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
Shining 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 compassion 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 compassion.
He goes
The way of dominion in pitiful, high-hearted fashion.

SCENE III.

Nearly two years later.

A small reception room at the White House. MRS. LINCOLN, dressed in a fashion 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.

Susan: Oh, no, ma’am. I always refer to him as Mr. Lincoln.

Mrs. Lincoln: Yes, but you must say the President.

Susan: I’m afraid I shan’t ever learn, ma’am.

Mrs. Lincoln: You must try.

Susan: Yes, of course, ma’am.

Mrs. Lincoln: And bring any visitors up.

Susan: Yes, ma’am. There’s a lady waiting now.

Mrs. Lincoln: Then why didn’t you say so?

Susan: That’s what I was going to, ma’am, when you began to talk about Mr. I mean the President, ma’am.

Mrs. Lincoln: Well, show her up.

SUSAN goes. MRS. LINCOLN closes her writing desk. SUSAN returns, showing in MRS. GOLIATH BLOW.

Susan: Mrs. Goliath Blow.

She goes.

Mrs. Blow: Good-afternoon, Mrs. Lincoln.

Mrs. Lincoln: Good-afternoon, Mrs. Blow. Sit down, please.

They sit.

Mrs. Blow: And is the dear President well?

Mrs. Lincoln: Yes. He’s rather tired.

Mrs. Blow: Of course, to be sure. This dreadful war. But I hope he’s not getting tired of the war.

Mrs. Lincoln: It’s a constant anxiety for him. He feels his responsibility very deeply.

Mrs. Blow: To be sure. But you mustn’t let him get war-weary. These monsters in the South have got to be stamped out.

Mrs. Lincoln: I don’t think you need be afraid of the President’s firmness.

Mrs. Blow: Oh, of course not. I was only saying to Goliath yesterday, “The President will never give way till he has the South squealing,” and Goliath agreed.

SUSAN comes in.

Susan: Mrs. Otherly, ma’am.

Mrs. Lincoln: Show Mrs. Otherly in.

SUSAN goes.

Mrs. Blow: Oh, that dreadful woman! I believe she wants the war to stop.

Susan (at the door): Mrs. Otherly.

MRS. OTHERLY comes in and SUSAN goes.

Mrs. Lincoln: Good-afternoon, Mrs. Otherly. You know Mrs. Goliath Blow?

Mrs. Otherly: Yes. Good-afternoon. She sits.

Mrs. Blow: Goliath says the war will go on for another three years at least.

Mrs. Otherly: Three years? That would be terrible, wouldn’t it?

Mrs. Blow: We must be prepared to make sacrifices.

Mrs. Otherly: Yes.

Mrs. Blow: It makes my blood boil to think of those people.

Mrs. Otherly: I used to know a lot of them. Some of them were very kind and nice.

Mrs. Blow: That was just their cunning, depend on it. I’m afraid there’s a good deal of disloyalty among us. Shall we see the dear President this afternoon, Mrs. Lincoln?

Mrs. Lincoln: He will be here directly, I think.

Mrs. Blow: You ’re looking wonderfully well, with all the hard work that you have to do. I’ve really had to drop some of mine. And with expenses going up, it’s all very lowering, don’t you think? Goliath and I have had to reduce several of our subscriptions. But, of course, we all have to deny ourselves something. Ah, good-afternoon, dear Mr. President.

LINCOLN comes in. THE LADIES rise and shake hands with him.

Lincoln: Good-afternoon, ladies.

Mrs. Otherly: Good-afternoon, Mr. President.

They all sit.

Mrs. Blow: And is there any startling news, Mr. President?

Lincoln: Madam, every morning when I wake up, and say to myself, a hundred, or two hundred, or a thousand of my countrymen will be killed to-day, I find it startling.

Mrs. Blow: Oh, yes, of course, to be sure. But I mean, is there any good news.

Lincoln: Yes. There is news of a victory. They lost twenty-seven hundred men we lost eight hundred.

Mrs. Blow: How splendid!

Lincoln: Thirty-five hundred.

Mrs. Blow: Oh, but you mustn’t talk like that, Mr. President. There were only eight hundred that mattered.

Lincoln: The world is larger than your heart, madam.

Mrs. Blow: Now the dear President is becoming whimsical, Mrs. Lincoln.

SUSAN brings in tea-tray, and hands tea round. LINCOLN takes none.
SUSAN goes.

Mrs. Otherly: Mr. President.

Lincoln: Yes, ma’am.

Mrs. Otherly: I don’t like to impose upon your hospitality. I know how difficult everything is for you. But one has to take one’s opportunities. May I ask you a question?

Lincoln: Certainly, ma’am.

Mrs. Otherly: Isn’t it possible for you to stop this war? In the name of a suffering country, I ask you that.

Mrs. Blow: I’m sure such a question would never have entered my head.

Lincoln: It is a perfectly right question. Ma’am, I have but one thought always how can this thing be stopped? But we must ensure the integrity of the Union. In two years war has become an hourly bitterness to me. I believe I suffer no less than any man. But it must be endured. The cause was a right one two years ago. It is unchanged.

Mrs. Otherly: I know you are noble and generous. But I believe that war must be wrong under any circumstances, for any cause.

Mrs. Blow: I’m afraid the President would have but little encouragement if he listened often to this kind of talk.

Lincoln: I beg you not to harass yourself, madam. Ma’am, I too believe war to be wrong. It is the weakness and the jealousy and the folly of men that make a thing so wrong possible. But we are all weak, and jealous, and foolish. That’s how the world is, ma’am, and we cannot outstrip the world. Some of the worst of us are sullen, aggressive still just clumsy, greedy pirates. Some of us have grown out of that. But the best of us have an instinct to resist aggression if it won’t listen to persuasion. You may say it’s a wrong instinct. I don’t know. But it’s there, and it’s there in millions of good men. I don’t believe it’s a wrong instinct, I believe that the world must come to wisdom slowly. It is for us who hate aggression to persuade men always and earnestly against it, and hope that, little by little, they will hear us. But in the mean time there will come moments when the aggressors will force the instinct to resistance to act. Then we must act earnestly, praying always in our courage that never again will this thing happen. And then we must turn again, and again, and again to persuasion. This appeal to force is the misdeed of an imperfect world. But we are imperfect. We must strive to purify the world, but we must not think ourselves pure above the world. When I had this thing to decide, it would have been easy to say, “No, I will have none of it; it is evil, and I will not touch it.” But that would have decided nothing, and I saw what I believed to be the truth as I now put it to you, ma’am. It’s a forlorn thing for any man to have this responsibility in his heart. I may see wrongly, but that’s how I see.

Mrs. Blow: I quite agree with you, Mr. President. These brutes in the South must be taught, though I doubt whether you can teach them anything except by destroying them. That’s what Goliath says.

Lincoln: Goliath must be getting quite an old man.

Mrs. Blow: Indeed, he’s not, Mr. President Goliath is only thirty-eight.

Lincoln: Really, now? Perhaps I might be able to get him a commission.

Mrs. Blow: Oh, no. Goliath couldn’t be spared. He’s doing contracts for the government, you know. Goliath couldn’t possibly go. I’m sure he will be very pleased when I tell him what you say about these people who want to stop the war, Mr. President. I hope Mrs. Otherly is satisfied. Of course, we could all complain. We all have to make sacrifices, as I told Mrs. Otherly.

Mrs. Otherly: Thank you, Mr. President, for what you’ve said. I must try to think about it. But I always believed war to be wrong. I didn’t want my boy to go, because I believed it to be wrong. But he would. That came to me last week.

She hands a paper to LINCOLN.

Lincoln (looks at it, rises, and hands it back to her): Ma’am, there are times when no man may speak. I grieve for you, I grieve for you.

Mrs. Otherly (rising): I think I will go. You don’t mind my saying what I did?

Lincoln: We are all poor creatures, ma’am. Think kindly of me. (He takes her hand.) Mary.

MRS. LINCOLN goes out with MRS. OTHERLY.

Mrs. Blow: Of course it’s very sad for her, poor woman. But she makes her trouble worse by these perverted views, doesn’t she? And, I hope you will show no signs of weakening, Mr. President, till it has been made impossible for those shameful rebels to hold up their heads again. Goliath says you ought to make a proclamation that no mercy will be shown to them afterwards. I’m sure I shall never speak to one of them again.

Rising.

Well, I must be going. I’ll see Mrs. Lincoln as I go out. Good-afternoon, Mr. President. She turns at the door, and offers LINCOLN her handy which he does not take.

Lincoln: Good-afternoon, madam. And I’d like to offer ye a word of advice. That poor mother told me what she thought. I don’t agree with her, but I honour her. She’s wrong, but she is noble. You’ve told me what you think. I don’t agree with you, and I’m ashamed of you and your like. You, who have sacrificed nothing, babble about destroying the South while other people conquer it. I accepted this war with a sick heart, and I’ve a heart that’s near to breaking every day. I accepted it in the name of humanity, and just and merciful dealing, and the hope of love and charity on earth. And you come to me, talking of revenge and destruction, and malice, and enduring hate. These gentle people are mistaken, but they are mistaken cleanly, and in a great name. It is you that dishonour the cause for which we stand it is you who would make it a mean and little thing. Good-afternoon.

He opens the door and MRS. BLOW, finding words inadequate, goes. LINCOLN moves across the room and rings a bell. After a moment, SUSAN comes in. Susan, if that lady comes here again she may meet with an accident.

Susan: Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?

Lincoln: No, sir, it is not all, sir. I don’t like this coat. I am going to change it. I shall be back in a minute or two, and if a gentleman named Mr. William Custis calls, ask him to wait in here.

He goes out. SUSAN collects the teacups. As she is going to the door a quiet, grave white-haired negro appears facing her. SUSAN starts violently.

The Negro (he talks slowly and very quietly): It is all right.

Susan: And who in the name of night might you be?

The Negro: Mista William Custis. Mista Lincoln tell me to come here. Nobody stop me, so I come to look for him.

Susan: Are you Mr. William Custis?

Custis: Yes.

Susan: Mr. Lincoln will be here directly. He’s gone to change his coat. You’d better sit down.

Custis: Yes.

He does so, looking about him with a certain pathetic inquisitiveness. Mista Lincoln live here. You his servant? A very fine thing for young girl to be servant to Mista Lincoln.

Susan: Well, we get on very well together.

Custis: A very bad thing to be slave in South.

Susan: Look here, you Mr. Custis, don’t you go mixing me up with slaves.

Custis: No, you not slave. You servant, but you free body. That very mighty thing. A poor servant, born free.

Susan: Yes, but look here, are you pitying me, with your poor servant?

Custis: Pity? No. I think you very mighty.

Susan: Well, I don’t know so much about mighty. But I expect you’re right. It isn’t every one that rises to the White House.

Custis: It not every one that is free body. That is why you mighty.

Susan: I’ve never thought much about it.

Custis: I think always about it.

Susan: I suppose you’re free, aren’t you?

Custis: Yes. Not born free. I was beaten when I a little nigger. I saw my mother I will not remember what I saw.

Susan: I’m sorry, Mr. Custis. That was wrong.

Custis: Yes. Wrong.

Susan: Are all nig I mean are all black gentlemen like you?

Custis: No. I have advantages. They not many have advantages.

Susan: No, I suppose not. Here’s Mr. Lincoln coming.

LINCOLN, coated after his heart’s desire, comes to the door. CUSTIS rises. This is the gentleman you said, sir.

She goes out with the tray.

Lincoln: Mr. Custis, I’m very glad to see you. He offers his hand. CUSTIS takes it, and is about to kiss it. LINCOLN stops him gently. (Sitting): Sit down, will you? Custis (still standing, keeping his hat in his hand): It very kind of Mista Lincoln ask me to come to see him.

Lincoln: I was afraid you might refuse.

Custis: A little shy? Yes. But so much to ask Glad to come.

Lincoln: Please sit down.

Custis: Polite?

Lincoln: Please. I can’t sit myself, you see, if you don’t.

Custis: Black, black. White, white.

Lincoln: Nonsense. Just two old men, sitting together (CUSTIS sits to LINCOLN’S gesture) and talking.

Custis: I think I older man than Mista Lincoln.

Lincoln: Yes, I expect you are, I’m fifty-four.

Custis: I seventy-two.

Lincoln: I hope I shall look as young when I’m seventy-two.

Custis: Cold water. Much walk. Believe in Lord Jesus Christ. Have always little herbs learnt when a little nigger. Mista Lincoln try. Very good.

He hands a small twist of paper to LINCOLN.

Lincoln: Now, that’s uncommon kind of you. Thank you. I’ve heard much about your preaching, Mr. Custis.

Custis: Yes.

Lincoln: I should like to hear you.

Custis: Mista Lincoln great friend of my people.

Lincoln: I have come at length to a decision.

Custis: A decision?

Lincoln: Slavery is going. We have been resolved always to confine it. Now it shall be abolished.

Custis: You sure?

Lincoln: Sure.

CUSTIS slowly stands up, bows his head, and sits again.

Custis: My people much to learn. Years, and years, and years. Ignorant, frightened, suspicious people. It will be difficult, very slow. (With growing passion.) But born free bodies. Free. I born slave, Mista Lincoln. No man understand who not born slave.

Lincoln: Yes, yes. I understand.

Custis (with his normal regularity): I think so. Yes.

Lincoln: I should like you to ask me any question you wish.

Custis: I have some complaint. Perhaps I not understand.

Lincoln: Tell me.

Custis: Southern soldiers take some black men prisoner. Black men in your uniform. Take them prisoner. Then murder them.

Lincoln: I know.

Custis: What you do?

Lincoln: We have sent a protest.

Custis: No good. Must do more.

Lincoln: What more can we do?

Custis: You know.

Lincoln: Yes; but don’t ask me for reprisals.

Custis (gleaming): Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.

Lincoln: No, no. You must think. Think what you are saying.

Custis: I think of murdered black men.

Lincoln: You would not ask me to murder?

Custis: Punish not murder.

Lincoln: Yes, murder. How can I kill men in cold blood for what has been done by others? Think what would follow. It is for us to set a great example, not to follow a wicked one. You do believe that, don’t you?

Custis (after a pause): I know. Yes. Let your light so shine before men. I trust Mista Lincoln. Will trust. I was wrong. I was too sorry for my people.

Lincoln: Will you remember this? For more than two years I have thought of you every day. I have grown a weary man with thinking. But I shall not forget. I promise that.

Custis: You great, kind friend. I will love you.

A knock at the door.

Lincoln: Yes.

SUSAN comes in.

Susan: An officer gentleman. He says it’s very important.

Lincoln: I’ll come.

He and CUSTIS rise.

Wait, will you, Mr. Custis? I want to ask you some questions.

He goes out. It is getting dark, and SUSAN lights a lamp and draws the curtains. CUSTIS stands by the door looking after LINCOLN.

Custis: He very good man.

Susan: You’ve found that out, have you?

Custis: Do you love him, you white girl?

Susan: Of course I do.

Custis: Yes, you must.

Susan: He’s a real white man. No offence, of course.

Custis: Not offend. He talk to me as if black no difference.

Susan: But I tell you what, Mr. Custis. He’ll kill himself over this war, his heart’s that kind like a shorn lamb, as they say.

Custis: Very unhappy war.

Susan: But I suppose he’s right. It’s got to go on till it’s settled.

In the street below a body of people is heard approaching, singing “John Brown’s Body” CUSTIS and SUSAN stand listening, SUSAN joining in the song as it passes and fades away.

THE CURTAIN FALLS.