Abraham Lincoln: A Play Part 9

Gentlemen, I may have to take upon myself the responsibility of over-riding your vote. It will be for me to satisfy Congress and public opinion. Should I receive any resignations?

_There is silence_.

I thank you for your consideration, gentlemen. That is all.

_They rise, and the Ministers, with the exception of_ SEWARD, _go out, talking as they pa.s.s beyond the door_.

You are wrong, Seward, wrong.

_Seward_: I believe you. I respect your judgment even as far as that.

But I must speak as I feel.

_Lincoln_: May I speak to this man alone?

_Seward_: Certainly. _He goes out_. LINCOLN _stands motionless for a moment. Then he moves to a map of the United States, much larger than the one in his Illinois home, and looks at it as he did there. He goes to the far door and opens it_.

_Lincoln:_ Will you come in?

_The_ MESSENGER _comes_.

Can you ride back to Major Anderson at once?

_The Messenger_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: Tell him that we cannot reinforce him immediately. We haven't the men.

_The Messenger_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: And say that the first convoy of supplies will leave Was.h.i.+ngton this evening.

_The Messenger_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: Thank you.

_The_ MESSENGER goes. LINCOLN _stands at the table for a moment; he rings the bell_. HAWKINS _comes in_.

Mr. Hay, please.

_Hawkins_: Yes, sir.

_He goes, and a moment later_ HAY _comes in.

Lincoln:_ Go to General Scott. Ask him to come to me at once.

_Hay_: Yes, sir.

_He goes_.

THE CURTAIN FALLS.

_The two Chroniclers_: You who have gone gathering Cornflowers and meadowsweet, Heard the hazels glancing down On September eves, Seen the homeward rooks on wing Over fields of golden wheat, And the silver cups that crown Water-lily leaves;

You who know the tenderness Of old men at eve-tide, Coming from the hedgerows, Coming from the plough, And the wandering caress Of winds upon the woodside, When the crying yaffle goes Underneath the bough;

_First Chronicler_: You who mark the flowing Of sap upon the May-time, And the waters welling From the watershed, You who count the growing Of harvest and hay-time, Knowing these the telling Of your daily bread;

_Second Chronicler_: You who cherish courtesy With your fellows at your gate, And about your hearthstone sit Under love's decrees, You who know that death will be Speaking with you soon or late.

_The two together_: Kinsmen, what is mother-wit But the light of these?

Knowing these, what is there more For learning in your little years?

Are not these all gospels bright s.h.i.+ning on your day?

How then shall your hearts be sore With envy and her brood of fears, How forget the words of light From the mountain-way? ...

Blessed are the merciful....

Does not every threshold seek Meadows and the flight of birds For compa.s.sion still?

Blessed are the merciful....

Are we pilgrims yet to speak Out of Olivet the words Of knowledge and good-will?

_First Chronicler_: Two years of darkness, and this man but grows Greater in resolution, more constant in compa.s.sion.

He goes The way of dominion in pitiful, high-hearted fas.h.i.+on.

SCENE III.

_Nearly two years later_.

_A small reception room at the White House_. MRS. LINCOLN, _dressed in a fas.h.i.+on perhaps a little too considered, despairing as she now does of any sartorial grace in her husband, and acutely conscious that she must meet this necessity of office alone, is writing. She rings the bell, and_ SUSAN, _who has taken her promotion more philosophically, comes in.

Mrs. Lincoln_: Admit any one who calls, Susan. And enquire whether the President will be in to tea.

_Susan_: Mr. Lincoln has just sent word that he will be in.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Very well.

SUSAN _is going_.

Susan. _Susan_: Yes, ma'am.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: You still say Mr. Lincoln. You should say the President.

_Susan_: Yes, ma'am. But you see, ma'am, it's difficult after calling him Mr. Lincoln for fifteen years.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: But you must remember. Everybody calls him the President now.

_Susan_: No, ma'am. There's a good many people call him Father Abraham now. And there's some that like him even better than that. Only to-day Mr. Coldpenny, at the stores, said, "Well, Susan, and how's old Abe this morning?"

_Mrs. Lincoln_: I hope you don't encourage them.