The Cardinal Page #7

I guess that's hardly an inducement

to visit Boston.

I will go to Boston.

Tell me, what do you do?

- I teach.

- I mean when you're not teaching.

Do you go out to the theater, to parties?

Who are your friends?

I tried to find out,

but no one seems to know.

Sometimes I think all you do is sit

alone in your room in the Stallburggasse.

How do you know where I live?

I followed you.

You're different than other men.

"From" other men.

- You know how to wait.

- How to wait for what?

For "whom."

What are you going to do

over the holidays?

I guess I'll just sit all by myself

in my room in the Stallburggasse.

- You want to know something?

- Yes.

I won't let you do that.

Before the war there was no choice

for a girl, only to be married.

Now there are not enough men.

Families have lost their money.

Most of my friends have jobs,

or try to find them.

So people think I'm lucky to have

a rich young man who wants to marry me.

Do you? Think you're lucky?

I'm not sure.

For me to work at a job,

that is not to be a woman.

I think there's one thing I could do well.

One thing I was born for.

To love a man.

To love him so much

that my whole life is to make him happy.

If that's true, then I should think...

When it is my whole life,

it is important I find the right man.

- All I do is talk about myself.

- And about Vienna.

And you talk about America.

But not about Stephen Fermoyle.

Not much to talk about.

I've been in Europe about a year and a half.

Teaching, mostly.

First in Milan, then Munich, now Vienna.

I just go wherever the

International Language School sends me.

But what did you do before?

I mean, in Boston. What did you do there?

Why did you come to Europe?

Aren't we supposed to get off here?

The abbey was founded in 1410...

the church built in a rich Baroque style...

1721-25.

It has a tower. Possibly the finest

Baroque tower of Austria.

You sound like Baedeker.

I'm just trying to keep it impersonal.

The chief attractions of the interior

are the stucco reliefs on the ceiling.

The altar paintings by Schmidt of Krems.

The pulpit richly carved by his father,

Johann Schmidt.

- And the choir stalls...

- Yes, I know all about them.

I've been here before.

- You have?

- Many times.

Why?

I come here to pray.

You're a strange man.

I'm a priest, Annemarie.

I'm on a leave of absence.

Once in a great while,

when a priest is unsure of his vocation...

he is granted time to think about it.

What happens when your time is over?

I must decide whether I want

to go on being a priest...

or ask for a dispensation from my vows,

if I can get one.

In the meantime,

those vows are still binding.

Will it be harder for you to be with me,

now that you've told me?

No harder than before, I think.

Because if I thought...

I was having an influence,

directly or not directly...

on what you will decide...

Yes, if you did?

I would make it, how does one say?

A full-time career.

Annemarie.

There will be no arguments about tonight.

You have to see a Viennese ball,

and this is the last one of the season.

I rented everything you need.

Look.

Tails...

evening shirt, white tie...

- west.

- "Vest."

And a cape.

And Manschettenknpfe.

How do you call that?

- Cufflinks.

- Cufflinks. And this?

Studs.

And chapeau claque.

- Good evening, Kurt.

- Good evening.

- You look wonderful tonight.

- Thank you.

I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Fermoyle.

Stephen, this is Kurt von Hartman.

- Herr von Hartman.

- Mr. Fermoyle, how do you do?

- You're American, aren't you?

- Yes.

Then you are used to lending

your treasures to impoverished Europe.

May I have this dance please? Annemarie?

Excuse me.

- Good evening.

- Good evening.

I heard you say you were from America.

Is it really true

one is not allowed to drink...

even beer and wine?

Are they insane to make this Prohibition?

The people who voted for it obviously

think that any means is justified...

to eliminate the evils of drunkenness.

Excuse me.

You know what that Prohibition is like?

It's like they want to eliminate

the evils of rape...

and so they pass a law

against making love.

Can you imagine a life

without making love?

Excuse me.

- I'm sorry, Stephen.

- For what?

For leaving you alone.

At a ball you should dance.

But you can't.

He seems like a very nice fellow.

Kurt? Yes, he is.

He's the one who wants to marry you?

Yes. Are you jealous?

I'm a priest, Annemarie.

But I'm also a man.

Men can show their feelings,

but a priest has to learn how to hide them.

I can't hide them anymore.

I think I'm in love with you.

I know I'm in love with you.

I cannot ask you to kiss me

while you're still married to the Church.

But in Vienna, even for a married man...

it is a sin not to dance a waltz.

You answer this letter from Philadelphia.

Tell them there will be no private

audiences for at least six weeks.

Welcome to Vatican City, Father Gillis.

Monsignor Fermoyle.

Your letter to the Holy Father

was passed on to me...

as a consultant on American affairs.

He'll see me?

The Holy Father will really see me?

I'm afraid I couldn't arrange that.

But I have arranged for you

to tell your story to Cardinal Giacobbi.

That's the next best thing

to a private audience with the Pope.

I didn't know if I'd hear back at all.

Since I mailed my letter

the day I got to Rome...

I've been waiting

to be called to the phone.

Shall we go along?

His Eminence is expecting us.

Fermoyle, come in, come in.

So, this is the American priest

you told us about.

I'll come back when you're finished.

No, stay. It will not take long, will it?

Monsignor Fermoyle

and Cardinal Quarenghi are old friends.

You find yourself

in a nest of diplomats, Father.

That means that if anyone of us says

exactly what he's thinking...

it's a slip of the tongue.

Sit down.

Please, tell us what we can do for you.

Father Gillis's parish is in the state

of Georgia, in a town called Lamar.

His congregation raised the money

for him to come here.

That's very interesting.

St. Jude, Your Eminence.

It's called St. Jude, my church.

The saint of lost causes.

We should like not to lose this cause.

You see...

there is only one Catholic school

in that part of Georgia.

And, well...

that school will not take the children

of my parish because they're black.

- Well?

- Well, Your Eminence...

is that a Christian thing to do?

It is against Christian principles

for a Catholic school...

to turn away a Catholic child

because of race.

Of course it is.

But we have the most precise machinery...

for the proper enforcement

of these principles.

I did what was proper.

I went to the dean of the district,

Monsignor Whittle.

He said he would never ever

let colored children in their school.

And your bishop?

I wrote him and didn't get an answer.

Then you decided

that the only recourse left to you...

was to come to Rome

and tell your troubles to the Pope?

Your pardon, Eminence.

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