Original subtitles

Allo? - Allo, Charlotte? It's Anne.

- Yes, Anne. What's going on?

- Sorry to wake you, but we have a little problem here in Saint-Laurent.

I'm with Jean-Pierre, he called me. You absolutely have to come.

- But—what kind of problem?

- Pascal has just died.

- Poor man!

But at the same time, I don't really see what I can do for you?

Call a doctor. He'll confirm death—

- No, no, the doctor's already here. It's just that he won't leave.

- Really? But why? - Well I don't know.

He says he wants to talk to someone in charge.

- On my way.

Thank you for coming so quickly.

- Is he still waiting? - Yes.

Follow me.

Here, this way.

- Father Lataste.

I'm sorry.

- What can we do? That's how it is. He has joined Our Lord.

- Yes.

Good morning, doctor. - Morning.

Did he suffer?

- If he stopped fighting, it was because he was exhausted.

Pascal knew his condition from the start.

I never hid anything from him.

- Is there something I should know?

- Anne told me you are the chancellor of the diocese.

- That's right.

- Then I suppose I ought to give this to you.

- What is it? - The death certificate.

I don't want to leave until you've read it in my presence.

Well, there's one mistake. - No, there's no mistake.

- There is. There's a mistake.

- No. You can check for yourself.

- But this has to be a mistake.

It's impossible, how can I— - I wanted to be sure you understood the situation.

My only advice— - No, wait. Excuse me.

I don't understand. I don't understand at all.

- My only advice is that you decide quickly what you're going to do with the body.

I've done my job.

Now you do yours.

Good morning. - Good morning.

Good morning.

- Anne? - Yes?

- What are you doing? - I'm—archiving.

- Archiving? But there's an archivist for that.

Haven't you been to the basement?

- No, not yet. I thought you might come with me.

- Yes, it’s true that all of this is very disturbing.

- As you know, Anne, I make sure the diocese's legal documents—

are drafted, signed, sent and preserved.

And you—you have to help me. All right?

- All right? - All right.

Has Monsignor Mével arrived?

- I—I don't know.

- All right.

Father?

Excuse me.

- Good morning, Charlotte. - Good morning.

- What is it?

- Pascal Foucher is dead.

- Pascal Foucher is—? - Yes, the priest at Saint-Laurent.

- Poor man.

Father, will you come?

- Listen, it's sad news, but it's not Pope Francis who's just died.

This information could have waited until after my session, couldn't it?

- You really should come.

- Charlotte, you're annoying me. Don't beat around the bush.

But you—did you check?

- No. Not personally. But—I asked for confirmation.

- Who from? - My cousin.

- Your cousin?

- Yes. My cousin runs a funeral service in Créteil.

He came to help me.

And since his agency is falling apart, I told him that if he can keep this to himself,

he could count on the diocese's business in the future..

- Catholic? - Of course.

In my family, we baptize more by tradition but—

- Believing? Practising? - Yes.

OK, that's fine, he'll know how to keep his mouth shut. What then?

I asked him to check everything.

Up, down and sideways.

- And—what?

- It's a woman. With a slight beard,

but female breasts and genitals.

A real woman.

- Have you mentioned this to anyone?

- No. No one.

Well, apart from the doctor, my cousin—and now you.

No one could understand why the body was removed so quickly.

Nor the decision to cremate. So, to put out the fire,

I mentioned a special mass for his funeral.

- What do you mean by a special mass?

- A mass in your presence—

where—you would preach the sermon.

- Anything else? You don't want me to sing as well, do you?

Why did you say that? - To avoid a scandal.

To create a diversion. Isn't that what you want?

- Yes, yes, yes, yes.

- Don't worry, I'll prepare a text so you can talk about her—him.

- A woman priest isn't enough for you?

You need another one to write the sermons?

Take over my desk while you're at it.

All right, that's enough, leave me alone. Go!

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

When I speak with the tongues of men and of angels,

and have not charity,

I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge;

and though I have all faith ...

... and though I give my body to be burned,

and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity suffereth long ...

I will have mercy, and not sacrifice:

for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.

This is the word of the Lord. - Thanks be to Thee, oh Lord.

It is therefore from among the rabble—

that Christ chose some of his disciples.

In my heart I know your feelings.

Solidarity. You're happy to see one another again.

Sadness, because one of your own is gone so soon.

A little worried, that God does not protect you against cancer.

So very naive.

What do we know about Father Foucher?

He was a kind man,

a good priest,

holding masses and meetings without complaint.

Dead.

Discreetly.

A life given to God, peaceful and luminous.

I appreciated that—

That man.

With him, I felt—

at peace.

He asked for nothing.

He provoked no quarrel.

And he was close to his parishioners.

I had esteem and friendship for him.

Yes, I shall miss him.

All of us—

miss him.

But when I look at that coffin lying there,

I tell myself that perhaps, that is not what Christ saw.

He is not in the habit of looking at appearances.

He seeks out our innermost being.

Christ sees in us—

what we ourselves cannot see.

What, lost in our lies, we refuse to see.

As he saw in Sarah that she could bear a child at an advanced age.

As he saw in Judas the man who would betray Him.

When he looked at Father Foucher,

what did he see?

Charlotte.

- Good morning, Charlotte. - Good morning, Father.

- How was it? - Everything went as planned.

- No—No questions? - None.

- Very well, sit down.

Now what do we do? - We forget the whole story.

Close the file. If no one noticed anything,

there's no reason to dwell on it. The body's been cremated. End of story.

- Wha if one day the story comes out anyway? - We can say we didn't know.

After all, that's the truth.

- Except that the death certificate handed to me states otherwise.

In terms of responsibility, I'm the one on the front line.

It's unbelievable.

- What?

- That she managed to be a priest all these years.

- A woman can't be a priest.

- We have proof that she can. - Yes, Charlotte—

the truth is that we knew absolutely nothing about Pascal.

- I managed to gather some information.

His civil status, first of all.

Pascal Foucher, born August 10, 1969, born anonymously, male.

- So—

- There lies the whole mystery.

No adoption, but placed in foster care until his malority.

After that, I lost track of him.

I found him again five years later at the seminary, thanks to our archives.

He was ordained priest in 1995 in Besançon.

In 2008, he organized World Youth Day in Sydney, then in Madrid.

And eventually in 2013 he ended up in Saint-Laurent, where he settled.

A very good parish priest.

Very much appreciated, dedicated to his neighbourhood.

Now suddenly I don't know if I should say he or if I should say she.

- My feeling is, if it's all right with you, that we should continue to use he.

Father Pascal Foucher.

- You're right. That's probably what she would have wanted.

- I don't give a shit what she would have wanted!

Her imposture contaminates our Church and forces us to maintain her lie.

- I think the Vatican has just reiterated John Paul II's position on the ordination of women.

An eternal no. Good Lord, it couldn't be clearer.

- But Pope Francis has opened up avenues for them to become deacons.

At least in the Amazon, to compensate for the shortage of priests.

- The commission concluded in the negative.

- Yes, but it’s still proof he’s thinking about it, right?

- If the scandal breaks, and the Vatican finds out our seminaries are infiltrated by women—

that would be the apocalypse, no?

- You could ask those in charge of the seminaries to check the applicants' biological status.

- And what next? We're not going to start checking everybody's assets!

- So. Conclusion?

- Well—

We have to dig a little deeper, don't we?

To find out why she—I mean, why he chose this life.

- No, First of all we need to find out how this could have happened.

If there are people who knew, accomplices, they must be identified.

I can carry out a morality survey among his parishioners.

Get a discreet overview, then we can break it down.

- That might arouse a little more suspicion.

Chancellor?

- I don't think people will talk to him.

They'll talk to someone capable of understanding.

- Hm. My eternal gratitude.

- What I mean is, talking about someone's gender—

isn't something you'd do with a man of the Church, is it?

- Seriously?

You can't imagine what we 'e told in confession?

- Yes, but this isn't about confession.

- Just be careful, I don't want to get caught up in the seal of confession.

Things are bad enough as it is.

- In this case—

We need to send someone no one will suspect.

- Someone like you, for example?

Someone discreet, middle-aged, faithful to her Church.

A shadow who can gather what witnesses say without letting anything stand out in full light.

I have always handled delicate matters.

And I dealt with this one from the start.

Besides, I think we confide more in a woman than in a man.

Excuse me, I have work to do.

- Good luck in your investigation.

Good evening, Sylvie. This is Charlotte Rivière.

Yes, Quivering Frog.

Oh yes, for sure, it's been a while.

I'm doing very well.

Chancellor of the diocese of Paris, fifty years old, single—

Yes, I can imagine!

Listen, I wanted to ask you something.

Do you have access to the online archives of the Child Welfare Service?

Why yes, yes of course, trust me.

Hey—Brownie's honour!

It's about a kid, born anonymously.

End of the 60s. Pascal Foucher.

OK, I'll wait.

Just a sec.

So no adoptive family. A foster family. A name?

Agathe Marsac.

Alive? Where?

Um, excuse me, Sylvie, I'll call you back.

No, trust me. I'll call you back. And thank you.

What are you doing here? School finished?

- I've been expelled. - Again?

But why?

Why?

Thomas! Why?

OK, I'm calling the school.

- Somebody called me a bastard.

I got in a fight, I've been suspended for a week. End of story.

- A week? But I' m working. I absolutely don't have time—

- Don't worry! You go to bed early, I get up late, I won't get on your nerves.

- Thomas.

- Here we list requests for recognition of miracles.

- All right.

- Come whenever you want, there are some wonderful things here.

- Thank you very much, Jean-Baptiste. - Yes, sure.

- Excuse me, my phone. - Please.

- Allo, Charlotte. - Hello Anne, have you arrived yet?

Yes, of course. So I went down to the archives,

as you advised me. - All right.

And Jean-Baptiste kindly gave me a guided tour. - Very good.

I discovered the secrets of the history of our Church.

At least, those we have access to.

Anyway, he's lovely.

It’s fascinating. - Great, great.

Listen, I won't be able to come in today, because I'm having an issue with my son.

Monsignor Mével is at the French bishops' conference, so that'll be fine.

- Coming. - On the other hand,

If the auxiliary bishop asks about me, if you could—Well—

- Cover for you? - Oh no, I wouldn't go that far.

Just tell him— - Don't worry, he's not here either.

- Really? Where is he?

Everything's here.

- Are you sure? - I gave you his list.

This is what he leaves to his parishioners.

His Magnificat collection.

- The song of the Virgin Mary.

- Connoisseur?

- A little.

The collection is for you? - Yes I know.

The canticle was a great passion in his life.

Vivaldi's version for his funeral was perfect.

But Bach's has always been his favorite. More joyful, like Pascal was.

- Curious, isn't it? - What?

- His only books are on the lives of female saints.

He wasn't interested in men? - What kind of a question is that?

- I'm his executor, I make inquiries.

- He preferred the company of women. So what?

They take care of everything in the parish.

Coffee, bunches of flowers, organizing parties, supporting families.

Besides, Pascal always said that if women went on strike, they'd bring the Church to its knees.

- Can I see the bathroom?

Good morning.

At the time, a lot of kids were coming to my house.

The Welfare entrusted them to me in exchange for a small salary,

and after my husband died, it was my means of getting over it.

Some stayed longer than others.

But Pascal—

How could I forget him.

For me, him being a priest just isn't possible.

- But you haven't stayed in touch with him?

- No.

- Why not?

- He really was seeking his own path.

He was a a boy apart.

- Apart? In what way? - Different, certainly. That's all.

- A real little boy?

- Well yes, obviously, what do you think?

A real little boy in the flesh.

I wasn't raising little rabbits. - Yes of course.

- He was my favourite.

I adored him.

And then when he came of age, he left to study medicine.

—And never came back.

- Why not? - Well—

You know—ingratitude.

It's not very large, is it? Not made for privacy.

- We had our schedules.

Anyway, why does that concern you? What are you implying?

- Just checking, that's all.

- That we lived as a community? Yes! And anyway,

being a priest also means you enjoy living with others, does it not?

How do you do it at the bishopric?

- I'd rather share prayers than shaving cream.

- Everyone has his own habits.

Pascal and I often used to pray together.

And he liked to remind me that when you pray,

"go to the most secluded room in your house, close the door—

"And pray to your Father, who is there in the secret place".

- He liked secrets, did he?

- Are you always like this? - Like what?

- Asking a billion questions.

That's Franck, automotive engineer.

Bruno, associate professor of history.

The poor fellow was unlucky. He died in a car accident in '83.

And there, that's little Olivier.

Prosecuting Attorney. That's not nothing, is it!

- Is Pascal there? - Well yes, he is.

You can't see him very well because he's hiding behind Béatrice.

I remember that.

It was his first day with us.

Poor boy, he always believed his real parents would come back for him.

What about you? Do you have children? - Yes, a son, he's 15.

Not easy. - No indeed, it's the hormones.

At 15 they become real little savages.

And can't his father tame him a little?

- He doesn't have a father. - Really?

He was born of the Holy Spirit?

52. Still young—

Why did she refuse treatment?

We know she died of cancer...

Breast?

Uterus?

- Medical secrecy is like the secrecy of confession.

There are no exceptions.

- But I'm not here to confess you.

She was my friend.

I loved her freedom full of humour and fantasy.

I can talk about that.

She loved human beings, as did I.

She was attentive to others.

- But did she consider herself a man or a woman?

- A woman, of course.

- But she lived as a man.

- No. As a priest.

- A priest is a man.

- She didn't inject herself with hormones to become a man,

but to have the right to become a priest.

Not the same thing.

- It's extreme.

- Did she have a choice?

Vanity, confusion, I—

- I do understand your annoyance.

This radicalizes the issue of the priest's relationship to his body.

What's your view on that?

What is your male body used for?

You can't enjoy it—nor procreate.

- What I don't understand is why she asked you to reveal the truth.

- Maybe in the hope that something will happen.

- Do you believe in Santa Claus?

- You believe that Mary was a virgin.

You can imagine how hard that is for a doctor to accept.

Yes it's me. You're awake?

There's chicken in the fridge, if you're hungry.

But call me back. Call me back when you're awake.

I know very well who you are.

Mme Marsac has just called me. You don't waste time.

- Mme Marsac? Is that what you call her?

- It's her name.

“Mum” wasn't an option, neither for her nor for us.

Which means she kept us all at arm's length.

What is it you want?

- What did she tell you? - Nothing.

That Pascal had just died.

- Surely that's not nothing? - We haven't seen each other for over 30 years.

Even at the time, we weren't very close.

As soon as he came of age, he disappeared into thin air.

- What was he like as a child? - Completely off base.

Very introverted.

No friends. It’s truly incredible he became a priest.

- Which tells us they do take just anyone. - Pascal was a very good priest.

- Then he must have changed a lot.

- To the point of becoming a woman? - Pardon?

- No, nothing, forget it. - No. You've said too much or not enough.

- Listen, I'm sorry to bother you. I'll find another way.

- No, wait. Give me the name of your manager.

- When Pascal Foucher died,

they found the body of a woman.

- Listen, in my job, we sometimes see people who have false identity documents,

who use false names, false nationalities.

But I've never seen anyone changing sex. That's far too complicated.

- But the woman who impersonated your brother needed a man's identity.

- To become a priest?

- What matters to me is to find who the Church cremated under the name of Pascal Foucher.

Who was this woman? And how did she actually become a priest?

- And Pascal?

What happened to him? Do you think someone could have killed him?

- I—hadn't thought of that.

- Hang on, you didn't go to the police to report him missing?

- It's too early. for that, especially since the Church is carrying out its own investigation.

- Who do you think you are? Do you think the Church controls the law?

- Sir.

The priest we're talking about was an infinitely good person.

Entirely devoted to her community. Not at all the type—

- I see exactly what you're trying to do.

- What? - You want to cover up the affair.

- No, not at all.

- You meet all the people who knew Pascal to ensure their silence.

That's all that matters to you. - Absolutely not.

On the contrary, I want to go further and find the truth.

- The truth. - Yes.

- This is where you'll find it. Not in your churches.

Charlotte.

Charlotte.

Charlotte, hello, forgive me. There's someone asking for you.

- Where?

- There's a lady in your office who wants to speak to you.

- Who is she? - I don't know.

You didn't ask? - No, I told her to wait.

- All right.

- Charlotte.

Everything went well yesterday. I managed the day.

No questions. From anyone.

- Thank you.

- Anne. - Yes?

- Can you come to my office for a moment, please?

All right, I'm coming.

Good morning.

Questioning Mme Marsac about Pascal is something particularly delicate.

- Really? Why?

- Pascal was the smartest of us all.

She admired him.

She cherished him more than anything.

- Yet she told me he left when he came of age and never came back.

- Except that two or three years later, Pascal came to visit us at the farm.

There was always a party when a former resident came to visit.

But on that occasion it went very badly.

We heard Madame Marsac arguing very loudly with him.

We were all frozen around the table.

We'd never heard her scream like that.

And then suddenly everything went quiet. Pascal had gone again.

She came to put away the cutlery.

She just told us we wouldn't see him again.

- What do you think could have made her so angry?

Well, we never found out.

- So why—

Why have you come to confide all this to me directly?

- Did you question Mathilde?

- Mathilde? - Mathilde Moineau.

- But—she's not in the picture?

- No, she was the one holding the camera.

She vanished too.

I tried to track her down a few years ago. Impossible.

Apparently she joined the gypsy community.

- Gypsies, travelers? - Yes.

No address, no proof of existence.

Vanished.

Same as you, I'd like to understand.

- Thank you for coming, Béatrice, and don't worry, I'll keep you informed.

It's very nice of you, thanks.

Goodbye. - Bye.

Informed of what?

- It's a manner of speaking, a polite formula. Take your pick.

- I don't think you fully understand the gravity of the situation or the mess we're in.

- Why are you telling me this? - We've just had a phone call from M Blanc.

- Really? But—why?

- Are you serious? What the hell have you done? What's this murder story?

- That wasn't me. He drew his conclusions on his own.

- Because you went and told him that a woman had been buried instead of—

of a priest.

Monsignor Mével wants to see you. He's waiting for you in his office. Immediately.

You clearly didn't understand me. This case is not for you, Charlotte.

The proof is that you're doing it all wrong!

- Father, I assure you— - I called M Blanc back myself to calm him down.

He's threatening to notify the police, to alert the media, if we don't find the real Pascal Foucher—

if we don't give him the true identity of the woman who was cremated in his place.

Do you realize the disaster?

Even we don't know!

- As far as I'm concerned, I found nothing.

No one seems to know about the fraud.

From all sides, it's a concert of unanimous praise.

Father Pascal Foucher was a wonderful priest,

generous, human, attentive—

- That seems to annoy you.

Does it bother you to discover that a woman can make a good priest?

- No, all these people were deceived. If they knew the truth, they'd change their minds.

- Maybe not. - They would.

We can no longer afford your offroad excursions.

What were you thinking of, carrying out an investigation in parallel with mine?

Whose team are you on?

You're too emotional in this case. It's starting to become dangerous for us.

- OK, listen, I feel bad enough as it is.

There's no point in treating me like a child.

- Of course I will!

If it were up to me you'd have been fired a long time ago.

You're lucky Monsignor Mével has supported you all this time.

It makes no sense.

- Right. Would you leave us?

Please.

Charlotte, you—you put me in a difficult position.

What's happening to us is unprecedented.

Your role is the administrative management of our archives, and the application of canon law.

- It's more than that. - That's all we expect of you!

The auxiliary is right. I support you more than I should. I—

This time, I can't.

- Father?

It upsets me to know that I could have disappointed you.

But I'm an excellent chancellor.

And you should continue to trust me.

You should continue to let me investigate.

I need to know how this woman managed to impose herself.

How she managed to circumvent the system to become a priest.

- No, the problem is— - Is what?

- It's that you talk too much.

You and I both know—

that you already carry a heavy secret within our Church.

I don't want you carrying any more.

- I didn't expect this attack. - No, but—please understand me.

I don't want you mixed in such a tumult that risks sweeping us all away, me above all.

My responsibility is huge.

I feel responsible for you, whatever you might think.

Seeking the truth about Pascal won't repair your fault or your past.

I'm sorry, I—

OK, and don't forget to finish the song about the shepherd.

- Yes. See you next week.

Boys, don't run. Quiet.

Goodbye, Anne. - Goodbye, Madeleine.

I knew him as a child, he taught me my catechism.

And he told the story of Christ better than anyone.

Now today it's my turn, and I draw huge inspiration from him, from what he gave me.

- Which is what?

- Reassurance.

The certainty of love.

And when he became ill, I had to spend a lot of time with him.

I was aware of his spiritual wealth and the time remaining to him.

- Did he confide in you? Did he talk about himself? - No, never.

He listened to me.

- Thanks to you, he didn't die alone.

- He wasn't on his own.

Latterly, a woman came to live in the presbytery.

- A woman came to live in the presbytery?

- Yes. A woman called Mathilde.

She took care of him, fed him, read to him, kept him company.

- But who was this Mathilde?

- I don't know. She said she was his sister.

She left the evening of his death.

But it's not easy to be a priest.

- What are you implying?

- I don't know if she was his sister, but they were very close, very tender towards each other.

But I didn't say anything to the auxiliary.

- Why not?

- Well because—

because I loved Father Pascal.

I loved him for his humanity, in his honesty.

For his fragility, too.

He was a wonderful priest.

Did you have a good day?

What did you do? - Nothing.

How about we decorate your room this weekend?

That way we take advantage of— - No need!

- I called the school. It's fine. You'll be able to go back on Monday.

You're happy, yeah?

I won't be here. - Oh, Thomas. Stop. OK?

You're the one who scowls when you look at me. I feel like you're going to hit me in the face. Stop!

- You're never here.

- I'm never here because I work. You're weird, I've already told you.

Does it take all that time to be the bishop's secretary?

- First of all, I'm not his secretary, I'm chancellor of the diocese.

And yes, it's a responsible job, as you can imagine.

For example, one of our priests has just died.

So for our archives, I have to retrace his life,

Find out who he really was. Understand his origins, you see.

That's my job, and it's important.

- Are you serious?

- What?

- I've been asking you for years where my father is, when you don't have the slightest idea.

And now you're telling me you break your back all day to find the origins of a priest?

Doesn't anything shock you?

Why don't you help me? Why are you lying?

- Am I the liar? - Yes you are!

- Really? So what's all this about a stolen knife in the principal's office?

What did you expect? I found out. Is that what you cut yourself with?

That's great, Thomas. Go ahead, keep going. Fabulous!

What exactly do you expect from me? To take you in my arms?

Tell you "Oh dear, poor little boy, he doesn't know his daddy"?

Is that what you expect from me?

How long are you going to throw that at me? The rest of my life?

Hey, I was abandoned too. I'm alone too.

And I'm not giving you his name because I don't want you to find him.

There, is that what you wanted to hear? I've told you.

It's disgusting, but that's how it is.

- That's what's disgusting . You start to cry every time I try to talk about him.

That's disgusting.

Up you get!

- Are you crazy? Leave me alone! - I have to go. Hurry up, you're coming with me.

- Get out!

- I have someone to see. - I don't give a shit. Go away.

- He's a friend of your father.

Jérémy.

- Charlotte. What are you doing here?

- It's been a long time! - It's nice to see you.

- Hey, you haven't changed. - Neither have you.

- This is my son, Thomas.

- Nice to meet you. Jérémy. - Hi.

- What are you doing here? - I need help.

- If you've come here, you probably need a miracle.

- I'm looking for Mathilde Moineau.

- Mathilde Moineau? That's a gadji name.

Why are you looking for her here? Did she marry a gypsy?

- I don't know. - I need to ask around. What do you want with her?

- She stayed with one of our priests in his last days.

I need to talk to her, to get some background.

- This weekend we move to Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. All the gypsies will be there.

I'm hitting the road this evening. Come with me.

Come on!

- Are you okay?

Come on, give it to me!

Go!

Give it to me! - He looks like him.

- Yes.

- Did you know he's back in France?

- No. I didn't know.

When?

- I don't know, a month ago? Maybe a little more.

I thought that's why you were here.

- Did he come to see you?

- He asked me about you.

- What did you tell him?

- That I didn't have any news.

Does he know?

- Thomas?

No.

- Are you going to tell him?

- I'm trying.

I asked him for some time.

- How old is he?

- 15.

- He's patient.

What did you tell him?

- The truth.

That his father had fled to the other side of the world when I got pregnant.

- That's—harsh.

- Yeah. It's harsh.

Thank you, I'm so happy.

- I'm glad you came.

You search my heart, you visit it at night,

Test me, you will find nothing.

My word does not exceed my thoughts.

Amen.

At the sight of the deeds of men, by the word of your lips,

I keep myself from the paths of the violent.

Listen to what is right.

Pay attention to my cry.

Give ear to my prayer, made by lips without guile.

Amen. - Let my virtue appear before your eyes.

Let your eyes behold righteousness. - Amen.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. - Amen.

Go forth in the peace of Christ. - We give thanks to God.

Are you a priest?

- I'm a rachaï, I accompany gypsies in faith.

- Yeah, a priest. - Yes.

Didn't she tell you?

- She never says anything.

Do you know my father? Is he a gypsy? - I know him, yes.

- Where is he? Will he be there at the pilgrimage?

- Look, it's not my place to— Take it up with your mother.

- What's happening?

What's the matter?

Jérémy?

What? - Your story's impossible. Just impossible.

A woman couldn't fool our institution like that for so many years. Impossible.

- She could. - She couldn't.

Why do you want this Mathilde you're looking for? To see if she knows about the story?

- Yes. Among other things, yes.

- No, frankly, this double life makes no sense. What's the point?

She could just as easily have become a nun.

- Yes, but that's precisely what she didn't want.

She wanted to be able to celebrate Christ the same as you.

- No no, not the same as me. - Why not?

- Because I'm clear about who I am.

I'm clear in my commitment to my community.

- You're clear because you're excluded from nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Don't you understand that you're free to fully live your vocation?

Don't you understand that?

And why not, anyway?

There are actually a lot of women rabbis, pastors, imams.

Why doesn't the Catholic Church want to join this century?

- But it's not that it doesn't want to, it can't!

During the mass, the priest represents Jesus. And Jesus is a man. Stop it.

- No, wait—

are you telling me you can because you've got one, but I can't because I haven't?

No no, that’s no argument. I don't buy that argument.

- You're wrong! - No, I'm not wrong!

- Oh dear.

Your mother doesn't give up, does she? It 's hard.

What do you think?

- What? - Well, all that?

- Women priests?

I don't know. I don't care, I don't believe in God.

But if he does exist, in my opinion he's like me, he totally doesn't give a shit.

- At least it's radical. A thought—

- My ears are bleeding right now, I can tell you.

How are you doing? Are you doing well? Ah, that’s nice.

Hey, I missed you.

I'm happy to see you. It's nice.

Thanks thanks. Yeah.

How's the old man doing? - Yes. Yes. Okay okay.

Tell me, who's she? - She's a friend of mine. She's family.

She's looking for Mathilde, a gadji. Mathilde Moineau, does that ring a bell? No?

- No. - Really? Nothing?

- Good morning. - That'll make me feel good.

- Thanks.

I'm going to unload the van, I'll be back. - Yes, yes.

- I feel you're worried. Are you OK? - Oh, I'm fine.

Are you looking for Mathilde?

- Yes, I'm looking for Mathilde, Mathilde Moineau, do you know her?

- What do you want with her? - Well—I'd like to talk to her.

You shouldn't bother her. We're here to celebrate Sara's pilgrimage.

- Oh no, I don't want to bother her at all, I just want—

- Then I welcome you. Have a good pilgrimage.

- Thank you.

So, you've met Gloria? - Yes.

- She knows everyone here. She can definitely help you.

You know she's the only woman who sings? - Why's that?

- Well, among the gypsies, women don't have that right.

But she doesn't care. If she wants to sing, she sings.

He thinks his father is a gypsy.

Don't let him believe just anything.

Lord, help me.

Help me to walk in your light.

And in your truth.

Let my fears be healed by the sweetness of your love.

Amen.

Your father—

Your father's name is Mathias.

Mathias Rochelle.

When we met, I was 24 and he was 28.

I had just finished my law studies.

And—

Mathias—

Mathias was the priest of my parish.

He was extraordinary.

I admired him enormously.

Over time, we became friends, close friends.

We knew very well—

what was happening between us, but—

we also knew that—that it was forbidden.

For ten years, nothing happened.

And then when I turned 30, I felt deeply distressed.

I was tired of waiting for something that would never come.

So I stopped seeing him.

And I started a relationship with a man who had been flirting with me for a long time.

Your father went crazy.

He couldn't sleep, he couldn't do anything.

So one night, he knocked at my door.

And we kissed.

It was wonderful.

He loved me, I loved him.

But I also knew that he loved his vocation more than anything.

A thousand times, we tried to break up, a thousand times.

But we always came back.

And then—I got pregnant with you.

I was almost 40.

I was scared.

Your father was in shock.

Unable to ask me to abort.

Unable to renounce the priesthood.

Unable to do anything.

I didn't dare ask him to choose. I didn't dare to be resolute.

I thought he would choose me.

A few days later he spoke to our bishop.

And he was sent to Sumatra.

A tsunami had just devastated Indonesia.

He left with the first humanitarian convoy.

I never saw him again.

So.

Thomas.

Thomas!

No, Thomas! But—

Thomas, what are you doing?

Leave me alone!

- Please forgive me!

- Get away! Get away!

Thomas, what are you doing?

Thomas! Come back!

Help! Help!

Charlotte!

Thomas!

- What's the matter? - Thomas!

- Charlotte? What is it? - Help—

He went into the water, I can't see him any more.

Thomas! Thomas!

Come! Come on! Come! -Thomas!

Help! He's gone into the water!

What happened?

- You almost drowned. Everything's all right now.

Rest.

I was so scared.

Please forgive me.

How is he?

- He's out of danger. He was unconscious for a while,

but the water hadn't reached his lungs and his blood pressure is fine.

Don't worry.

- Thank you. Thank you so much.

My name is Charlotte. - I know.

I'm Mathilde. It's me you're looking for.

There.

You took this picture, didn't you?

- No, it wasn't me.

- Are you sure? - I'm sure.

- But why?

- Because I'm in it.

- You're Pascal Foucher. - I was.

- But—how is that possible?

Simple. We just exchanged identities.

Pascal Foucher became Mathilde Moineau. And vice versa.

As a child, Mathilde already felt the call of God.

Maybe because she was abandoned in a church, I don't know.

I felt another call.

- That of being a woman.

And—how did you do it?

I was an intern at the hospital.

I could get all the hormones I needed.

Mathilde knew my secret.

She was inspired by my transition.

I injected myself with oestrogen, she with testosterone.

Her voice changed, her beard grew,

- And she managed to erase all feminity. - Yes.

But for it to work, we each had to continue on our own.

We exchanged our identity papers, and we left without looking back.

I became Mathilde. And Mathilde became Pascal.

- And she managed to enter the seminary.

That's incredible!

- For me, the road is still long.

Being accepted was arduous.

I had almost no patients.

Then one day, in my waiting room, I discovered Gloria.

She was there, all alone. She stared at me.

She didn't say a single word during the consultation.

But in the following weeks, she came back for treatment.

Amazingly, she was the first to respect me for who I was.

A woman doctor.

I left my past, I followed her and I was finally happy.

It'll be OK.

You knew about it, didn't you?

- If you mean Pascal's secret, the answer is yes.

- But you were his teacher. - Of theology, yes.

- But you knew she was breaking the rules of the Church by wanting to become a priest.

Why did you cover up the lie?

- At the time, Pascal had already been with us at the seminary for three years.

He was a rough young man,

with a sparse beard.

He was thoughtful, generous, very invested.

It was a pleasure to share questions about the Gospels with him.

Our—prayers of the moment.

When I looked at him, I saw a young man, a brother.

a seminarian like the others.

So,

one night,

after my class,

when he came to confide in me,

when he came to tell me his secret,

I was afraid.

Very scared.

It was the most extraordinary secret I have ever learned in my entire life.

One of the most powerful of confessions.

I stopped sleeping.

I could think of nothing else.

In my class, I was harbouring a—strange being.

A creature of God.

What did he want me to do?

What did God expect of me?

Would I have the heart to expel this woman,

when she had found refuge in faith?

One morning, very early,

she came to see me.

She asked me one question.

She asked me:

“How can I say no to God?”

Even though she was a woman,

how could she refuse God's call?

How?

On the third shelf, on the right.

The biscuit box.

Finally, I left the seminary. I left teaching.

A few years later, I received this letter.

I never answered it.

I knew the risk if our correspondence was discovered.

She had more courage than me.

I'm giving it to you.

- Why?

- I'm almost 80. I'm going to join Pascal.

I no longer risk anything in the world of men.

All I care about is God's judgment.

And on that side, I made my peace with him.

Dear Brother Jean-Pierre,

I shudder to think of writing to you because I know that this letter—

will revive in you the torment of the confession I made to you almost seven years ago.

I also shudder with an immense joy,

the joy to announce to you that yesterday morning,

in the Saint-Jean cathedral in Besançon,

I was finally ordained a priest.

I announce it to you as to the father you were to me,

because your teaching, your affection, have been my refuge,

my second birth,

the one that I was able to choose to carry forward my existence.

By abandoning me in a church, my mother tore me from herself, but also entrusted me to God.

Yes, the warmth of his love has always been in my spirit,

and the certainty that I would one day have to give him my life—

has always been in my body.

Misfortune did not want me to be born a woman.

But because of this, the Church can't accept—

that I celebrate him by becoming a priest.

Organizing my metamorphosis, abandoning my body, has never been difficult,

because I responded to his call.

This secret plunged me into immense solitude for years.

But I regretted nothing.

I knew his unconditional love could understand the recesses of my soul,

and that his goodness, his humour too, would surely come to my aid one day.

This miracle has happened.

God has put others on my path,

other sisters,

other women in black.

I thought I was alone, but I guessed their presence during my apostolate year.

There were at least three of us.

We remained discreet and avoided being seen together too often.

But we knew.

I hope you will forgive me this last confession.

The words you gave me, when you left the seminary, still resonate within me.

Be at peace, my son.

There's no point in tormenting yourself.

The trials of this world sometimes escape us,

but we must retain confidence in the infinite goodness of Our Lord,

and try to find the inspiration to become better.

Judgment is not ours.

I leave behind me the woman I was and who I no longer am.

The path to oneself is always the most painful, but it's also the most necessary.

Today, I finally exist.

I'm a priest.

I'm Father Pascal Foucher.

Here.

What are you doing?

- We warned you. You were told not to meddle in this.

- But—we can't lock this in the archives.

We can't keep it a secret.

We need to open the discussion, we need to hear it.

- What do you expect? Can we change the rules of catholicism like that? By snapping our fingers?

- Father.

The Church must evolve, otherwise it'll die.

Accepting women would be a blessing for— - Don't talk nonsense.

- Yes! To restore hope, to restore energy.

It would be a strong and glorious message of sharing, equality and opening minds.

Vocations are becoming increasingly rare. The boat is sinking.

It's your duty to think about the future of the Church.

And how can we get there without accepting the women of our community?

- That's enough. Stop, stop, stop, stop!

Charlotte, I have always supported you, always. What are you trying to do?

You're the chancellor of the diocese.

I supported your application for the position.

Do you realize the risks I took for you?

- You promoted me to chancellor—

to keep me with you.

And assure you of my silence after Mathias left.

I was alone, I was weak, and I obeyed.

- You—you're being unfair.

- I don't think so.

Father.

We've always been close. Friends, even.

I don't understand this change in attitude.

And that saddens me greatly.

Stay away from all that, Charlotte. Don't attract attention.

Shade is the greatest refuge, believe me.

I'd hate to have to dismiss you. You understand?

- I could resign.

- You may go.

The body of Christ. - Amen.

The body of Christ. - Amen.

English subtitles by jeremys and Marseille

TNT 2023