 The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the Cavalcade of America. Tonight's story, as if a door were opening, is about one of America's great heroes, a man whose intimate history is little known to most of us. Our star, John Hodiak. In the beginning, we are in a palace. The year is 1773, and the palace is the home. It home is a word that can be applied to such an imposing structure, the home of the ancient, powerful family of the Duke of Ayenne in Paris. Here in this magnificent edifice, a great door opens. There. You go and talk with her now, Gilbert. If I must. Adrienne is a sensitive child. Be gentle, my son. I'm not your son, sir. I'm the son of no man living. But you will be, my son. You will be. I cannot help myself. Go now. She's waiting. Poor girl. So unlovely, too. So plain. Her name is Adrienne. Mary Adrienne Foswars. She's a good girl, she bell. Her mother has taught her. Obedience. Yes. Obedience. I'm sure of that. Very well. Will you leave us alone? Look you now. However long the way, I go to meet your daughter. So. Broadhawn Toad, Sweet Moon. Made from the black cloth on her shoulder. She is wearing the black uniform of the Cadet and the king's musketeers. And there are diamond rings on his fingers, Diamond sparkle on the buckles of his shoes And on the hilt of his sword. It is a great pleasure, Mr. Remarque. We have been told then to tell lies to each other. Why, certainly. It would be good practice. But you'll be married, are we not? Yes. It is ordered so. I have been instructed to say, mademoiselle, that this marriage is the dearest wish of my heart. And my aunt has told me to say that I shall do my utmost to be a good wife and dutiful wife, according to the precepts of the church. Oh now, now. Oh now, see here girl, this will never do. We must go through with this thing. But why? Because I am very wealthy and I have no father. The marriage has been arranged for the king's ward by the king and by your father. This is the way of our world and tears will do no good. But we, we need not tell lies anymore. No more lies. My word on it. I am not beautiful. I'm ugly. Am I, am I not? No, no girl. You're not ugly. Not when you smile. Oh. There, like that. After all, I'm not handsome myself. Oh, but you are. No lies, girl. No more lies. Why, they mock me at school. They cry out, carot, carot. It was not a lie. I said it quickly. Always when I lie, I must think first to remember what I have been told to say. I like red hair. But, see here. Now what troubles you at the end? You'll not cry again. No, but, but I don't know your name. They have recited your titles over and over, but your, your Christian name. I have too many Christian names for a man who lacks a father. It's called Marie-Joseph-Paul-Eve-Rouche-Gilbert-Jumotier-De-Marquis-De-Lafayette. This, then, is the portrait and miniature of Gilbert-Jumotier-De-Marquis-De-Lafayette. Let us open out the doors. Other portals of the past. The year is now 1776, shortly after the marriage of Gilbert and Adrienne. Inside the Hall of Arms of the Garrison at Metz, France, where Gilbert is captain of a regiment of dragoons. A second door opens. Louis! You must not, Louis, so much! And you're right here, Bear, but what else can one do but drink here in Metz? Or in Paris? Or in all of France? Sir? That is to accept our delfates with grace. And more wine. Corporal! Captain Darcy, sir? Wine for the heroes of France, lad. Wine for the knights of the wooden sword. Captain Darcy. Oh, come, come, come, you bitch. You're up, man. Sit down here. Stop pacing about like a caged tiger. Tiger? Say, rather like a pet poodle. Louis, an ancestor of mine, served Joan of Arc at Orleans. And he died a marshal of France. My own father died at Minden before I could know him. I know, I know, and now the walls are over him. No glory for the last of the Lafayette. No glory for France? Canada gone, lost, debauched court, an impotent fat spent thrift king. The people enslaved, an idle rotting army. I can't stand this any longer, Darcy. Quietly, quietly. No wine, sir. I'll leave it on the table. I'll not be quiet, my friend. Not much longer. Have you heard the news for America? Only that they've taken upon themselves, which was once the national sport of France. They're fighting Englishmen. News has just been received that they have declared independence from the English crown. A man named Jefferson is their spokesman. Listen to this. I brought it here to read to you. Listen. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I'm going to America, Louis. I do not think so, my friend. You're too important. Nevertheless, let us drink to the prospect, to all our dismal prospects, to America and to Jefferson, to America and to the laugh of the Lafayette. Why are you laughing? If you'd try to take up your table again, in earnest, I say you'll not laugh at me. Quietly, quietly, you bear, my good friend. I was just thinking of the look on the face of your father and Lord the Duke, when you tell him that all men are created equal. Poisonous nonsense. This man Jefferson will end on the gallows, along with that other fellow, the renegade Britisher. What is his name? General Washington. General Treason? She'll bear you are dreaming. This madness must end. What can you have in common with this wilderness rebel? Change, sir, change. Ah, nonsense. You have money to buy anything you want, anything. What do you want? Liberty, sir, to be my own man. She'll bear by the terms of your marriage contract. I am your guardian. I'd hoped I might not need to use more than persuasion, but you forced me to more active measures. I shall talk to the king himself. Nevertheless, sir, I am going to America. We will see, boy, we will see. When you are older, you will realize that these mad hopes, these bookish dreams... She'll bear, don't leave me. I am your father. You are not my father. Take me to the residence of the American minister, Mr. Silas Dean. My poor friend, Marquis, have received your letter. Do I understand all right? You wish no pay to serve in the American eye. I have no need of famous, Mr. Dean. Most unusual, most unusual. But considering your age, the commission you requested also, you know, unusual. Three of my ancestors, sir, have been martians of front. Under Joan of Arc at the Siege of Olio, one of them... Yes, yes, yes, I know. Well, then I should read you what I have written to our Congress. Listen, if you will. His high best, his alliances, the great dignities which his family holds at this court, his considerable estates in Israel, such as to induce me to promise him in the name of the United States, the rank of major general at last. I thank you, sir. Master, master, yes, mature. What are you doing here, Louis? You didn't think I'd let you keep all the fun to yourself, did you? I'm going with you, you bear. Louis, splendid. Splendid. I'm not sure it's as fine as all that. I have news, bad news. Tell me quickly. Well, the king, who roused by his ministers from a usual stupor, has acted. The captains of all French ships are forbidden to give you passage. What? There are no other ships? Will you swim to America? If necessary, I try. Captains, you say, have been forbidden to give me passage? Yes, and owners, upon pain of death. Why, then, I shall buy me a ship. You will buy? A ship can be bought. Look here, Louis. Since I last met with my revered father-in-law, I have changed the motto of the House of Lafayette. I have had a new signet ring made. I have caused my new password to be graven in the gold of this ring. Here, look, read it. It's short enough. Read it. It reads cool moon. Why not? Yes, why not? A ship can be bought. All right, why not? Why not, my friend? It's starring as the Marquis de Lafayette. A Lafayette was cheated in the price of the ship he bought, but he did buy a ship. The victory and sale he did for Saint Sebastian in Spain. And she'll bear with his friend Louis Darcy up in the eyes of the victory's bow. Now, glean, but always, always new. The sea. I think I shall always love the sea. Oops, now, bye. Have you forgotten the sea sickness? Are we almost dying? Nonsense, we were sick at the stomach that was all. You cried out the louder. You, Major General. Now you love the sea. May I laugh a little? Yes, good. I laugh silently. If that's all I'd care to risk, or I might be sick again. Look down there, Louis, into the sea. Some say all life came from the sea. Oh, not mine, not my life. I was born on the top of a very dry rock in the province of Gatskine, of noble but slightly starving folk. All in slightly stupid too, like me. Quiet, Louis. Look down into the sea. Full fathom five, my father lies. Of his bones a carl made. Those are pearls that were his eyes. Nothing of him that does fade, but suffers sea change into something rich and strange. About 10,000 devils, you are the mystery who wrote that civil. An Englishman, an enemy then? No, the enemy has no flag. He's all around us everywhere. He denies life. The enemy says this cannot be changed because it has always been so. Never take justice for justice has never been found. Never take love for love is a filthy justice. Life is evil, he says, and God is dead. Yes, I know you're there. I know the enemy. The lion drives him away, and so I drink. Governor, should we not drink now, my friend? No. No. I'm happy here in this sea-rich night. It's as if there were a door opening to me out there toward the west. A door I've always known would exist. And would someday wing wide for me. I've always wanted something. Something better than I've known. Something I could believe out in the west yonder. There is that which can make us clean anew. Full 75. His father lies. Of his bones are quarreling. Is it that easy, Louis, the answer to my trouble? Do I search out only that? A father? Oh yes, Gilbert. When all the fine words are said and done and you find them all quite empty, it's the father you seek, General Lafayette. And now, in the end, we are in not a palace but a tavern. The City Tavern in Philadelphia. In a private dining room on a sweltering hot summer afternoon, Gilbert waits for another door to open. The Commander-in-Chief is passing through Philadelphia on his way to Chester. And he's curious about this aristocratic new recruit to the Republican cause, this golden boy. It's evening and candles are lighted on the tavern table as Gilbert waits for a door to open. General Washington. Are you the Marquis de Lafayette? I am, sir. Gilbert de Motier, sir. My friends? You're very young. I'm 19, sir. And they have given you the rank of Major General. The men of my family, sir, have commanded armies during 400 years. I'd only owned a Joan of Arc and I'm such a... Yes, yes, yes. And you'll be able to teach us no doubt how to defeat General Howe. I'm here, sir, to learn, not to teach. What was that? I said, sir, I wish to learn. What hope to teach? Well, lad, I hope you'll pardon me. We've had many officers from abroad come to join us. Without exception, they've let it be known that they understand all the secrets of the art of war and that they will part with those secrets for a consideration. But I've asked for no pay. I've come here, sir, to place my fortune as well as my sword at the disposal of Liberty's cost. That cause, lad, stands in need of treasure as well as valor if it's to live the winter out. All I put that down to the last field, the last decor, the last copper pieces you have to command. That is why I am here. But your father, lad, surely he must... I have no father, General. And I have no son. I have no son. Not yet. There's a thing I must say to you, a word that's hard to voice. For it makes me in a manner old and seeming less in my own eyes I could wish yet I'll say it still for you were right to know. Lad, there's little glory here. But, General, your victory's at Trenton, at Princeton. All of Europe rings with a new, even Frederick II. Europe is far away. Another world lost in a dream of ancient battles fought by the rule book on parade. War is different here. A thing of strike and run and get behind yarn tree, you poor lost devil. Here on this continent between the wilderness and the sea I command a few hard-bitten souls against the panoply and might of Earth's new ocean empire. Where the sea touches our shore, the red coat rolls. In the narrow corner between forest and sea I twist and turn, hang on, and sometimes win. Then winning needs must fly again. You do not look to win in the end. Most surely I do look to win. In the end I'll win or die. But no glorious banners mark the road I take. Less than a dingy third of this our people wish us well or sell us beef and grain. No, this is no romance. This is civil war. Perhaps you'd best go home. Now stay on. I have no need of banners. Most young men do have such a need. At your age, lad, I burned with flame as bright and fed that flame upon a like illusion. Is freedom an illusion then? Is that your word? This news is old in Europe, sir. And I've come a long journey to escape such death rattles. Do you too take the hopeless way? No, boy, no, you miss my meaning. Freedom's no dream. The illusion lies in this. The dream that freedom's boon is easy won. A garland gamed in tournament or trophy to be born away in one wild reckless charge. A sword to wave a cup to drain or a girl to kiss. Well, it's none of these. What is it then, this freedom? Freedom's the struggle, not the victory. The game and not the candle. It's man's fate when he's strong and wise to seat it. It's our blessed doom, our providential grace. For me, it's the road I must take with all who'll stay by me steadily in this my task. A path of suffering and hungry days of cold monotony and vexatious waiting and blood upon the snow. But at the end of the road, surely, sir, there's glory there for all? No, in the eye of history, lad. Who knows? Histories are written by false witnesses in waiting at the victor's course. If we lose this war, I'll be written down a colonial bumpkin at arms who outran disaster for a while, but only for a while. And as for you, they'd name me ever as a rich young fool. Yes, if we should lose General Washington. I do not believe you understand. I wish how I most desperately do wish to make you know how it is with me. From childhood, sir, from my most early memory, I've had no one, no thing, no hope, no reason for being alive. Only the bad things, the easy evil things they taught me. But even so young, so young as I was, I did not wish those things. Against them all, I have come to your country and I have found here a reason to be born. Oh, sir, I know the enemy you fight against. I know the courts of Europe how they're crawling with the rottenness, the evil of bold, old habit. It is my wish to fight against that corruption, just to fight, not for pain, not for glory, not even for winning, but just to fight, to fight, to fight. You do not understand, understand. Perhaps you're older than I thought. You will pardon me, sir. In my country, it is not considered unmanly to speak with emotion. And when I first saw you, there, in the doorway. Yes, yes, I know. I felt this too. Perhaps I'm younger than I'd fear it. General Lafayette, my staff is dining in the public room below. I hope you'll join us. But of course, come then. My son. As if a door were opening, who could say, my father is president of the United States. You'll hear how one 13-year-old boy felt when he moved into the White House with his father. Our star is that fine young picture actor, Dean Stockwell. Our play, The Night There Was No President. Be sure to listen. Okay, as if a door were opening, was written by George H. Buckner. And based on the book, The People's General, the personal story of Lafayette, by David Lowe, published by Charles Scribners and Sons. Original music was composed by Arden Cornwell, conducted by Donald Boris. The program was directed by John Zoller. John Hodiak, who starred as Lafayette, can currently be seen in MGM's People Against O'Hara. Photographed under pop motion picture filmed by Paul Vogel, ASC. Tonight in our cablecade cast, Arnold Moss was featured as Washington. Ross Martin was Darcy. Susan Miller was Adrienne. Kermit Murdoch the Duke. And Robert Dryden, Silas Dean. Your narrator, Sy Harris. Ladies and gentlemen, join the 1952 March of Dimes. Join the fight against infantile paralysis now. Your dimes and dollars will help science conquer this crippler of children. Send your dimes and dollars to your local March of Dimes headquarters today. Don't forget next week, our star, Dean Stockwell. The DuPont Cavalcade of America comes to you from the Velasco Theater in New York and is sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware. Make her the better thing for better living and new chemistry. Next Hollywood Theater stars Barry Sullivan on NBC.