 The Theatre presents Ralph Edwards and Otto Krueger. The Mutual Network in Cooperation with Family Theatre presents the Cobbler's Window, starring Otto Krueger. And now, here is your host, Ralph Edwards. Thank you, Tony Lafranco. Family Theatre's only purpose is to bring to everyone's attention a practice that must become an important part of our lives if we're to win peace for ourselves, peace for our families, and peace for the world. Family Theatre urges you to pray. Pray together as a family. And now, to our transcribed drama, the Cobbler's Window from Count Leo Tolstoy's Where Love Is, Their God Is Also, starring Otto Krueger as narrator and featuring Edgar Berrier as Martin. Seldom as a man created two greater memorials to himself as did Count Leo Tolstoy in the monumental War and Peace and Honor Karenina. So large do these works loom in Tolstoy's name that too often we forget the short stories which rank him as one of history's most prolific literary greats. Well, primarily, a storyteller, Tolstoy enhanced his tales and gave them a classic flavor by writing of those he knew well in his daily life. The nobility, whose life he faithfully recorded, both at the court in St. Petersburg, and the huge ancestral estates were familiar to him as social contemporaries. And perhaps it's because his more famed works deal with life in the Russian courts that Tolstoy's own mode of life is often overlooked. For never was there a count who lived more simply and with more self-denial than he. He gave up, and gladly, the privileges of rank and wealth his birth accorded him, and he developed his sense of life in social service. And that sense of doing for others is the hallmark of his short stories. Now, mirroring this feeling of Tolstoy is the story we've selected for presentation tonight. It is with pleasure that we bring you the cobbler's window from Tolstoy's where love is, there is God is also. And so the story begins. In the village lived the Shoemaker Martin. He lived in a basement in a cramped little room with one window. And through that window we watched the people who passed each day. No, it wasn't really the people that he watched, but only their feet could be seen as they hurried by his basement window. But by their boots, Martin the Shoemaker would recognize them. There were the high, shiny boots of the young lieutenant stepping boldly along with their bright scarlet tassels bobbing, the sensible, heavy black boots of the town mayor treading with measured self-satisfaction, the heavy felt wrappings of the water carrier shuffling along under the weight of his heavy buckets. And there were the scuffed and well-worn brown boots of the children prancing on their way to school. And Martin sitting at his bench would recognize every patch upon them. But till the days end, none of the passersby had a word for the lonely little Shoemaker, say perhaps gruff instructions on his work for them. And so at night the little man would lock up his shop, start down the village street, and his craving for companionship, taking him inevitably to the sounds of laughter and fellowship that rang out from the tavern. Come, please. All right, but none of your sad talk tonight, old man. You discourage my trade with your weight. My weight? Is that what the world calls the heartbreak of an old man? Is this my wretched reward? Oh, drink your drink, old man, and take your tears away from us. You have buried your wife and your only dear son. Aye, you may laugh, for you do not know how ugly is life when one is old and lonely. But you will one day. I promise you that God will serve you as he has me. Here now we'll have none of that talk in here. This is a respectable place, and I'll keep it safe. And I'm a respectable man. Yet, look how my hopes have been laid low. Empty, that is my life. Empty, and these are my remaining days. Oh, if only I could be taken, taken, that I might see my loved ones again. Say, now, it's not right to talk like that. You, barman, tell the old man to go away. Such talk has no place here. Well, you have heard my friends, old man. Get out, go back to your shoes. They who will listen to you, they have no choice, old man. They have no choice. That was the lot of poor Martin. By day, a lonely figure in the midst of his cluttered shop. And by night, shunned by those he knew, those who still felt joy in living and in good fellowship. So day by day, Martin sat and worked, always before his eyes, trod the feet of the village. And by their feet, Martin knew them and their lives. But one day, a pair of boots passed slowly before the window where Martin sat, and Martin did not recognize them. Here they laced felt boots. They were well worn and patched, beyond recognition. And they paused before Martin's little window, and then the door opened. Yes, what may I do for you? Martin, old friend, do you not recognize me? You pilgrim, should I know you? Well, who is it that calls Martin his old friend? It is Stefan, Martin, and I have walked many weary miles to see you. Oh, dear Stefan, this dim light I couldn't see. Well, come in, come in, after these many years. It is many years, dear Martin. Yet I still remember the old days, those happy days when we were as brothers in the village. They were good days, Stefan. Come, I forget myself. I sit down at the table. We have some tea. Thank you, Martin. So you were a pilgrim, Stefan. I had heard you were now a holy man. You do not approve, Martin? Oh, it's well enough, I suppose, to be such if things go right with you. In the village, I have heard of your loss, Martin, and I am truly sorry. But then, little brother, the deaths of your wife and son were decreed. Is that decree just? I do not think so, Stefan. I have left but one thing to pray for, that I might die also. Cheat life of its mean victory over me. No, no, Martin, for that you cannot pray. It is not for you nor for me to petition for death. You may say it, Stefan, and for you it may be belief enough, little brother, what shall one live for, if not for his beloved family? There are others in this world, Martin, and each does not exist independently of the other. The breath of life is given us, and we must treasure it. When you see that, Martin, you will no longer grieve, and life will seem good to you again. You will see, Martin. Well, you are a holy man. If you say so, you must know. Not I, but you must know, Martin. And how is one to know? How is one to live? Do you not know how to read, Martin? To read, of course, of course. Have you forgotten our school days already? Go and buy a testament and read it well. Everything is explained there. A testament? Yes, Martin. Perhaps you will find out why life has been so unrewarding. The words of Stefan had kindled a small blaze of hope in the bleak heart of Martin, and on that very day, he bought a testament and began to study it. Martin intended to read only on Sundays and holidays, and, well, at first he did, rumbling here and scoffing there. But as the pages were turned, he became caught up in their story, and he read every day, sounding aloud the unfamiliar words. And as ye would, that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise? As Martin read, Joy filled his heart, and though the night grew old and the lamp flickered, he read on, for it seemed that he was finding that Stefan had promised him. Here was the long-awaited and quite unforeseen explanation. Legally he began to read of the centurion, the widow's son. He came to the story of the Pharisee, who desired the Lord to break bread with him. He read how the woman that was a sinner anointed his feet and washed them with her tears, and how he forgave her sins. Slowly Martin read aloud. And he turned to the woman and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house. Thou gavest me no water for my feet. But she hath washed my feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. It seems that the rich Pharisee must have been such a man as I. I too have thought only of myself, never of my guest. And in the Pharisee's house there was not the least care taken of his guest, though it was the Lord himself. If he had come to me, should I have treated him in the same manner? Thus with this thought in his mind, Martin rested, and he soon fell asleep. And as he slept, the small room took on a pre-dawn chill, the kerosene and the lamp burned low, until the flickering flame finally died. And still Martin slept. Martin. Huh? Martin. Who is here? Hello? It must have been the wind and the eaves. The silly old man's fears. Martin. Martin, look tomorrow on the street. I am coming. No more that night did the shoemaker sleep, but sat and pondered strange things he had heard. Soon the first great light of dawn came in the little basement window. And as the shoemaker arose, he lighted the stove, put the water in the samovar, took his apron from the hook by the door, sat down by the window to work. But the words he had heard in the night came back to him. Martin looked out the window more than he sewed on the boot in his hand. And because he was a lonely man, unused to company, he had only himself to converse with as he spoke aloud. I'm becoming foolish in my old age. Last night I hear voices. And today I spend my time looking out of this window seeking, but what do I seek? I imagine that someone's coming to see me. What an old daughter I am. And then the shoemaker went back to his work with renewed vigor. And after a few stitches, his eyes turned up to the window again. And this time he saw ragged patched boots of an old soldier, Peter, who was painfully shoveling the snow away from the shop. Peter stopped off into rest, and he beat his hands together in a feeble attempt to warm himself. The little shoemaker laid down his all, and he rose from his stool, and he went to the door. Come in, Peter. Warm yourself a bit. You must be cold. May I find reward for this shoemaker? My old bones ache with the cold. Well, come here by the stove, man. Oh, no, no, don't trouble to wipe your feet. I'll clean it up myself. Yeah, now, drink a glass of tea. It'll dispel the cold for a time. That's comforting, shoemaker. May you be blessed for your kindness to an old man. That's ain't no more. Here, have another glass. Oh, you're expecting someone today, shoemaker? Expecting someone? Well, I am. And then I'm almost ashamed to tell you what I expect. Let me tell you how it happened. You see, brother, last night I was reading the Gospel about our Lord, how he suffered, how he walked on Earth. I suppose you've heard of it. Oh, yes, indeed I have. But then I'm of the people in darkness. I cannot read. And the strangest thought came to me, brother. Suppose, for example, our Lord should come to me or anyone else. How would one know what to do? I do not think that you should trouble yourself about such things, Martin. Eh, it wouldn't happen to you or me. Who would such things if a great man and we are humble, small people? Oh, no, that's wrong, Peter. That's not the way I've read of it. Why, he even picked his disciples from among such humble people as we are. He said the proud ones would be humbled and the meek praised on high. Is it the truth that you read, Martin? Oh, of course it's the truth, of course. Well, while I thought upon what I read, I fell asleep and I heard someone call me by name. And it was as if the voice said to me, be on watch, I shall come tomorrow. What would you believe it? Yeah, it's a strange world, indeed, Shoemaker, but then the world is full of strange things. Well, I must return to my work, brother. Oh, I've scolded myself, and still it stays in my head. I'm expecting... Oh, are you leaving? Come, come, have some more tea. Oh, no, no, I must get back to work, but thanks to you, Martin, for treating me kindly and for the thoughts you set me thinking. Oh, they are your thoughts, old friend. Thank no man for them, thank only yourself. Oh, come in again, I'm always glad to see a friend. Goodbye, Martin. Goodbye. Oh, I must get back to my work. Still so much to do today. And so saying, the little Shoemaker sat down again by the window, stitching on a patch. And by this time, the inhabitants of the town were up, and about their business, the traffic in front of the basement window grew heavier. Here came the shiny new galoshes of the master of the house next door, stepping proudly as befitted a prosperous merchant. Two soldiers passed by, one in boots furnished by the crown, the other in boots of finest Morocco, which Martin had made. And the dainty, fur-trimmed galoshes of a fine lady, paced behind by the sturdy, sensible boots of her maid servant. Then came the halting footsteps of a woman in woolen stockings, and fancy light slippers. She passed by the window, stood still near the pain, and the Shoemaker looked up at her. He saw it was a stranger, a woman, poorly clad, holding an infant that she was trying to cover, but her fingers were clumsy with cold. Her shabby summer clothes gave no shelter. And from behind the frame, Martin could see her trying to pacify the child. And then the little Shoemaker ran to the door, and he called out to her. Woman! My good woman! We meant no harm, sir. Why are you standing in the cold with the child? We'll go on, sir. We meant no harm. Oh, no, no. Come into my room where it's warm. You can manage better. Now, here this way. Well, quickly before the child freezes. Sir, I have no money. Here, here. Come this way. Well, there. Well, sit down, my good woman. Nearer the stove, you can get warm. Oh, the child looks pale. He has not eaten since yesterday. Well, that's not good, little mother. I have some bread. There's cabbage soup on the stove. Broth will be good for it. I'll get them. But little grandfather, the child... Sit down, sit down. I will mind the little one. You see, I once had children of my own. I know how to handle them. Thank you. Thank you, sir. But why are you so kind to someone you do not know? Why did you look through the window and take pity on us? Perhaps. I seem to have been looking through the window for some wise reason. Perhaps for this. No, but I can wait. Well, I would know more of you. Why you walk the streets with no warm clothing for you or your baby. I am a soldier's wife. But it is now seven months since they sent my husband away. And no tidings. No, it is a mean lot at best, good woman. Well, how do you provide for yourself and the child? I lived out as a cook. I lost that, for they would not keep me with the child. Now I have been to the merchant's wife, and she has promised to take us in, but not until next week. And it is such a long way off. And I'm so tired. And he's tired too, my heart's darling. He seems to be resting now. And have you no warm clothes? It is two days since I sold my woolen shawl for a 20-copic piece. Here, my little mother. Here, my little mother, here. This coat's a poor thing, yet you may turn it to some use. Oh, oh, grandfather, you are so good. So good. Oh, a thousand thanks, little grandfather, and bless you. Now, now I must take my leave. Here, take this for the sake of your child, woman. It's only a 20-copic piece, but it will redeem your shawl. Bless you, sir. Here, here, now no crying. Now wrap yourself warmly. The wind is bitter. And now the deepening shadows crept across the basement window, but still the shoemaker sat before the wind of patching and mending. Still, he glanced often out into the street. Then, as the dust filled the room, he saw an old apple woman in front of his window and on her shoulder a heavy bag of apples. And as she struggled to shift the weight of the bag, Martin hurried to help her. Here, here, mother, let me help you. That bag's much too heavy for you. Thank you, sir, a thousand thanks. Pick them up for you. Take charge of the rascal. I'm gonna take him to the police. Oh, let him go, let him go, Babishka. He'll never do it again. Forgive him for the love of God. Oh, let him go indeed. Forgive him. Now forgive him so that he won't soon forget it. A few days in the workhouse will help him remember. Oh, Babishka, he's only a lad. Turn him loose. I'll pay well for the apple he took. Well, many do say. In our boy, ask the Babishka forgiveness. And don't you ever do it again. I saw you take the apple. I am sorry, grandmother. Apple? Oh, there now. That's better. Here's another apple. Oh, my God! I will pay for it. I will pay for it, Babishka. Oh, you wronged him that way. They're good for nothings. He ought to be treated so that he would remember it for a whole week. Hey, grandmother, that may be right according to our poor judgment. But not according to the wiser ones than us. Like, if that boy is to be whipped for an apple, then what ought to be done to us for our sins? I truly am sorry, grandmother. I did not mean to steal. We are commanded to forgive, else we too may not be forgiven. All should be forgiven. And the thoughtless especially. Ah, that's so. But the trouble is that the lads are very much spoiled these days now when I was younger. Well, then it is we who are old or who must teach them. Oh, grandfather, you are right. It's just a childish trick. God be with you, boy. Here, Babishka, let me carry your bag. It is on my way. No, that's a good boy. Well, let us be off. God's blessings on you, grandfather. And on you, Babishka. The shoemaker stood motionless, grazing after them. And then, seeing the lamp-lighter approaching, he hastened back into his room. Took down the little lamp, set it on the table. From the shelf he took down the testament, opened it to the place he had marked the night before. And as he looked at the page before him, the little shoemaker thought again of his strange green. Oh, it was a foolish man you were, Martin, to expect our Lord to come calling on you. But it's of no matter. The day was well spent in his name. Hey, what was that? Martin. Martin, did you not recognize me after all? Who? Who was it? It was I, Martin. And it was I, Martin. And I, too, Martin. And I, Martin. Read the page before you, Martin. Read, and you shall see. For I was hungered, and ye gave me meat. I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink. I was a stranger, and ye took me in. In as much as ye have done it, unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. This is Ralph Edwards again. I heard a remark the other day that struck me rather forcefully, and I'd like to pass it along to you. The best I can hope for, said a friend of mine, is to live to the age of 70. That will give me 840 months of life. Now, I figure that for a third of a man's life, he's quite sure what it's all about. He spends another third, just sleeping, and that leaves 280 months in which he can accomplish the good that God expects of us. Now, we certainly can't try to dodge our opportunities. Above all, we cannot overlook our responsibilities to our families. For that is the vocation in life to which most of us are called. If we wholeheartedly dedicate ourselves to making our homes as happy and holy as God meant them to be, then we'll surely not be wasting the life that has been given us. And God will help us do this if we have the vision and the faith to pray to Him daily in the circle of the home. Remember, the family that prays together stays together. More things are ought by prayer than this world dreams of. Others in our cast were This adaptation of Count Leo Tolstoy's classic was written by Arthur Sawyer with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed and transcribed for Family Theater by John T. Kelly. This series of Family Theater broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who feel the need for this type of program by the mutual network which has responded to this need and by the hundreds of stars of stage screen and radio who give so unselfishly of their time and talent to appear on our Family Theater stage. To them and to 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 next Sunday when Family Theater will present over most of these stations a special Christmas program, The Joyful Hour, starring Anne Blythe, Jeff Chandler, Irene Dunn, Stephen McNally, J. Carol Nash, Maureen O'Sullivan, and the Roger Wagner Corral. Join us, won't you? Family Theater is broadcast throughout the world and originates in the Hollywood studios of the world's largest network. This is Mutual, the radio network for all America.