 The Johnson-Wax Program, Words at War with Clifton Fadiman. The makers of Johnson's Wax for home and industry in cooperation with the Council on Books and Wartime proudly present one of the most widely discussed radio programs in America, Words at War, bringing you dramatizations of the most representative books to come out of this great world conflict. And here with us again tonight is one of America's keenest judges of good books, Clifton Fadiman. Good evening. The liberation of France is now being accomplished. A liberation which began four years ago at the moment for collapse. How did the French people work and fight for their freedom during these four long years? Tonight's dramatization will give you one of the answers. Meanwhile, Jack Costello brings you a brief message from the makers of Johnson's Wax. Like most of us, when you do drive your car nowadays, you try to share it with your friends and neighbors. When they ride with you, do you have to apologize for the looks of it? Does it have a hang-dog gloomy look that makes you a little bit ashamed? Well, don't feel bad if it does. Just get yourself a package of Johnson's Carnue, that easy-to-use polish that both cleans and polishes in one application. You've really got a thrill ahead of you if you've never used Carnue. All that dirt and grime will disappear like magic, leaving a satin smooth finish that resists soiling and is easy to keep clean. Carnue is a liquid polish. You rub it on, let it dry to a powder, wipe it off. It's not only wise to take care of the finish of your car, it's so much more satisfaction driving a car that's clean and sparkling. And it's easy to keep your car that way with Johnson's Carnue, spelled C-A-R-N-U. Mr. Fadiman? Tonight we present a radio adaptation of Leon Foistvangas' stirring book, Simone. The setting of our story is a courtroom in the little town of Saint-Martin, France. The time, June 1940, on the eve of the total defeat of France by Germany. The occasion, the trial of 15-year-old Simone Planchard, accused of perpetrating a crime against the people of France. The characters, loyal citizens of France, and fascist-minded collaborationists. As our scene unfolds, we'll leave it to you to decide which is which. Hello, Simone Planchard. Would the prisoners step into the witness box, please? Thank you. Simone Planchard, you are accused of willfully and maliciously performing an outrageous act of mischief. Are you guilty or not guilty? No. Mademoiselle, you do not understand my question. I asked if you... Billiff. Monsieur? Billiff, go away. Simone Planchard, do you know me? Yes, of course. You are the Marquis de Sambreson, a friend of my uncle. Do you trust me? No. It is perhaps wiser if the courtroom does not laugh. How old are you, Simone? I am 15 years old, Monsieur. 15, and already you do not trust. You are ill-advised, Mademoiselle. I am frightened, Monsieur. Simone, everyone in this courtroom is your friend. You must realize that it is within our power to alleviate your punishment if we see fit. But we want the truth. Your last chance, Simone. What is the truth? If I tell you the truth, could I do it my own way? Of course. And will nobody stop me until I get done? Simone, the German military governor now in command in San Martin has graciously permitted us to handle this in our own way. But their patience is not endless, nor is mine. Understand? Yes, Monsieur. It happened because... Well, you see, it's all mixed up. There are lots of people in it. My father and Joan of Arc and Maurice. He's the only alive one in it except me. Oh, I hope he's still alive. He's got to be. He helped me so much. Unfortunately, Mademoiselle, according to our laws, you may still be heard in open court. However, all we want are the facts. Begin at the beginning and tell us the facts. All right, I'll try. My mother died when I was born. And my father died ten years ago when I was five years old. He was known as a liberal. And there are people who don't like liberals. After he was killed, I lived with my uncle, Prosper Blanchard, and Madame, my grandmother, who really isn't my grandmother, but my step-grandmother. Which is maybe why she doesn't like me. She didn't like my father either. Anyway, I worked at my uncle's garage, and that's how Maurice fits in. My uncle had lots of drivers to drive his cars for him, and Maurice was one of them. As I said, it really began that day the refugees came through our town, and I had to sell them my uncle's gasoline. You have gasoline, Mademoiselle? Oh, yes, Monsieur, plenty. You will sell it? But, of course, that's what it's for. Oh, thank God. You see, Marie, that's what I told you. I knew everything would be all right. Excuse me, Mademoiselle, but my wife is so worried. The Germans come so fast, and there are so many cars stolen without gasoline. So many of our people will be caught by the Nazis, and my wife was so worried. But now, now everything will be all right. How much may I buy? Would five gallons be all right? Certainly, Monsieur. Oh, Mademoiselle, you're so good. We prayed so hard, Marie, and me. Oh, thank you, Mademoiselle, thank you. Please don't. The gasoline will cost you 1,000 francs. You fell. You're joking. No, Monsieur. But no one in France has that much money. No Frenchmen. I'm sorry. But please, you can't do this. I have much money, but I can pay what is fair. The fair price is 100 francs. Won't you sell it to me for 200 francs? I can't. I'm not allowed to. My uncle owns this garage, and he won't allow me to. Please don't ask me. Please don't ask you. Am I being unfair? Am I insensitive? My daughter was killed, my home wrecked, and I'm trying to save my wife from the Nazis. Must I apologize for making you uncomfortable? Is that it? I don't understand this world, Marie. I don't know how to live in it anymore. I don't know what to do, where to go. No, no, Marie. You mustn't cry. It'll be all right. I'll take care of you. I always have. We have a little gasoline left. Don't cry, Marie. We'll go as far as we can, and then something good will happen. You wait. Don't cry, Marie. Please, Marie, my wife, don't cry. Well, I see the honorable niece is out doing her best for God country and Uncle Prosper. Did you hear that poor old man, Marie? I heard it will delight your uncle. No, it won't. You'll hate it. My uncle's a good man, but he's got to remain in business, doesn't he? Why? Because France needs him. France needs businessmen like Uncle Prosper. France? What France? France are the steel mills, munition makers? Are the France of the workers, shoppers, storekeepers? What is France anyway? Is it the lady on the postage stamp, the lady with the cap? Everybody knows what France is. It's whites. Mm-hmm. You're blind, Simone. You're a blind, stupid little girl. I am not. You've let your uncle talk. You're stupid. Pretending to be a patriot at the same time. He is a patriot. And why doesn't he give us gasoline to the refugees? Why doesn't he give us cars to them? He will. I know he will. When? When he's ready. You bet he will to the Germans. That's not true. I'll come to life, Simone. You've forgotten what the world is like. You've read so much about Joan of Arc. What's wrong with that? Her world was a real world? You know what happened if she were alive today? What? Nothing. They'd laugh at her. They did then, too. Oh, what's the use? Why do you hate me so, Maurice? Hate you. What's that got to do with it? You do hate me, don't you? Yes, I do. Your France is dying. The fascists here. The cagulards, the flandas, and lavales, and benets have delivered us over to their friends, the Germans. It's our own steel monopoly, Simone. And our own neighbors who put possessions first. They've won the war against France. But what have I? You and your dreams about Joan of Arc. You're not your father's daughter. Pierre Planchard was a man. But your uncle is a fatuous, grasping old... Right this very moment, he's plotting with a Marquis de Sembrisson. That good and true fascist. To turn over his garage and trucks to the Germans in the morning. To the Germans in the morning? The Germans will have this town by morning. If you don't know it, then you're the only one who doesn't. Don't be frightened. They wouldn't hurt a nice little collaborationist like you. Nazis will be very fond of your grandmother, your uncle, and you. Oh, no, Maurice, you've got it all wrong. We're not collaborationists. We're not. We're not. I'm glad to hear it. Please, Maurice, listen to me. Uncle Prosper wouldn't let the Germans get his cars. He'll reckon first. He will. He'll do it tonight. I know he will. He'll do it tonight. Maurice, he'll do it tonight. Not tonight, Simone. No dinner tonight. Just wine. But Uncle Prosper... Simone, do not argue. My son is tired. Yes, Grandmother. And play at the table. Yes, son. Grandmother. What is it? May I ask Uncle Prosper just one question? No. No! Oh, come now, Mother. Let the child talk. What is it, Simone? Is it true the Germans will be here tomorrow? Why did you hear such nonsense? I heard it in town. Is it true, Uncle Prosper? Is it true? Why, that's the most ridiculous... Uncle? Yes. Yes, it's true. Prosper! It's all right, Mother. Now don't get excited. I've fixed everything. It's all arranged. You mean? I told you it's all arranged. Just leave it to me. We should both stop bothering me. Can a man enjoy a little peace in a little... Uncle Prosper! What is it now? The garage and the cars. You'll want to destroy them. I'll help you. Oh, I'll help you, Uncle Prosper. And we better... What nonsense are you talking? Murray said you wouldn't do it. But I knew you would. We can do it right now. Grandmother can stay here. And if anybody comes, she'd pretend we're asleep. Simone, you're out of your head. Don't listen to her, my son. Don't listen! Be quiet, Mother. Simone, are you afraid that I'm not a patriot? Isn't that it? Oh, no, I knew you were. I knew it all along. And that's why I want to help you wreck your cars so the Germans won't get them. I'm a patriot too. But I think we'd better hurry, Uncle Prosper. I think we'd better... I think you'd better listen to me. I have no intentions of destroying my cars, or my trucks, or my garage. Is that clear? The Germans... The Germans will be all over France in a few days. Nothing can stop them. France is doomed. Why should I destroy my business, my whole life, and France is doomed anyway, huh? Why should I? Uncle Prosper... If my father were alive, you would not talk like this. Your father... Your blood is as bad as his was. Who told him to go to the Congo and stir up the Negroes against us? We warned him, but he was deaf to our warnings. Now he's dead and gone in good riddance. And as for you, you're an ungrateful, impertinent... Mother, Simone, how old are you? Fifteen? I'll take my word for it. Things look a lot different at fifteen than they do at fifty. When you know you're right, it doesn't matter how old you are. Simone... Your grandmother asked you to clear the table, didn't she? Well then clear it! You hear me? Clear it! Yes, Uncle Prosper. That was when I knew I had to do it. I remember just before my father went off to be killed in the Congo. He told me that if I ever had to do something that was right and was afraid to, to repeat to myself a certain sentence, you can remember a lot from five years old if you work at it. The sentence was this. When, if not now, who else if not you? I kept saying it over and over. When, if not now, who else if not you? You see, I just couldn't get away from it. Then I went to my room and read some about Joan of Arc, because she had had problems, too, if you remember. No, wait a minute. First I stole Uncle Prosper's garage key from his bureau drawer, and then I read about Joan. And then I did it. I climbed out of the bedroom window and ran down the street. I ran and ran till it felt like I'd spent my whole life running. And I ran like somebody was chasing me, except nobody was. At last I got to the garage and locked the door and went in. And it was so dark and my heart was crashing around in my breast and I was so scared I didn't think or feel. I just said, when, if not now, who if not you? Over and over again, so I wouldn't think or feel. I just kept saying, when, if not now, who if not you? When, if not now, who if not you? I set fire to Uncle Prosper's garage and it burnt to the ground. All of it. Cars, trucks, garage. And the Germans couldn't use any of it. That's the crime I did against France. This is Clifton Faderman speaking. Tonight, on the Johnson's Wax Program, Words at War, we're bringing you a dramatization based on Leon Feuchtfanger's story of Simone. So far, the 15-year-old Simone has testified to the fact that she sold black market gasoline at black market prices at her uncle's behest. She told the court of her belief that this same uncle would destroy his garage rather than have it fall into the hands of the Germans. And then she told of a discovery that he had no intention of doing so. And now we continue her story. Me, Maurice. Don't go away, please, don't go away. I'm right here. I never saw such a dumb bell. You've gotten yourself into a fine mess, my little friend. But how did you know I did it? Nobody but you would have done such a charlotte's job. Does everybody think I did it? Of course. Who else if not you? You? I would have done it better. The fire is still smoldering and already everybody in town knows it was Pierre Planchard's daughter. What about his brother, Mike, and they think it was Uncle Prosper? Uncle Prosper? That's Volga. Listen, Simone, you're in bad trouble. Your uncle's still poking around the ashes, but he'll be back soon, and then... Oh, you stupid girl. Why were you so foolish? Was I wrong, Maurice? No, not wrong, but... the danger's all out of proportion to the advantage. Danger you mean from the Germans? Yes, from them too, but I was thinking of our own fascist. Don't worry about them. You and Uncle Prosper can take care of me. Oh, well, this girl never learned. Listen, Simone, don't you understand that the Marquis and your uncle will never forgive you for what you've done to them? They let the Germans into this country. And you go and set a fire right over their heads. Patriotism, that's mutiny. You can't do things like that, Simone. I did it. Badly. All right, but I did it. You don't still hate me, do you? I could skin you alive. That's all right. What's that? I don't know. Simone, listen to me. I wanted to tell you slowly, but there isn't time. I'm leaving for Algiers. You're leaving when? Now. Oh, no. I've got to. The first things were all mixed up. That's all changed now. Now the biggest idiot in France knows who the enemies are. The Tan, the Nazis, and all the French fascists on one side. Liberty, equality, fraternity, all the anti-fascists of the world on the other. I've got to go, Simone. Maurice. And I want you to come with me. You want? I can't leave you here. It's dangerous, Simone. You must come with me. Oh, Maurice, I can't. Why not? It's Uncle Prosper. Tell me quickly. Why not? You're wrong about him. Maurice, he's been good to me. He's good. Maurice, really good. You'll betray us, Simone. You're wrong. You would never hurt me, never. Uncle Prosper will stand by me, and I've got to be here to be stood by. Don't you see? You make me sick. Maurice. What? Thank you for asking me. Go to the devil. Simone, please. I can't. Simone! Maurice. Come with me. No, you've got to go. Hurry. Come on. Are you there? Maurice, say something to me. Say something. Tell me I'm right. Make me stronger, Maurice. Of course you're right, but you've got to come with me. Say something else. Say something else. I love you. Maurice. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I don't know what will happen, Simone. This is the time for brave words, but I haven't any. Maybe I'll never come back to you. I don't know. All I can say is that if we work long enough and fight hard enough and if there's enough obvious, maybe. That's you and me for always, Simone. Remember that. Oh, yes, Maurice. I've got to go now. I know. Goodbye, my dear. You're the biggest little fool in France, but I love you. Remember that, Simone. I'll remember. I'll remember, Maurice. Just a minute, Uncle Prosper. I'm coming. Uncle Prosper! Traitor! I told you again and again why I did it, Uncle Prosper. I've told you. I've told you. You've got to sign this declaration. I can't. What's wrong? I'm sorry, Monsieur Lemakis. It's hopeless. I can't do a thing with her. What woman, Plancha? Simone, let me redo this declaration again. I, Simone Plancha, do confess voluntarily and without compulsion that on the 17th day of June, 1940, I set fire to the buildings of the transfer establishment Prosper Plancha and Company. I did it because I was deeply offended in regard as unjust the criticism of Madame Plancha that I did not satisfactorily perform the duties imposed upon me in my home. I was angry and I saw no other means of venting my resentment. And I believed that through this act I would grievously annoy and injure Madame Plancha, my grandmother. Now, Simone. I told you and told you I can't sign it. Nobody would believe it anyway. That's precisely the point. Nobody would believe it except the Germans. What do you mean? Everyone in this town loves and honors you for your act. But why suffer for something when your uncle and I can save you? All the Germans want to know is was it a political act of violence against them? If they assure themselves it was a political act then everybody in San Martin will suffer. However, if we can convince them that it wasn't, then you go free and the blight over all of us is lifted. I, I don't know what to do. I'm so tired. Sign it, Simone. But, Simone, I want to save you. I saw your father go the same way and I, I couldn't help him. Now, you, his daughter, have done something equally brave and wonderful and I can't help you. Please, Simone, let me help you, please. Uncle Prosper, if I sign this declaration, will the Germans give you back your business? Right. That is, I... Answer, Plancha, answer. Yes, they will. And you, Mr. Lemaki, if I sign, you will be in favor again, too. That is correct. Doesn't that count for something with you, Simone? Your uncle has spent a lifetime building his business. All of your fellow citizens trust you to save them from German reprisals. Don't let them down, my child. I, I... And above all, remember, if you sign this, nothing will happen to you. Absolutely nothing. I won't be punished. Certainly not. The whole matter will be forgotten completely. Come, child, sign it. Shall I, Uncle Prosper? Shall I sign it? Uncle Prosper, look at me. Shall I sign it? Yes. Then, Monsieur. Here it is. There. I've signed. I've put my name to it. Oh, I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have done it. But, Jack, please, may I have it back? No. But... No. I... I don't know what to do. I'm tired. And I'm so tired. Could I be excused now? One moment, please, Simone Planchard. As deputy prefect of the occupied town of San Martin, France, I arrest you on behalf of the state of Germany. And that is the whole truth, as I know it, so help me, God. Mademoiselle Planchard, from beginning to end, your story is one monstrous lie. It is not as true. You know it's too misalomaki. You know it. And my people here know it, too. Mademoiselle. What I did was right. Silence, silence. I get that lie to help save France from the Germans, and I'll do it again. And now, I'm awfully tired. So, would you mind giving me the death sentence quick? Why, Simone, you're not going to be put to death. That's preposterous. It is? Why, certainly, we don't put little girls to death. We're going to take care of you. You mean everything's all right? Of course. Your act was the wicked deed of revenge of a depraved child. And so, Simone, we're going to put you in a home for bad girls. The granite house. Oh, no! The granite! Did you think we were stupid, Simone? Did you think we would ennoble your act by making a martyr of you? Is that what you thought? Foolish, foolish child. No, Simone, a home for bad girls is the place for you. It's not a nice place, but then, my dear, you're not a nice little girl. But that's all right. We'll take care of you. Good care. Even that, I can stand. Maurice said you're all fascists, and he was right. And you fascists may be smarter than I am, but there are people you're not smarter than. People like my father and Joan of Arc and Maurice and maybe some in this very room who are afraid now. But they're not always going to be. And then you'd better watch out. Get her out of here! That's what France is, Miss Ellen Muckie. It's the feeling people like me have against people like you. And longer than you, your kind friends will live. It will live. This is Clifton Fatterman. The Johnson's Wax program, Words at War, has brought you a dramatization based on Leon Foigtwanger's novel, Simone, the story of the young French patriot. Today, Simone and all those like her have at last won the freedom for which they've fought so long. However, the physical liberation of France may remind ourselves in all compassion. It's only one step in a greater story, a story of which we might call the regeneration of France. Oh, it's all very well for us to feel a glow of generosity at the thought that today we're rushing tons of food to a liberated Paris. But the story does not end there. In the months and years that lie ahead, as this great nation refines herself in her fourth republic, France will need our sympathy, our spiritual help, and sometimes even our patience. Let's see that she gets them. Now, after a brief message by Jacques Castello, I'll be back. I'd like to read you a letter we received from a lady last week, and it really doesn't need any comment. Here it is. I'm really ashamed to admit that, although I never missed a broadcast with Fever McGee and Molly, I did not use your product glow coat. Had been using something else for five, so I decided I'd try glow coat. If only for the privilege I enjoyed over my radio. I purchased a jar of glow coat this week, and after using it, I stood and admired my linoleum floors like a child with a new toy. It was so simple, no work at all, and it dries so quickly and evenly. I was amazed at the small amount used after giving my floors a second coat. I'll never use any other. Thanks for Johnson's glow coat. All week I've been saying to myself, why didn't I get glow coat sooner? Okay, Mr. Padiman, what's the book for next week? Next week, Words at War presents a dramatization of Willard Waller's book, The Veteran Comes Back. The time's getting close, when G.I. Joe will come home now. Are we on the home front, ready to face him, to help him become readjusted, to help him regain his foothold in society? These are the questions that will be answered on next week's Words at War, The Veteran Comes Back. Tonight's dramatization was written by Edith Sommer and featured Marguerite Morrissey as Simone. Music was composed and conducted by Morris Mamorsky. The production was under the direction of Anton M. Lieder. Next week, the makers of Johnson's Wax brings you a dramatization of The Veteran Comes Back by Willard Waller on Words at War. Jack Costello speaking, this is the national broadcasting company.