 Family Theater presents John Lund, Mona Freeman, and Virginia Gray. From Hollywood, the mutual network in cooperation with Family Theater Incorporated brings you Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's unforgettable poem, Evangeline. Starring John Lund and Virginia Gray. To introduce the drama, your hostess, Mona Freeman. Thank you, Jean. Generation after generation of Americans have been brought up on the poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. And to him can be attributed a major share of the American love for poetry. He was particularly interested in the early days of our country. And in Evangeline, he chose a tragic episode in history. The recounting of how the small French colony of Acadia was ceded to the British by the French after the Treaty of 1713. The Acadians, their colony forcibly broken up, were deported and scattered throughout the new land of America. And 200 years later, an American father enters his daughter's nursery. No, please, no! From whence I've come to disquieting sound. Turn off that radio. Oh, Daddy, don't turn it off. I want to hear what happens. I know you do, but that's no bedtime story for little girls like you. Here, let me read you something. Let's see. Oh, here's Puss and Boots. Oh, that's kid stuff. Oh, pardon me. Well, how about Hansel and Gretel? The one where they threw the old witch into the oven and burned her all up? Uh, no, no, not that one. I'm trying to get you away from that sort of thing. Daddy, what's that book you're reading? This one? Oh, you wouldn't. Well, maybe you would like it at that. Has it got shooting in it? No, this is the story of a lovely lady, Evangeline. Evangeline? That's a nice name. Okay, read it, Daddy. Here. Sit on the bed. All right, honey. This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, bearded with moss and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight. Stand like druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic. Stand like harpers' whore, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean, speaks in an accent's disconsolate, answers the wail of the forest. Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the basin of Minas, Benedict Bell Fontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grandpray, dwelt on his goodly acres, and with him, directing his household, gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. Oh, open the door, Evangeline. Yes, Father. Open up, good friend Benedict. Mr. Lajanes and Mr. Gavril. Yeah, well, Swar Evangeline, and our sturdy Benedict. Welcome, Basil, my friend. Do you think my door is an anvil for you to pound on with those brawny arms? I don't know. It does not ring like an anvil, but it is a solidest one. Come, come, come. Take your usual place on the settle with the chimney side here. Here's your pipe and box of tobacco. Ah, thank you, old friend. Evangeline, the tongs and a hot coal for Basil's pipe. Yes. All hot and glowing like the coals of my own forge. Thank you, Evangeline. You're welcome, sir. Sir, to the father of the man you were soon to marry. You're welcome. Mon pair. That's better, child. Gabriel. Yes, Father. Where's your tongue, my son? You have not said one word to your bride-to-be. Well, what can I say to her that I have not said a thousand times? Shall I tell her again that she is divinely tall and most divinely fair and that her passing is like the ceasing of exquisite music, that her eyes are as black as the wild blackberry and twice as sweet. Gabriel, please. Please do not tease me, please. Please, leave her alone. Come, Evangeline. We will go over by the window and talk. Yes, go on, children. Go on. Be happy. Be happy. Tomorrow. Oh, no. Let us not think about tomorrow. What will happen, do you think? There's no telling. But I fear trouble, Benedict. Oh, I don't think... You don't think there will be trouble with those English ships riding at anchor out there, the guns pointed towards us, with those English soldiers gathering in the beach? If there is not going to be trouble, then why have they commanded us every inhabitant of Grand Prairie to gather in the church tomorrow? What do they say? Tomorrow, what tidings will we get from the king we refuse to acknowledge? Tomorrow is tomorrow, my friend. Let no shadow of sorrow fall over this house tonight. For this is the night of the marriage contract between your son and my daughter. I... I so it is. The papers are ready to sign. Renée Leblanc, our public notary, will be here soon, so let us be glad tonight and rejoice in the joy of our children. You are right, of course, Benedict. Tonight. Tonight, let us try to be happy. Oh, that'll be Renée Leblanc. Evangeline! Ah, Boulsois, mademoiselle Evangeline, and Monsieur Belfontin, Monsieur Lajernasse, and Gabriel. Come in, Monsieur Leblanc. Yes, Renée, come and sit by the fire. And tell us the news. What do the English intend to do? All I know is the gossip of the village, yet I do not believe the English have evil intentions. We've never harmed them, so why should they harm us? Because they have the might and the power. Because they have soldiers and guns and trouble is their trade. This is not the time for such talk. I'm sorry, old friend. Tonight is for our children. Tonight we sign the marriage contract. You brought the papers Leblanc. I have them prepared. Let us proceed. Of course, Monsieur Belfontin. Village of Grand Prairie, province of Acadia. The second day of October of our lord, 1759. The marriage contract of Queen of Rancy and Belfontin. The forget-me-nots of the angels, blossoming in the infinite meadows of heaven. I have never seen them shine so wonderfully. Yes, they are beautiful. Beautiful. They seem to sparkle like... Gabriel, you are not looking at them. Yes. The stars are in your eyes, my sweet one. Gabriel, no matter what may happen, let me tell you now that I should love you. No one but you always and always. I am sure of that, Vangeline. And whatever may come to pass, keep this in your heart. Love, such as ours, can never die. With the summons, Sonoris, sounded the bell from the tower. And over the meadows, a drum beat. Thrawn there long was the church with men. Been this day by His Majesty's orders. Clementine kind has he been, but how you have answered his kindness, let your own hearts reply. To my natural make and my temper, painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. Yet must I bow and obey and deliver the will of our monarch. Namely, that all your lands and dwellings and cattle of all kinds forfeited be to the crown. And, that you yourselves from this province be transported to other lands. Prisoners, now I declare you, for such is His Majesty's pleasure. Take us away from our homes. No, never! What kind of justice is that? What kind of justice is that? Down with the English tyrants! Throw them out! Yes, you're a quiet man! We will never swear allegiance to a king or Robb's others! Death to these foreign soldiers! He is my children. He's quiet, quiet friends. It's Father Felicien. What is this that you do, my children? What madness has seized you? Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness? Look, you, where the crucified Christ from His cross is gazing upon you. See in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion. Hark how those lips still repeat the prayer, O Father, forgive them. Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked is say loss. Let us repeat it now and say, O Father, forgive them. Now, my children, prisoners though we be, it is time for evening service. Four times the sun had risen and set, and now, on the fifth day, late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, echoing far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard. Fither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church doors opened and forth came the guard and marching in gloomy procession, followed the long prison but patient to Cadian farmers. Thus to the Gasparo's mouth moved on that mournful procession. Their disorder prevailed and the tumult and stir of embarking. Evangelion? Yes, Father. The English ships, they're taking us away? Yes. All our possessions are in these bags and bundles. All our possessions? The rest, burned by the soldiers. Father, please, you are weak, you must rest. We're basil and Gabriel. They are somewhere on this beach. Now lie back and rest, Father. All our possessions, all inside my... Evangelion! Yes, René? Gabriel has been trying to get to you, but they won't let... What has happened? Barcel, the blacksmith, and Gabriel are being put into that boat. Which boat? The one where that light is. Go to him. Thank you, René. But I will not go. Go, my child. Go on the boat with Gabriel. No, Father. I will stay with you. Go. It's my wish. My last wish. No, Father. Here I stay. Listen, did I not... Hear nothing, Father? Fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth and his parish, wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering. Thus he approached the place where Evangelion sat with her father. Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. Father Felix, you... Yes, my child. He suffers no more. Yet grieve not, Evangelion. For of all this throng, he is the fortune... We are being exiled from our dear Acadia. Benedict Pelfontaine will sleep here. Father Felix, you... Yes, my child. Benedict Pelfontaine will sleep here forever. Many a weary year has passed since the burning of Grand Prix. When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed, bearing a nation with all its household goods into exile. Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city. Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wondered. My dear Acadian, Gabriel Lajanes. Gabriel Lajanes? It seems to me I heard he's with Basil the blacksmith, somewhere out in the western prairies. Thank you. Thank you. I'd like to go with the next wagon train that is traveling west. I am looking for Gabriel Lajanes. Gabriel Lajanes. He's not out west. I heard somebody say he's a voyeur down in the lowlands of Louisiana. What would I have done all these years if my wandering without your comfort and advice? Quite possibly you might have done better. Oh, no, Father. But tell me, am I wasting my life and my love? Evangeline, my child, true love is never wasted. Keep to thy love. Keep up thy search. And may God guide your footsteps. It is rumored that he is in Louisiana, Father. Then to Louisiana we will go. Ah, it's Louisiana. It's good land, Gabriel. We'll prosper here. Yes, yes, but without Evangeline, it is nothing. Father, Father, I must go to find her. If you must, then so be it. I understand. When would you like to start? As soon as the harvest is over. That won't be too long. That boat you have been building, is it ready? Ah, yes, nearly ready. I'll take Henri Pierre and Baptiste and we'll go north up the Mississippi fishing and trapping. And searching? And searching in every town and village in every lane and high road for Evangeline. Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi floated a cumbersome boat that was rowed by Acadian boatmen. With them Evangeline went and her guide, Father Felician. Day after day they glided down the turbulent river, night after night by their blazing fires and camped on its borders. Father Felician, in all the years I've been searching for Gabriel, I have never felt such a nearness. We will keep a close watch as we go down the river tomorrow. For tomorrow is the last day of our journey. Father, that sounded like one of our Acadian horns. Only the cry of a night bird, my child. Rest and sleep if you can. Yes, Father. Good night, Father. Good night, my dear. Must we row all night? Yes, only two of us will row while two of us sleep. There's been no word of Evangeline. No, no word. He may be somewhere in the north or in the west. God grant you find her soon, my impatient one. Hey, listen. Was that an Acadian horn? No, Gabriel. Just a loon or a heron. Yes, yes. I know. My mind is playing tricks on me tonight. Well, come. Oh, faster, my friends. Row. Swiftly they glided along close under the lee of an island so that they saw not the boat where it lay concealed in the willows. Angel of God was there none who awakened the slumbering maiden. Swiftly they glided away like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. Father Felicia, first it was the winding Mississippi, then the trails of the Ozarks. Now we creep across the prairies from campfire to campfire. And always we seem a day or an hour too late. But we will overtake him, Evangeline. Tomorrow the Indians tell me we will reach a Jesuit mission, the only mission in all this wild land. If Gabriel is passed this way, he will have stopped there. A Jesuit mission? Yes. Yes. I have a feeling that good tidings await us there. Good father, we seek news of one this lady and I both love. Bless you, my friends. And what is the news you seek? News of Gabriel Lajanes. Has he been here? Yes. Six days ago he sat where you are sitting now. Six days ago? He told me if he search for a maiden, Evangeline. I am Evangeline. Then, for you I have this word. Far to the north he has gone. But in the autumn, when the hunting is done, he will return to this mission. Do you hear that, Father? He will return. Did I not tell you we would overtake him? Let us remain here if the good father will have us. Oh, you are welcome to stay as long as you wish. Then here we stay until Gabriel returns. When he returns, I will take him home. Home at last. So came the autumn and past and the winter, yet Gabriel came not. Blossomed the opening spring in the notes of the robin and the bluebird, sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. Thus did the long, sad years glide on, and in seasons and places, divers and distant and far was seen the wandering maiden. Where was she and young when in hope began the long journey? Faded was she and old when in disappointment it ended. Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image. Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow meekly with reverence steps, the sacred feet of her saviour. Thus many years she lived as a sister of mercy. Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell in the city. Thus on a Sabbath morn through the streets deserted and silent, wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the arms house. Sister Evangeline, how good you are to help us. I am glad that I still have the strength to help. What is the report? Nine more have died, all of them with the plague. Seven sequins were brought in this morning. I will go to the seven sequins. Sister Evangeline, sister of mercy. Yes. Water, please. Please, water. You shall have it. May God also bless and keep you, my friend. I love it. Finally he strove to rise and Evangeline kneeling beside him kissed his dying lips and laid his head on her bosom. Sweet was the light of his eyes, but suddenly it sank into darkness as when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. Still stands the forest primeval, but far away from its shadow, side by side in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. I love such as ours. Still stands the forest primeval, but under the shade of its branches dwells another race with other customs and language. Huddled from its rocky cabins the deep voice neighboring ocean speaks and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. Formants of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's well-loved poem Evangeline. The deportation of the Acadians is a chapter of history which the people of North America will always remember with a sense of guilt and shame. Its tragic parallel in the last war is painfully familiar to all of us. Thousands of families separated forever. Yet the greatest tragedy of modern family life cannot be blamed on war and persecution. Every year, right here in our own nation, thousands of homes are broken. My husband and wife go their separate ways. Children are cast a drift from the security and protection of a united home and a loving family. Whose fault is it? Well, there are many reasons. But I say this one tops the list. We're forgetting to invite God into our homes. Neglecting to live according to his law. Neglecting to pray to him for the help we need. To keep the families of the world united we of the family theater urge you to begin the practice of daily family prayer in your own home. For the family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world brings up. Hollywood Family Theater has brought you Evangeline starring John London and Virginia Gregg with Mona Freeman as your hostess. Others in our cast were Ken Christie, Bill Boucher, John Daener, Ted Osborne, Stanley Farrar, Jane Webb, Clayton Post, and Daniel Hurley. This adaptation of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's epic poem was written by Harry Lawrence with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed for Family Theater by Jaime Del Valle. These 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 from stage, screen, and radio who have so generously given of their time and artistry to appear on our Family Theater stage. This is Gene Baker inviting you to be with us next week at this time as Family Theater will present Maureen O'Hara and Stephen McNally in Edgar Allen Pose the Goldbug. Join us, won't you? 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 Series Network, the Mutual Broadcasting System.