 Family Theater presents Spencer Tracy and Wallace Ford. The mutual network in cooperation with Family Theater brings you Joppy the Juggler with Wallace Ford as Joppy. To introduce the drama, your host, Spencer Tracy. Thank you, Tony LaFranco. Family Theater's purpose is to bring to everyone's attention a practice that must become an important part of our lives. If we are to win peace for ourselves, peace for our families, and peace for the world. Family Theater urges you to pray. Pray together as a family. Spencer takes great pleasure in presenting Joppy the Juggler, starring Wallace Ford as Joppy. LaBelle France was rising swiftly in the world. Louis XI, the spider king, was spinning the final strands of his web. He had defeated Charles the Bold, had absorbed Burgundy, Anjou, Mein, and Provence. The power of France was consolidated, which meant nothing to weary Joppy the Juggler and his darling Blanche Fleur, as they stirred the dust of a lonely road through long dock. An odd pair, they, Joppy his face wrinkled in pale as a faded apricot under a thatch of unruly white hair. His long ragged cloak, stained and patched in many places, flapping about his bony shanks encased in mildewed green hose. Contenderly, he patted his companion's neck. Blanche Fleur looked at him with large affectionate brown eyes. Her long pink ears trembled momentarily. Blanche Fleur had reason to be grateful. Joppy, with generous consideration for her years, was walking by her side. As mules go, Blanche Fleur had lived beyond her prime. And it was on this day that they came to her crossroads in their journey and a signpost which pointed to Masame. Masame? Have we ever been to Masame, my petit? What a wide world it is. What a long world for walking and always the same. Houses and people and children and dogs are nothing to weep. Pardon me, Blanche Fleur. I should not have mentioned that. Of course you're hungry. But you should be used to it after all these years. Because you're misfortune to choose a jugger for your partner. A jugger with six plates who can do anything with them except fill them. Oh well, thinking is for people who have just eaten a plump potridge, not for the likes of us. Hello, my petit. We had better sound the cymbals to tell the people of Masame that we are coming so they'll know we're honest travelers and not thieves. The known throughout the world for my magic fingers, I will show you wonders you will not believe in all with only six plates. These six plates which I throw into the air one at a time always two in my hands and four in the air. Watch them, watch them closely. Do you see that? Do you see what I see? A loaf of bread, a larded capon, a royal sturgeon, a cheese car and a sizzling pork. And wash them all down with a fine wine spice with cinnamon and ginger. What a jugger. I'd like to see you try it with some of that fine wine you mentioned. Just hand me six bottles filled and I promise not to lose a drop. What else have you got in your bag of drinks? I can dance to cartwheels, backflip. Oh come on, Marie, we've seen all this before. Come back, come back, come back, my friend. And that is what you will see here. Here is my cap empty. Now watch, nothing in my hands and yet, here is a rock. A rock? My Fabian produced rabbits and ducks and even a small dog. Six empty plates and one rock. We have plates in our own cupboards and rocks in our face. Ah, but you do not have my Blanche Fleur. And who is she? A golden princess you're about to produce from your tattered cloak. She is my best friend. She stands beside me here. The mule? He calls her. He'll laugh, but not one of you has the patience, the loyalty and the intelligence of my Blanche Fleur. Now he says we are no better than mules. Come on, we came to be entertained, not to be made fools of. Blanche Fleur. Blanche Fleur. Ah, well. So Mazamé did not like us. Perhaps the next village will. And on the way, who knows, we may find a farm where we can work for our supper. Hands up my petite, then have faith. Blanche Fleur, our prayers have been answered. Look there, a chicken. Oh, but wait. It doesn't belong to us. But then I don't see anybody around here, do you, Marshaire? If it did belong to anyone, who would be here? He would be here, wouldn't he? Surely this must be a gift of God. But then how can I be sure? I know. If I can catch it, then it must be so. If I can't, so be it. That way my conscience will be clear. Oh, well. We shall see. It is so. Thank God. Not only for the chicken, but she is such a plump one. How different the world looks now. This is truly a most beautiful country. Look. Look. The stranger beckons us ahead. He must have more good news for us. I told you, Blanche Fleur, the sun is shining on us today. Oh, he is a man of God. That bids well. Good day, Father. Good day, my son. You've been waiting for us, Father? Oh, you? I know. I've been scarring the whole countryside searching. Oh, perhaps I can help if you tell me what you are looking for. I raised her myself, fed her myself. She was to be a surprise for the Abbey. And today of all days she is missing. Then we shall find her for you. What does she look like, Father? Well, she was plump, all red, with one round spot of white on her back. And her name, Father? Name? Well, she had no name, my son. We do not name hands. She was a hen? My favorite. Why, I fed her only the finest of corn. Did you say she was all red with a spot of white? Yes, yes. Have you seen her? Well, yes. The truth is, yes. Good, good. Where is she? Father, there is nothing I would rather do than to lead you to your favorite hen. But alas, this is now impossible. Oh, why? I, I ate her. Oh, but she was not yours, do we? Oh, but Father, when I saw her, I did not know that she was not mine, do we? Nevertheless, she was delicious. If I could return her to you, I would, I would even try to forget how delicious she was. I, I would willingly become hungry again. But alas, I cannot undo my sin. I'm glad you're not angry, Father, but could you tell me what is so funny about such a tragedy? I confess, I was slightly exasperated at first, but my son, to what better purpose could I have prepared a fat hen than to feed a hungry man? Well, thank you, Father, but that doesn't make me feel much better about what I did. I should have asked someone before I took such rash liberties with what wasn't mine. I'm just a poor juggler who knows a few tricks of magic, but none which can reproduce your hen. But with the strength she has given me, perhaps I can repay you a little for the first full supper I have had in many years. My son, I have already been repaid. Please, Father, there must be something I can do with the monastery. Unless there is, that hen will lie like a stone on my stomach. Well, if it will make you feel better, I am the monastery cook. The potatoes in my kitchen do multiply far faster than my hands can peel them. Good, good, Father, you have made me feel better. Oh, and Father, a question. Have you any idea how many potato peelings it will take to atone for my sin? I am a good cook, my son, and I could tell you what it takes to make a tasty broth. But yours is a question which only the Lord himself can answer. Excuse me, Father Reno, do you have a moment? We have all eternity, Father Pico. Yes, yes, of course. Father, a travelling juggler by the name of Joppy desires to stay with us for a bit. Our doors are never closed to anyone. But this is a little irregular, Father Reno. He insists upon helping me in the kitchen. And do you object? Oh, no, no, not at all, but you see, it's a little amusing and a little sad. Yes? This Joppy has inadvertently altered the menu I had planned for your dinner with the bishop tomorrow. Well, since neither the bishop nor I knew of your plans, we cannot be disappointed in whatever you choose to serve us. And what is so amazing and sad about all this? Well, this poor Joppy, a man of simple virtue and very hungry, intercepted my prized fat hen. Having no knowledge of her identity, he consumed her himself. And then, when he learned of his mistake, he wanted to use his newfound strength to peel enough potatoes to entomb for his sin. If he has knowledge of the error, Father, and he has fully admitted it, we cannot ask him to do more. Oh, but he insists. Then there is no problem. But he has a mule. Well? We have room for him in the stable. Well? A very old and decrepit mule. Do you wish me to do something about that, Father Pico? Oh, no, no, it's all attended to. Well, then, Father, you seem to have taken care of everything yourself. And now, if you don't mind, I must see Father Julian. Of course, of course. I thank you, Father. Ah, Father Elias, you're the one. I admire your assurance, Father Pico. I am the one what? The one to help me. Hmm? I had planned to ask the Abbey, but I changed my mind. You see, it concerns a traveling juggler. I've already seen him in your kitchen. I admire his energy. So many potatoes in so short a time. Do you know why this Joppy is peeling so many potatoes? Yes, Father Pico. I've heard the story of your poor fat hen. Well, then, this Joppy has taken the whole matter much too seriously. In fact, he is all tied up with the problem of numbers. How many potatoes make an atonement for his scene? I've tried to reassure him, but I'm afraid that since I am a cook as well as a priest, he doubts my qualifications as a theologian. I do believe that he'll keep on peeling potatoes forever, unless somebody sets his mind at rest. Yeah, you pose a very difficult question, but I would like to speak to this Joppy of yours. I want to thank him. I'm indebted to him, you know. Father Pico, despite my furthest resolve, I couldn't keep my eye off that hen of yours. She was a great temptation. Listen, Blanche Fleur, isn't it beautiful? Oh, if only I knew what it all means. Why is it that in all of our travels, we never learn Latin? And, well, you got your sack of oats, didn't you? Just as I promised. And this fine stable. And what a mystery this is. I eat the priest's hen, and you get your oats, and I get a bed with a blanket, and I eat three times a day. But now they tell me I don't have to peel any more potatoes, and I'm afraid to tell them that I don't want to stop. But that would mean that we would have to go. But do you think it would be right for me to commit another sin so that I should be forced to stay and do some more penance? No. But you haven't done anything wrong yet, Blanche Fleur. Perhaps if you ate up some of the carers from the garden, we could stay a little longer. Father Pico. Yes, yuppie? Alas, I have some good news for you. Why, alas, when your face is shining so brightly? Because it's bad news. You see, Blanche Fleur, my mule. Oh, I'm sorry. Is she ill? Well, yes, but it's not the illness for which I am sorry. You see, she should be ill for what she has done. Well, what has she done? I am afraid she has eaten up some of your vegetable garden. Oh, but how did she get out of the stable? I wish you hadn't asked me that, Father. Why? I hadn't expected you to ask me that. But since you have it, it would only make it worse if I lied, wouldn't it? And it's bad enough already. You let her out yourself? Yes, I did, Father. Oh, why? Well, Father, I wanted her to eat some of your vegetable garden. But why? If I may speak for Blanche Fleur, as well as myself, we are both very anxious to do penance for her criminal appetite. You couldn't think of any other way of staying with us? No, Father. Blanche Fleur and I don't belong here, except to make amends for things we do wrong. Well, my friend, that is why we're all here, to make amends. You may visit with us for as long as you wish, Choppy. I don't wish to visit, Father. Father, I... You don't visit when you're home. Well, then there is no problem at all. But there is. And I'm too old ever to solve it. You see, Father Pico, I don't know any Latin... Father Pico, in all the years I've known you, I've never seen your kitchen in such good order. No, I cannot take credit for the neatness of my kitchen, Father. No, no, my friend, Choppy, in his overwhelming gratitude, treats it as a room in heaven. But, Father Elias, if you don't mind my saying so, I think you've always preferred my room. Yes, which is because of my careless... this usually provides a scrap or two left over from breakfast or something. Well, how else can I pay tribute to your genius, Father? Then, would you like a bowl of broth to fortify you for the fast tomorrow? The vigil of the nativity. Ah, yes. Well, there are many ways of veneration. Tomorrow I fast. Tonight I take advantage of your offer and sip a bit of your broth in honor of the Blessed Virgin. Hold on, my friend, not so fast. You'll burn your tongue. Father Elias, you are a master of paradox. I have one that perhaps you can explain. It concerns my poor Choppy. Is he still worried about not knowing Latin? Oh, no, no, no, it's not that. He's learned enough to say the Ave. He learned it the hardest way too, by rote. No, no, it's not that. I have never seen a happier man than Choppy when he was told he could stay with us as a laborer. But recently I've had the feeling that he is no longer so happy. Don't worry too much, Father Pico. Have you forgotten the change in adjustment and ever easy? When a man has walked all his life and he suddenly stands still and remains still, his muscles complain. For instance, when I stop thinking, my head aches. I thought you were going to suggest that when you stop eating your stomach aches. Lord to shave, Father Pico. Father, thank you. Oh, excuse me, Reverend Fathers. Am I interrupting an important discussion? You come in, come in, Brother Choppy. Father Pico, I have just finished spating the onion bed. Brother Choppy, I wish you would give those poor onions a chance to grow. Oh, well, I guess I was carried away by the beautiful music. It's so much easier to work that way. Father Bertrand was playing the organ, something I had never heard before. That is his new Ave. Maria. It is most especially for the nativity. And by the way, I didn't mention it, Father Pico, but the illumination you painted for his manuscript is magnificent. The most glorious tribute to the Queen of Heaven. It is nothing, nothing compared to your treatise on the virtues of the Mother of God. Thank you, Father. But aren't you falling into the error of evaluating one thing above another? May I remind you of what Saint Francois said, that God requires a faithful fulfillment of the nearest trifle given us to do, rather than the most ardent aspiration to things to which we are not called. What we do best is never trivial, for it is the best that we can do. Ah, blancheur. But every day and every night I feel smaller and smaller until I think I shall vanish altogether. I'm just a nothing here, and I don't know how to be anything. The Reverend Fathers have done such wonderful things in their blessed version, and I have nothing to give her. I'm so stupid I can't even leave the onions in the garden alone. They won't say a word. They're too kind, but I know. We don't belong here. Well, we shall leave tomorrow at dawn. They will be occupied with the vigil of the nativity, and we can slip away quietly. So, sleep well, my dear blancheur. It was a long journey to make, a journey without end, and now we'll pray. At least I have learned this, one in Latin. I think. Ava Maria Grazia Plena. Dominus Takum ben addicted to murder. I wish you would give the onions a chance to grow. God requires the faithful fulfillment of the merest trifle given us to do. Leave the onions alone. A glorious tribute to the Queen of Heaven. The best that we can do is the best that we can do. What did you say, blancheur? No, it wasn't you. It was Father Elias. It was he who said it. Of course. Why didn't I think of it before? The best that we can do. Blancheur, before we leave tomorrow, I must do my best. What is that noise? Why didn't you invite the circus to celebrate the nativity? My father-in-law, that sounded as if it were coming from the chapel of our lady. Has no one looked to see who is committing this outrage? Well, well, open the door. Why? It is Joppe, the juggler. Look at him. He's spinning his plates at the feet of the blessed virgin. Stop him immediately. Please, Father-in-law, just a moment. Father-in-law, look, lady, attend closely. I am Joppe, the juggler. Know throughout the world for my magic fingers. I have only six plates, but watch them. These six plates, I throw up into the air one at a time. Always two in my hands and four in the air. Watch them closely. Watch them now. Look, do you not see a beautifully illuminated athymaria, especially composed for you? The pictures ever painted of you and your son, Jesus, and all the finest works of the wise and brilliant men who venerate you. And, lady, on the last plate is the least of all the only gift that I could bring. The six biggest onions from the field I spaded too often and not too well. See them, lady. See them spinning. Always two in my hand and four in the air. Six empty plates that I can fill only with love for you. Oh, thank you, lady. Thank you. Well, that's all, lady. Or maybe I should say amen. No doubt he is a good man, Father Reno. He meant no harm. I know, Father Pico. You have told me before about this jobby, the juggler. It was the only way he knew how to show his devotion. Yes, truly, blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God. Ma petite Blanche Fleur, ah, never did six plates spin so swiftly. Never were my hands so sure. Never did I see so clearly the things I dreamed of for her. But Blanche Fleur, this is the most wondrous thing of all. I swear that I could see her hands flutter in a gentle applause. I'm sure to look up at her. She smiled. Perhaps now we will not have to go after all. But Blanche Fleur, we've got to get busy. I've got to think up some more tricks. Maybe I could borrow the candlesticks from the altar. Just imagine. Six-lighted candles spinning in the air. There's never been done in all this world. Ah, but... Then no juggler in all this world before has ever had such an audience. This is Spencer Tracy again. To keep a lunch in appointment, I walked into the office of a business friend the other day and found that on his work-piled desk he had one of those little signs that you too, no doubt, have often seen on decks or walls, especially in business establishments. Each sign has one big printed word. Think. While waiting, I read the newspaper. And when he was about ready to join me a few moments later, I jabbed a forefinger at several news stories dated Washington, Korea, Moscow and Berlin and said more or less to start conversation, Joe, from the mess the world's in, we'd better change signs like this one to another word. Pray. He thought about that for a moment while getting on his coat. And then he replied, Spencer, I believe my little sign is better than you imagine. It's supposed to caution clear thinking, you know. If a man thinks it all, he's uncertain to pray. Prayer, then, is a natural consequence of clear thinking. Any thinking man knows that our problems are so great that we must have help from above. It's only the self-sufficient fool or the man who doesn't think very clearly who won't pray. Thinking of God's love for man and of man's perpetual dependence upon God. Well, isn't that the very thought of prayer is by itself? I saw the point of hasten to agree. What he was proving was that clear thinking and prayer can sometimes be the same thing. And while we're on the subject, what better thing is there to pray for all right now but that God will favor us with some clear thinking. In other words, wisdom. And my friend added another thought that's been running through my mind ever since. Abe Lincoln, he said, used to tell his associates that when his cares in the White House got so heavy that he didn't know what to do, he always went to his knees because there was nowhere else to go. Once again, Family Theater reminds you the family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. Well, Family Theater has brought you Joppy the Juggler starring Wallace Ford with Spencer Tracy as your host. Others in our cast were Francis X Bushman, Mae Clark, Herb Rollinson, Bill Johnstone and Tudor Owen. Our story was adapted by Milton and Barbara Merlin from an old French legend. Music was composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman. The program was directed for Family Theater by J.F. Mansfield. Portions of tonight's program were transcribed. This series of Family Theater broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who felt in need for this type of program, by the mutual network which has responded to this need and by the hundreds of stars of state screen and radio who have so unselfishly given of their time and talent to appear on our Family Theater stage. To them, enter you our humble thanks. This is Tony LaFranco expressing the wish of Family Theater that the blessing of God may be upon you and your home and inviting you to be with us Sunday at 10 p.m. New York time on a joyful hour with Bing Crosby and his four boys and a host of stars. And join us next week at this same time when Family Theater will present Loretta Young in Charles Tazwell's beautiful story of the littlest angel. Join us, won't you? This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.