 Remember a Hallmark card when you carry enough to send the very best. The speakers of Hallmark Reading Cards bring you the story of Silent Night on the Hallmark Playhouse. Hallmark brings you outstanding stories chosen by one of the world's best known authors, Mr. James Hilton. Ladies and gentlemen, this is James Hilton. Tonight on our Hallmark Playhouse we give you for the fourth year in succession the story of how that wonderful Christmas song Silent Night came to be written. This story was told to a writer named Hatter Prowley by the grandson of the man who wrote the original melody. And now here is Frank Goss from the makers of Hallmark Cards. One of the particular joys of Christmas is sending and receiving Christmas cards. While the pleasure Christmas cards bring can never be measured, isn't it good to know that Hallmark cards are priced the same this year as they were last year and the year before and the year before that? And that the quality of Hallmark cards has constantly improved throughout the years. Yes, today, just as for many Christmas seasons, that Hallmark on the back of your card is looked for and welcomed. It tells your friends you carried enough to send the very best. And now Hallmark Playhouse presenting Hatter Prowley's The Story of Silent Night. Christmas, the year of our Lord, 1951. 1,951 years from the miracle of Bethlehem. Christmas, the birth date of the Prince of Peace. The birth date of hope and faith. The birth date of a miracle. And Prophet gifts from the East. Since Bethlehem, many gifts recorded and unrecorded have been created of man's love of God and humbly offered in his honor. What you are to hear tonight will tell you of one such gift offered by two humble men 133 years ago this Christmas week. This also is the story of a miracle that was born one silent night. Through the arches of the years back 133 Christmas ebbs to meet a man named Joseph Moore, Father Joseph Moore. Those voices you can just barely distinguish are all voices that have said Merry Christmas through the years. Their goodwill remains and lingers on the air like a blessing. There is 1818. In the center of the town near an icy stream stands a white church with a tall red steeple. There are the church bells. They have a special joyousness tonight as all church bells seem to have on Christmas Eve. Come now, we'll meet Father Moore. He's in his study and his heart's a little heavy because the church organ has broken down and there can be no music for the Christmas service. Good evening, Father Moore. Good evening. Come in, come in. You don't know me, Father, but I'm in your parish. I have come from one of the charcoal makers' families. A child has been born to them tonight and they beg that you come and bless the baby that it may live and prosper. Have I time now to go and return for my sermon? Oh, yes, Father. Well, then I'll go at once. As that on Christmas Eve of the year 1818, Father Joseph Moore climbed the rocky foothills of the Alps to a simple hut and there blessed a baby on Christmas Eve. A child should be born this night. Birth itself is a miracle. God has blessed her with a beautiful son on the most holy night of the year and God has blessed me by guiding me here. Down the snowy mountain, transfixed and transfigured. He thought of the baby and of the sacred night and words began to stir and form themselves within him to a stable in Bethlehem to the heart of a man. The writing down the words that filled his heart and when dawn came, he took the poem he had written to Franz Gruber. Father, this is a fine poem. I rather heard it as a song, Franz. I thought you might set it to music. Thank you, Father. I should like to try. So the words that Father Moore heard on Christmas Eve became music to Franz Gruber on Christmas Day. And before nightfall, he came to Father Moore's house. I've written the music, Father. I wrote it for guitar and voice rather than the organ. After all, we have no way of knowing when the organ can be used. Sing it. Let me hear it. In province lies a beautiful valley, the Zillertal. And from the Zillertal, a few days after Christmas, came the organ builder, Karl Maracher. Well now, Father Moore, Mr. Gruber, I think I have the organ in working order now. The mice had eaten holes in the bellers, but this leather patch should solve all your problems. May I try it? Go ahead. That song before, Father, I've never heard a song like it. Would you teach it to me? I know people would like to learn it down in the Zillertal. We'll be happy to teach it to you. Won't we, Franz? We will be honored. So the hymn that was born on Christmas night started its journey out into the wide world. Karl Maracher took the song down into the Zillertal. Silent Night was on its way from a small church high in the Alps to the cathedrals of the earth. They loved to sing, and they sang well. But of them all, the ones with the most beautiful voices were the four Strasser children, Caroline, Joseph, Andreas, and Emily. The organ builder worked hard to teach them the song, and on Christmas Eve, they stood in the doorway and sang it as a Christmas gift for their parents. The organ builder taught it to us. Oh, thank you, Mr. Maracher. I hoped in the spring when Mr. Strasser takes the gloves to sell at the Fair Leipzig, perhaps he would find a way for you to sing the song there. Sing? At the Fair? We aren't good enough to do that. We could never do it. Why do you want them to sing the song there, Mr. Maracher? Well, to me this song is almost like a song from heaven. The words came to Father Moron Christmas Eve, the melody to the schoolmaster Gruber on Christmas Day. They gave it to their parish, and then it was given me to carry down into the valley of the Zillertal. I, in turn, give it to you to take the Leipzig. Someone in Leipzig will take it on the next step of its journey. But where is it going? Who knows, little Emily, perhaps everywhere. But who in Leipzig? Oh, I don't know that either. But someone will make him or herself known to you. And the song from heaven will go on across the earth. Will you take it to Leipzig and send it on its way? Oh, yes, of course we will. Strasser from the Zillertal. This is my glove stand. We are here at the Fair to sell chamois gloves. Your children have beautiful voices, Mr. Strasser. Yes, they sing every afternoon and the people stop and listen to them just as you saw today. And do they also buy the gloves? Yes, I think it helps business. In any case, it does not harm it. It was their song that caught my attention. The song, sir? Yes, I've never heard it before. My name is Paulence. I am the Director General of Music in the Kingdom of Saxony. The Director General of Music? Yes, I wanted to ask you children if you would care to appear at a concert one of these days. A concert? Oh, that would be terrible. I'm afraid they are not experienced enough, Mr. Paulence. Mr. Papa, we must do it. We promised Mr. Morocco. We've got to do it. It doesn't matter if we aren't good. As long as we sing it, we'll be happy to sing at a concert, Mr. Paulence. Well, we may not be happy, but we'll do it. Good. Next Tuesday then, at the Gavande House, there will be an orchestra concert. Perhaps at the close of the concert, you will honor us with this song. The King and the Queen will be there. The King and Queen. Your Majesty. Your Highness. We are honored. Our children, don't look at the floor. Look at us. We want to see your faces. I think they have a slight case of fright, Your Majesty. No, we don't want you to be afraid of us. We have children just about your age. Mr. Paulence has told us you sing a wonderful song that you call the Song from Heaven. We are looking forward to hearing it. If we just didn't have to sing it before all those people. Some of them are the same people you sang it for at the fair. Your Majesty, it's almost time for the concert to begin with your permission. Just close your eyes, children, and pretend you're singing at home. Song. The Queen of the King in Berlin. Story of Silent Night. Probably we've all said at one time or another, wouldn't it be grand if we could keep the spirit of Christmas all through the year, not the mad rush, for that part, it's all a glow with kindness and good cheer. Some folks do. And the fine store where you buy hallmark cards has a gift for you that's about the handiest help I know to keep Christmas thoughtfulness in your heart. The handiest help I know to keep Christmas thoughtfulness in your mind the whole year through. It's the Hallmark Date Book for 1952, and it's yours absolutely free as a gift from that store. This little book, small enough to fit in purse or billfold, has a calendar page for every month of the year, with ample room on each date to write in the names of folks you want to remember on that day. There's space for addresses, too, as well as lots of room for your Christmas card list. The Hallmark Date Book actually is your social secretary throughout the year. Reminds you of birthdays, anniversaries, and all those occasions when you want your friends to know you care. Your store has this Hallmark Date Book for you, a kindly remembrance that's yours for the asking. From the folks whose business it is to help you be kind all through the year. Now back to James Hilton and the story of Silent Night. This is of the men of the Berlin Cathedral Choir. Standing there close by is the king's director of music, whose name, by the way, is Felix Mendelssohn, but observe the king, the puzzle, disconcerted look he has. Something in that hymnbook seems not to have entirely met with his approval. Don't you my choir master? Well, I am your choir master at the moment, sir. Look at this page. What does it say here? Silent Night. And what else does it say? The author and composer unknown. I really must know who wrote that hymn. Choir master, you have given me something which will worry me throughout my entire Christmas, because if a thing is unknown, I wish it to be made known. Now, send my royal concert master, Ludwig Erich. Yes, sir. Silent Night. Go any place in the world you have to go, but find out the name of its composer. Yes, sir. And so it was that concert master Ludwig Erich started out to trace the origin of Silent Night. He went to big cities. He went to small villages. Long, anxious months kept pace beside him. And at last, even though he desperately wished to please the king, he knew he had to give up. He sat alone and disconcerted in a small village in near the Austrian border. Will there be anything else, sir? No, that will be all. You don't like the bad song, sir? The bad? I thought it was in my own mind. I thought it's a song I've been hunting for. Who taught it to him? I didn't know, sir. A traveler told him to us. The man said he had bought the bird in Salzburg in St. Peter's Abbey. Salzburg? Well, then I shall go to Salzburg. To Salzburg, to ancient St. Peter's Abbey at the foot of Monk's hill. It was near sundown in mid-December, and the shadow of the hill was slowly rising on the regal dome of the abbey. Concert master Erich passed through a dark, pillared archway into a vaulted room and stood where Father Joseph Moore had stood so many times and the years gone by. Silent night? No, I have no recollection of it. How did you happen to come to us, sir? I heard a bullfinch sing the tune, Father. The in-keep told me the bird came from this abbey. No, we don't allow any of our students to train songbirds here. We consider it a cruel practice to deprive God's creatures of their freedom. I see. Well, perhaps it was a mistake. Come, it's late. Have some supper with us and then spend the night. This is young Felix Grover. I told about your inquiries concerning the bullfinch. This young rascal trained him. You trained him? It didn't hurt the bird. Where did you learn that song you taught him? The song? You heard the gentleman? The song? My father wrote it. Yes, sir. Where is your father? In the village of Hallein. Hallein? Here, Pran Steiner, do you think you could arrange for this boy to have a day or two off so that I could go with him to Hallein? Well, you'll have to talk to the abbot. But I'm sure it can be arranged. And now young Felix Grover and the concertmaster are tucked in a sleigh behind a team of the abbey's finest horses. The bells sing out gaily over the clean, crisp air and the snow crunches under the horses hooves. Now they are going to the pass above Hallein. Now they are skimming down the main street to the market square before the church. And now they are pulling up before the small friendly house, which is the home of Frans Grover. And so at last, concertmaster Ludwig Erk sat with the composer of Silent Night. Mr. Grover, I bring you and Father Moer the compliments of the king and the whole country. Well, well, Father Moer is dead. God rest his soul these six years past. Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Yes, he was a fine man. Do you have all six stanzas to the song? No, we have only four. Felix, hand me the guitar, please. Here, Father. And above the music will be the names Grover and Moer. The concertmaster walks out through the snow after dinner. And as he walks, he looks up at the glistening alps that Father Moer loved. And Frans Grover watches him from the window, wishing so much that Father Joseph Moer had been here to see his own song brought back in triumph to the village of Hallein. 33 Christmas Eves to meet a man named Father Joseph Moer and the schoolteacher Frans Grover and Karl Maurach the organ builder and the Strassus and all the others who had a part in carrying the song from a village high in the alps down into the world. Yes, now it has bridged 133 Christmas Eves. Now it has been sung by the old and the young, the rich and the poor. It has been sung in every language, in every country in the world. It has become a prayer, a prayer that men can live together in one world as brothers and that there be indeed peace on earth. Goodwill towards men. You have heard the story of a miracle, a miracle that was born one silent night. Our friendly thoughts go out to you who have been with us so often during the past year. Tonight I bring you Christmas greetings from the makers of Hallmark cards, from the fine stores where Hallmark cards are sold and from all of us on Hallmark Playhouse. May your Christmas be merry with laughter and cheer, bright as the Christmas star. The friendliest greetings from all of us here to you, wherever you are. Merry Christmas everybody. And now Mr. Hilton, what story have you selected for next week? Next week we shall present a story written by John Tasker Howard called Stephen Foster, America's troubadour and our star will be MacDonald Carey. Our director producer is Bill Gay, our music is composed and conducted by David Rose and our writer tonight has been Jean Holloway. And now in the simple words we love so well, may I wish you all a very happy Christmas, the kind of happiness and the kind of Christmas that silent night with all its tender associations reminds us of. And this Christmas let us pray more earnestly than ever the old prayer for peace on earth to men of good will. This is James Hilton saying, until next Thursday, good night and God bless our country. Inspector Hothstone after this announcement.