 Family Theater presents Marino Sullivan, Gene Raymond and James Gleason. From Hollywood, the mutual network in cooperation with Family Theater Incorporated brings you Gene Raymond and Marino Sullivan in By Sun and Candlelight, the love story of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Berra. To introduce the drama, your host and narrator, James Gleason. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. So begins a simple and beautiful poem, a love poem. It's part of a great love story. One that really happened. A hundred years ago in the England of Queen Victoria and largely in London in a house on Wimpoles Street. But it begins for us several years later in a villa in Italy taken by two travelers from England. A man and his wife. His ninth. A fire is burning in the great. Robert. Oh, hello, Bar. My thoughts must have a tight grip on me tonight. I didn't hear you come in. It's late. I couldn't sleep. Robert, I... No, don't turn around. Keep looking straight ahead. And promise me. Promise me you'll not think me foolish. Bar, what is it? Why can't I think of you if I want to as my foolish Bar? Oh, Robert, then think of me as foolish. But make me another promise instead. Here. I'll just drop these into your coat pocket. So. Now promise me once you've read them through, you'll burn them. They're in the fireplace. But Bar... Oh, but Robert promise. Promise me. Left alone, the man reached into his coat pocket and pulled forth a packet of letters. Papers. Removing the ribbon that bound them, he seated himself by the fire to read them. And as he read, it was as though she was still in the room with him. Her frail hand still trembling on his shoulder. Her voice reading to him these poems which tell the story of their love. The love story of Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning. Gradual vision through my tears. The sweet, sad years. The melancholy years. Beloved, my beloved. When I think that thou wast in the world that year so long ago. Kenyon, I say Kenyon. Oh, Browning, old boy. Kenyon, I'm glad I caught you. I've been after you for a week now. You've avoided this matter long enough. Well, you might have looked for me in the same literary circles where we usually run into one another. Or don't you dare show your face among your friends for a while. Oh, now it wasn't as bad as all that you think so in spite of the critics. Sir Dello was in the nature of an experimental poem. They have been a bit obscure in a couple of spots. And then the critics are always out to roast poor poets like yourself, I suppose. Poets like myself, yes. But never a poet like your cousin. Never one like Elizabeth Barrett. Well, that's another matter, isn't it? It's the matter I insist having out with you once and for all. Now, I want to meet her. You know that. When I first read her poetry, I've hoped to meet Elizabeth Barrett. Well, my cousin's very ill. Yes, I know, but it stands to reason. A fall from a pony on her 15th birthday made an invalid of her. Kenyon, there's something you haven't told me. Something you've been holding back all along, isn't there? Well, yes, there is. I'll tell you, Brownie. Elizabeth Barrett is a prisoner in that house on Winpole Street. There's her father, Edward Barrett, who's so tyrant. His own life has been a miserable thing, and so he begrudges his children any happiness. I see. Hmm. Sounds to me as though the man were making it his business to see that she never recovers her health. When it's winter, a winter like the one we're having now, I often wonder how many years she has left. I think Flush must wonder, too. Flush? Oh, her spaniel. Yes, I remember reading a poem she wrote about him. Oh, help me, Kenyon, it's a little thing I ask. I won't rest till I've brought at least a small part of the sun to her. Part of the sun? When her, in her room, in all that house on Winpole Street, there are only shadows. Beloved, my beloved, when I think that thou wast in the world that year so long ago, what time I sat alone with visions for my company, nor sought to know a sweeter music than they played to me? Oh, Bar, guess what, Bar? Henrietta, what is it? I didn't mean to startle you, Bar. But Cousin John's downstairs, and wait till you hear. Cousin John? Today? My verses are still not ready for him to take to the publisher. What will he say? Sordello's to blame. Sordello's the fault of it all, you know. Sordello? Yes, if Flush and I could make sense out of just one passage, then I could put it down and go on finishing these verses of my own. Oh, I know. Sordello's the thing by Robert Browning. Yes, the thing by Robert Browning. Well, what would you say if I told you it's Robert Browning that John has come to talk to you about? Robert Browning? Nothing was said to me, but I overheard him talking to Papa. Yes. Mr. Browning wants to meet you, he said. He thinks it would be good for him. That's just what I heard. Good for him? Good. Oh, much more than that for me. Why, he could explain Sordello to me. And so much more besides. Elizabeth, Henrietta. Papa. Henrietta, why aren't you downstairs saying goodbye to your cousin John? Cousin John is leaving Papa without seeing Bob. Hadn't you better do, as I say, Henrietta? Yes, Papa. Can you understand, of course, Elizabeth, that you're hardly well enough to receive him every time he comes round for a casual call? Oh, but I'm feeling much stronger than I have all day for some, some reason. Then Cousin John's visit wasn't made for any particular purpose. Hmm? Oh, none that you need worry your head about. Hmm. Which I see you are feeling strong enough to fill with the reading matter. Sordello, by Robert Browning. Hmm. Stikes me as a poet with not a great deal to say in his work. Oh, but one has the feeling that one day he will have. Right now he may puzzle too much on the meaning of life. But he knows and feels the richness of life. He breathes life, you know. One gets this feeling you say from reading his poetry. Oh, reading his poetry. One can forget four walls, clothes blinds, a musty smell of odour cologne. You forced me to remind to Elizabeth that you are after all a helpless invalid. I'm not forgetting that. You should be grateful for the protection offered you by these four walls. I am grateful. And humbled, I hope, by that sense of gratitude, aware of your duty, your obligation. Oh, please, please. I'm not forgetting. But how can I be certain when I hear such rebellious speeches? Rebellious speeches? There was a matter I promised Kenyon I'd discuss with you. But in your present condition, you're more ill than you realize. But I... More ill than you realize, Elizabeth. It's imperative that you rest. You're right. I must rest. My advice, Elizabeth, is that you read no more of Robert Browning. If this has been a sample of the sort of ideas his writing puts into your head. Rest well, Elizabeth. No Browning, no. I tell you it's no use. It won't work. Nothing will work. The old tyrant's dead set against having you set foot in that house. But if a letter of mine should find its way into that house... Don't you see that's exactly the move he'll be anticipating? Suppose I wait. Suppose I wait till the moment her new volume of poems is published, the one she's working on now. There's bound to be a deluge of mail come to the house. Yes, you're right, of course. And if, among it all, there was one letter which got through... My letters. All dead paper, mute and white. And yet they seem alive and quivering against my tremulous hands which loose the string and drop them down on my knee tonight. But you've got to listen, Bar. Well, I read every one of them to you. Flattery's good for you. It spurs you on to greater efforts. Oh, yesterday's batch of letters failed to have that effect at all. I've felt a sort of emptiness today as I tried to write. Well, just a few more. Here's one that begins a little differently anyway, so we'll try it. This is no offhand complimentary letter I shall write. I love your verses with all my heart. I... Oh, Bar. Look at the signature. Your servant, Robert Browning. Robert Browning? He wants to meet you. Look, see what he says in closing. And though I have often passed by your house on Wimpole Street, I have never stopped or asked to see you. I have almost come to fear I shall never have you in my sight as a friend. Oh, how'll I reply? Oh, how'll I reply? The winter shuts me up as it does the dorm house's eye. That's what she wrote, Kenyon. But she did say that in the spring... Spring's a long way up. My spring has begun, Kenyon. But you can't go on writing her. Barret will spot your letter the moment it arrives. He leaves the house you were telling me at a certain time each day? Yes, generally around two. Then shortly after two, my letter will arrive by special messenger each day, Kenyon, until spring. Can you tell me what he writes today, Bar? He reminds me again that spring is a condition of the heart and that his spring often begins early in February. I must live to see just one more spring. Bar, of course you will. Patience, Mr. Browning. Patience. He writes that it's the first day of spring, Henrietta. Oh, tell me, what was it like outside when you woke up this morning? I'll let the sun tell you that. I'll pull back your curtains. Oh, I'd forgotten how the sun never does come in here, does it? Only a patch of sunlight, just large enough for Flush to put his nose into. But soon there'll be sunlight in my room. Very soon. I sat beneath thy looks with trembling soul. That day in spring you came and touched my hand. You are Mr. Browning? And you are Ms. Barret's sister. Yes. Bar, Elizabeth is expecting you. Please follow me up the stairs to her room. Be careful, the way's dark. Oh, how lucky Mr. Browning got our message in time, telling you to call it three instead of two. You see, Papa's taken to going out later in the afternoons and even returning earlier too. Here we are. Bar, it's Mr. Robert Browning, Mr. Browning, my sister Elizabeth. Won't you come in, Mr. Browning? You can sit over there, Mr. Browning, near Bar. And I... Well, I'll see if tea isn't nearly ready and bring it up myself. Your visit has been the occasion of much excitement, Mr. Browning. We all counted a very special privilege. Dear Ms. Barret, can I not hope that I'm already regarded as a friend in this room? Ms. Barret, there are so many, many interesting things I need. Bar, you received my letter? It came in yesterday's post. You didn't expect to see me today? I was hoping you'd give me time to write a reply. But remember what a patient man I was to remember. I have your letters here, the ones you wrote last winter and the ones you've written since since you first called on me. This first one says, I love your verses with all my heart. You asked to have me in your sight then, just as a friend. And you said, patients, Mr. Browning, patients, even then? Here's one. This letter asks if you could call me by my pet name. Bar, a simple thing. And yet I wept for it. Then there's the one I wrote you yesterday. And that says, I love you, Bar. I want you for my wife. Oh, Robert, you and your letters have been good friends. I love you, Bar. I want you for my wife. But you've already been most generous. Do you call it generous to love? I love you means I need you, Bar. Can it be right to give what I have to give? So little in return for all you've given. Why, since you came into this room last year, the face of all the world has changed for me. And yet you've never really seen the world. Winter keeps me here. My illness keeps me here. And a father's petty tyranny. That keeps you from the world, from love, from happiness. Bar, come, know these things with me. The world, love, happiness. Oh, no, no, Robert, I can't. Not until the time comes when I'm strong enough to get up from this sofa, quite by myself, to walk out of this room, along the hall, down the stairs, with no one helping me, no one carrying me. And it's winter now. But in the spring? In the spring, Mr. Browning. Well, we shall see. Lean upon thee, dear, without alarm, and feel as safe as guarded by a charm. Oh, back so soon, you two? Yes, and the prisoner must be carried back to her cell before the jailers return. Oh, Popeye hasn't do home for hours. Well, we mustn't tire our bar on her first day out, you know. Oh, it was a glorious day, wasn't it, Robert? First day of spring, Henrietta. Our second spring. We saw the birds returning to Westminster Bridge. And do you know what I saw, Henrietta? A fresh bloom on your sister's cheeks. I heard a new ring in her laughter. Those are signs of spring, too, you know. Very well. I shall give you yet another sign. Put me down, Robert. You've carried me quite long enough. Bar. I shall climb these stairs by myself. You shall see. But Bar, you'll fall. You forget, Henrietta, this is spring. If the frail little crocus can force its way through the snow, then Elizabeth Barrett can walk. Very well, little crocus, I'll put you down. But take hold of the banister. Bar, you took a step. Well, that's what you do when you walk, isn't it? You're climbing the stairs. A bit unsteadyly, but walking at last. And leaving us poor earthbound creatures far behind. Oh, no, no. Come with me, Robert. Don't stay down there. You're not going to fall, Bar. Oh, no, no, of course not. But if I should lose my newfound strength... You'll never lose it. I'm here to cedar that. Oh, Robert. Papa, you're home so much earlier than usual. What is happening here? Elizabeth, Elizabeth! What are you doing on the stairs? I'm walking. Only watch while I come down to meet you. Walk? You don't know what you're doing. You cannot walk. You'll fall. Do you hear me, Elizabeth? You'll fall. You won't fall, Bar. You won't fall. Catch me, Robert. Catch me. You see what I mean? You have no strength, Elizabeth, none at all. It seemed like strength. It seemed like strength. It only seemed. That's not the truth, sir. I take it I'm being addressed by the poet and my daughter's head. I'm not an ignorance, Mr. Browning, of your visits here these past months. I'd not suppose you were an ignorance of them, sir. But the discovery of them struck such a blow to your pride of authority that you pretended ignorance to save yourself embarrassment. Scoundrel! Elizabeth, believe me, had I known his purpose was to do you harm? Harm? Sir, the harm you've done in planting fear... Robert, no, no. Please don't say any more. You're leaving now, aren't you, Mr. Browning? Needless to say, we shall not expect another visit to this house. Henrietta! Yes, Papa? You'll see Mr. Browning to the door. Yes, Papa. Oh, Robert. I'll assist you to your room, Elizabeth. Robert. Goodbye. Come, Elizabeth. Come. Henrietta. I must see you out the door. Henrietta, listen to me. You must leave. Papa said so. A time must be arranged, Henrietta, for you to meet me at your cousin John Kenyon's. Do you understand? I can't. I'm planning a way to take Barr away from all this. Please go. It's true, isn't it? Fear is a very real thing in this house. A very real thing. I tell you, John, it's unbelievable I must get her out of there. Now is not the time to try. He'll be watching her more closely than ever now. But this is the time of year when it's safer to travel. John, I was counting on your help. And you'd have it, old boy, if I thought there were a chance of my being of any use. But you can be. It's I who first mentioned your name in that house. And I don't imagine Edward Barrett has forgotten that, do you? At least keep me informed of her condition. I must know how she is. It's important if I'm to work out a plan. Before winter comes, I must think of a way. Otherwise it'll be too late. I'm sure a father will like the new tobacco. Henrietta. No, not please. Don't run away. I must talk to him. No. No, I can't stay, Mr. Browning. Henrietta, it's been three months. You can't still be shaken by what happened that day. That's so awful. Barrett took very ill. I know, but she's better now, isn't she? She has been better these last few days. I don't know what would have happened if the days hadn't been warm ones. I don't know what would have happened. Has she tried to walk? Can she walk at all? A little. I must be getting better. Henrietta, you know now it's a matter of life and death, don't you? Oh? Your sister's life. And in a few days, travel will be too dangerous for her. Travel? Now, here's what you're to tell her, Henrietta. Tell her the time is here and tell her to herself. Walk out of that room along the hall and down the stairs. Tell her that. And tell her that this is the plan I've worked out. Death held me in his grasp. But then I was aware of how some mystic shape did draw me backward by the hair. And a voice said in mastery while I strove, guess who holds thee? Death, I said. Death, I said. Bar, I came as soon as I could. But we have another hour yet. No, the time until part has been changed. The boat to France leaves earlier than we thought. But the carriage? It's waiting around the corner. I just left it there. It will take you to Robert. You'll be married at Marlebin Church. Oh, Henrietta, how can I leave now? Papa hasn't gone out yet, that's true. He's still in the library, but if you're very quiet... But I can't put you in such danger. Oh, no, no, I can't. Bar, I'm strong now. Fighting for strength where there was no strength has made me strong too. I'm no more afraid than you are now. You can get up, can't you? After hearing what you've just said, do you think I could disappoint you now? No, Bar. You... you will see. I'll help you. No, I must walk by myself. The library door is closed. Yes. If there's a sound, you'll surely hear it. Flush, come. Quietly, Flush. If you make a sound, we're lost. Guess who holds thee? Death, I said. But there, the silver answer rang. Not death, but love. Far into the night, Robert Browning sat before the fire, reading his poems written by his wife Elizabeth for his eyes alone. Poems recalling the whole story of their love. Poems reaffirming that love. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need. By sun and candlelight. A love that endures from life that disappears for soon a winter came. A winter in their lives that seemed to hold the promise of another spring. Till late one night, Bar, I sent for the doctor again. I shouldn't have let him go this evening. Robert, come closer. Oh, Bar, if I could only hold you like this forever. I will. I will. There's power in love. You live to see another spring. But think how many springs we've known since Wimpole Street. Why, then, not even dreaming did I think to see so many spring times in my life. Here in Italy, we'll dream of all the many more you live to see. Our dreams could not begin with happiness in store because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame. Oh, Bar, I love you, Bar. Oh, Robert, if you only could hold me like this forever. Oh, Elizabeth. Oh. No, no, Elizabeth. Oh, Elizabeth. I love you, Bar. I love you to the level of every day's most quiet need by sudden and candlelight. I love you freely as men strive for right. I love you purely as they turn from praise. I love you with the breath smiles, tears of all my life. And if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. Stepping out of character now to tell you what I think about love stories. I like them. But I mean real, wonderful worthwhile love stories. Stories about genuine, unselfish love. The love of husband and wife or of a mother for a child. You know, it's a funny thing. God's way can be reduced to two simple commandments which make up the greatest love story ever told. Love God above all things and love your neighbors yourself. That's what true love is. It wants to give, not always merely take. Real prayer like real love is unselfish too. Prayer isn't just asking. It's thinking, it's thanking God for what he has given us. It's offering all we have all that we are. You see, real prayer is generous and the man who prays will be a generous man. The family that prays is generous, loving family. That's why we of Family Theatre tell you each week that the family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. From Hollywood Family Theatre has brought you Marino Sullivan and Jean Raymond in the love story of Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Brownlee with James Leason as your host. Kudor Owen was heard as John Kenyon, as Henry at the Barrett, and Ted Osborne as Elizabeth's father Edward Barrett. By Summon Candlelight was written by Peter Rankin with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed for Family Theatre by Jaime Del Bahia. This series of Family Theatre 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 of stage, screen and radio who have so unselfishly given of their time to appear on our Family Theatre stage. This is Gene Baker inviting you to join us next week when your Family Theatre will bring you Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's The Courtship of Miles Standish. Join us, won't you? Family Theatre reminds you that Saturday, November 19th is National Kids Day. Help the underprivileged children of your city by supporting the Kiwana-sponsored activities now planned for National Kids Day. Kudor is heard in Canada through the facilities of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation and his broadcast to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. This is the world's largest network, the Mutual Broadcasting System.