 From Hollywood, California, the Lux Radio Theater presents Laurence Tibbet and Helen Jepsen in Naughty Marietta. Lux presents Hollywood. I want to say thank you to the thousands and thousands of women who buy Lux toilet soap regularly. This kind of loyalty is what makes this program possible. Late last week, Mr. Laurence Tibbet and Ms. Helen Jepsen arrived in Hollywood, making a special trip from the east to Star Forest tonight in Victor Herbert's romantic musical play, Naughty Marietta. Our guest tonight is the world champion motion picture fan, Mr. A. B. Oldfield. The Lux Radio Theater Orchestra is conducted by Lois Silver. And now, here's our producer. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Cecil B. DeMille. Greetings from Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen. To all young singers, there's great inspiration in the magnificent voices of Laurence Tibbet and Helen Jepsen. But you don't have to be a singer to be inspired by the exhilarating stories of their success. Mr. Tibbet is the son of a cowboy, who, like Wild Bill Hickock, belonged to the last of the valiant peace marshals who built the West. Sheriff of Kern County, California, he was killed in a gun battle before his son came to fame. And Laurence was raised by his mother, who ran a boarding house. Later on, he lived in a ramshackle sort of place, which he rented for $12.50 a month. But it was so delinquent in payment that he picked grapes and pruned vines to pay off his back rent. However, his greatest blow came a bit earlier, when his high school glee club refused him membership because his voice was not good enough. Unborrowed money, our star went to New York to study. Resolved that if he didn't succeed, he'd return to California and accept an offer to sell trucks. Now and then he managed to buy a ticket to a performance at the Metropolitan Opera House in the standing room section of the audience. Ten years later, it was the audience that stood up for him, applauding him at a single performance while he took 22 curtain calls. With Mr. Tibbet in that same opera house, Helen Jepsen made her sensational debut four years ago. As a youngster, Helen worked in a department store in Akron, Ohio, earning the money to pay for her vocal lessons. The last of our savings was to Philadelphia. To compete with 200 other girls for a musical scholarship, the judges had a difficult decision to make. For Helen was one of several girls, each of whom showed equal promise. But they selected Helen when they noticed that one of her stockings had been neatly downed, concluding that a girl who was able to down her own stockings who was not ashamed to wear them deserved to break. As lovely to the eye as her voice is to the ear, Ms. Jepsen is currently seen in the Golden Follies. Now we hear her as Marietta and Mr. Tibbet as Captain Warrington in Victor Herbert's finest musical play, Not a Marietta. Neither the composer nor his work need any introductory phrases from me. Both are too well-loved. But it's interesting to note that even Victor Herbert could be wrong. He thought so little of the song Our Sweet Mystery of Life that in the original production he didn't even bother to give it a name. It was referred to on the program simply as the dream music. And so to our play and its melodies, the Lux Radio Theatre presents Lawrence Tibbet and Helen Jepsen in Not a Marietta, France in the year 1750. In the marketplace of a tiny village near Paris, a gay crowd has gathered to hear the news of the day. The town crier, hushed with importance, stands on the edge of the fountain. His bell rings out sharply in the morning air. At high noon tomorrow, a boat will sail for the colony of Louisiana. That boat will carry to Louisiana a shipment of 40 casket maids. Set maids will be provided by our King with caskets containing gold and a free grant of land. Set gold and land will provide for each set maid a husband. The wives in the marketplace at Louisiana one month from this day. And husbands will be a lot of worthless jacks. A fortune and a husband. In the words of the poet, a maid need not be fair to win herself a husband. Where have you been? To the marketplace. What are you so excited about? Waiting for Gabrielle to propose to me. And anyway, his knees knocked to devil. And we're worthless jacks. But even a worthless jack is better than no husband at all. And a good deal better than some. What? Who's a husband like, like picking eggs? And what if I don't want to choose? Then my father chooses for me. And he picked the worst the knees that knocked together. Oh, Josephine, I wish I were going with you. With a casket maid? Oh, with anything but what I am. Oh, it's a new life there. New and exciting and adventurous. Oh, to be adventurous. That's the only fun in life, Josephine. Being what you're not supposed to be. And doing what you're not supposed to do. Who is it? Good morning, Marietta. Oh, good morning, Father. Good morning, Your Grace. You may go. Yes, Your Grace. Well, Marietta. Yes, Father. I hope you've been considering the matter I spoke of last night. Yes, Father. Good. The Duke de Leon is here now. Waiting for your answer, my dear. Is he sitting down, Father? Sitting down? Of course he is. I'm glad. Because he's going to have a very long wait. Now, Marietta. I will not marry him. I will not. He has one of the oldest names in Paris. Well, he should have. He's the oldest man in France. Not. Well, then he's next. Then you, you, you, you refuse me then. You absolutely refuse me. No, Father. Huh? I refuse the Duke. Yesterday, today, and every day, I refuse him. Very well. You will not leave this room, please, until you hear from it. And when will that be? When you send me word that you will marry the man I choose for you. The Duke de Leon. That will be never. Then here you stay, my dear. Here. Or somewhere else. Hand of the pillow. Josephine, I want you to give it to me. Frank. I want to use it. I want to take your place on the boat. She's my queen. Oh, you must let me Josephine. You must. Here. Look. Here's a thousand francs. A thousand francs, Josephine, to buy yourself a husband. To buy Gabriel. And here is another franc. A thousand francs to have his knee straightened up. Take it. Oh, please, Frank. Now, where is the casket? The Nene. Marietta. I have it. The Nene. Same course. All the hatch is tight. Wait, mister. Yeah. I go below to see the casket girl. Pick a wife for me, Mom. Happy time. Keep up the spirits, Mamzels. Oh, we'll bring the storm. The storm. The storm. It is nothing. Sing us into fair weather. Marietta. She sings beautiful. Oh, Nene. Oh, Nene. Camp at Bretton. And in one day more, the marketplace at New Orleans. All together, Mamzels. Together always. We camp here for the night only. In the morning, we are on our way. Are we near the swamp, Capitan? We. That is why no one must leave the camp. Oh, I'm afraid. It is nothing. Just a night bed. See him. Oh, am I a cat to see in the dark? Stay close to the fire. No harm will come to you. We may camp here for the night. Well, you've certainly picked a nice spot for yourself, Captain Duval. Didn't your mother ever tell you about boogeymen? We needed water. You serve the king, monsieur? We serve ourselves, monsieur. Your king hired us to protect this colony. Well. And who are the ladies? Casket-maids bound for New Orleans. That's enough of that. Any man who wants a wife can pick one in New Orleans. If he's a smart man, he won't go to New Orleans. Oh, Captain, I think you were mean. We have come all the way over here just to get married. Oh, don't mind him. He said the captain will probably be in New Orleans himself tomorrow. Well, if it isn't little Saucy knows. What makes you think I will, Saucy knows? Well, he said only smart men would stay away. Quiet, you're quiet. You'll post everybody. You and your men get some sleep, Captain Duval. We'll stand guard here till morning. Thank you, monsieur. All right, men. See you, po. Oh, Saucy knows. Good evening. Well, I said good evening. You're supposed to be in bed. Do you know that? I'd rather talk. Sorry, I'm on guard here. Have no time for talking. Well, you seem to have time for singing. Sure, but I like to sing. Oh, I see. Well, if that's the way you feel. Good night. Good night. How far is it to New Orleans, please? Oh, I thought you went to bed. I came back again. How far is it to New Orleans? What's the matter? Can't you wait to get there? Well, I just asked you a simple question. That's the trouble with you girls. You just can't wait till you get yourself a husband. And when you catch one, you spend the rest of your life picking on him. I don't understand it. I take it you aren't interested in getting married. Mademoiselle, you have taken? Correct. Well, you needn't give yourself airs. I'm not interested either. You're not? No, I despise the whole idea. What a lucky catch you're going to be. Well, you better start working up a little enthusiasm. You'll be a bride inside of a week. Oh, perhaps. Oh, no, you will. You've got to marry somebody, you know. That's what you're here for. Really? Just how does it work? Well, you meet someone here. If he thinks he could put up with you, he tells you all about himself. How much money he has, what his prospects are. If you like him, well, you take him. Very simple, isn't it? I can have any man? Provided he's single, of course. Oh, of course. I think I'll take you. Oh, thank you. Well, you're single, aren't you? Definitely. But you're forgetting, I said, if the man could put up with you. And I couldn't. Also, definitely. Oh, you little... Why, say, if I weren't a gentleman... Oh, if you were a gentleman, I shouldn't have had to slap you. Good night. Good night. All right, men. Fall in. Fall in there. We're marching this morning. Hurry up. Captain Warrington. Wait, wait. What's the matter? Oh, one of our girls. One of the casket mage. She has escaped. What? Yes, she disappeared during the night. But we can't find her anyplace. Which one was it? The little dark one with the curls. A Marietta. Marietta? Marietta's gone? Yes. Good. Oh, no, no. You must find her. Oh, no. I'm hired. I'm hired. I'm hired. I'm hired. Oh, no. I'm hired to fight men, not to hunt she-cats. Oh, please, you must. I am responsible for her safety to the king himself. I am responsible. All right, all right. Come on, men. We're marching to New Orleans. And keep a careful look out for a short cat with long claws. Man! Man! Man! Man! Man! Man! Man! Man! Man! A son of Naughty Marietta, starring Lawrence Tibbet and Helen Juppson. In a moment we will continue with act two. During this short intermission we invite you all to play a spelling game. Now you may want to get your pencils and paper ready while I explain it. You probably all remember fondly that tender song about mother, which begins, M is for the Million Things She Gave Me, All Means Only that She's Growing Old and so on. Tonight we are going to use the pattern of that song to spell two words. Have you got your pencil and paper? Now listen carefully, they are two important words. Are you ready? Here's the first word. L is for Lucy, whose last name is Quinn. U is her ultra-superlative skin. X is for excellent judgment, she's shown. Making the screen stars say skincare her own. Second word. S is the stag line she keeps in a whirl. O is the orchid bestowed on this girl. A is the answer. Men love skin that's nice. C is this poem we wrote in a trite. Of course you all know by this time that the words we spelled are luck soap. But that's not all. The little story we told you about Lucy could very well be a true one. There are popular girls everywhere just like her who know that lovely skin wins romance. They know too that luck's toilet soaps the safe sure way to keep skin soft and smooth. It has active leather that removes thoroughly dust, dirt and stale cosmetics. Guards against the choked pores that cause cosmetic skin. Don't risk this unattractive complexion trouble that means dullness, tiny blemishes and large pores. Use luck's toilet soap before you renew makeup always before you go to bed. It's the mild, pure, safe care nine out of ten screen stars use to guard their priceless complexions. Here's Mr. DeMille. Naughty Marietta continues starring Lawrence Tibbet and Helen Jepsen. Captain Warrington's search for Marietta has ended in the city of New Orleans without a sign of the runaway girl. At the colony's headquarters, His Excellency, the Governor of Louisiana loses patience and grows indignant over Warrington's failure. I tell you it's a disgrace to the colony. A girl. One long girl and a whole troop of soldiers cannot find her. What are you supposed you're being paid for? Fighting. And whatever else I choose fit to implore you at. Accept my resignation, Your Excellency. What? I'm not here to play nursemaid. I'll protect you and your colony just as long as I'm paid for it and as long as it pleases me. But I will not protect you from a plague of pedigree. I'm asking you to find one girl. She's a plague all by herself. No. You're so anxious to find her, send out your own men. They're soldiers or supposed to be. I don't care for your tone, Captain. Sorry, Your Excellency, but it's the way I feel. You may go, please. Thank you. You can find me at the ballot. Francois. Yes, Excellency? A letter to the king. Your most gracious majesty. The arrogance and insubordination of certain of our mercenaries is past bearing. I beg your highness to give me a free hand in this matter and permission to deal with this situation as I see fit. That will be all. Yes, Excellency. 10 o'clock and all. Oh, good evening, Captain Warrington. A beautiful night, monsieur. Too beautiful for sleeping. I've been watching the play of the fountain in the moonlight. In faith, monsieur, if I were you, I'd not stay too near this fountain in the dead of night. It is haunted, I think. Haunted? Ha ha ha ha. We, monsieur, these last three nights a voice here singing always the same song and never a finish to the song. It is haunted, monsieur. Oh, watchman, what of the night? No, I think you've been dreaming again. I'm dreaming? No, monsieur. I perform my duty faithfully, monsieur. Then go about it now, will you? And if you see any ghosts, let me know. We, monsieur, we. 10 o'clock and all, as well. 10 o'clock and all, as well. Who's there, I say? Come back here, you. So you want to be chased, huh? Come here, stop. Do you hear me? Stop. Let me go. Let me go, please. So I've caught the ghost, huh? Look up here, ghost, and let me see what you look for. Oh, it's you. So, it's you. The runaway casket girl. Well, your running is over, little one. Take your hands off me. Back you go, saucy nose. They've been looking all over for you. Come on, come on. No, no, please, listen, don't take me back. They'll make me marry someone. I can't do that. Oh, please. You're the only friend I've got. Friend, last time I saw you, you slapped me in the face. I didn't mean it. No. Well, if I were a close friend, you'd probably brain me with a tomahawk. How did you get here? I walked. All the way? Through the swamps? Of course. Well, that's all right. You know, any woman who'd do that if she played getting married is worth knowing. Thank you, sir. I admire that. You're a girl after my own heart. You flatter me. But you're not going to take me back. You're not. Are you? Well, I don't know. I suppose if I did take you back, the governor would think I did it to please him. I wouldn't want that. Oh, of course you wouldn't. What do you know about it? Nothing. Then keep quiet. Yes, sir. Let me think now. I've got to find a place for you to live. I've got it. You can stay with my friend Rodolfo. Rodolfo? He runs a marionette theater. What? I couldn't do that. And he has eight children. Oh. Well, that's better. You can sing in his theater. Come on, Tarsino. Are we almost there? Almost. Just down the street. It's nice of you to do this for me. I said it's nice of you to do this. I heard you. I'll never be able to repay you. Stay in the shadows here. Here we are. Well, aren't you going to knock? In a moment. You know, you're a strange creature. Am I? What are you doing over here anyway? I came along for the ride. And then you spend your time walking through the swamps and hiding around fountains. I see. What was that song you were singing? Oh, that. That was just something I made up. It was pretty. How does it go? You wouldn't be interested. Go on, sing it. Well, it's not very long. Tarsino! But that's as far as I got with it. Why don't you finish it? I can't. Yes. Perhaps you can help me. Look, I sing songs. I don't write them. You'd better get in off the street. Well, I don't suppose I'll be seeing you again. Oh, you can't tell. You mean you'll be coming here? Why not? Rodolfo puts on good shows. Oh. Yes. No, Rodolfo. Oh, Capitenti. Hello. Come in, come in. I can't now, Rodolfo. Here, this is... Marietta. Marietta? Why am I happy to know? She's got a nice voice, Rodolfo. And she's going to sing for you on your show. Is it my show? Yes. Oh, well, that's nice. Take care of her, will you? Well, I'll drop around once in a while just to see if she doesn't get you into any trouble. Oh, sure. She's in no trouble. This way, Marietta. This way. Thank you, Captain. I haven't any idea why you've been so kind to me. You've survived. Good night. Good night. Things all the time, huh? She must be happy here, Rodolfo. Oh, she's happy, sure. What? Sometimes she's sad, too. Then she sings about a mystery of life. Then she stops, no can finish. Then she cries. Maybe I'd better look into this. Oh, I think maybe you've got something to do with this mystery song. Me? What do you mean? Well, all the time you come and then when you go, she's singing all over again. It's crazy, you know? That's crazy. That's crazy. You got it? You want to see? Well, as long as I'm here, I might... See you later, Rodolfo. Good morning, Captain. You're here again. Oh, I was just passing by. Oh, nice. You pass this way often, don't you? What? Well, won't you sit down? Thank you. I'm glad you pass by, Captain. Company is always amusing. Don't you think so? Hmm. Rodolfo tells me you haven't been very happy here. Well, I've never been so happy in my life. What does he mean? He says you, uh, you cry. Oh, that. I cry because I'm happy. It's been thrilling here. Given from anything I've ever known and I love it. Tomorrow night we're going to parade through the street and Rodolfo's going to let me sing. In the streets? What for? To drum a business, of course. But in the streets, you'll be recognized. My costume and at night? No. I suppose you know what'll happen if I catch you. I'll have to marry somebody. But I've been thinking it over. Perhaps it won't be as bad as I imagined. Well, you certainly have changed, haven't you? All right, go ahead. It's none of my business. Yes, that's what I thought. But if you get into trouble, don't expect me to get you out of it. Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, Captain. You've done far too much for me already. Come, see the play. Come, hear the song. Who is she? A casket girl. She ran away. A casket girl, eh? There's probably a reward out for her. Come here, you. Oh, you don't. Hey, what are you doing? What's the matter? She's a casket girl. Give me your hand up that street to the right. Hand back, everybody, or I'll let you have a taste of steel. Get back, I say. Come on, Marietta. Probably. I hope you're satisfied. Well, I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come along. You'd have been married off to someone the first thing in the morning and served your right. Oh, are you angry? Don't you think I ought to be? Yes. Well, I see you've changed your mind again about, uh, about getting married. Well, I thought it over since last night. Now I've decided never to be married. Unless... Unless, uh, unless what? Well, unless somebody asks me. Somebody in particular? Or just, um, just somebody? Hmm, well, I don't know. Hmm, well, that's definite anyhow. What are you looking at? You mostly. Do I inspire such interest? Well, it's the tip of your nose. What? The tip of your nose. Doesn't seem so saucy anymore and, uh, much prettier too. Hmm, must be the moonlight. I'm sure it is. Well, what happens now, I wonder? Oh, must something always be happening? You can't stay at the door for any longer. For that matter, you can't stay in New Orleans. You'll have to leave as soon as possible. But where? Somewhere north would be best. Oh, and you? Well, I've got to stay, of course. Of course. Oh, it's funny, but... I think I'm going to miss you. Are you...? Why? I... I don't know. I miss you too. Why? I don't know either. Marietta, look at me. Why are we lying to each other? I'm not. Yes, you are, and so am I. Oh, I'm all mixed up. I don't know what I feel or what I think. I've never been so mixed up before. It's life that's all mixed up, not you and not I. Feeling I never felt before a grind of depression. My heart's acting strangely. You'd rather saw me that impressed. My pulse is leap madly without any... Oh, it's not as simple as that. There's more to it than you know. You're forgetting. I've got to leave here. You have to stay. We could leave together. Oh, and what would happen to us? What would happen to you and that glorious free life of yours? It means so much. We're not meant for each other, Dick. Leave me, Winner. And there are other things, things you know nothing about. I know I love you. I can forget everything for that. I'll let you, but I won't, Dick. Because I love you too much to hurt you. I'll leave for the North in the morning. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System. Ends the second act of Nortie Marietta. Lana Tibbet and Helen Jepsen resume with Act 3 in just a few moments. In the meantime, we observe our custom of acquainting you with some of the interesting sidelights of motion pictures. This time we bring you a film critic, Mr. Oldfield of the Nebraska State Journal. In 1936 and 37, he saw every film released in the United States. 944 pictures, which I'm sure is a world record. And what must also be something of a record among newspaper men at least, is the fact that he's never smoked a cigarette or tasted liquor. Apparently, Mr. Oldfield, you have to keep in strict training. Well, it's not that, Mr. DeMille. But I just don't seem to have time except to go to the movies. In January, for example, I saw 63 pictures. 44 in February. And so far, 47 in March. If it were really necessary to see so many pictures, all the critics would do it. So what special reason do you have? Well, for one thing, I like the movies. You can stop right there. What's the greatest number you've seen in one day? 9 or a total of 75 reels without counting what are known as selected short subjects. I'd intended asking you what the home life of a critic is like. But I don't suppose you're ever home to know what it's like. Well, I get home once in a while. It's something like this. The day I was married, Anna Sten was making a personal appearance in Lincoln, Nebraska. Somebody thought it would be a good idea to have Miss Sten for a bridesmaid. Anna said yes, I said yes, and then I asked a little woman. She said, nothing's doing. This, she informed me, will not be a double feature. We drove to New York on our honeymoon, and was it great? I saw 13 movies, 11 stage shows, and two performances of a circus. What a honeymoon. Does Mrs. Orfield still go to the movies with you? Does she? By last year, she saw exactly 450 features, and it has certainly made her a died-in-the-wool luxe fan. These figures that it throws beautiful women on the screen use luxe soap, that is probably the best complexion care in the world, and she won't use anything else. I'll add with pardonable pride that her skin is as price as the day I met her at the movies. You can tell that to the luxe soap people, Mr. DeMille, if you want to. By the way, you can certainly learn a lot about people at the movies. In fact, I've learned so much that I'd like to extend a plea for greater picture enjoyment. But don't misunderstand, Mr. DeMille, I think pictures are great and are always getting better. My plea is addressed to the people who see pictures. And there are 84 million paid admissions every week. Yes, and I've become somewhat of an authority on the Homo Cinemati, which is just a fancy name for the people found in picture houses. Take type number one, for instance. He's the model I wish all the other types would follow. He's a nice, average sort of person who goes to the movies to be entertained, who lets the people on the screen do all the talking and make all the noise. A man after my own heart. And there is type number two, the lady with the big hat or the bonnet show her offer. Now, I think a lady has the right to wear any kind of a hat she wants to wear. But I think her lovely hair is much more attractive to the person behind her than her lovely new hat. Off with the hats, I say. Seconded. Next. Then comes the tongue ticker, the person who simply cannot refrain from passing comment via a slight variation of the Morse code. It goes like this. Accompanied by shaking the head. To this type, let me say, lady, it's really only a motion picture and everything is going to turn out all right. So don't worry and please don't go. Next come a tipper offer. A tipper offer just can't resist tipping off the people around him about what is coming next. This he is certain will help them enjoy the picture more. I believe all theaters should be equipped with muzzles for these people and that the purchase of a ticket should automatically give one permission to attach said muzzle to any tipper offer. And that brings me to the greener grassers. Greener grassers? The people who are always absolutely certain that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence that they can always get a better seat somewhere down in front. These people always travel in pairs. One is always a very stout lady and her partner is a gentleman carrying a packy. It's up to the one to step on your toes as they squeeze past before you've had time to stand up and make room for them. If they should overlook stepping on your feet as they go out, they will get you on the return trip when they find there weren't any seats in front after all. Any more homo cinematic? Yes, the final time. The romance is in the dark. Obviously this type also travels in pairs which, oddly enough, consists of one boy and one girl very much in love. I hold no brief against love. In fact, I think it is stable, highly beneficial institution. But their dialogue is in distinct competition with that of the picture. At times I've found it better than the screen conversation, interesting to the point and convincing. But there are people who would rather hear what the boy on the screen tells the girl on the screen. So in this case I have a suggestion rather than an admonition. I link the romances in the dark instead of buying tickets, should hire a haul and sell tickets. I'm for greater picture enjoyment, Mr. DeMille, and I offer these few suggestions in the interests of my pals who belong to type one. The vast majority whose movie manners are above reproach. And now, Mr. DeMille, let me ask you a question or two. You know, ever since you came to Nebraska and gave us a special showing of the Plainsman, we've been hoping you'd make another picture touching on our stage. I don't suppose I have to tell you that the story of the West provides enough drama and color and romance for a dozen great pictures. Then our meeting tonight is evidently well timed. Because it was only today that I decided definitely what my next picture will be. The title is Union Pacific. Union Pacific. Obviously a story of the railroads. That must be more than that, Mr. Oldfield. For in steam and steel is written one of the most glorious chapters of our nation's background. In the late 60s, when the country had been torn apart with internal strife, they lay beyond the Mississippi a tremendous empire, ruled by nature, and such laws as were contained between the sights of a Winchester rifle. Into this forbidden land, rolled the thunder buggy, whose footprints were wooden ties and whose voice was the challenging whistle, screaming the battle cry of civilization. Mountain savages and outlaws barred the way, but steadily between east and west, a ring of steel rails was forged. The wedding ring of the states. That's the story of Union Pacific, as told through the lives of a man and a woman, swept to their destiny on this tide of empire. Thanks for the scoop, Mr. DeMille, and good luck to Union Pacific. Thank you. Thank you, Mr. DeMille. Once again, Lawrence Tibbet and Helen Jepsen in Naughty Marietta. It's early the following morning, and a road leading to the north, Marietta and Dick ride slowly through the morning mist. I've arranged an escort for you. You'll meet two men about five miles from here. They'll see you as far as the next post and you'll pick up two others. They'll take good care of them. Thank you. You'll be all right in Virginia, too. Unless you take to singing in the streets. I won't, because I don't think I'll ever sing again. I don't suppose you'll ever be going north? No. I didn't think so. I'm sorry. Well, you needn't be. What? Because you're not going either. But Dick... I've just decided you're staying right here. We'll go back and face the whole colony. Oh, but we can. Now, don't argue. It's all settled. I can't let you go, Marietta. I can. Good luck. Who is it? Soldiers, get off the road. Oh, too late. They've seen us. That doesn't mean they've taken us yet. No, you can't fight Dick. There are too many. They'll kill you. Well, what do you want? Your sword, please. You're under arrest. By whose order? By the order of His Excellency the Governor. Your sword, Captain. Oh, Dick, give it to him. There are too many. Will you come peacefully? I will, on one condition. Let you take me to His Excellency at once. His Excellency has already requested that. Then here's my sword. Dick, I'm so sorry. Don't worry. There's a way out of this for both of us. We're ready, Sergeant. Come in. I asked to see you, Your Excellency. Yes, and I asked to see you. Well, Captain, I'm afraid you've overstepped yourself. I regret this more than I can say. Regret? You've been waiting for this chance for months. Giving aid and comfort to an escaped cast, Captain Hill. It's a very serious charge, Captain. Very serious. Never mind that. What happens to her? Oh, she'll be held under guard, of course, until such time as she fulfills her obligation to the king. By marriage? Precisely. Then you can release her now. She'll be married at once. To whom may I ask? To me. I'm sorry, Captain. But you're under arrest. And a prisoner forfeits his legal rights. Among them the right to marry. My God! Your Excellency, you may escort the prisoner to the guardhouse. Put information concerning the Countess Daltina, who arrived in this colony disguised as a casket girl. Anyone knowing the whereabouts of the Countess Daltina is to communicate at once with His Excellency the governor. It's incredible. Incredible, I say. One of our casket girls, the Countess Daltina. Incredible, but true, Your Excellency. My daughter refused my choice in marriage. I confined her to a room she escaped. Took her maid servant's place among the casket's and came here to New Orleans. We had it from the maid herself. But, Your Grace, our casket girls have all been married. That is all but one. I don't care if she's married. I was a fool to pass my choice upon her. All I want now is to see her safe and in good health. To assure myself that no harm has come to her. Here. I have a picture of her. This will help in your search. But I'm sure no harm has come to her, Your Grace. Why, if any man has dared to trouble her, I'll see him at the whipping post. I'll see him at... Your Grace. This picture. Well, this is your daughter, the Countess. I said it was. You recognize her? No, no, no. It's a resemblance. That's all I... Well, just for a moment, I thought I... Will you excuse me, Your Grace? Certainly. I'll be back directly. Francois. Your Excellency. Cascade girl. The one we've been holding. Release her at once. But your Excellency. Release her, release her, you fool. Yes. Don't stop to ask questions. Yes, but I was just coming to tell you. She's already escaped. What? Her cell is empty. Then go and find her. Find her, you fool, or I... I shall have to escort myself to the whipping post. This is the place, Mermizal. Leave me, please. Oui, Mermizal. Let no one see you. Dick. Dick. Who's there? Shh. It's Marietta. Marietta in heaven's name, Dick. Why? I drive the guard to let me come. I had to see you, Dick. I had to speak to you. Don't say anything. Just let me look at you. Oh, it's horrible that you have to be in here. And it's all my fault. Everything is my fault. No, it isn't. I... Well, I thought I had an ace up my sleeve with the governor, but it didn't work. Oh, well, that's what you get for being too sure. You offered to marry me, didn't you? What? Marry you? You did. They told me all about it. Oh, it was very noble of you, Dick. Well, it... It was very nerdy, but... But I didn't have a chance to ask you first. You know, I had to act quickly. Then you... You would have asked me. You really meant it. I guess I did. See, I've learned something the last few days. Something I never knew before. Never even thought of. You gave me the beginning and... I discovered the ending for myself. It's the governor and his whole retinue. Who meant more zeal? Who meant more zeal, we found you. Thank heaven. Thank heaven. We know everything. Everything. And I so humbly beg your grace's pardon. Your grace? Marietta. Countess Deltina. Oh, I see. Yes. And you dared. You dared to propose. It was you who dared your excellency by throwing me into a cell without a chance to speak. Your grace. And for imprisoning my one and only protector. Release this man at once. Why, yes, your grace. God. You may go now. Yes, your grace. You may go too. If you wish, captain. Thank you, your grace. Oh, please don't. I was going to tell you. I just never got around to it. It doesn't make any difference, does it? I'm only a soldier. I could be a soldier's wife. But you're a countess. Well, couldn't you overlook it? I'd do as much for you if you were a prince or a duke. You'd give up everything just for a soldier. Everything for this soldier. Marietta. Trains of our sweet mystery of life mark the conclusion of our play. No performance at the Metropolitan is complete until the stars have personally said their good nights. To make Lawrence Tibbet and Helen Jepsen feel right at home in the Lux Radio Theatre. We bring them back for a curtain call. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Tibbet and Ms. Jepsen. You know, whenever I make a debut, it seems Larry Tibbet is always involved in it one way or another. When I made my debut at the Metropolitan in the Parsha's garden, Lawrence Tibbet sang with me. When we did Cap and Saki for the first time, we were together. And this year, when I sang Traviot at the Metropolitan for the first time, Larry was with me again. And here at your Lux debut, who should show up, but Mr. Tibbet? Yes, just a shadow. Well, this isn't exactly my Lux debut. No? No, Mr. DeMille. It's my debut on this stage. But I've always felt the best thing for my skin is the best soap. So Lux soap made its debut at my house a long time ago. And has been playing an engagement there ever since. We all use it. So do we. You two, you two do everything alike, don't you? Well, no, no, not everything. Helen has, you know, Helen has just won the award for being one of America's ten best, best women. I can't do that and come to think of it. I don't sing soprano so well either. And Helen doesn't stand on her head before she goes on the stage. Why do you do that, Lawrence? Well, I like the feeling of blood rushing to my head. I've always been a firm believer in good, solid exercise before a performance. So have I. Surely, surely you don't stand on your head. No, but I do agree. I always take a long walk out every afternoon when I'm on tour. And when I'm home in New York, I always try to walk around the Central Park Reservoir before an engagement. You both concur in the old belief that opera singers should not eat heavily before a concert? Well, yes, I quite agree. Now, I eat only about one meal a day when I'm singing. Nothing much either, just a nice little beef steak about, well, about three and a half or four inches thick with a nice plate of string beans on the side and maybe two or three sliced tomatoes. Well, I don't see how you do it, Larry. I can never do away with more than two or three extra thick lamb chops. Well, but you're on a diet. There's another thing you two have in common, your farms. You go in for poultry, don't you, Larry? Well, I'll say I do. There's no finer hobby. But just last week, my 200 Plymouth rocks laid 1,400 eggs. I've heard, Helen, that you're famous for Angora rabbits at your farm. I suppose you go in for chickens, too? Well, I do have about 400 Angora rabbits, but no chickens. We have ducks. Can you imagine that, Mr. DeMille, wasting your time on ducks? Well, Walt Disney has done very well with one. But ducks are a waste of time. Why, Larry Tibbet, Miss Colby ducks are the finest egg layers in the world. I just can't sit back and let Larry talk like that. I have very definite convictions about ducks. So have I. Thanks, Mr. DeMille. It was a grand evening here with you. Hope we can make it again sometime. So do I. So do we all. Before Mr. DeMille comes back to tell you about the dramatic pre-plan for your next Monday night, may I say that our stars were assisted by Ian McLaren as Count Daltina, Ralph Kellard as Governor of Louisiana, Ferdinand Munier as Rudolfo, Otis Holland as Watchman, Richard Abbott as Captain, Edwin Max as The Mate, Casey Brooke as Josephine, Margaret McKay as Lisette, Grace Kern as Nanette, James Eagles as Francois, and Lou Merrill as Town Crier. Louis Silvers appeared through courtesy of 20th Century Fox Studios, where he was in charge of music for the new film with Bucca of Sunnybrook Farm. Now, our producer. The Bible says there's no new thing under the sun, but our play next Monday night, Dark Victory, certainly presents a new kind of love story. Not long ago it attained a notable success on Broadway and comes to our stage starring Barbara Stanwick and Melvin Douglas. Dark Victory is the romance of a surgeon and a wealthy society girl faced with a problem such as life seldom presents to a man and woman deeply in love. Their great courage shows the way to a brave solution. Our sponsors, the makers of Lux Toilet Soap, join me in inviting you to be with us again next Monday night when the Lux Radio Theatre presents Barbara Stanwick and Melvin Douglas in Dark Victory. This is Cecil B. DeMille saying good night to you from Hollywood. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.