 Family Theatre presents Robert Young and Hans Connery in Serenal Diversion Act. To introduce the drama, your... Thank you, Gene Baker. Family Theatre's only purpose is to bring to everyone's attention a practice that must become an important part of our lives if we are to win peace for ourselves, peace for our families and peace for the world. Family Theatre urges you to pray. Pray together as a family. They say that beauty is only skin deep. But ask the man or woman who lives with deformity and learn how much deeper goes the scar of ugliness. One of the greatest of human tragedies is to possess a soul that yearns to soar into great deeds of beauty, love and daring, and is burdened by the cross of a misshapen body or an unattractive face. Edmund Rostan captured the heartbreak and personal triumph of such a man in his enduring drama, Sereno de Bergerac. And it is with real pride that we present Hans Conrad as Sereno and Mary Ship as Roxanne in Sereno de Bergerac. Spell that knows in towering letters in your mind, for I am Sereno de Bergerac. In the convent park of the ladies of the cross, in the evening of my life, I keep an ancient trist, remembering only the morning, fifteen years ago, and Aurora herself, in radiant splendour, a miracle of youth and love and gentleness, timeless, verdant to springtime. If beauty has a name, call it Roxanne. Sweet, sweet cousin, I loved her and feared her, tried to make myself perfection in all things for her. Sereno. Oh, it's soldier. Philosopher. My public who acclaimed everything about me, but my nose. And then one night, in the theatre of the Hotel de Bogonia, I outdid even myself. Oh, and the man. Or is that your real nose? It is my true nose. So, your courage does not equal the size of what you call a nose. Sir, you are the vicon de Valver. I am. But what has that to do with your nose? I wish to introduce you to my glove. And next, my sword. Her magic lid. Oh, Valver is uninspired. Merely to ask if this be my real nose, when he might have left more deathless prose. Such folly I allow my tongue. But no one else's. Who dares is done. Your nose again. You made it your battle cry to best Valver. But I ask again, why Valver, a friend of the Contagies? I saw his eyes once when he looked upon my cousin Roxanne in her box. Toad eyes. Watching, planning. Sereno. You and Roxanne. Who else can the beast love? But beauty. My friend, my friend. But she watched you just now. Bright-eyed, eager. No, she watched Puccinello on a stick, ringing his tiny bells, fighting away his little life. No, she came to watch her play. She saw punch without a duty. Is this my Sereno who speaks? The guardsman who fears no man, yet trembles before one slight girl? Tell her, friend. Tell her of your love. I'll tell her in the word. Monsieur de Bergerac. Yes, porter. A lady, monsieur. To see me? Monsieur de Bergerac. Roxanne's doing now. I bring a message for you, monsieur. We wish to meet with you in private. Roxanne asks for me of where, when? We attend the mass at St. Roche tomorrow, at dawn. Perhaps shortly after. Yes, yes, but where? Rogger knows his close by. Rogger, an understanding friend, yes. Monsieur... Rogger knows pastry shop on the Russonne Honoré. We shall be there at seven. Au revoir, monsieur de Bergerac. She wants to see me. Roxanne asks to look upon Cyrano. Not so bitter, hopeless, melancholy now? Now, Lebray. Now am I a mountain, a thunderous sky unleashing its lightnings. Too strong to duel with men. Bring me guards. They send me devils. No devils but friends, Sereno. It is Linier, the worst for wear as usual. Ah, Linier, that poor bad poet. He writes no better than he drinks. Sereno, Linier is in great danger. Oh, danger from creatures of the bottle? No, no, no, no, no, no. Christian told me, friend Christian, a hundred men are going to fowl and murder me tonight. One hundred men for you? Come on, Linier. It's true, Sereno. Immediately because I wrote a wrong poem about the right people, I died tonight on my way home. A hundred to one, Sereno. Let me come home with you. Only one hundred. And you would hide under my cloak? Frankly, yes. Cyrano de Bergerac will see you safely home, my friend. Sereno, there will be trouble. How did I not ask for it, Lebray? Take tortures, lanterns. For tonight, Cyrano has challenged the gods. Prince of Bakers, peasant of titled blood, greetings of the dawn and all things new and good. Hey, Sereno! I've come to meet a friend, a dearest friend. A lady? No, an immutable flame, encompassing all passion, the best, the purest of loving. Hey, coaches, stop. Two ladies, step forward. Your friend? No, please. Leave us alone. Oh, Sereno, good luck. Now, may a life's prayer be answered. Madame, I'll sell you. Oh, Roxane. Roxane. Cyrano. Oh, what sweet whisper from heaven prompted you to remember me, to ask to see me. First, to thank you, dear Cyrano. You thank me. For besting Valver yesterday. You have not changed one wit, Cyrano. Remember when we were children? Oh, how well I remember those golden summers that brought you to Bergeron. Even then you were making swords out of reeds, frowning so fiercely as you challenged birds in butterflies. And you wore flowers for a fragrant crown. Did you love me then, Cyrano? What? Was I that ugly? You? You ugly ever? Then call ugly the newest, smallest star twinkling in the blue robe of the sky. Then call ugly the first tender blush of springtime blossoming. Even as a little boy, you had the gift of casting a spell with words. You were always different. Roxane, you wish to tell me something? Yes, I... How does one say it without your gift, Cyrano? I must pronounce it simply. I am in love. Roxane. But the one I love does not know. Perhaps he dares to guess. Oh, I know he loves me. I have seen it in his eyes. He longs to tell me, but dares not. Such a brave man, too. A godsman. My regiment, Roxane. Young noble and so handsome. Handsome. He's been at the theatre every night for the last two weeks. Not to see the play, but me. Oh, Cyrano, how he watches me. Tell me, am I bold? To love. To know that you are loved in return. Not bold, Roxane. Blessing. His name. Christiane, the Baron de Nuviet. Protect him in your Gascon regiment, Cyrano. They quarrel with anyone of other blood. You ask me to protect your Christiane. For the sake of our childhood. Father. Very well. You will never let him do. Never let him do. Thank heaven. Tell him to write me. And now I must go. Oh, Cyrano, I do love you. As a friend. As the dear Hadir. Hadir. Farewell. Farewell, my heart. Outside and with him, the Count de Guiche. Monsieur de Bejerac. I was told of your prowess on the street last night. Your second starring performance of the evening, was it not? If you can call the first, the disposition of Visconde de Valverre performance, your grave. The guards will not act in such things. Swordsmanship with portrait. An accomplishment. You might be amusing in my retinue. Your? I might be persuaded to help your career. I ask no help. I must prodigal with my talents as is the sun with warmth, the clouds with rain. Cyrano, take care. And insolent as well. Bergerac can well afford insulin with his talent for duly. Whoever hired those assassins for lignel last night should feel robbed. Believe me, monsieur, I do. You, the Count de Guiche, feel the need to murder poets. Foolish poets who sing unwisely. But to be a poet is to be forever unwise. But it pays well in coin of truth. Freedom to unmask the hypocrites in high places. We shall meet again, cadet. I eagerly await the time and place. Come, officers, we have some plans to form. Cyrano, we've done it now. But with a method, good friend Ragnon, I thrive on hatred. I love to make an honest enemy. Oh, it is not you she loves. You read me better than I speak, Le Bray. You, sir, what is your desire? Behold our recruits of the morning. Gentlemen cadets, I greet you. Tell him how he may hope to act like a gascon in a thousand years, Cyrano. In a thousand years he will learn. Ragnon, what have you been doing? Recruit. You are addressing me? Of course. To offer advice. Whatever else you say to Bergerac, never mention his nose. His nose? It is large. To voice it is to dine. But why? A Norman would not understand. No sense of taste, no courage. Normans are as much men as gascons. Men of courage. Forget this fledgling recruit. Come, Cyrano, your story of the Hundred in One. The story? The story, gentlemen, it's nothing new. I would have done the same for you. So Normans have no courage, eh? I was walking home, my friends, that was all. Of course we had heard we might be waylaid and many followed to see the plot. With us taught the dreadful spot. Then stepped behind Knight's curtain of cloud. You could not see beyond. Your nose? And who is this? A new recruit. I'll season him first. Christian de Nuviet. Black. Always blackest, I marched on, thinking of Faith's prank. How I must offend a drunkard who wrote the wrong song each time he took a snootful. Took an idea. I should better rock be the one to pay. Through the nose? Mobler, out of here, all of you. Leave me alone with this recruit. Go all of you quickly. And now you intend to kill me? I'll argue that. My heaven, you have courage. Handsome too, as she said. She? Who? Roxane. Roxane? She loves you. You love her. I know all. I'm her cousin. Cousin? Oh, forgive me, sir. I did not know. I only sought to prove my courage with those cadets. No, forget them. She expects a letter from you. She... I... Oh, no. You cannot write? I... I have no wit. I mean... I am a soldier, Cyrano. Have no art with women. Save only to look at one woman. That was enough. But if I had your tongue, your pen... And, Cyrano, your eyes. Your nose. But wait. Perhaps together we can win, Roxane. I do not understand. My leather heart under your velvet, Christian. It is you she loves. My ghost will give your tongue and letters, too. Call her, Christian. Do and dare. I'll stand here under the balcony, out of sight. Very well. Roxane? Roxane? Try a few pebbles on her window. Yes. She must speak to me tonight. Roxane? Calls me. It is I. Christian, is that you? I... I... At least say yes. Yes. Roxane, I... I love you. And I love you. If you could know how I treasure your letters, Christian. My letters. I keep them ever close. Oh, speak on, my love. I... I do love you. Yes, you said that. I do love you. And after that? I love you more. Oh, no. Is that all you can say, Christian? But... but I do love you. The night is growing cool. I'll go and start... No, no, wait. Your beauty warms the air, Roxane. Its brilliant fire reaches me here. Can you not share your own gift? My gift? What do you say, Christian? Cedar, now, what are you doing? Christian, what is it you were saying? I... I could not speak too clearly. The thunder in my heart enough to burst into... Yes, yes, go on. Yet, what love destroys, love can make hole again with bits of heart left over to form words like birds flying to the nest of your divine beauty. I'll welcome these heartbirds of yours and keep them safe and warm. Oh, they'll grow to shining splendid things, nurtured on love, with pinions strong enough to fly the world, challenging the vaulted sky itself. Your voice, it is different. Wait, I shall come down. No, no. So strong a no, it prisms me here. Allow me my moment, Roxane, when I'm only a voice and all else is shadow and anonymity. Oh, Prince of Shadows, I love you. No laughter now, no friendship. Strange new voice I'd follow to the ends of the world. Oh, love, take my joy to make you more joyful. Let my heart beat as your roll. I love you, I love you. I am yours. What can death hold for me now? One kiss. What? If you fool. Only one kiss, beloved. There. The seal of passion on a promise. Eternal circle of timeless meaning and ancient knowledge. Come then, drink deeply of that knowledge. Go then, Christian, go. Place your seal of passion on my promise. Prime the balcony, ape. Roxane, I come. Roxane, I... Christian. And Cyrano, a skeleton at the Feast of Love. Roxane and Christian loved and were wed, then came the Siege of Arras, and we all marched away. But again, I wrote Christian's letters to Roxane, his last letter. I thought then, perhaps, but even death had a last grim laugh at my expense. Roxane came here to live at the Convent. And ever since, I pursued my wooing by bringing her gossip of the world. Once a week, I've come. Cyrano, dear friend, late for the first time in 15 years. I entertained a non-expected guest. A welcome guest? Sometimes of late, I think so. But you did come. That is the important thing. The gleaming needle in your delicate finger spins a beautiful web, Roxane. Cyrano, my dear, my dear. Roxane, pray for me tonight at Vespers. Cyrano, what is it? Nothing, merely my old wound from Arras. We all bear wounds of Arras. Mine bleeds within my heart. I bind it with his last letter. My letter? What? May I read it? It is growing dark, but here. Beloved Roxane, adhere for a little while, my heart, because today I die. The Dark Angel has touched me, and there is little time to tell of my love for you, but like the shining splendour I foretold, grows and grows and grows. The way you read it makes his love live again. I remember the languid hand of you pushing a heavy lock of bright hair from your fair brow. The eyes of you so pure, radiant with heaven light. All these things I remember is my soul, sobs adieu, Roxane. Why, it is too dark for you to read. Farewell, my other heart. My dearest secret treasure, my beloved. Too dark, and yet you know the letter. All these years, it was always you. I should have known the very way you speak my name, the letters, the voice in the dark, the soul, all you. I knew he'd come here. He'd kill himself to keep his twist. Loggernaut, librae, like two old hens with an ailing chick. Chick indeed, a foolish old cockroach. But librae, why are you here? What happened? Not two hours ago. A footpad dropped a heavy log on Cyrano's feet. Oh, no. He will not live out the hour. Stop blubbering, Baker. Cyrano, you will not die. I love you. No, no, that is not the plot. Beauty could change the beast by those enchanted words, but never Cyrano. All your life, my folk. Your folk, dear love, all down the empty echoing corridors of the heedless. Your face, your voice, your grace to guide him. Cyrano, my friend. Cyrano, Cyrano. How can you drink with such a beaker? No fear of drowning. My love, my love. Farewell, my other heart. Dear the secret treasure. No, no, not lying down. Cyrano. Stand back. My visitor approaches. Let him find me ready and wazing. My dear, my dear. Now, now he attacks. He and the others. You see them, one hundred to one. Have at me, if you dare. Take, take, take all else if you must, but one pume. I keep to wear him into eternity. Unsullied by the world. By even my ugly face. Cyrano, your beautiful face. Watch that. My prayer is answered. I rise again, fight again, alone and free for love. Askers how we manage to present such a variety of plays, week after week, and always end with the same theme, family prayer. Well, here's the secret, if it can be called a secret. There isn't a thing in life that doesn't somehow tie in with the family, that isn't somehow of interest to it, because the family is the basis of all society and civilization. Whether it's baseball or babies, railroads or religion, it's connected with the family, and our family theater audiences like to hear about it. In the same way, there isn't a thing in life that isn't connected with God, who created and sustained the world and all that is in it. So it's never an effort to introduce the thought of prayer, family prayer. After all, do we possess anything that doesn't come from the hand of God? And isn't it only sensible that we should pray together as a family, for the graces we need each day? That's why we leave you each week with a thought we'd like you to make your own. The family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. The music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman 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 of stage, screen and radio who have so unselfishly given of their time and talent to appear on our family theater stage. To them and to you, our humble thanks. This is Gene Baker expressing the wish of family theater that the blessing of God may be upon you and your home. And inviting you to join us next week at this time when family theater will present Ricardo Montalban and Marshall Thompson in Joaquin Murrieta. Join us, won't you?