above all,

I know it'll be used well.

So it's settled, alright?

Come eat... Marcelle?

Don't say you're not hungry.

Come.

I'm famished, Mom.

You've no idea how famished!

My one friend, my God...

I seek to understand, not be understood.

To console, not be consoled.

To love, rather than be loved.

In giving, we receive.

Forgetting ourself, we reveal ourself.

It is by forgiving

that we are forgiven.

The shrub's swelling buds are an early sign of spring in our mountain woods.

Someone declared that

it shows a lack of culture

to know so little about

the marvelous organic abode

in which we dwell.

I agree but I'd call it instead

lack of curiosity.

No, it's true.

How can we live on the soil of our own country without truly knowing it?

Yes, Miss Gauvreau?

I don't think it's all that surprising

that we don't know our environment when...

when we don't know ourselves.

How so?

I mean that we don't know our own habitat,

our...

our inner landscape.

That is, our bodies.

The comment is absolutely pertinent.

Indeed,

we've always

sought to conquer nature.

We've neglected to understand it.

To understand nature and to name it,

is to understand ourselves.

A fascinating subject. Very insightful, Miss.

To know oneself!

A lifelong quest.

To understand ourselves,

to love ourselves.

To be able to love.

I promise, we'll talk of this again.

So let's talk.

Ok, cut!

Why can't we talk? - Roxane!

Why? Just a sign?

What don't I get? - Roxane, not now.

I nearly sent you letters.

And not about biology. - We're miked.

Not here, OK?

OK, when?

Not during the shoot.

I know it's emotional. - Emotional?

We're pros, we can get through this.

Get through it? - Yeah.

Not during the shoot, I can't. We'll talk after.

After what?

There's nothing after, you know?

I promise, we'll talk of this again.

No, he is human, a man,

Raised in the savanna,

Who sleeps under the palms, like in Havana.

Here we have another example,

a succulent one,

but ridiculous.

The poet locates the action on the banks of the St Lawrence.

Yet suddenly we find ourselves beneath palm trees,

when there's not a single one.

Maples, birches, poplars... Absolutely!

Savanna,

palms like in Havana.

Science is sacrificed to rhyme.

Continue.

When she suspended from the slender vine

The cradle, swaying from the twine,

Bed to a black-eyed warrior.

Our warrior's eyes aren't just black,

I think he's as blind as a bat.

To find a liana in our forest, you'd need a fertile imagination.

Tarzan couldn't swing from our conifers.

Before I begin, let me say

the immense debt that we owe you, dear professor.

Our certificate in botany

is much more than a piece of paper.

Your extraordinary passion made

all the difference and has

infected us all.

One moment.

Welcome.

Come.

Allow me to introduce my venerable sister, Mother Marie des Anges,

who honors us with a very rare appearance in Montréal.

Please, pretend I'm not here.

Alright.

So, as I was saying,

it's you, our great gardener, who embraced us

in all our ignorance.

It felt like the good Lord himself

was with us. - Please,

no blasphemy!

It's true. Don't blush. You raised your finger

and like Leonardo da Vinci to his disciples, you said,

Behold nature!

And I understood.

We've all

understood.

Thank you.

Hello?

You're not going to post it?

I won't.

As long as you tell me about you and Marie-Victorin!

There's nothing to tell, I'm afraid.

I don't believe you.

I saw lots near Rimouski.

It's a gift of nature we've forgotten.

Laminaria saccarina,

sugar kelp.

It's a simple brown seaweed,

but when young, it's edible and sweet.

It's also called Neptune's harness.

Magnificent, right? - Yes.

Lovely.

Neptune's harness.

Earth and ocean... Everything is interconnected.

Look.

It's beautiful, and silky soft.

Unfortunately,

with today's fertilizers, it runs rampant

and strangles other aquatic plants near farmland.

The price of progress.

Yeah.

Touch it.

Feel how soft.

Thank you, Miss Gauvreau.

You mustn't... -Shh!

Shush me all you like, but you're playing with fire.

My hands are in water, Rita.

You're my friend,

but you mustn't go too far.

Keep your eyes open

and feed your curiosity.

My children, enjoy your holidays!

May God keep us in the light of joy, truth and charity.

Coming?

No, go ahead. - What?

Don't wait!

Miss Gauvreau?

As you know, I'm going to Belgium

to present my paper to the Brothers of Christian Schools.

Yes, I know.

Knowing you, not everyone will be pleased.

Spare the rod...

I will defend our educational mission tooth and nail.

You know I'll miss our conversations.

On that very subject...

I wanted to suggest

What if we were to share our ideas by correspondence?

We could enjoy frank conversation,

directly, heart to heart.

Nothing would please me more, Father...

Brother...

If you like, I could also send worthwhile publications...

for discussion.

Yes.

Well then, I'll await the mailman impatiently.

Goodbye, my child.

Tell me, dear Marcelle,

why do pure souls,

on whom nature confers a mysterious and salutary ecstasy,

not give thanks to God?

Why, when entering the temple of intimacy,

do they not make the sign of the cross and thank their Creator?

What are your thoughts?

Our cottage offers varied settings,

ideal for photographic experiments

that I pursue with abandon.

No need to add that I think of you with every click.

You see, dear Brother Marie-Victorin,

you merit all the feelings I have for you.

Oh, yes!

Those feelings are real and deep.

And natural...

though cloaked in infinite respect.

This maple is truly remarkable.

Its crown cleaves the blue sky.

It's so handsome, Dad names it The Ladies' Tree.

Done?

Yes.

Thanks, Dad.

Is my girl sad?

Don't make too much of it.

And above all,

don't invest too deeply in this love.

It will always remain platonic.

It's an impossible love,

as you yourself know.

You have my utter trust.

Daddy!

You know me so well.

Your love can be an inspiration.

Use it to...

to accept the limits Marie-Victorin will always respect.

And keep your mind open

to nourish your soul and passion as a woman of science

and ideals.

I love you, my dear.

I love you too, Dad.

Thank you.

Brother...

The efficacy of a caress is personal,

individual - although, as you say,

a woman's erotic surface extends from the tips of her hair to her toes.

To a certain extent, cruel caresses are natural,

given the mysterious and secret link that exists

between pleasure and pain,

between love and suffering.

Yes.

It's Vespers, Brother.

I'm coming. Coming.

Let us be, dear girl,

dear friend,

the living proof that one can see and know everything of human nature

without that knowledge staining us,

and without this contact with things considered shameful at all abasing us.

You ask if violent desire makes me long to marry.

With my temperament, it would be natural.

But I've renounced becoming a nun or marrying.

I'm free

and to stay with you I'll remain unwed.

Marcelle?

Marcelle!

A letter for you.

The University of Montréal.

A slight anachronism.

Yuck.

Take 2?

Conrad and Marcelle, 36/1, take 2.

Marcelle!

A letter for you.

The University of Montréal.

Where you going?

You haven't read it.

Our bond will resist many things.

It is indissoluble,

a marriage of the soul,

a mystical union.

Nothing could compel me to reveal this exchange of views on life

this penetration,

- no pun intended -

this penetration of ideas related to sex.

For like you, I too am eager to learn what I never could by ordinary means.

That doesn't mean

you should shut yourself off

and repress all that is sexual, that is love.

It's with the clearest conscience

that, in thought,

I lavish on you the innocent caresses that I so desire.

Each night I fall asleep with you in my heart.

If your heart says to pleasure yourself,

do it,

with affection and purity,

for are we not united before God?

Friendship without ulterior motives is possible

between a man and a woman.

Live naturally.

Don't blame the devil

or be shocked that your body speaks an age-old language.

Secrets are so sweet...

Mysteries...

that no one knows.

What is it, Marcelle?

I have to go to Montréal.

What?

He asked me to work with him on Laurentian Flora.

But why... - It's a great honor.

What about your thesis on seaweed?

Seaweed can wait.

Marcelle?

He's a man of God.

And I'm a woman of God.

For figure 173 here,

you wrote, "Agastache,

tall herbaceous plant, slanted calyx, bilabiate."

For bilabiate, I suggest the following definition:

"Calyx or corolla that forms two labia,

and whose throat remains open."

Do you approve?

Perfect.

Exquisitely precise.

What would I do without you?

Not much, I must admit. Not much.

Thank you.

I've given

some reflection to your last letter about chastity.

And, well...

I think that...

mystery causes the harm.

I'll explain.

For a biologist, testicles and ovaries are glands.

But,

for most people, they're shameful

and need to remain hidden.

Unmentionable.

What about...

vows of chastity based on abstention?

Nuns, for example, know nothing about their own bodies.

As a result they become rabid,

completely frustrated.

But...

so do the clergy.

Yes, I imagine.

And...

how can they make rational decisions when...

they've always been told that below the waist lies the realm of the devil!

And then there's the total absence

of sex education!

A young man won't want to go to confession after a spermatic emission

- just from washing himself - which in fact is absolutely normal!

Yes.

I imagine. - And...

Nor can we forget that,

from a sexual point of view,

like from so many others, too,

men and women are enclosed separately

in ivory towers.

And things that appear obvious to you as a woman

are completely unknown to men who cannot

experience them.

Couldn't we together change things?

Educate children, for example?

It's my fervent desire.

Which is why our exchanges are so important.

Brother Léo, you catch us

in an awkward position.

It looks rather like

a Renaissance painting.

Does it?

An adoration.

I wanted him to bless me.

Brother...

After you.

I didn't mean to humiliate her, but her adoration of you is dangerous.

But I adore her too.

What's the harm in mutual adoration?

Concupiscence, base impulses...

Even acted out in fantasy, they're capital sins.

Desire is the essence of man, dixit Spinoza.

A dangerous philosopher.

This is about the desire of a woman.

Desire debases woman, makes her like a prostitute.

Brother Léo...

So a prostitute who receives in her vagina the sperm of a man

seeking to relieve his needs is soiled,

but the wife who must endure, night after night,

the vile caresses of a drunken spouse isn't?

Don't speak whereof you know not.

Our order's image is at stake.

I won't sacrifice my freedom to think and say what I believe.

Or pay any heed to rumors about me, either.

But... - You may report my words as you like.

But if our order doesn't modernize,

it's influence will wane and its existence will be imperiled.

Separating the spiritual and intellectual

is a mutilation of our being that can cause grave imbalances.

I hope you're not one of the deluded who believe

marriage for the clergy is the solution.

In fact, I am. - Good Lord!

I'm silent to avoid excommunication.

But it would ease many woes.

Brother Léo,

before we leave this world,

shouldn't we try to make it a better place?

But, in closing,

don't worry.

My relationship to Miss Gauvreau is pure

and will remain so.

That...

I say before God.

That's the question...

Did they screw or not?

As Oscar Wilde said,

Everything is about sex.

Except sex, which...

is about power.

Conrad and Marcelle...

Their love was

extraordinary.

Why extraordinary?

Because they didn't consummate?

And their love was supposedly "purer"?

They didn't consummate because

he didn't want to betray Marcelle's trust.

Her trust?

He loved God as much as he did Marcelle.

So if he betrayed one, he betrayed the other.

And vice versa.

Here, listen to this!

Marie-Victorin wrote this to Marcelle in 1940.

If God endowed genital sensation with special pleasure,

should such pleasure not be sought out as perfectly as possible?

To hell with guilt!

It's fascinating.

Love

or sex?

When they coincide, it's quite divine.

I crave passion!

I love the chaos, your heart racing as you go up the stairs...

I own it.

As my father said, When it's over, on to the next.

A philosopher!

People don't talk anymore.

We write even less.

We write using

acronyms and emojis.

Otherwise it's...

long, heavy silences.

I miss words, y'know?

Arranged into sentences.

Even better, words that carry emotion.

Exactly!

That's why they're extraordinary.

Funny thing about love.

The man of my life...

He told me a million times he loved me.

I didn't believe him. I needed him to tell me over and over.

But when he said he didn't love me,

I believed him the very first time.

My biggest heartbreak

was for a friend.

It really hurt.

Christ, it hurt.

And I can't even say it was 'cause the sex was bad.

Rehearsal time!

Rehearsal! The story of my life!

You may recall as a struggle

the sweet duty of doing up your tie.

It would have been simplest

to slip two fingers inside your collar

to free the other hand to do up your tie.

But I couldn't,

for fear I'd touch your neck,

making it exceedingly awkward to stick in the pins.

Your speech.

Thank you.

It'll be fine.

Times have changed.

The isolation that saved our people,

now threatens its survival.

In the field of culture, isolation...

is suffocating,

certain death from intellectual decline.

Thus, our patriotism, already weak in the head,

has no firm footing.

It results from the near total absence

of science in our schools.

We needn't pray to the same god to forge a national identity.

But we need a literature of our own

and a distinct art.

And an environment that fosters scientific research and creation.

I firmly believe that poetry and art can contribute

to science,

and that science

can in exchange provide extraordinary subjects

for that profound poetry,

to create, move

and transport us beyond the banal avenues of thought.

Soon we will celebrate Montréal's third centenary.

But remember, Mr Mayor, Montréal

was born Ville-Marie,

a woman!

And you're surely not going to offer her

a collector sewer or police station!

I beg you, adorn her corsage with flowers!

Cover her

with wild roses and irises!

Offer her a garden to make us proud!

We will only be a true nation

when we cease to be at the mercy of foreign capital...

foreign experts

and intellectuals.

We shall become our own masters

first, by knowledge.

And by possession of the resources of our land,

its flora and fauna.

And for that,

we need a greater number of physicists,

chemists, biologists

and geologists...

properly trained!

We belong to those who possess our secrets.

Thank you, Rita.

Thank you. Bravo!

Hello, good to see you.

Miss Gauvreau?

Come here, I...

I have something for you.

I thought you'd enjoy it.

The illustrations are lovely.

Very sensual.

Read it, we can discuss it.

With pleasure, thanks.

You do not deflower my mind,

you embellish it

and enrich it with knowledge that exalts,

even when it touches on biology laid bare.

It's true, we belong to those who possess our secrets.

And...

thus you alone will receive them.

I feel it.

We shall never be separated.

Too many intimate secrets bind us

and conjoin us.

Brother Léo!

Smile, life is beautiful!

Books on sex have mostly been written by men who believe

they understand women.

These treatises are quite naïve

and women must enjoy a good laugh at our ignorance!

Even the scandalous Louise Dormienne

was less precocious than I,

for I felt my first sexual desire at age 17.

This genital tension that lasts a full day,

is it an erection of the labia or clitoris?

I conclude that the male genitals are extremely sensitive

and must be manipulated with care.

Intromission can be more difficult than you'd imagine

in the absence of full erection.

"Like an electric impulse..."

That is the expression I, too, found to express the radiant sensations of my vulva

at the moment of orgasm.

Did he wish to taste his own sperm?

He could do so on his own.

Strange.

An agile mouth must better work the penis

than does an immobile vagina.

"Cunnilingus..."

a sexual position, I suppose.

The beauty of an adult penis, if beauty it has,

reflects our impression of its power.

In and of itself, it is frankly ugly,

a primitive plow, with the glans as its shear.

What's "tossing the salad?"

I don't understand the term.

Male orgasm is tied specifically to ejaculation,

if I understand.

You ask me to describe a complete orgasm in women,

but a man can describe only orgasm involving his genitals,

which are infinitely less complicated.

Rosanna, explain to me. How does it feel?

What do you mean?

When the penis moves in and out of the vagina, how does it feel?

Well, it...

It's...

I...

What a question!

But Rita, I'm doing research as...

as a spinster. And it's anonymous.

I know, but...

I can't.

One question at a time.

When I first felt

that sort of...

charge...

Discharge.

Vaginal discharge.

It was sort of... - What?

A bit wet.

Exactly.

When...

my husband...

Well, my fiancé, we weren't married yet.

When he kissed me on the mouth.

A kiss?

Just a kiss?

A long...

long kiss with...

with his tongue and all...

Very enjoyable.

Marcelle, this is embarrassing.

It is?

Why?

It's your body. What does it tell you?

I'm not married and I want to know.

Well...

I mean, even though

I really like it...

I'm not always in the mood.

Sometimes Edouard has to work on me for a good half an hour.

Really?

'Cause...

if you think it's enjoyable when you're not ready,

I have news for you.

I hate it!

It tears

inside me.

It's revolting, to be honest.

Last time I wanted to throw him out of bed.

Rita!

He's your husband.

You know I was molested?

Not raped, but...

still.

A disgusting old man touching my breasts. Imagine!

No, I can't imagine.

And frankly, Marcelle, I'd rather not know.

But it's not like that with Bernard.

If it tears, maybe you're not lubricated.

Lubricated?

Lubrification...

Stop!

If it were up to me, we'd just kiss. The rest...

The rest?

Well...

Making babies...

You know?

It's unpleasant.

Do you talk?

Course not!

Are you crazy? You don't talk about those things.

Anyway, since the baby, it's quiet on that front. And...

That's fine.

I did my conjugal duty, as they say.

Sometimes, it's like...

It's so good that...

I pass out.

You pass out?

Almost entirely.

Absolutely.

Then I fall asleep.

An hour later I wake up.

Then we begin again and...

Oh yeah. - OK.

We just keep going.

Rosanna enjoys great pleasure with her spouse,

who clearly is no brute.

They have sex even when she's menstruating.

Some men focus on caressing the genitals.

But Rosanna says they're wrong to.

Her husband knows to play baby,

that is, he sucks her breasts.

Best of all, Rosanna was so honest as to admit straight out...

If I'm widowed, I'll remarry straightaway.

I'm not passing up my turn!

I understand.

No, Marcelle, you can't.

Rosanna is a pleasure machine, who asks only to run.

My girl...

I'm glad you accepted our invitation.

Of course, Reverend Mother.

I've been hearing about you for a very long time.

I'm glad to be able to rest in this oasis of peace.

Thank you.

I'll be direct.

Stop your childish behavior.

Pardon?

I don't understand. - Yes you do.

Stop your scheming.

You perturb him.

I know him better than he knows himself.

And, despite his many great qualities,

he sometimes lacks self-control.

Help him to keep on the straight path.

Stop exciting him.

And save yourself.

Keep your distance.

Perhaps even

leave your position, and thus cease being a temptress.

But we'll have ample time to discuss all this during your stay.

One can be religious without being cloistered.

Your brother isn't locked up.

I'll do anything to ensure God is happy and our souls are saved.

A good retreat will be most beneficial.

Sister Marie-Thérèse will show you to your room.

We'll talk more on this later.

Who said that God isn't happy?

Dear Papa Victorin,

if you hear outrageous things about me, promise not to believe them.

Nothing can separate us.

Not even gossips.

But in their love story,

they didn't have the same weight.

I don't understand. They had exactly the same weight.

The weight of the paper they wrote on.

If he really loved Marcelle,

why not marry her, leave the order?

Louise, get real! In 1940s Québec?

Of course, he'd have lost his power.

And she, her reputation.

And you, Antoine, would you leave your wife?

What do you mean?

Come on, I know you too well.

The choices we've made cannot be unmade.

Your relationship with her...

God bestowed us with free will.

You're pig-headed, Conrad!

You're not my keeper, Adelcie.

Still, I worry.

Pride is a sin.

The real sin is to condemn without understanding.

And I'm lucid, not proud.

People are talking.

As are you.

Have you nothing better to do?

You belong to a congregation, Conrad.

I could easily belong only to myself.

You'd renounce your vows?

If I'm pushed,

yes, I could.

That little girl... you'll make her life difficult.

She idolizes you, and you encourage her.

First of all,

she's anything but little.

She understands me.

Yes, I encourage her. To study, to understand the world, to love it.

You give her ideas that will make her suffer.

She's a woman, Conrad.

She can never be all she wants to be.

They won't allow it.

She doesn't want to be.

She is... in all her purity.

Men like you...

Men, my brother...

who have no idea how a woman can suffer

from the limits imposed on her.

I've always said that if there were more women in our hierarchy,

we'd be the better for it.

Much better.

You're a dreamer.

I dream, therefore I live.

I won't speak.

I'll think of nothing.

Infinite love

will ascend into my soul.

And I shall go far.

Very far.

You're far away tonight.

Physically far, since you're in Havana.

But you're very close in my thoughts

and nothing can ever separate us.

Recently I've felt such a need for solitude,

for inner peace

and intimacy.

With him whose memory never leaves me.

Good evening.

How are you?

Hi, ma'am. - Hello.

Gradually, Lydia begins to squirm.

Her belly twists in venereal orgasm.

She surrenders to little death.

Pretend or real?

An honest orgasm?

Hard to say.

Of course they were surprised the show didn't end as usual.

Interesting as a documentary,

their show is too stupid to excite desire in a normal man.

At least, I think so.

Come back to see me, handsome.

Anytime.

I promise.

God bless you.

Thank you.

Together, we form a lichen.

Yes, it's true.

As in the symbiosis of algae and fungus,

one of the two - me -

couldn't live without the other.

In heaven,

near Mary's throne,

we'll live out eternity together,

without anyone objecting.

That is the blessing I hope for.

Doesn't the structure of flowers bring to mind

the anatomy of the female sex organs?

Don't the labia minora and majora recall

the calyx and corolla?

And what of the scent of flowers

and the odor di femina?

Tonight I prayed in an old Havana church,

burnished from centuries of prayers by señoritas.

I prayed to Christ and the Virgin,

those two profound beliefs that unite us.

Hi Roxane,

it's me.

It's very early.

You must be sleeping.

Look, I...

I hope you'll forgive my lack of courage.

I've been silent these six months...

because...

I was afraid.

Afraid of screwing up.

Afraid of myself.

Afraid of fucking up your life.

I know...

I owe a few other women apologies too.

That's it.

I know my silence has been hurtful.

It's not what I want.

I wanted to tell you.

OK, I'll see you in Montréal. Bye.

Consider our deep and easy friendship.

The reserve we've imposed

has ensured our happiness.

After 7 years, most couples are tired of each other.

You and I are like on the very first day.

Dear Marcelle, I can tell you this...

I'm grateful to Lydia

for never seeking to provoke or excite me.

Answering my questions,

disrobing only when asked.

No flirting, no lascivious banter.

I gently caress her thighs

and gently graze her slender black triangle.

I part the tiny slit

and observe her labia, which are blood-red.

My fingers seek out her clitoris atop the opening

and on her face I observe their effect.

Soon, she convulses.

The muscles of her belly tighten.

She moans.

She swoons.

My hand beneath her buttocks,

I'm able to reach her vagina

and insert my middle finger.

I gradually feel

her bulbs tightening around my finger.

As the latter penetrate more deeply,

she's gripped by a series of spasms.

It is a grand spectacle of nature, a woman's body

in the ecstasy of orgasm.

The anatomical changes that lead to it are astounding.

All of life is focused in one spot,

a multitude of muscles and nerves, usually inert,

quake, as if this great work required the contribution of each.

A million thanks for your trust in telling me of Lydia.

If you've finished your studies of her,

you must explain to her that, as with me,

your relationship will be platonic.

That you would never observe her body for mere pleasure,

for it wouldn't be right.

I can tell you, dear Marcelle,

you who are my dear friend and marvelous confidant,

that I'll never forget these strange hours

spent studying womankind,

without debasing her or debasing myself.

Hi.

I didn't press.

I know you don't want to mix work and us...

but the message you left in Cuba really...

I'm sorry about it. I hadn't slept all night.

What?

It was perfect.

There is no "us", Roxane.

What does love mean to you?

What, "There is no us?"

There is no us because

life's not about sex.

It's about intimacy. And intimacy's a question of...

trust.

My wife and I have had our issues.

But there's deep warmth.

Without her, it's cold.

There's no us because you don't know me.

It's best you don't.

I say, "physical needs of love,"

because it's not natural for female genital organs to feel

this sexual revolt

with nothing ever to calm it.

I have personally experienced this spasmic orgasm,

like being jabbed with a lance.

But...

there are others.

I don't think orgasms are always specific.

Mightn't they vary, according to circumstance?

You women cannot comprehend

the tension,

the voluptuous vibration that characterizes

an erection at its pinnacle.

You don't realize that breasts send a current to the genitals.

It's the same as saying that a caress of the breasts is felt in the vagina.

A finger tickling my breasts causes them to become erect,

and in less than five seconds they stand up

with no sense of shame.

If your own caress can cause

an erection of the nipple in five seconds,

imagine the effect of a man's touch,

or his mouth.

Imagine the effect on the genitals.

I said that the slightest caress of the inner lips

or entrance of the vagina give pleasure that is more...

more subtle,

more delicate

than intercourse.

But...

it's a very personal opinion and really,

I can't say.

You ask for an idea of the dimensions of the penis.

There are all the degrees between complete rest

and intense erection.

I notice you use the words orgasm,

ejaculation, detumescence, vaginal discharge, etc.

Am I correct that detumescence is a synonym for orgasm?

When you say your thoughts range from saintly to carnal,

you make me so happy.

Need I tell you that every day,

I transport you in thought into Christ's embrace?

You can invent what you want,

but I know what we shared.

There was an us.

It was short,

intense...

and incredibly difficult to forget.

But I remember.

I didn't want to do your film.

Too serious, too...

too Catholic, too far from me,

from how I think, who I am,

what I believe... I didn't feel it.

Sometimes I think the pious are weak, that Conrad and Marcelle were cowards.

But when I heard that Antoine Vien

was playing Marie-Victorin...

But now that...

that we've started filming,

I'm caught up in my own game.

And...

I look at it and...

I see them.

With your film and...

with them it's like...

I have a new perspective.

I'm in love with their love.

I cannot thank you enough for bringing about this metamorphosis.

I repeat, my conscience is at peace

and I deeply appreciate your trust.

I continue to love you, as before,

with the purest affection.

I found, in the direct knowledge of male flesh,

an inexpressible interest,

which better balanced my avid intellect

and my sensitive little body.

You accepted me as I was.

You fully embraced my thought,

my ideals,

my highest ambitions.

You arrived like a ray of sun.

Knowing you were there

gave me courage.

And I walked more upright,

I walked differently.

God, in you,

placed on my path a woman capable of raising a man very high.

Dear Marcelle,

we will meet again up above,

as you know.

I'll be there first,

and you'll join me.

There,

no one will mind if we get into the same car

to travel the circles of the infinite.

I fully endorse your projects.

Continue your extraordinary work...

teaching natural science to young children,

your essays, your books,

your astronomy classes...

They're your finest work,

for they unite the mind and the heart.

All is well,

Marcelle.

Love is everywhere.

I could have loved you so deeply.

Look at the forest.

Like a cathedral.

Before, if I desired something, I had to have it.

But here, I'm controlling myself.

Or trying to, anyway.

But with you I couldn't.

I hadn't cheated on my wife in years.

You ghosted me.

I was afraid.

And fear is the opposite of love.

Conrad and Marcelle knew love without sex.

We had sex without love.

The need to love outweighs that of being loved.

For me, true pleasure would be to put my arms

around his neck and close my eyes.

To feel my cheek against his.

To kiss him.

Or simply hold his hand.

A pleasure so simple and sweet,

it could only be reciprocal.

Marcelle wrote that.

To him, in 1939.

Me, right now...

I'd write the same thing.

Not a word more or less.

But not to you, it seems.

We've shared our most intimate secrets,

We've torn aside veils and mysteries.

The phantom we touch no longer scares us.

In this dark world, amidst conventions and hypocrisy,

amidst theological uncertainties and contradictions

I've told you before...

you are my great experiment,

the great moral experiment of my life.

Inspired by the correspondence between Brother Marie-Victorin and Marcelle Gauvreau

Brother Marie-Victorin (1885-1944), born Conrad Kirouac,

was a Québec cleric, botanist, professor and writer.

An iconic 20th-century intellectual,

he was a forerunner of Québec modernism and the Quiet Revolution.

He wrote the celebrated Laurentian Flora and contributed to cataloguing the Cuban flora.

He founded Montréal's world-class Botanical Garden.

Marie-Victorin was a visionary and environmental pioneer

who advocated conserving nature and its resources.

His vision of the world is more relevant than ever.

Marcelle Gauvreau (1907-1968) never married, preferring the company of flowers and children.

She compiled the glossary and index

to Laurentian Flora and a bibliography of Marie-Victorin's writings.

Her thesis on seaweed was republished in 1956 given its scientific value.

Despite her degrees, she earned a secretary's salary all her life.

With Marie-Victorin she cofounded a school named École de l'Éveil

to introduce children to natural history whose motto was

"I want to know why these things are beautiful."

The Laurentian Flora still exists, but it needs lots of love.

Tell me why these things are so beautiful

To Lou, Victor and Sacha

Subtitles: Robert Gray, Kinograph