 Family Theatre presents Rosalind Russell, Joseph Cotton and Jean Cagney to Joseph Cotton and Jean Cagney in the German legend Girmel's house. To introduce the drama, your hostess, Miss Rosalind Russell. Thank you, Jean Baker. Have you ever had a dream that on being recalled, brought forth such comments as ridiculous, incredible, fantastic? Yes, even the statement sounds like a fairy tale. Have you ever found yourself in a place that was completely foreign to your conscious mind? Yet you knew you had been there before. I mentioned this because of the story you are to hear tonight. It is a legend handed down through generations in Germany, yet its charm and underlying feeling, even its questions, are still fresh and delightful. Family Theatre takes pleasure in presenting Frederick Gerstacher's adaptation of Girmel's Hausen. Well, Doctor? I'm afraid he's gone. I'm glad. What did you say? I said I was glad, happy for him, that is. But then, I wonder what would have happened had he lived one more day. I don't think one more day would have made much difference. He was a very, very old man who had lived a full life. That's the point. He lived a completely empty life. 120 years of it. He had hoped to fulfill it tomorrow. The only pity is that he died not knowing he had fulfilled it years ago. I don't understand. You must be new in Dillstead. Have you ever heard Arnold's story about Girmel's Hausen? My heaven, but I'm intrigued. Go on. Well, he would always start his story the same way. I can hear him now. He would say, I was a strapping young fellow 20 back in 1850, a budding artist. They called me. I was seeing Germany going from place to place, sketching its beauty, painting its people until my portfolio was fairly bulging with my treasure. I was enjoying the feeling of being an unfamiliar country, not knowing what place or what adventure lay ahead when I saw a young girl running toward me without stretch down. Heinrich, Heinrich, I knew you'd come back. I've waited such a long time. Oh, oh, I am sorry. You needn't be. I thought you were... Heinrich. Yes. Your sweetheart? Yes. Now I'm the one who is sorry. Why? Because for a moment you mistook me for him and now that moment is gone. Have you been waiting long? A hundred years. Oh, I see. You mean it seems that long. No. I mean a hundred years. Oh, yes. Well, does he live far from here? He comes from Bishop's Road. I spent four weeks there recently. I know practically everyone in the village. What's his name? Faulgut, Heinrich Faulgut, the son of the mayor. Well, I was in and out of the mayor's house many times, but his name was Bowling. Oh. I can't recall ever hearing the name Faulgut in the whole village. Perhaps, perhaps he is dead. Oh, come on. Don't look so sad. Of course he's not dead. If he doesn't come today, he'll come tomorrow or the next day. No. No, he will not come now. He will stay away until our day comes again. Your day? Oh, what do you mean by that? It does not matter. It does matter. I'm a curious sort of fellow and I think you're... I think you're very nice. Thank you. Tell me, are you traveling far? Oh, let's say as far as my fancy takes me. And where, I mean, do you have lodgings for tonight? Well, I had planned on stopping over at Dilsted. Dilsted is an hour's walk down the main road. You look so tired and you must be hungry. And the main road is hard and dusty and... And... And my village is only a short way down this path in the hollow beyond those willows trees. It is a very, very old village and you might not like it, but I was hoping that... Well, I do hope I interpret your little speech. You are extending me an invitation, aren't you? Yes. I want you to be our guest in my father's home and to escort me to the dance tonight. Dance? Food? Lodging? A lovely girl and a dance? What more could a poor young artist have? You will come then. Of course. Let's be off to... What is the name of your village? Girlmillshausen. Had I known what this girl was and where she was taking me, I would have turned and fled. Her words, her hesitant, evasive conversation should have warned me, but I was young and eager and youth seldom stops to think and she was beautiful. You know, since I'm going to be your guest and escort tonight, don't you think I should know your name? Well, yes. I am named Gertrude. Gertrude? Oh, name becomes you. Now, Gertrude, tell me. Why did you lie to me? Lie to you? Yes. You told me your village was a short way down the path, yet we've been walking some time now. Well, I took a roundabout way so that I might stop at the graveyard for a moment. Graveyard? Yes. These flowers I picked on the way. I want to put them on my mother's grave. Well, I'm sorry I didn't know. Sorry? Oh, no. Do not be sorry. You should be happy. Happy for her. Obviously loved her mother and yet she was happy that she was dead. I was completely confused. She sat beside the path sobbing quietly and then looked at me with a tear-stained face. The fear left me for her. She had the face of an angel. Quickly I opened my naps. I took out my drawing pad with charcoal stick and began to make a sketch of her. She sat motionless until I had finished them. Why? Why, it is a portrait of me. Who else could it be? Do you like it? Oh, yes. Yes. But do you intend to keep it? Take it away with you? I certainly do. Out into the living world? And when I leave here, I'll have something to remind me of you. Oh, no, Arnold. No. You should not take it with you. I can't understand. What did you call me? Arnold. Gertrude, how did you know my name? You told it to me. No, I haven't mentioned it. I just knew it. How did you know? Did someone know I was coming? Were you sent to meet me? Who are you? Oh, Arnold, please. Please do not ask me questions. I have no answer for them. I cannot answer them because... Why? Because I love you. What? And because you love me. She took a step toward me, her eyes telling me not to dispute her statement of love. And I took her in my arms, held her close, and was lost. She turned and hurried down the path, and I ran after her. Gertrude, wait! It is late and we must hurry. The church services are over, and I must still stop at the graveyard. Can't that wait till tomorrow? Tomorrow. Between now and tomorrow lies a long, long night. Tomorrow, you will understand. But now we must hurry. They are expecting us at home. Us? Oh, you mean you and Heinrich? No, Arnold. I mean us. She puzzled me, and again I felt an urge to turn and run. It was then she reached out and took my hand and, at her touch, warmth spread through me, dispelling the chill I felt. We walked quickly past a clump of willows, onto a clearing, on the left was the church and the graveyard, and on the right, down in a hollow, covered with a heavy brown mist, was Gamel's house. Gertrude, you said the services were over, yet I see no one coming out of the church. That is perfectly natural. No one ever goes in. You mean none of your people ever go to church? It is forbidden us until we return to obedience. I never heard of such a thing. It happened a long time ago, so I do not think it would interest you. Come now. It wouldn't interest me. I was becoming angrier at her continued evasiveness. My anger cooled as I thought of her voice, the stylized use of words, her beauty. I stepped over the old crumbling gravestones and hurried after Gertrude. She was standing motionless beside a grave. I went down and read the inscription. It said, Anna Maria Bertol, born December 16th, 1188, died December 2nd, 1224. She was my mother. Your mother? You must mean your great-great-grandmother. She was my mother. You can't say that. It's impossible. Impossible? Yes, impossible. The inscription says she died in the year 1224. What does the year matter? It is sad enough to lose one's mother at any time. But now, now I do not want to sorrow anymore. And we must hurry. We will surely be late for the dance. She dropped the flowers on the grave and turning, walked to her village. I stood staring at the flowers, powerless to move for... The blooms on those flowers wilted and turned to dust and the stems curled and rived like living things till they rolled off the grave. And then, while still, I looked up and saw Gertrude standing in the distance, beckoning to me, and I went to her as one in a trance. Her arms twined around my neck and she kissed me. I shot it as one coming out of a horrible nightmare. All the preceding events suddenly became detached and vague, vague as in a dream. Gertrude was smiling at me. That beautiful, almost angelic face turned up to mind made me a Gandley, carefree artist. I was in love. I was lost in that love. We are together, Arnold. We shall be together longer, perhaps, than you like. You forgot Gertrude that... that tomorrow I must leave. No, Arnold. It cannot be. You want me to stay? Yes, I do. What if Heinrich comes? Do not speak of Heinrich now. He is not to be remembered. Forget him. All right. I'll forget him. And tomorrow. Village, I noticed how strange the old houses looked. The peculiar dress of the people was like none I'd ever seen before. In the villages we met. Past us in silence. No sound. Anyway, I broke the stillness. And the heavy brown mist I had noticed earlier blanketed everything, cutting off the sun. The whole village seemed to be mute. Or dead. Gertrude. Is there a moor or forest on fire hereabouts? No. But this mist or smoke or whatever it is couldn't possibly come from chimneys alone. It is earth vapor. Arnold, have you never heard of the grandma's house? Never. That is strange. It is so very, very old. The houses look like it, and the people have a peculiar way about them. Now, the villages... We never leave our village. Well, is it because of this earth vapor that I've seen no birds and why all your fruit trees barren? It is the mist. Surely you don't have it always. Yes, always. Gertrude, will you go away with me? Leave Gertrude's house? The world is full of wonderful things you'll never see here. I should like to go, Arnold. But it is impossible. Instead, you must stay here. If I found Gertrude's conversation perplexing and cryptic, her father's was more so. He was an odd-looking man with a perpetual smile. He met us at the door. Well, Gertrude, you stayed out a long time today. Yes, Father, but I did bring someone back with me. This is Arnold. It is a pleasure to see you, young men, and I hope you stay with us a long, long time. Thank you, sir, but I thought... Do not think, young men, do not think. Enjoy yourself tonight for tomorrow is a hundred years hence. Mother, set one more place for dinner. I already have a place set for Heine... Oh, but this is not Heine. No, Mother. Arnold, this is my stepmother. No, did I not always say he would never come back again? And Gertrude, this one looks smarter than Heine. Mother, much smarter. All right, Mother, all right. This one will do very well instead. And now, my boy, come into dinner. Anything else we can talk of later? Talk a great deal, and I slowly began to realize that I was either the object of a huge joke or the victim of a fiendishly evil plan. Gertrude and her family, I discovered, knew nothing of the outside world. They'd never seen a railway, nor even heard of one. The electric light to telegraph all modern inventions meant nothing to them. It was beyond me to understand how it was possible for human beings to live so secluded, so absolutely cut off from the rest of the world, without the slightest connection with it. I decided to leave Girmel's house in then. But they would have none of it. Gertrude stared at me, and I sat down. I became panic-stricken, as the realization came to me that I could think, but my movements were dominated by her will. She said, We will all go to the dance now. Sit over here by the window. What is the matter? I was thinking. Gertrude, I want to leave Girmel's house. Now, will you release me? No. Why? Why do you want me here? Because I love you. You do not believe me. No. But I do, Arnold. I do. It will soon be 12 o'clock, and then a long interval, and we should be together always. But, Arnold, I am thirsty. Let us have some punch. Come now, Arnold. It will soon be over. Don't be so unhappy. Interval, tomorrow, earth vapor. Don't think. Enjoy yourself tonight. Don't think. I stared into my glass of punch. I grew dizzy. My mind became a jumbled mass of nothing, and then out of that jumbled mass came a terrified little boy calling for his mother. My mind cleared. I drained the glass of punch through it in the fireplace and threw it out of the room. What do you want of me now? Arnold, what were you thinking when you drank that toast? Of my mother. Do you love her so much? More than life itself. And does she love you? Doesn't a mother love her child? And what if you never went back to her? You need not answer that. You have won, Arnold. Come. We must hurry. There is little time left. Her eyes were sad and almost tearful. I felt foolish and a little ashamed, but before I could speak, she turned and hurried down the street toward the edge of the village. She was almost running now through the brush and up the path we so recently had come down. When I reached here, I tried to speak, but I didn't know what to say. We stood there for a moment, looking at each other, and then she held out her hand to me. My greetings to your mother. Good truth, I... I feel a little stupid about this. I don't know how to say it. Is it so difficult? Good truth, I... I do love you. So many things have happened. Possibly I allowed my imagination to get the better of me. I want to go back to Gimel's house and with you. No, Arnold. No. It is because I love you that I am sending you away. Why should you? There is no more. There is no time left. Stay just where you are. Promise me not to take one step till the bell has struck the last stroke of twelve. Gertrude! I watched as she ran through the rain and disappeared in the darkness. The church bell had struck twelve, and I started after it when the wind and rain struck with a fury I'd never known before. It raged so violently, like a refuge under a huge tree. Wait for it to subside. At last the storm exhausted itself. I rose slowly to my feet and started down the hill toward the village, slipping and falling all the way. I reached the hollow to find it covered with a damp, dark mist. I walked toward it and suddenly I... I sank to my knees in a swampy morass. Frantically I struggled out of it and backed off into a... onto dry ground. I must have missed my way in the darkness. I lay wet and shivering all that long night thinking that the morning came I could find my way. But I was wrong. The morning sun shone upon nothing, where the village should have been, there was nothing but a swampy wilderness. I stood there numb with fear and then I began to run. I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction because as if it had been wiped off the earth, Gamelshausen had disappeared. After what seemed like hours, I saw a woodsman in a glade. He came toward me, eyeing me apprehensively for I had the appearance of a madman. For days, sir, is there something wrong? You might be of help. You are familiar with the country around here. It should be. I've been the forester here for many years. Tell me, where is Gamelshausen? Gamelshausen, dear. Oh, God protect us. Never mention that name here. Never. Why? Have you never heard of the cursed village? The forest I know well, but what lies deep in the earth below it? The cursed village? Yeah. Many hundreds of years ago, it stood over that hill there where you will find a swamp and where a heavy mist always hangs. It sank away and no one knows why. But to say that once every hundred years, on a certain day, it rises again to the light of the earth and a beautiful girl. No, no, no. Wait, wait, wait a minute. Wait. The man must be crazy. But I wonder if, if... Oh, no. No, it couldn't be. Clive Doctor, a life spent in search of something he was never sure he would attain. And yet he spent a hundred years in that search. One hundred years. Yes, one hundred years. Years spent in search. Search he expressed in painting that for which his heart sought outlet. Outlet? Surely with his paintings hung in all the major galleries with the world of art at his feet he used. That is precisely my point, Doctor. Arnold died believing he had failed in his search. His search was for love and beauty. For love and beauty. Love and beauty, the two things that have made him one of the world's greatest painters. But his search ended 50 years ago. The day that he completed La Hittana, the painting of the little gypsy girl. Arnold's search for love and beauty strikes a responsive chord in all of us. For consciously or unconsciously, this same search is a salient part of our life. For love and beauty we find in our families in nature, in works of art, only partly satisfy us. We are conscious of something lacking. Some comfort for which we have no expression. This is the consciousness of the beauty and comfort, the love that is given us by God. This is the goal attainable by all of us. The end of our search. For God's love is within reach of all. It's there for the asking. The completion of our search. And this states the purpose of family theater. To awaken this love of God within ourselves by the practice of prayer. In particular, family prayer. So that we will all experience the truth in our motto. The family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. This is the first in our cast with James Eagles, Norman Field, Sarah Selby and Junius Matthews. This adaptation of Gerst Acker's classic was written by Jan Arben, with music by Harry Zimmerman, was directed for family theater by Jaime Del Valle. Our family theater broadcasts are made possible by the thousands of you who felt 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 have so unselfishly given of their time and talent to them and to you, our humble thanks. This is Gene Baker expressing the wish of family theater that God's blessing may be upon you and your home. And inviting you to be with us next week at this time when family theater will present Gene Tierney in the charming Swiss classic, The Broken Pitcher. Join us, won't you? Family theater is released in the Philippines with the Philippine Broadcasting Corporation. It's sent to our troops overseas with the Armed Forces Radio Service by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. This is the world's largest network, the Mutual Broadcasting System.