 Family Theater presents MacDonald Carey and Jane Avello. Theater presents Jane Avello and Walter Burke in Bebette by Anton Chekhov. To introduce the drama, your host and narrator, MacDonald Carey. Thank you, Gene Baker. A story by Anton Chekhov is the life story of a mood, of a state of mind that is changed by the constant irritations of life. Sensitivity to these irritations and pinpricks of life are the salient characteristics of Chekhov's heroes and heroines. And Chekhov, more than anyone, of him can it be said that a Russian story is the story of the undoing of a life. Herewith, we bring you Anton Chekhov's The Bet with Jane Avello as the banker Grego Tregoran and Walter Burke as Valentin. Outside, it was a cold, blustery November night. But within the palatial country residence of Grego Tregoran there was laughter, gaiety and warmth. For the wealthy banker had invited a group of rich and clever contemporaries down from the city for a weekend at his estate. But not all his guests were rich and clever. There was one, Egor Valentin, a music teacher from the local village who obviously did not belong. Placed among these city elegance, Valentin felt poor and shabby, an object of contempt. Shortly before dinner, the banker Tregoran retired to his study when there was a light knock on the door. It opened a few inches. The face of Valentin peered in. Monsieur Tregoran. I am occupied some other time, Valentin. I must talk to you, Monsieur. I must talk to you alone. You have been attempting to talk to me alone all afternoon. What is it? Is it money? Are you about to request a loan? Tell my secretary I said to give you a few rubles. I don't want your money. Everybody wants my money. However, I do not intend that they shall get it. What do you want? It concerns your daughter. Irina, what about her? Sir, all summer I have given music lessons to your daughter every Thursday, every Thursday from 3 o'clock till 5. I love her. That is quite understandable. She is 17, unspoiled, exquitted. But she loves me, sir. She loves me. Does that surprise you? At her age, a girl must be in love with someone. In a few months, she will have forgotten you completely. Monsieur Tregoran, I beg your permission to marry your daughter. Marry? You are ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. Young man, with my wealth, Irina will be a duchess, a princess. You would ask my daughter to share some dismal attic with you. I've seen your village wives with their red, raw knuckles and thick ankles. In a few months, Irina would hate you. Poverty is slavery. Money is power. Power is freedom. I would not... I have been listening at the door. Do you forgive me, Father? Igor, I will always love you. Always. Irina, will you listen to me? It is you who is the slave, Father. You who live in fear. Fear that someone will take your gold. You will never be free, Father, never. Because everything you love, even I, can be taken from you in the night. Irina, permit me to observe that at your age a girl is quite incapable of reason. She dreams or feels... Igor, am I right? I don't know. Tonight I am confused. Everything confuses me. Well, it is time for me to join our guests to be the host. Monsieur Valentin, your aspirations to my daughter's hand are quite normal, but ridiculous. My beloved, was he cruel to you? He was right. You were a child with sweet dreams in your head. A year or so. What then? You would have forgotten even my name. And why shouldn't you? Because I love you. You would hate me for it. A village woman with a wrinkled face, with red knuckles and thick ankles. My wife must have the best of everything, the best. She will have you for her husband. If I had money, if I were rich, these fine friends of your fathers wouldn't a day look down their long, thin noses at me. How long must I wait, Igor? For you to kiss me? If I were rich, I'd show them what. Ha-ha! Yes, Irina. And I will show you, too. Directly to a group where banker T'Gorin was holding forth. Madame Revit, permit me to insist on disagreeing with your point of view. Yours, too, Dr. Nordorf. A Christian state has no right to take a human life. True, Dr. True. Capital punishment is absolute, Gregor. It is not civilized. Did I say that it was? I say that capital punishment is more humane than life imprisonment. Solitary confinement for life is simply pro-long torture. Death by degrees. Both are equally immoral. Here, here. You are all evading the issue. We are debating which is the more humane, not which is the less moral. Kovac, I need you. What does your secretary know about it? Has Kovac ever been executed? No, he has not. Kovac has experienced solitary confinement. You may ask him. Mr. Kovac, do you consider solitary confinement so very dreadful? Say no, Mr. Kovac. Madame, imagine that you were a fly. A fly in a black bottle. Oh, I think it was the tenth day of my confinement. Yes, the tenth day that I went berserk. There you are, my friends. It's not capital punishment more humane. Do we all agree that I am right? What do you say, Monsieur Valentin? I must disagree with Monsieur Trigorin. What would a music teacher know of death and imprisonment? I know I would choose solitary confinement to death. Why? To live under any conditions is better than to be dead. In a cell, with never the sound of a human voice, in a silence never to be broken as if the outer world had ceased to be, ah, you're mad. That is your opinion, sir. Had I books and a piano, I could be quite content in solitary confinement. How little you know. You will go mad in a few months. In five years, you'd be dead. I would still be there in 15 years. There, that's absurd. I will wager you two million that you would not. If you mean that. I do. Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, bear witness. I stake two million rubles, two million rubles against 15 years of this young fool's life. Well, who come, come young man, two million rubles, riches, power, all that you have never had, that you never will have. Agreed. Two million rubles against my liberty for 15 years. Monsieur Trigorin, I accept your bet. Like a fly in a black bottle. Thus came to pass this mad, cruel bet. At the dinner table, the hard, shallow worldlings discussed the bet as if it were a new exciting game. The banker, spoiled by his vast wealth and power, was beside himself with joy and continued chaffing the young music teacher. Eat, Valentin. Come, come, enjoy your last meal with the human race. Is it that exciting, Irina? Dr. Nordhoff, tell the young man he must take his exercises every day. Oh, yes, yes. He must, he must, yes. Yes. In 15 years, he should become a veritable athlete. Irina, you're not eating. Gregor, where is he to be incarcerated? Oh, there is an old building once used as a grist meal on the back of my estate. Let him as much as open the door, but once, and he will forfeit his two million. The door so near and so yielding, the temptation to open it will be unenviable. Yes, it will poison his whole existence. Valentin, I'm beginning to feel sorry for you. I see no reason to feel sorry for me. None of them feel sorry for you. But I do, Irina. Gregor, may he write us letters? If he wishes, but I must stipulate that he is to receive no letters, no current periodicals, books, yes. He may see his guards and hear their voices. No voice or face save his own. Young man, shall we call it off while there is time? After all, what are two million rubles to a man like you? You have your music? Two millions? So much rubbish. Well? I intend to stand by our agreement. You see, my friend, my eloquence is nothing against his common greed for gold. Yes! Yusuf and Yvonne, who were appointed guards, carried in a piano. The guest sang. Champagne flowed. Valentin, face flushed with wine, laughed foolishly with the others and played the piano with abandon. This is the moment. We leave the young fool to his dreams of riches. Say your farewells. Au revoir. Young man, I think I shall cry. It's like watching a ship sail. Yes. Until we meet again in 15 years. Thank you, Mr. Valentin, for our most delightful evening, to get you a new abode. Well, you must come again in 15 years. I shall count today. Look, Valentin, this sliding panel in the door, everything your heart desires will be passed through it. Irish linen, suits from London truffles for breakfast. I shall live like a young lord. The hours will slip past in splendid indolence. A note to Kovac will get you what you want. Anything you wish. Monsieur Kovac, my fairy godmother, named Kovac. Of course they had me in a small dark cell, but you will still go mad. Master, master. What is it, yourself? I'm someone running up the path, a girl. It will be a rena. Girls of her age are romantic. We will turn our backs while the rena sheds tears on this poor young fellow. Come, come, everyone. Hey, Kovac. Hello, rena. Hello. Would you like a photograph of me? I've brought you one. Oh, thank you. It's very thoughtful. Hey, Gore. Yes? I shall wait for you. Reena! Hey, Gore. I will wait for you forever. Yusuf. Yusuf. Yusuf is not garrulous. 15 years. 5,475 days. I had a few more days for leap years. I'll only be 40. Rich. How many men are rich at 40? Valentine, you are a lucky fellow. Yusuf. Ivan. They can't hear me. I'll push open the panel. Guard. Yusuf. I knew you were there. Ivan. Prism has suffered greatly from solitude and boredom. He read light fiction, planned elaborate meals which were given him. He spent considerable time before a mirror admiring his fine clothes. The sound of the piano was heard night and day. During the second year, the music stopped. He exercised desperately, running a dog trot around his room until he dropped. In the fifth year, the guard, who could observe him through a peephole, reported that all he did was eat, drink, yawn, sleep, argue angrily with himself and... and we. Hearing it, hearest, how does life bear for you? As for me, I'm surprisingly contented with my lot. Quite happy. I may not believe it, but I am. Often I throw back my head and laugh at nothing. Self-sufficient. Erase me from my thoughts. As I have you, good night, dear Inna. I see your sweet face in my dreams. I hear your sweet voice, Louie. I... In the sixth year, the prisoner began to study diligently. Within the next four years, he had read 600 volumes, had mastered the accumulated wisdom of the ages. Another. The banker thought it strange that a man who'd mastered 600 weighty volumes in four years should have spent these last two years in reading one thin volume. The New Testament came the eve of the bet's settlement. Banker Gregor Trigorin paced from corner to corner of his study. Now and again he shot a desperate glance at Kovac. At the great clock, whose every tick reminded him of a senseless bet made 15 years ago this very night. 15 years before, he had millions beyond counting. But now, in his old age, his reckless speculations had reduced him to the brink of ruin. Suddenly he stopped and said before that... Why did the man not die? He's only 40. He will marry him, enjoy life, and I will look on like an envious beggar. No, it is too much. Will we still have time? One hour. In one hour it will be midnight. He will be free. I shall have to pay him his two millions. Yes, the minutes are slipping through our fingers. Yes, yes. Have you dispatched the telegram to London to Irina? Yes, I sent it. If Irina is still at her aunt's house, she should receive it in the morning. Yes, yes. Her jewels will bring us the two million easily. But if I pay this fellow his two million, I will still be bankrupt. There is only one way of escape for me. The man must die. Hey, Kovac? Well, we all must die sometime, rather. It came from this wind someplace. Yes, to sleep in the greenhouse. That is good. They will be the first to be suspected. Come. The match went out. The door creaked open. In the prisoner's room, a candle burned dimly. The prisoner himself sat at a table, asleep. His back to the door. The banker tapped gently on the wall. And waited. But the thin man in the chair did not awaken. As they tiptoed slowly toward the sleeper, the banker, his old heart beating wildly, whispered. When I nod, throw him on the bed. I'll hold a pillow on his face. Yes, let's get this over with. Wait, wait, wait, wait. On the littered table, beneath the prisoner's bent head, the banker saw a sheet of paper on which was a note addressed to Mr. Trigoran. Come, before we kill him, let us read this. Bring a lamp to the door. The lamp, yes, the lamp, yes. What does it say? Mr. Trigoran, the banker, at midnight I shall be free to mingle with my fellow men. For fifteen years I have diligently studied earthly life. In your books I lived a thousand lives. In them I drank fragrant wine. I heard the song of sirens and the pipes of pan. And beautiful women like clouds ethereal created by your poets genius were mine to love. In your books I conquered empires and worked miracles and everything you strive for I despise. You are mad and gone the wrong way. You take falsehood for truth and ugliness for beauty. I marvel at you who have bartered heaven for earth. I do not want to understand you. That I may show indeed my contempt for that by which you live. I renounce your two millions which at one time seemed the opening of paradise to me. At five minutes before midnight I shall leave this prison and thus break the stipulated terms of our agreement. It's a note back on the table. We are saved. Through the snow and wind the banker trudged. Found Yusuf sleeping in the greenhouse and then went to the study where the clock ticked off the few remaining minutes until midnight. Why hasn't Yusuf come? We told him to raise him and report to us the instant the prisoner left. It is still thirty seconds until midnight. But the prisoner should be gone by now. Recall his note Kovac. At five minutes to midnight the beggar said he would walk out of his prison. I still think we should kill him and make sure. I was a fool. A soft hearted centre, mental fool. I was convinced he meant what he wrote. I bet on him. It's a bet I fear we have lost. Yes. At the last moment he has changed his mind. Two million rules. Of course he would change his mind. Who wouldn't? You see Trigarren, a thought occurs to me. Well, well. The prisoner might very well, quite logically come directly here to claim his million. Yes. Well, should he be that foolish, I think we know what to do. Hey, Kovac. Oh, come in, come in. If it's the prisoner. Master, the prisoner has gone at five minutes until midnight, master. Gone! Gone, Kovac, gone! Gone! The master's money is quite safe. Well, it was in congratulations or in order, sir. Oh, yourself. How did he seem? Which way did he go? The prisoner. Gone into the night. The snow. Into the... I do not know where they were going. They? The two of them. But such peace on two faces I have never seen. My daughter? Yes. It was Mademoiselle Irina who drove up in the sleigh. Your daughter, master. Those who appear on Family Theatre are proud to announce that again this year, Ohio State University has selected Family Theatre for the first award in the religious field of radio because of its wide appeal and its fine presentation of the value of religion in everyday living. We sincerely appreciate this honor and hope that our efforts will continue to merit your audience. Next Sunday, we celebrate Mother's Day, a day of happy remembrances for mothers and their children. We honor and respect the mothers of the world whose very name is synonymous with all its good, who willingly suffer heroic sacrifices for their families, tenderness, comfort and understanding. Mothers are the very heart of a home, but the soul of a home is prayer. Family Theatre urges prayer in the home, daily family prayer. All mothers, when united with their families in prayer, know that a family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams are. Family Theatre is presented Jay Nivello and Walter Burke in Chagall's classic The Vet, with MacDonald Carey as host and narrator. Others in our cast were Virginia Gregg, Wally Mayer, Yvonne Petey, Howard McNair and James Nussar. This adaptation of the familiar classic was written by Richard Cretan, with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed for Family Theatre by Jaime Del Valle. These Family Theatre 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 of stage, screen and radio who have so unselfishly given of their time and talent to appear on our Family Theatre stage. To them and to you, our humble thanks. This is Gene Baker expressing the wish of Family Theatre 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 Theatre will present Jeanette MacDonald and Ward Bond in Brad Clark's classic The Outcasts of Poker Flat. Join us, won't you? Sting System.