 Remember a Hallmark card when you carry enough to send the very best. The speakers of Hallmark reading cards bring you Jean-Pierre O'Mont in Singing in the Wilderness on the Hallmark Playhouse. The Hallmark brings you Hollywood's greatest stars in outstanding stories chosen by one of the world's best known authors. The distinguished novelist, Mr. James Hilton. Ladies and gentlemen, this is James Hilton. Tonight on our Hallmark Playhouse, we tell the story of a man whose work has given pleasure to millions, and whose total achievement sets him among the great benefactors of our country. This man was John James Audubon, born in 1785, a French parentage in the West Indies. He offers us a singular example of a man who, by finding out exactly what he could do well and devoting his life to it, won worldwide fame. Probably never in history has there been a better painter who was also a naturalist or a better naturalist who was also a painter. To tell his fascinating story, we have used the fine book by Donald Colros Petey called Singing in the Wilderness. And to Starras Audubon, we are fortunate to have that excellent French actor Jean-Pierre O'Mont. And now here is Frank Goss from The Makers of Hallmark Cards. When you want to remember your friends, there's one way to be sure the card you send receives an extra welcome. Look for that identifying hallmark on the back when you select it. For words to express your feelings and designs to express your good taste, that hallmark on the back is your guide. Like the sterling on silver, it's a mark of distinction that all quickly recognize, and it tells your friends you cared enough to send the very best. And now hallmark playhouse presenting Donald Colros Petey's Singing in the Wilderness starring Jean-Pierre O'Mont. A glide down past the high billowing sails and a hover hungrily above the forming weight. And then a head appears to an open porthole and a hand tosses out bits of bread and pieces of fruit. John James Audubon watches the result and smiles to himself. Seagulls of America. So much has happened, my friends, since you last welcomed me to your shores. I was younger then, almost as young as your new nation. Pennsylvania was to be my new home. There were fields and forests waiting for me, and wildlife to be hunted and painted. Nature was my love. And nature was to lead me to love. You know, silent. You see, the pottery's heard you, there they go. I was mistaken, Juneau. Someone else frightened the birds. Who's permission do you hunt on my land? I might ask you the same question, sir. This is my property. It cannot be my father owns these woods to the boundary of Stone Creek. Your father? Would he be Captain Audubon of the French Navy? Yes, Monsieur. While he's in Europe, I am overseas of his farm. And I repeat, you are poaching on his property. I'm on the wrong side of Stone Creek, huh? You are, Monsieur. Mr. Audubon, I'm afraid you've gotten yourself lost. You crossed Stone Creek back in those woods. You are now poaching on the property of William Bakewell. Oh, I had no idea, Monsieur. I must apologize. Oh, you must do nothing of the kind. We're neighbors, sir. That's half way to being friends. You're welcome to any birds that you've shot. I've shot none, Monsieur. I hunt the birds with my sketchbook. Huh? How's that? Well, I draw and paint what you prefer to kill. Oh, an artist, eh? Anyway, Monsieur, but now that we've met, perhaps you will accept my hospitality tonight. That's very good of you, sir. But I have several fine grouse to take home. Why not enjoy them at my table? Well, eh, yes, Monsieur. I should be delighted, too. Good, good. You won't regret it. No one cooks foul better than my Lucy. Your wife, Monsieur? Oh, no. My daughter, sir. You may not catch more than a glimpse of her. She's as shy as a quail. And as graceful as a swallowing flight. She was lovely. Good evening. When I left the Bapwell mansion, for it was a mansion with servants and fine furnishings, I knew I must return again and again. I must bring my violin and play for her. I must bring my canvas and oils to capture her beauty. Oh, you're very kind, Mr. Auderman, but I already have a portrait. Father commissioned an artist in Philadelphia. But, mademoiselle, I've brought my easel, the canvas, everything, please. Well, perhaps you could paint something else for me. Father says you've done some wonderful bird sketches. Very well, if you wish. May I set up my easel here? Of course. But the birds are outdoors. I shall paint from memory, mademoiselle. Now, you sit by the window and talk to me. All right. Mr. Auderman. Yes? Do you plan some day to be an artist? No, mademoiselle. I'm a man of business, of trade. You mean the lead mine on your farm? My father's farm. I'm merely his agent to see that the mine is properly dug and managed. Then you paint for pleasure. When I was a boy, I painted the pigeons of Brittany. When I was in able cadet, I painted the seagulls. And now I paint the strange new birds of America. But why always birds? Because I love them. Because I share their moods. A love of home and a passion for faraway places. The bird is the only one of God's creatures to which man must look up. They sow into the heavens where we cannot go. They sing with a joy that man can only envy. And man does envy them, mademoiselle. Does not the artist paint an angel with the wings of the bird? Mr. Audubon, may I tell you what I think? Yes. You're not meant for business or trade. You're a poet. Mademoiselle, now please turn your face more into the light. What? Oh, no, no, no. You mustn't look. Mr. Audubon, you are doing my portrait. Yes. Do you really mind? No. No, I don't mind at all. I was in love with Lucy. And she loved me. I was certain of it. She gave me no sign, no smile of encouragement. But her eyes spoke for her heart. I wrote to France and asked my father's commission to marry. When his answer came, I hurried to Monsieur Bakewell. My daughter is all I have, Mr. Audubon. I can't part easily with her. But if Lucy loves me, Monsieur... She does. She's told me so. But there are practical considerations. I understand that your father's lead mine is failing. There will never be a profit. It is true. Then how will you support Lucy? Can you give her a house, servants, fine clothes? Will your father make a settlement on you? No, Monsieur. He's let her forbids the marriage. And if I ignore his wishes, I am to be cut off. I see. And yet you are willing to defy him and lose everything. I love your daughter, Monsieur. Mr. Audubon, I like you. I've liked you from the start. Since you appear to be without family or friend, I shall be both to you, Monsieur Bakewell. I have connections with a trading firm in New York City. They will give you some sort of employment, and later... Well, later we shall see. When you approve yourself, when you have money, Lucy shall be yours. I thank you, Monsieur. One thing more, sir. Since you've cut your ties with France, you are now an American. And Jean-Jacques Audubon should become John James Audubon. I agree, Monsieur. Good. And stop calling me Monsieur. Yes, Mr. Bakewell. Only for me without Lucy. But there I made one good friend, Ferdinand Rosier. His father and my father were business partners in France. And soon word came that my father had forgiven me. He would consent to the marriage, and I was once more to be his agent. Ferdinand Rosier and I were to join together in a trading company to represent our parents and to sell French goods to the Americans on the western frontier. Our trading post was to be at a tiny settlement in Kentucky, the town of Louisville. All day, Rosier and I worked behind our counters, and in the evenings, we bent over our ledgers. 500 lbs of pelicone. 500 lbs of pelicone. 120 axe heads. 120. 53 shotguns. 70 powder horns. John, 70 powder horns. John. Hmm? Write it down, please. I'm sorry. Let me see what you have written. Yes, I thought you scribbled names instead. Me, dollar, cardinal, blue jade. I want to paint them, Rosier. They are birds we never saw in France. Always birds. You think more of them than of your fiancé. No, I think of them because they remind me of Lucy. She too is a creature of the earth. Oh, Jean, Jean, we came here to make money. There is another time folder. That time has come, Rosier. Lucy and I have waited five years. And now, now I'm going back to Pennsylvania. I have proved myself to Lucy's father. He gave us his blessing, and we were married. I watched Lucy say a brave goodbye to her father, to the servants she had known so many years, and to the comforts and pleasures of wealth. That night, our honeymoon night, we began the long journey down the Ohio by flat boat. Lucy and I sat forward on the deck, as far away as possible from the rough parking crew and the cargo of cows and pigs and geese. It was a warm spring night, and the moon was full. Charles? Yes, my dear. Tell me about Kentucky. It's not like Pennsylvania. The wilderness is all around. Louisville is small, but the people are good. The men work hard. The frontier must be pushed back. And the women? They are not pretty, my dear. They may have been one, but in the wilderness... Have I been wrong? Have I asked too much of you? John, darling... Lucy, you are frightened. You're trembling. Tell me about Kentucky. Not about the hardships, but what it means to you. It's a garden, almost untouched by men. There are woods and streams and wildlife. The trees sing with birds. The sky is filled with wings of every color. Robbians and swallows, bluebirds and cardinals, creatures more spirit than flesh and feathers. They wing their way across continents, over ocean and desert, to build their nests in the wilderness and to sing with gladness and hope. Lift up your eyes, Lucy. They are out there in the night, even now. The bravest and happiest of God's creatures. Your friends are about you. Thank you, John. I'm not afraid anymore. We turn to the second act of Singing in the Wilderness, starring Jean-Pierre Amont, who, February 14th, the day that takes its name from a saint noted for his kindness. While it's interesting to have special days, we all enjoy the color and the pageantry associated with them. Actually, the underlying principle of Valentine's Day knows no season. Kindness is never out of date. We human beings are so made that kindness is necessary to our very existence. Without it, we'd soon lose courage and hope and the will to survive. Yet doesn't it strike you as remarkable that such a big force can be set loose by such a little thing as a greeting card? Now, of course, I don't mean the greeting cards are the only key to kindness, indeed, no. But the sentiment that prompts the sending of cards is based on kindness. And the makers of Hallmark cards are proud that their product increases kindness in the world by me, to express our thoughtfulness and appreciation of other people on special days and every day. Now back to James Hilton and the second act of Singing in the Wilderness, starring Jean-Pierre Amont. Atlantic is almost at an end. Northward through lower New York Bay, through the narrows and then into New York Harbor, the free master sails, while the passenger with the dark, brooding eyes watches from the deck. As he waits impatiently for the landing, his thoughts run back through the years to an earlier voyage to a flat boat, bearing Lucy and John Audubon down the Ohio River. Lucy never complained. She accepted without murmur the twelve uncomfortable days and nights on the flat boats, and the two disappointing years that followed in Louisville. The profits Rosie and I had made from our store began to turn into losses. Lucy smiled quietly through it all and pretended not to hear what others were saying about me. Don't think he's got all his wits. Spends days waving his store, just wandering through the woods, painting birds, he says, painting them and stuffing them, but what for? We're a partner in business. We are good friends, we. But will Jean someday make his success? No. He's an artist. These are mad. Brave woman that wife hears. No muffin let's sound like she'd marry the king. Because I was little to keep me at the store. Customers and money were going elsewhere until finally Rosie and I decided to follow. We moved our store to Henderson, Kentucky, a village of fewer than 200 souls. It was a tragic mistake. The fine home I had once promised Lucy was now a rat-ridden lob cabin. Within its drab walls, my wife nursed our son Victor and bore me three more children and looked unhelplessly while two of them died. But grief doesn't come without some means of comfort. I found it in the wilderness with the animals and birds and with my painting. Lucy, I'm back. Then let them wake up. Their father is home again. Oh, my dear, so much to tell you, so many paintings to show you. Jean, really, I wish you could have come home yesterday. Yesterday, my dear, I wasn't the other side of the mountain riding with the Indians. That's what your friend Rosie is, is expected. Rosie, but he's in Philadelphia buying supplies. He's back now and he came here looking for you. He was angry because you left the store. Oh, well, Rosie. Jean, he wants to dissolve the partnership. He left some sort of paper for me to give you. And some money. Money? He said it was in payment for your interest in the partnership. Oh, Lucy, this is what I've been dreaming about. Even if it's only a little money, it will make everything possible. Jean! My bird paintings, Lucy. When we were in Louisville, I saw an entire book of bird and animal prints. People pay money for such books. And they shall pay money for mine. You see, my dear, Rosie has given me the means to take my paintings and go to a publisher. Oh, John, if only you're right. And even if you are, I don't care. It's so good to see you happy again. You were never meant to be a storekeeper. I know that now, my dear. But here, let me show you what I've done. What? Here. This is the owl I picked up yesterday. Oh, I like. With the moon peeking out behind him. And this one. This is my hawk. Oh. Waiting high above the flight of pigeons. Mr. Audubon? Uh, yes. Oh. Oh, it's you, Sheriff. You don't like to answer the door, do you? Well, here's the warrant. For what, Sheriff? Your husband's a rest, ma'am. Can't pay his bills, so he's going to jail. Sure. One moment, Sheriff. Perhaps I can't pay the bills. Lucy, where is Rosie's money? We'll take it. And everything else, too. This cabin, your furniture, everything. No, no. This is your bankrupt, Mr. Audubon. Your creditors take everything. No, not my paintings. Oh, well. I reckon you can keep them. What could anybody do with them fool bird pictures? For the crime not a failure to succeed. Lucy came every day to visit me. She told me that she and our babies had been taken in by a neighbor. Even now, Lucy could still smile and press my hand to encourage. No matter what people say, I know that you're good and kind and brave. And that someday... Someday. Lucy, all we have in the world are my paintings. And you must do more of them, darling. They're your future, your life. But there is also your life, Lucy, and our sons. Oh, I've thought about that, John. I'm going to work. Lucy. You're an artist, dear. You must be free to paint. Or how else will your book ever be published? A wife from a supporter husband. You will be bitted. You will be humiliated. Have I ever cared, John? Love needs no pity. Love knows no humiliation. It knows only. There must go on loving. And so my wife and my sons went to Cincinnati. And Lucy taught school. When it was finally released, I set out for Louisville, walking the whole way because I was penniless. And on my arm I carried my paintings. And in Louisville, I showed them to anyone who would pause from his work to look at them. Yes, very good. But why would I want to buy a painting of a turkey? What would I do with it? You misunderstand, sir. These are examples of my work, but I also do excellent portraits. That's all? Pictures of children, maybe? My father, sir? Got two girls. How much for a portrait? Well, I... Give you five dollars. Five dollars, sir? That's my price, mister. And from the looks of your clothes, that's more money than you've seen in a month. Well, is it a bargain? For five dollars, I painted an old woman holding a Bible, a boy and his dog, a girl in her new bonnet. I was making money once more. I boarded a riverboat and floated down to New Orleans. And on the way, painted the birds that flattered up from the riverbeds. In New Orleans, Lucy and my sons joined me. My wife found more school children to teach and I more portraits to paint. And then, finally, almost unbelievably, the day Lucy and I had longed for was at hand. I had paintings enough to fill a book of 400 plays. And Lucy had savings enough to pay my passage to Liverpool. I have yet to learn that an artist is to be judged not by the poverty in which he lives, but by his work. Mr. Audubon, your paintings open a new world before our eyes. Yours is a triumph of patience and of genius. The people of Britain may not know you yet, sir, but depend upon it. They shall know. That was Sir Walter Scott. But him came recognition from artists, from universities, from the Queen of England herself. My paintings were exhibited everywhere. Dinners were given in my honor. Paris invited me to come and publish those beg to see me. At long last, the birds of America, the friends of my youth and companions of my loneliness would be known by the world in all their color and beauty. The eagle, the hawk, the robin, the Oreo. And now I shall see them once more, flying high above my own America. John, I was the first one up the gang. It's been so long. Let me look at you. Let me hold you in my arms again. Oh, John, everybody's staring at us. The sailors' passengers. Let them stare. The world has heard enough of Audubon. It's time for them to know about the girl he loves. The girl? Oh, my dear. I've longed since lost count of my prey here. You will always be young to me, Lucy. As young and as lovely as the day I first fell in love with you. You've meant everything to me, darling. Without you, I'd still be wandering through the wilderness. A painter of birds that no one knew or cared about. The word applause too much the brilliant success of a man. And too little the woman's love that made that success. I don't want applause, darling, as long as I have you. We're together again. You've won your fight. Now it's time to rest. No, my dear. There's still so much for me to paint. America is changing and the wildlife disappearing. I want to put down on canvas for all to remember the wilderness and its creatures that you and I knew when we floated down that river on our honeymoon. I can do it. I must. And I will, Lucy, because you'll be with me. To teach him to be thoughtful of other people, it isn't always easy. But Hallmark Valentine kits for children offer us a pleasant way to teach our youngsters thoughtfulness. It thrills youngsters to send Valentine's they've made themselves to fond grandparents, to aunts and uncles, to their little friends. Hallmark make your own Valentine kits contain red hearts, lacy panels, appealing decorations, everything needed. One kit with the makings of 16 Valentine's costs only $1. Other make your own kits or as little as 50 cents. And giving such pleasure to others by the work of their own small hands will teach them thoughtfulness in a wonderful way. So tomorrow stop in at the friendly store where you buy Hallmark cards and ask to see Hallmark make your own Valentine's. You'll find the box easily identified by that familiar Hallmark on the cover. That same Hallmark you always look for on the back of the card when you want your friends to know you cared enough to send the very best. Here again is James Hilton. Thank you for an excellent performance tonight Jean-Pierre Omon. We are certainly glad you could leave New York in time to appear on our Hallmark Playhouse. I was most happy to be invited, Mr. Hilton. Are you going to be able to stay in Hollywood this time, Jean-Pierre? Not too long. I returned to France in April or June and then have to stop in New York first to see my daughter. Oh, by the way, do you know when Frank Gus was talking about the Valentine's Day? I couldn't help think of my daughter, Maria Christine, because that was the day she was born. Is that so? Well, you won't have any trouble remembering Valentine's Day then. No, indeed. And I was delighted to hear that Hallmark cards are making it so easy for the children of America to remember that happy anniversary. Those make your own Valentine's kids a grand idea. Tell me, Mr. Hilton, are you planning... What story are you planning for the Hallmark Playhouse next week? Next week our story will be that classic adventure by Charles Kingsley called Westwood Ho and we are glad indeed to welcome back Joseph Cotton. Our Hallmark Playhouse is every Thursday. Our producer-director is Bill Gay. Our music is composed and conducted by David Rose and our script tonight was adapted by Leonard St. Clair. Until next Thursday then, this is James Hilton saying, Good night. Look for Hallmark cards that are sold only in stores that have been carefully selected to give you expert and friendly service. Remember a Hallmark card when you carry them to send the very best. Jean-Pierre Amant may soon be seen in the motion picture of the Pirate's Vengeance. The role of Lucy tonight was played by Lorraine Tuttle, others in our cast were Tom Tully as Bakewell, Lamont Johnson as Rogier, others in our cast were Ted Osborne and Polly Bear. This is Frank Goss saying, Good night to you all until next week at the same time. When Hallmark Playhouse returns to present Joseph Cotton in Charles Kingsley's Westwood Hole, and the week after that, Jane Austen's persuasion starring Deborah Carr on the Hallmark Playhouse. Stay tuned for the first comedian... This is KMBC, Kansas City, Missouri.