The two Chroniclers: A wind blows in the night,
And the pride of the rose is gone.
It laboured, and was delight,
And rains fell, and shone
Suns of the summer days,
And dews washed the bud,
And thanksgiving and praise
Was the rose in our blood.

And out of the night it came,
A wind, and the rose fell,
Shattered its heart of flame,
And how shall June tell
The glory that went with May?
How shall the full year keep
The beauty that ere its day
Was blasted into sleep?

Roses. Oh, heart of man:
Courage, that in the prime
Looked on truth, and began
Conspiracies with time
To flower upon the pain
Of dark and envious earth....
A wind blows, and the brain
Is the dust that was its birth.

What shall the witness cry,
He who has seen alone
With imagination’s eye
The darkness overthrown?
Hark: from the long eclipse
The wise words come
A wind blows, and the lips
Of prophecy are dumb.

SCENE VI.

The evening of April 14, 1865. The small lounge of a theatre. On the far side are the doors of three private boxes. There is silence for a few moments. Then the sound of applause comes from the auditorium beyond. The box doors are opened. In the centre box can be seen LINCOLN and STANTON, MRS. LINCOLN, another lady, and an officer, talking together.

The occupants come out from the other boxes into the lounge, where small knots of people have gathered from different directions, and stand or sit talking busily.

A Lady: Very amusing, don’t you think?

Her Companion: Oh, yes. But it’s hardly true to life, is it?

Another Lady: Isn’t that dark girl clever? What’s her name?

A Gentleman (consulting his programme:) Eleanor Crowne.

Another Gentleman: There’s a terrible draught, isn’t there? I shall have a stiff neck.

His Wife: You should keep your scarf on.

The Gentleman: It looks so odd.

Another Lady: The President looks very happy this evening, doesn’t he?

Another: No wonder, is it? He must be a proud man.

A young man, dressed in black, passes among the people, glancing furtively into LINCOLN’S box, and disappears. It is JOHN WILKES BOOTH.

A Lady (greeting another): Ah, Mrs. Bennington. When do you expect your husband back?

They drift away. SUSAN, carrying cloaks and wraps, comes in. She goes to the box, and speaks to MRS. LINCOLN. Then she comes away, and sits down apart from the crowd to wait.

A Young Man: I rather think of going on the stage myself. My friends tell me I’m uncommon good. Only I don’t think my health would stand it.

A Girl: Oh, it must be a very easy life. Just acting that’s easy enough.

A cry of “Lincoln” comes through the auditorium. It is taken up, with shouts of “The President,” “Speech,” “Abraham Lincoln,” “Father Abraham,” and so on. The conversation in the lounge stops as the talkers turn to listen. After a few moments, LINCOLN is seen to rise. There is a burst of cheering. The people in the lounge stand round the box door. LINCOLN holds up his hand, and there is a sudden silence.

Lincoln: My friends, I am touched, deeply touched, by this mark of your good-will. After four dark and difficult years, we have achieved the great purpose for which we set out. General Lee’s surrender to General Grant leaves but one Confederate force in the field, and the end is immediate and certain. (Cheers.) I have but little to say at this moment. I claim not to have controlled events, but confess plainly that events have controlled me. But as events have come before me, I have seen them always with one faith. We have preserved the American Union, and we have abolished a great wrong. (Cheers.) The task of reconciliation, of setting order where there is now confusion, of bringing about a settlement at once just and merciful, and of directing the life of a reunited country into prosperous channels of good-will and generosity, will demand all our wisdom, all our loyalty. It is the proudest hope of my life that I may be of some service in this work. (Cheers.) Whatever it may be, it can be but little in return for all the kindness and forbearance that I have received. With malice toward none, with charity for all, it is for us to resolve that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

There is a great sound of cheering. It dies down, and a boy passes through the lounge and calls out “Last act, ladies and gentlemen.” The people disperse, and the box doors are closed. SUSAN is left alone and there is silence.

After a few moments, BOOTH appears. He watches SUSAN and sees that her gaze is fixed away from him. He creeps along to the centre box and disengages a hand from under his cloak. It holds a revolver. Poising himself, he opens the door with a swift movement, fires, flings the door to again, and rushes away. The door is thrown open again, and the OFFICER follows in pursuit. Inside the box, MRS. LINCOLN is kneeling by her husband, who is supported by STANTON. A DOCTOR runs across the lounge and goes into the box. There is complete silence in the theatre. The door closes again.

Susan (who has run to the box door, and is kneeling there, sobbing): Master, master! No, no, not my master!

The other box doors have opened, and the occupants with others have collected in little terror-struck groups in the lounge. Then the centre door opens, and STANTON comes out, closing it behind him.

Stanton: Now he belongs to the ages.

THE CHRONICLERS speak.

First Chronicler: Events go by. And upon circumstance Disaster strikes with the blind sweep of chance. And this our mimic action was a theme, Kinsmen, as life is, clouded as a dream.

Second Chronicler: But, as we spoke, presiding everywhere Upon event was one man’s character. And that endures; it is the token sent Always to man for man’s own government.

THE CURTAIN FALLS.