 starring Orson Welles in an original radio play Thunder from the Mountains by Arthur Miller, a story of Juarez, liberator of Mexico on the cavalcade of America. 75 years ago, on June 19th, as the light of dawn broke over the peak of Mount Popacatepetl, death by rifle fire was administered to Ferdinand Maximilian, last emperor of Mexico. With it came liberty to a nation. More than any other, one man was responsible. He was Benito Juarez. It is his ever glorious story that we tell tonight with the celebrated young actor of stage, screen and radio, Orson Welles portraying the role of Juarez and narrating our program. In 1867, the ambassadors of all the crown governments of the world filed into the Presidential Palace in Mexico City. Standing before the door of his office, Mexican President Benito Juarez stolidly listens to the prepared speeches of the diplomats as they pass before him and shake his labor-toughened hand. His Majesty the King of Quasar fervently desires that the President spare the life of his Highness Maximilian. His Majesty the Emperor of Austria urgently besieges your Excellency to pardon his Highness Maximilian. His Majesty the Queen of Spain plays at the President will shock his message by pardoning him. As Benito Juarez listens to the pleas of the world's mightiest states, the Royal Courts of Europe wait at the telegraph for his answer, and Mexico also waits. Juarez stares through the window at the morning sun, motionless, Indian, like a man remembering whole lifetimes. Honored ambassadors, I will try to tell you why it is, that the Maximilian will surely die. There were two men who lived a century ago, and it is a strange and marvelous thing. But if they were to stand side by side before the sun, they would have cast two identical shadows. This northern one, you know. You remember him in his long black coat, his stovepipe hat, his craggy face. This one is Lincoln, the farmer's son, and now a lawyer here in Salem, Illinois, waiting for the client's step across his porch. Yes, you remember Lincoln. Travel your eye down the spine of our continent, 2,000 miles south of Salem, across the Rio Grande, across the high spikes of the Sierra Madre. Here this other lawyer lived a century ago, this other Lincoln, this Indian man with the narrow Indian eyes you do not remember. But his craggy face, his stovepipe hat and long black coat make a familiar silhouette. This Mexican one is Juarez, Benito Juarez, pacing his office floor like Lincoln in the north, waiting for the client's step, as Lincoln waits in that same quiet year, one century ago. Let me understand, old man. You have been working these bees of land very long. All my life, senor. They told me if I go to Juarez, I will find justice. Where is justice, Juarez? Your justice must come with facts. Every year you pay 100 measures of beans for the land. How many measures do you offer to pay your landlord this time? Old crop was 30 measures. That is what I give him. It is not enough, he says. He must have my little great donkey besides. He goes to the donkey and starts to lead him away so little Pedro... Pedro, Pedro is your son. Oh no, no, senor. I found Pedro on the roadside last year. He's a little boy. God forgot to teach him how to speak. Little dumb boy. He was like a friend to that great donkey. It is possible, senor. Oh yes, it is possible. So, when Dom Manuel, my landlord, tried to take the donkey away, little Pedro would not let go of him. Dom Manuel took out his whip, senor, and he beat my Pedro. Beat him again, and he beat him to the ground. Pedro cannot walk now. He cannot walk, senor. Boris, I have no money. Is there justice in Mexico for a man without money? Come with me. Boris, where? To Dom Manuel. There are laws in Mexico, uncle. A very funny situation. Wait, who gave you permission to enter this house, Juan Felipe? Juan Felipe is my client, Dom Manuel. We have come to inform you, Dom Manuel, that we are going to sue you for injuries done to the little boy, Pedro. He is a peasant, Boris. Get him out of here, he stinks. Boris, so, this is not Boris. Do you recognize me, senor, Boris? I have seen you speak, senor, president Santa Ana. Aha, and you like my speeches. You always give a good performance, ex-convict. Considering that you do not charge admission. Boris, a smart man like you, why do you keep giving these oxen such ideas? A peasant is made for working and dying. Dom Manuel is not guilty of anything wrong. The man, Felipe, is a stupid peasant. The laws of Mexico. The laws of Mexico have nothing to do with Mexico. As remarked, does not amuse me, senor, president. Boris, Boris, a man like you. Stand by my side. Hold my hand. I will drown you in gold. Take my advice, Boris. Take it, take it. I will make you a great rich man. Dom Manuel, I will bring you to court. What makes you like this, Wallace? Why do you embarrass yourself for a stupid, easy-get peasant boy? Why? You see my hands, Santa Ana? They are not the lawyers, but the peasant's hands. My face has been beat, my lips have been split open. My spine has bent to the hole. In school, a Spanish gentleman turned their backs on my Indian face as though it were the color of disease. I'm not bitter. My senor, president, I am ashamed of Mexico. Ashamed for Mexico. It's not a Christian thing that seven-eighths of the people should live like slaves, whether there are no laws to prevent slavery. It's not a Christian thing, excellency. The laws must be obeyed. Good day. That other Lincoln loved silently in those days, while this southern one, wordless, walked up and down in his stove pipette before the house of Margarita, courting, playing the bear, pacing the sidewalk in his methodical way until her door would open, respectively, and a voice would call in our good senor. Margarita, come away from the window. It is not correct to pick at him when he's playing bear. He's not nice for a girl. Oh, he must love me. Every night for six weeks. No one night has he failed to appear. I think it is about time to let him into the house. Six weeks. Quite a lot of walking up and down, and he is such a busy man. Oh, just let me watch him one minute more. How dignified he is. Say my new name, Father. Senora Margarita Juarez. Margarita Juarez. Yes, tonight it seems so natural. It must be time now. Father, open the door, please. Go upstairs now. When we have settled everything, come and speak to your future husband for a moment. Don't be long with him, Father. Senor Juarez. Did you call me, Senor Margarita? Yes. Would you be good enough to step into my house? Thank you, Senor. Thank you. I have always thought it is a lovely house. Peering outward on the several states, the taller one in Illinois saw the drums of war uncovering and listened for the sound he feared. And Juarez, too. Governor Juarez now, feeling the ground tremble with a brewing civil war, walked quietly and listening among his Mexicans. A strange governor, no braided uniform or painted women running drunken through his palace halls. He walked in places no governor had ever walked before, searching, searching for that dangerous core of anger that festered somewhere in the state. Excellency, you will get dirty if you go down into the mine. Oh, I've been dirty in my life. I have always wanted to see a silver mine, especially yours, Senor. You'll either wait. Yes, Excellency. To the right, Excellency, this way, please. No, let me see them dig. How these men change, Excellency. By what law you change these men? Are they apes? They are always running away. How you are aware, Senor, that the law forbids this. I had heard of it, Excellency. You had heard of it. You had heard of it. Break those chains. At once. Remember, friend, laws are made to be obeyed, not to be heard of. Cut the chains. I will be back. Remember it. Now he's building schools for peasants. Did I tell him to build schools for peasants? No, Senor President. No, did I not want him to stop sticking his nose into the silver mines? Did I not want him to stay away from the peasants? Stop stirring them up. Senor, you will take a force of men. Right to his house. And in my name, in the name of Santa Ana. Bring him to me. You are listening to Orson Welles as Benito Juarez on the cavalcade of America presented by Dupont. Exiled from Mexico, Juarez, penniless, lands in New Orleans. Many months later, a tall gentleman enters the top floor of a shabby rooming house in New Orleans and is talking with Benito Juarez. Juarez, it is time to go back. It is time to put Santa Ana down. No, Conor, of course. I am East President. Let them vote him out as they voted him in. Can you vote at a king, Juarez? King? Is he mad? Is the beast mad? He has made himself king of Mexico, Juarez. I knew revolutionary armies forming on the West Coast. I've raised three shiploads of munitions. It's time to pull him down, Juarez. Yes. Yes, now. Now is the time. He is the rebel now, not we. Where can we leave? There's been enough passage money for you and your staff, but you will call an general. No, no, the others are military men. Let them go by boat. I will make my way. Without money, we don't... I have my hands and two good feet. To our Mexico, to our home, a good dog can always make his way. Lincoln in Springfield, standing at the rail of the Washington Bound Express, turned to the people who stood waiting in the rain. I leave now for the capital, he said, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington. And they waved him silently on his way toward war. And the one called Juarez with no farewells gathered up his pennies and his long black coat and shipped across the shining gulf to Panama. And facing the west, he left all cities behind and walked alone across the curved and narrow finger that joins the continents. Through jungles he walked where parrots flew and stood at last on the Pacific beach. And there he was hired into the galley of a ship and he sailed toward western Mexico where in a deep cut between big hills in a greener valley forge a ragged army waited to attack while Lincoln rode solemnly to the White House on that same dark day. Señor Presidente, Benito Juarez has landed in Mexico. Juarez! So, it's all I see was too much. We will ride against him, señoras, tear him out of his heels. Juarez! Yes, come home to die. The land is on fire. The sky burns. The people lift up like lions roaring their anger from the coast, from Atlatlan and Atoyac, from the towns of the Spaniards and the Indian towns. They came from Tuantepak, Durango, and the river there from the Bay of Banderas. The fishermen ran with salt on their lips as once the fishermen of Marblehead came in their boats to crash the heights for Wattington. The sowers of corn and the makers of bread, the black-eyed and the fair, the forest men whose backs were bent like the trees they cut, they came, they came, sweetening with blood the deserts of long, dead centuries. And they scrawled new names on Mexico's face, Díos y Libertad, for God and liberty. And the stones rang like bells from Guadalajara to the Gulf. President Warhing. That has a beautiful sound, President. Diego, where is my family? Are they here yet? They will be here immediately, Excellency. You may enter the city at your pleasure now. The flags are flying. The people are dancing under the new outweighs. Congratulations, Excellency. I do not believe we have met, señor. Ambassador Fellini, your Excellency, I have an urgent request. Yes, señor, what is your request? My emperor asks Mexico the immediate payment of her debt to France. $12 million. The payment, Excellency. Nowhere enough, señor. Mexico cannot pay any debts for at least a year. In that case, it is my duty to inform you that Emperor Napoleon's army on Resinus the Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian is at this moment lending on your coast. May I have the honor of carrying your reply to Resinus? You may have that honor. Go to this hospital, please. This military doll. This sudden Mexican emperor. Caliomato is very cleverly arrived at the moment when the people are exhausted from his civil war. He will be received with the same exquisite hatred as only the people of the Americas know how to brew for conquerors. Tell him, please, that if we are buried thousands upon thousands of our patriots this frightful year, the soil of Mexico is still broad enough and deep enough for one more grave. At Gettysburg, the taller one halted between battles and spoke his vision that government of the people by the people and for the people shall not perish from the earth. Quiet. Why do we fight him? Listen to me. They've got us with our backs against Texas. Our bullets are almost gone. We'll all die. For what now? Oh, Sayor, it's all of you. Hear me out. We could make peace with Maximilian. Yes, we could make peace. But not with these hills. Not with these... these Mexican earths. I do not speak now as Juarez, but has that unseeable thing which through which the people govern themselves. I can no more surrender than he. Real grande can turn into the Rhine. Many don't... Speak what's happening. On the road here we are being followed. One Felipe dropped back to fire them while we drove on. They leaped on him. They stood him to a tree and shot him there. There was no reason. He was going with them. Is it clear, Sayor, that we cannot surrender? They are shooting prisoners. We are not going with that ammunition. Our stocks are gone. Excellency. Yes, Sayor. He says he comes from across the river. You are from Texas? Yes, sir. Juarez, sir. I am. I just come over to let you boys know that we can't figure you out. Every night, we've been leaving a pile of rifles, powder and cartridges right out on the river bank on our side. And there ain't one bullet been taken yet. Don't you want the stuff? We belong to the United States Army. Between us, mister, we kind of figure we can spare it. I don't know how to thank you, Sayor. I guess A. Blinken ain't too happy about that foreign print yelling across the river at us the rest of our lives. Well, good night. God bless you, Sayor. And God bless Abraham Lincoln. Thanks, sir. Bye. That was... That was 30 million people talking, Sayor. Mexico is not alone. Mexico was not alone. And the time came when Juarez, standing in the vaulted palace of the president, paused a moment to look at each ambassador pleading for the life of Maximilian and continued. Sorry. It's not difficult one to stand. Honored ambassadors, why Maximilian must die? Not for the sorrow he caused, nor the bloody spill. That would call only for revenge. And the Mexican state does not stoop to vengeance. Why then must he die, gentlemen? I ask you a question. Why is it that the United States of America alone, among all the great powers, has not sent an ambassador to plead with me for Maximilian's life? Why do they not send a plea? Because they know that for a democratic state to pardon a would-be tyrant is to make mockery of that state and its whole people. Therefore, in the name of Mexican democracy, to her everlasting honor and the undying dignity of her people, I command that the sentence of execution be carried out against the art duke for the non-Maximilian by firing squad upon the heel of bells. I don't. Thank you, Orson Wells. Ladies and gentlemen, in a few moments we will hear again from Mr. Wells. But first, the momentum of America will not be stopped, says the president of the DuPont Company in the current issue of the DuPont Magazine, marking the company's 140th anniversary. The course ahead, he gives, as his opinion, is beset with difficulties. No doubt it holds many discouragements. But I feel that there is nothing awaiting us of America either in business or on the nation's battle lines that we cannot overcome with fundamental study, effort, initiative, vision, and daring. Referring to the war work and trusted to the DuPont Company with winning the war industry's present task, he says, it is not enough that we do a good job. That would be merely accomplishing the expected. The great war plants and charge to our building should be completed ahead of schedule. They should produce beyond their planned capacity. Both in rendering service and in producing goods we should do more than is asked. With satisfaction, I can report that the DuPont organization is achieving these goals. The President of DuPont goes on to speak of the future when this passing illness of civilization shall be gone. I feel we have much about which to be encouraged in speculating on the future, he says. In chemistry, we have a field of endeavor that the future, no doubt, will prove has been but sparsely explored. The prospective demand for accomplishments in that field and for the creation and discovery of better things for better living is unlimited. Unusual initiative and effort will be required of us. Our industrial scientists must endeavor to penetrate those more difficult areas into which up to now few have dared venture to explore. Do we have the courage and confidence to win through, he asks? And answers, I believe we do. The war and the peace will both be victories. Friends of the cavalcade who would like a copy of this anniversary edition of the DuPont magazine may have one. Right to the radio section, DuPont, Wilmington, Delaware. The magazine is printed in color with full-page illustrations of a modern industrial chemistry plant at work, plastic noses for bombing planes, barrage balloons, an airplane production line, and shipyard. There are 36 pages of information about the part chemistry is playing in war production. DuPont will be happy to send you a copy so that you may know some of the wartime accomplishments of chemistry and what they will bring to all of us when peace comes again in terms of better things for better living through chemistry. And now, ladies and gentlemen, the star of our play. Good evening, Mrs. Orson Welles. It was a great privilege to play Bonito Juarez for you this evening. A few weeks ago in Mexico, I attended a great celebration in his honor. There were many speakers. And the last of these was a humble citizen of the Mexican Republic. He's also a very old man. I'll never forget what he said. I am 87 years old, he told us. I'm 87 years old. And I have the honor to be one of those who shot and killed the Emperor Ferdinand Maximilian. Next week, ladies and gentlemen, Cavalcade will welcome back as its star, Madeleine Carroll, in a modern drama of an American Army nurse based on a story in the October American magazine. The play will be called, I Married in Batan. Next week, Madeleine Carroll in I Married in Batan. On tonight's program, the orchestra and musical score were under the direction of Don Burry. This is Clayton Collier sending best wishes from Dupont. This program is coming to you from New York. This is the National Broadcasting Company.