 Family Theatre presents Terry Moore and Jeff Chandler. Cooperation with Family Theatre Incorporated presents Jeff Chandler as the legendary nephew of Charlemagne in the Song of Roland. To introduce the drama, your hostess, Terry Moore. Nearly 160 years since a French historian discovered in a neglected corner of a museum a dilapidated but still legible parchment manuscript. This was the Song of Roland. The tale it recounts was not new to the scholars of European folklore, for the heroic story appears in the legends of all European nations. In fact, the recurrent musical theme you will hear tonight is a part of the original Song of Roland that French soldiers sang in battle for nearly four centuries, recounting the valor of Roland at the pass of Ronseval. The pass of Ronseval high in the Pyrenees where for centuries France and Spain have faced each other. To bring back again the epic days of Roland, it is now my pleasure to present Jeff Chandler as the title character in The Song of Roland. The year is 778. And in a serene orchard near Cordova in Spain, the white-haired Charlemagne rests from the seven years of incessant campaigns against the elusive Moorish king Marsilius. But as the mighty Frankish court spends its days idly in the flowering glow, in nearby Saragossa, the wily Marsilius well versed in treachery, Hall's council with Blancadrin, wisest of the heroes in the Spanish camp. Ladies Blancadrin, what say you? How shall I resist the disaster that threatens to overwhelm the right arm of Islam? Good king, though we have left no army fit to do battle with the mighty Charles, still I foresee that the Frank will come to terms. You speak with fevered brain, old man. What terms save our death may we expect from Charles? Let your unvoiced promise this, oh king, that when Charles has returned to Fair France, you shall follow there to do him homage and become his vassal. Now, by Allah, you try me sore. Indeed, your wits have departed from you. Nay, my sirius, we shall do, as I say, even unto sending hostages as pledges for our word. My own son do I offer to lead them. Your son's life and those with him? They shall lose their heads, but it is as Allah wills. But there will be few compared to the lives Charles and his legions will take from us. Aye, it is better they lose their heads than I, this land, and the nobles of my court. You, Blancadrin, shall bear my offer to the Franks. It is as Allah wills, my lord. Then pray he give you success. For if you fail, I shall have you torn limb from limb when you return from the French camp. Be off with you and mark well. King has often inquired about thy health, oh mighty Charles. He would follow you to France there to swear fidelity to the lion of the Franks. There are your words. And well do they fall upon my ears, Blancadrin. Yet your king is very much my enemy. And in him, what token shall I find to trust? By these hostages that I bring you, noble king, my pledge will be assured. Among them I offer my own son, my heir, that my silliest will keep his bond. That indeed is high price to put on treasury. What say you, my barons? You have heard the pledge? Think you the bond worthy guarantee of it? My lord, woe is the day when we shall trust the heathen. I, who have served these years with you, have seen our peers laid waste by their treachery. I say, good uncle, we should attack. I am wary of warring. And these hostages that he offers are too dear to Marsilius that he would sacrifice them. What hold the heathen dear, my lord, say their own skins and their plotting? For me, I am with Roulin. Let me think, sire, that young Roulin and young hot-headed Oliver care not what deaths we die upon the fields of Spain. Let us be wise, my lord, as befits our years. Our victory has this day been granted us without blood or grief. Why, then, should we seek to lose our lives to gain the same ends? Your words, good Galilean, strike true upon my ear. Noble lords, I have chosen the word of Galilean. Then I ask you, who shall be sent to Saragossa and the pagan camp? It is for me to go, my lord, for the danger may be great. Nay, Roulin, nor Oliver either, for you both are ruled by hot heads. Here must cooler wits and gentler tongues prevail. Then send you my stepfather, the over-cautious Ganalan, my lord. It is to his liking that we deal with the heathen. You've heard the barons, Ganalan. It is your lot to go to Saragossa. I am a lord, though my life be the fourth at time at your command. As for you, Roulin, what madness assails you? Peace, Ganalan. Peace. It is best to set the wally to catch the wally. In that, I agree with my noble uncle. And well I know how eager is your desire to do your stepfather harm. Yet never did I think you would so openly betray him. Then stay here as would another craven, Ganalan. I beg Shalamine's progression to go on your stead. It is not for you to go, young fool. For we are neither lord nor vassal to the other, but both at our king's command. He has commanded me to go. Yet my mind shall be busy upon this mission. And should I return, it will not go well with you. You have my pledge upon it. And that pledge will be fulfilled. Here, good king Marsilius's Ganalan, the noble peer of the Franks. He comes in honor for his lips shall tell us whether it be peace or war. Then let him speak, and our ears shall be for his words. God save you, Saracen. Shalamine sends you this message. That you shall bow at his feet in the dust, and that all of Spain shall be his. What say you? Should you refuse, then shall he bring these walls down about your head, and thy death shall be one of shame and dishonor. Why, all of your life hangs but by a slim thread, my lord. Speak you more softly, lest my javelin tear your arrogant throats. Nay, good lord, I would in the end be of service to us both. I alone can tell you what keeps the Franks in your fair land. I have no wish to hear further. Be not over hasty, my lord. For me thinks we have a start ally in Ganalan. It may yet appear that I have harshly judged you, my lord Ganalan. Tell me, then, when shall Charles the Magnificent renounce war? He shall never desert its cause as long as his barons wish him to remain in Spain. And when shall the barons wish for peace, my lord? Never, Sire, as long as Roland lives. And who among my camp could slay the Count Roland? Many have so attempted in these seven years, yet all have become dust before him and his mighty sword, Durandel. It may well be there is among your hosts no one champion to best Roland, if all were to attempt it, might not one succeed. Allah puts wise words upon your tongue, Ganalan. Yet I cannot fight the French, for my legions are yet too few. If you send Charles the treasures of your vaults, the hostages promised, and your pledge to follow him to France, then shall he leave the country, and behind him shall remain a small rearguard. I see, I see, and the Count Roland shall be among them. It can be arranged, and Oliver with him. With two such heroes stricken and his armies disbanded in France, Charles will not again try to rally French arms against you. Good, Ganalan. I shall weigh your saddle with golden coins, if you can but assure me that Roland will be with the rear guard. It shall be done, good king, for many more than you have scores to settle with Count Roland. Then as we close our cap, let them know their scores are paid in full, for the battle will be unto Roland's death, by my word, Ganalan. And thus Sire did Marsilius say, if we shall leave for France, then shall his armies be disbanded, and in the time of autumn he shall follow you to the court of X, there to pledge fealty. You have heard the words of Ganalan, my peers. Shall we then accept King Marsilius and his pledge? Yes, my lord shall amine. We should not relinquish all to the Spaniard. It seems wise to me that we leave a small force behind us as we cross the Pyrenees. If it is your wish, Sire, I offer to serve with it. I, my lord, and I too shall serve with Roland. Give us but 5,000 men, and we will hold our lines against all the hosts of Islam. Let my sword, Durant, be your spear, mighty king, and none shall pass the way at gods. Then it shall be as you wish, noble Roland. Yet I impose one condition upon it. Say it, my lord, that I may begin my service the sooner. When first you sounded the horn of my grandfather, Charles the Hammer, you pledged me you would not use it until your life be in the balance. I, my king, have I ever raised it to my lips since that first day? Then hear me. Should this be but a Saracen trap, you ought to blow the horn forthwith, for its mighty blast will call me back even from the smiling fields of France. So it will be, my lord. Yet with my good men and the sword of Hector at my side, there will be no occasion for the horn. Be not overconfident, good Roland, for the pagan is cunning as the fox. And look you sharp at the pass of Ronseval. For there you lie exposed to our treacherous host. The horn shall be your guarantee of safe passage. And I, good Roland, shall ride at the king's side, for among us none has sharper ears than I. And however faint the horn shall sound, I shall hear it. Then shall we ride, my barons, and keep thy ear keen, Gannelon. For if I should lose Roland, there are none to take his place. Nobles, make ready your men. We return to France, fulfilling our pledge to the Saracen Marsilius. Dear Roland, these hills have never seemed so lonely. King Charles had just cause to warn us of this pass of Ronseval. It would go ill with us were the Saracens to fall upon us here. Aye. Now that Charles has let the armies back into France, I realize how few our numbers should the Saracen contemplate treachery. Ha ha, and treachery is there. Hock, Hock, heard you that, Roland. Aye, it is the look out. Listen, Oliver, come, come let us ride up to the top of the pass quickly. Captain, hold the men here. See down the pass the Saracen. Aye, my sword, just the entire host. They have us ten to one. Roland, Roland, blow up on the horn. We may yet call our countrymen back to our aid. What, would you have me act the fool? Nay, Durandella and I shall lay our blows among them. Aye, till the sword be bloody even to the hilt. Roland, I implore you blow up on it. Cease your complaint, good Oliver. Come, let us rouse the men. If I die, then he who claims my sword can say, this was the sword of a noble heart. Our men were surpassing brave today, good Roland. Never has such slaughter been done in battle. If thousands run here among these rocky passages, yet tomorrow will still more be let. Tomorrow, tomorrow shall the remainder of our small band mingle its own blood with the Saracens. Good chance, good Oliver. Yet it will be hard won. Come, we must search for lances among the dead. Scarce and unsplanted one remains among the Franks. Aye, many a man I sawly about him with but a shattered wooden stump. And yet, yet so wondrous where there blows that few survive them. Let us prepare for the morrow, brave Oliver. Aye, for then perhaps we shall find our places in paradise beside them. I'll stay you, good Roland, stay. Waste not your energies with this ceaseless pacing. Soon the Saracen will strike again. Now we have but a few more than sixty men against the pagan. Tell me, Oliver, shall I sound my ivory horn now that chows me rescues? Ah, good Roland. You would not sound it when I asked you. But now I shall, and the king shall hear it even at the gates of France. And then I swear to you the Franks will return to us. Well said, noble Roland. Yes, sound the horn, for then shall they ride to us, if not for our rescue, to bear our bodies back to France, that we may be buried in that sweet land we shall not see again. Sound it, and then let us go forth to seek our death. You speak well, brave Oliver. You are indeed the brother to my non-heart. Hear what, good Sire? The horn man, the ivory horn of Roland. Nay, master, I heard nothing. That was the horn. Hear you how faintly, dear Roland, sounds it. Now indeed am I shorn of my right hand. Nay, Sire. It was but a shepherd upon a hillside. Let us continue for the fields of France lie before us. Now indeed do I see your black heart, Gennar. Now I know that treachery has laid my Roland low. Treachery, Sire? Never should I have listened to your wally tongue. Now I see that all of France means not to you besides Roland's death. Captain, take this man and hold him here. Come with us, sound your arms. We must fly to Roland! How goes it with you? How can you watch such a deed? How can you let sweet Oliver die for me? Nay, may, may, good Roland. I, I die for myself. For in battle, I have always wished to go. Take, take to your horse and find the battle again, Roland. Forgive me, sweet Oliver. Your blood, too, is now upon my head. Say not so, Roland. Say not even goodbye, but soon, soon we shall ride together again. It's for your bold courage that brought you with me, good Oliver. We have fought long together. Now, since you are gone, it is to my grief that I live. Sleep on, my Oliver. The dead at your feet will attest your bravery. May I find as fitting a monument. Monssois, Monssois, come ye, Saratans, yet lives a prank upon this field. Come ye that I may find my death. Monssois, Monssois, Monssois! Had he been of Yslam these past seven years, I would have chased the Franks rather than resorting to this treachery. Ah, my serious. Yet though his life has cost us dearly, it will be the guarantee of our peace. It is the Franks. Charles has returned. But back by on Roland's farm, yet too late to save him. Come, we must rally the men in retreats. We must be elsewhere if we are to survive it. Up there! This is the noble Roland, brought low by the Mitovala. What? Not yet vanquished, Frank. Then perhaps they saw that your belt will bring you your deliverance. Speak you to me. No voice shall you hear, save mine, Frank. What? Who speaks? It is I who shall seize your sword and carry it away with me. What, seize mine, Durandal? Now you are indeed a fool. No, you bitch! Yet I die here, shall not be to let you spoil me. So, Pagan, would you lay your hand upon me? Living or dead, no Saratans shall do that. Alas, good Durandal, me thinks I die. No longer shall I be thy keeper, yet shall no other hand hold you, for I shall destroy you. Hear good steel, bite deeply of this rock. Nay, not even this rock can harm you. Another must do it. Here, this saint's will you shall remain at my side, strong and clean, while yet I bleed my life away upon my arm. Howls. Yet he rides too late, for even now I feel my life drain away. The horn. That shall tell him of the treachery here. The horn. Speak now, my horn. Tell Charles of Frankish honour. Sing your song, good horn. Sing loud the song of Roland. Virgil and Shakespeare created tales that will never die, saying of heroes who will live forever in our imagination. The epic heroes were men of stature and nobility, confident self-assured men, in whom pride was a very breath of life, and strangely enough, pride was the downfall of every one of them. Like Roland the brave, they did not bring themselves to admit the existence of a power mightier than they. Their pride would not let them ask for help. The great horn of Roland availed him nothing. I think there's a lesson here for all of us, especially in this day when it is the fashion to pretend we are completely self-sufficient. Well, we're not. And it takes only a little pain, a little suffering, a little misfortune to prove we're not. We all need help in our lives, help from our fellow man, God who will answer us if we pray to him. That is why we of the Family Theater urge you each week to make prayer, especially family prayer, the daily practice of your life. Don't be too proud to ask God's blessings for your home. Remember that the family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. Hollywood Family Theater has brought you Jeff Chandler in the song of Roland with Terry Moore as your hostess. Others in our cast were John Daener, Dennis Hoey, Lou Krugman, Ted Osborne, Robert Griffin and Charles Lund. This adaptation from the classical legend was written by Arthur Sawyer, with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed for Family Theater by Jaime Del Valle. This series of Family Theater broadcasts is 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 from stage, screen and radio who have so unselfishly given of their time and talents. This is Gene Baker inviting you to join us next week at this same time when your Family Theater will present Guy Dimovisson's Mademoiselle Fifi with Joan Leslie and Wendell Corey. Join us, won't you? Theater wishes to congratulate CKLW, Mutuals Outlet in the Detroit area for its increase in power to 50,000 once. May CKLW long continue its broadcasts which have merited the title of The Good Neighbor Station. This is the world's largest network, the Mutual Broadcasting System.