 The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the Carvalcade of America. Tonight's star, Raymond Massey. Tonight's story with Malice Ford-Nan. This is early afternoon of a drizzling cloud-wrack day in Washington, D.C. the 4th of March, 1865, on the eve of victory for the North in the war between the states. Despite a downpour in the morning, a huge crowd is gathered before the portico of the Capitol building. They are waiting now, waiting as crowds to pushing, talking, laughing. As we wait as well with them, we eavesdrop upon two citizens. What do you think he'll say, eh? What do you think he'll say? Oh, I'm sure I don't know. Since the war is almost over and almost one, I suppose he'll be... Daniel Randall have him licked in a week. In a week? Then what? No mercy, that's what I say. No quarter to the rebels. Make them crawl, starve them under their knees, every man jack up. That's what I say. And that's what he better say, too. Hmm, I don't believe Mr. Lane will talk like that, my friend. I just don't believe he will. Here he is now. And... and look there, my friend. The sun is out. The clouds are broken. And the sun is out. There he is! Here's the president! Dear countrymen, at this second appearance to take the oath of presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. The progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depended, is as well known to the public as to myself. And it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago, both parties deprecated. What is he thinking, this gaunt, monstrously weary man, who has but a scant 40 days to live? This speech he had written out a week before the inaugural, as he pondered the terrible choices victory itself would bring to him. Figures far more powerful than a little man in a capital crowd would counsel revenge a piece of fire in the sword. He remembers perhaps one such bloodthirsty gentleman, one we shall call Wesley Ford Thatcher. Thatcher? Yes, he remembers Thatcher. It was about a month before the inaugural, late in the evening in Lincoln's office in the White House. Mr. President, I have come here to ask a most vital question. Sit down, Padgett. Sit down. Please excuse my dishes, Billy, as the man called it. My vest seems to come undone somehow. Mr. Lincoln, I have come here on behalf of hundreds of your own constituents in New York and New Jersey to ask a most important question. Take chair, man. All questions grow less vital when delivered from a sitting position. I found that out. Very well, then, Mr. Chair, we'll do. But I must most respectfully warn you. That you sit up straight, right, spang on the edge of it? Well, all right. That's your privilege, my friend. I trust you'll allow me to slump down a little. Sorry, Padgett. You see, all along about this time of day, I start to come apart the scene. My vest rides up, my gallows lose their gimp, and my feet just naturally reach for the corner of the deck. You don't mind the slippage. Your friends, Mr. President, how by this time, will you see your remarkable appearance? May I count you, sir, among those few long-suffering martyrs? Marker? Among my friends? I have voted for you twice, Mr. Lincoln. As the lesser of two Hebrews were had? Possibly, sir. But I carried with me into your column on election day many hundreds of thousands of votes. It is those good people I must speak for now. They are worried, Mr. President, a momentous question disturbs their minds, and I may say their heart. And the question is? I'll be blunt, sir, and completely open. Good. Good. And brief as well. Jack, we want to know, Mr. President, whether or not you are at this moment conducting shameful secret peace negotiations with Jefferson Davis Enrichman through the person of one F.P. Blair. The rumors are everywhere, sir. And sound men are everywhere left in the dark. We want to know. There is there one question at a time. And do sit down, Patrick. So it's old man Blair that worries. Our elder Satan. Yes, it is. Elder Medler, I call him. He frets me too at times. Well, I shall answer your questions. But first, let me ask a single question of you. Mr. Patrick, why do you want this war to go on? Because the rebels must be punished for their crimes. Their lands must be laid waste. Their ships scuttled. Their treasure fought it. And their leaders must be hanged, sir, hanged by the neck until dead. It is the will of God, Mr. President. The will of God. All of you are so sure you know the will of God. I am the only one who does not know it. Well, you must learn it, Mr. President. From you, sir, unless I am more deceived in myself than I often am, it is my earnest desire to know what the will of Providence is. Mr. President, I have asked you a question, if you please. Have you been conducting secret peace negotiations? No, sir. I have conducted no peace negotiations. Old man Blair has proceeded entirely upon his own authority. Well. My blairs are due. Jefferson Davis yesterday sent a delegation to meet with General Grant. Just a few hours ago, I learned by telegraph that the meeting there had led to no results. The war will go on. God. It is that news, I'm afraid, that has caused my extreme fatigue, Mr. Baxter. Well, this is splendid news, Mr. President. Now, it would not be considered so among the Bivouacs and around the campfires of the men who have marched and suffered from Manassas through Gettysburg to the gates of Richmond. Hello? All right. Probably John Nicolay, my secretary, wants me to get some supper. Come in, John. Come in. Mr. President. Yes, John. Uh, Mr. President. I hear all of your pleasure. Secretary Stanton had another telegraph message from General Grant. Most important, he says. Most important, sir. And can you meet him at the war office telegraph room at once? Oh, to be sure, John. Yes, Charlie Tinker down there can scare me up a bite to eat. And if you will excuse me, Mr. Baxter. Oh, certainly, certainly. I shall return home to Brooklyn, must reassure him, Mr. President. And I shall tell the voters whose confidence I have had the honor to win. Yes, yes, I'm sure you will. But I must get about the business of this war. This war you like so well, Mr. Baxter. Come along, John. Good evening, Mr. President. Back again. Back again, Charlie. By urgent request of our boss, Secretary Ward Stanton. Oh, fine. Thanks to me. I spend about five times as many hours right here as I do anywhere else in town. Where's Mr. Stanton? Sorry, he went up to his office. There he said he'd be right back down. Your old chair, Mr. President? Yes, sir. Ah, I declare, Charlie, it's a pleasure to look at your honor's face across the desk and listen to that key rattle. Thank you, sir. No, I'm among men who work for a living, not talk. Talk, talk. Well, we'd like to have you here with us, sir. I know you do. This is just about the one place in Washington where I can get loose and act as if I were back home on the Illinois 30th, lawyer in the game. You had me suffer, Mr. President? No, Charlie. Things have sort of piled up on me all day long. Maybe you could do something about that. I already have, sir. You send a boy out for sandwiches and coffee as soon as I heard you were coming back. There, now, I wear telegraphers. They're my favorite people. They know I got human insides and fight all the evidence to the contrary, outside. Here's Stanton. Now, we'll catch it, Charlie. Good evening, Mr. President. Good evening, Stanton. Ah. Good news? I'm afraid you'll think it's good news, Mr. Lincoln. I don't like it. Must be very good news indeed, from Grant. Yes. Well, he's caged his mind about the Peace Feeder from Jefferson Davis. Saw the emissaries again just an hour ago. Think of it. Is the last part of the message decoded? Yes, sir. Wilkin did it. Read it for us, Charlie. Ah, yes, sir. Yes, sir. Here it is. To Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of World War II of Washington. After talking again with Alexander Stevens, Vice President of the Confederate Government, I am convinced his intentions are good and his desire sincere to restore peace and union. I am sorry Mr. Lincoln himself cannot have an interview with Stevens, if not with all three emissaries now within our line. I am Ulysses S. Grant, Commander, Army of the Potomac. Mighty. Steve, so little Alex is there. Mr. President, you won't do anything hasty. You simply must not do it. Well, I know the man Stanton. I know Alex Stevens well. We were in Congress together. He's a little pale-faced, insomptive man. Doesn't weigh more than 90 pounds, but he has the heart of a lion. Pays the lab at his littleness, and then just as they laugh, it's my bigness. Mr. President, I must beg of you to do nothing without the consent of the Secretary of State Seward. I beg of you, sir. Oh, I'll consult Seward. But, Stanton, I'm going down there myself. What? I'm going to see little Alex Stevens, and I'm going to talk peace with him. And I'm leaving at once. Charlie? Yes, sir. Get his encode and send it at once. Yes, sir. Tell General Grant I will see Alexander Stevens and his two companions. I will meet them as soon as I can get down river. Yes, sir. Sir, nothing. Keep his quiet, Stanton. Absolutely quiet. Of course. I'm leaving now. Charlie? Yes, Mr. President? I'm truly sorry to miss those sandwiches. That's the way it goes. Thank you, Charlie. You're listening to the Cavalcade of America, starring Raymond Matthews, sponsored by the department company of Wilmington, Delaware. Makers of better things for better living through chemistry. Tonight on Cavalcade of America, Raymond Matthews is starring as President Lincoln, in With Malice or At Not. For two days, the President of the United States was missing from Washington with his Secretary of State. There were fewer reporters then, but the new seekers were just as added. The news leaked. The guest in the White House saw the President hurry away and rushed to question John Nicolay, who knew nothing of Lincoln's departure, but the story spread. Still, for a few hours at least, the mission was secret. And as a small naval vessel moved down the Potomac to Chesapeake Bay, the President stared ahead across the whitening water. So clear to everyone else. It's written down in plain black and white to them, but to me, it's gray. Those who believe in a hard and violent peace are men of my own party. Honest men, most of them. My friends in all but this. They are many I fear. The others are few. The men who think as I do. But somewhere this ever-recurring round of hatred must have a stop, and that a measure of forgiveness is the way to end it. And then there are those thousands in blue. Oh God, those almost countless poor lost thousands. Those who gave their lives in our cause. It's my word. It's my summoning. What is my duty to them? It is not a simple thing. Each way I turn, I am hemmed about by equal, opposite choice. What is thy will, oh God? What is thy will? And in the morning with the ship at anchor in Hampton Roads in Chesapeake Bay near Fortress Monroe, the President receives a visitor. It is Vice President Alexander Stevens of the Confederacy. As the tiny Stevens comes aboard an Intervista Lincoln's cabin, he is squired in the huge overcoat of rough great Confederate homespun with many heavy shawls against the February cold. Alec, Alec, I'll never know you, what in the world are you wearing? I have great coat made for Hickey Lee's age. Call for yourself, and the seven veils are selling me. Here, help me unwind, old friend. Here we are now, just to keep turning, Alec. There, that's the last veil. And now, sir, allow me to assist you with the coat. I declare, never have I seen so small a nubbing of corn come out as so huge a hut. One non-sense, I've lost only two pounds since I saw you last. I weigh all a ninety-three. Let's see, Abe. Sixteen years ago, those were better times. Oh, they were. But I cannot feel that either you or I have been responsible for the wasting aid. It was done in spite of us. I hope that's true. Now the question is, can we turn back the clock between? I've come to try. And so have I. But there are others. In a sense, my friend, I am many times a prisoner. A prisoner of other men's convictions and my august position. Nor am I a prisoner. We have much time, my friend. Neither of us. We have much time. So you feel that too. I've never told anyone, not even maybe. That death is near you? Yes, I know. Death is a friend in my house, too, Abe. He's lived with me in rat and fever long years now. I've known him only lately, but I know him well and true. You'll find him a good friend, Abe. Well, you've come to talk of peace, Abe, not death. And the others are waiting in this ward room. All right. Oh, Alex. Yes, Abe. There are many things I must say officially. Things I must say. The stand I must take. I understand. I'm burdened in a like manner by my instruction. And by the dead men in gray. By Stonewall Jackson. And Colonel Ashby and Pickett's men, Abe. By the soldiers of my own state. The men of Georgia. Who have preceded me in great numbers to a final piece. They are all around you, blue and gray. Yes. And you know, Abe, I think they would not ask too much. Only that we try. It is harder for you, of course, than you will be the victim. We'll try together. Come, let's join the others. And so, gentlemen, I think I've made myself clear. Our points are three. One, a restoration of the national authority throughout all the state. Two, no receding on the slavery question from the position I made clear in my last annual message to Congress. Three, no cessation of hostility short of an end of a war. And the disbanding of all forces hostile to the government. That is your official position, Mr. Lincoln. That is my position, Mr. Stephen. And God help me, I can't take no other. May I suggest, gentlemen, that we take up the points set forth by Mr. Lincoln one by one in reverse order of importance. And let us see if we cannot find some mutual point of agreement in each area. I believe my colleagues, Mr. Hunter and Mr. Campbell, will agree with me when I point out that in regard to an immediate cessation of hostilities, President Davis and General Lee would require certain conditions to be fulfilled. They talk for four hours. They're in the riverboat moving gently the Chesapeake swell. If any one of them, Lincoln and Seward from the north, Stevens, Hunter and Campbell from the south, or Goodman, if any of them could have spoken what was in his heart, he would have said simply, let us have peace. Yet in the end it had to be said, I can see no purpose in talking further. There are ghosts between Burnside's dead at Frederick's Bird below the sunken road. And the host Lee left forever on cemetery rid. We are watched, not by these men, but by the living they left behind. In the sight of the living we cannot either of us yield, not yet. Not yet. So, shall we not go quietly now and leave the decision to the men at arms? I thank you gentlemen for your earnest efforts to find a grip. Mr. Steve. Yes, Mr. Ape. I should like to talk with you for a while before you leave, if I may. We failed. Oh, I'm not so sure, Ape. You know, when I first saw you in Congress and heard your voice too long ago, I said to myself, there's a man who can, if he will, strongly enough and thinks clearly enough and loves deeply enough. There is a man who can move the whole world into the shape of his desire. I think I was not wrong, many. In the end, you will move the world. In the end, what I came here today, hoping against hope, I might make peace today. Now, what is today, what is now? You and I belong to this now, but surely you know what you said to yourself. Now will very soon have no meaning for us. The pale midget will vanish and no one will remember him. But the grotesque giant will live forever. In his word, in his deeds, in his loving kindness. Soon, Ape, you'll be called upon to speak again. Speak with charity, my friend. I shall speak with charity and few will heed. But many will remember. I wish I was sure of that, but I shall speak again just once more. He is speaking again now, on this the 143rd anniversary of his birth, as he spoke then on that inaugural day in 1865, when the sun broke through the clouds. And as he shall speak, so long as there are men to read and honor words of wisdom and courage and love. With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right. Let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan. To do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations. The Cavalcade players for tonight's story with malice toward none. December 25th, 1776. Three words written by George Washington became a battle cry of freedom. Next week, the Dupont Cavalcade will present the exciting story of that fateful night. I'll play three words. Our star, Claude Raines, be sure to listen. Tonight's Dupont Cavalcade with malice toward none was written by George H. Faulkner, based on the material from Abraham Lincoln, The War Years, by Carl Sandberg. It is used by permission of Parker Grayson Company. Original music was composed by Arden Cornwell, conducted by Donald Boyes. The program was directed by John Zoller. In tonight's cast, Raymond Massey starred as Lincoln. John Briggs played Thatcher. Scott Tennyson was heard as Stephen. Generators, side characters. Don't forget next week, our star, Claude Raines. The Dupont Cavalcade of America comes to you from the Belasco Theater in New York and is sponsored by the Dupont Company of Wilmington, Delaware. Make yourself a better thing for better living through chemistry. Next, it's adventure on Hollywood Theater on NBC.