Excerpt
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Two Chroniclers:
The two speaking together: Kinsmen, you shall beholdOur stage, in mimic action, mould A man's character.This is the wonder, always, everywhere—Not that vast mutability which is event,The pits and pinnacles of change,But man's desire and valiance that rangeAll circumstance, and come to port unspent.Agents are these events, these ecstasies,And tribulations, to prove the puritiesOr poor oblivions that are our being. WhenBeauty and peace possess us, they are noneBut as they touch the beauty and peace of men,Nor, when our days are done,And the last utterance of doom must fall,Is the doom anythingMemorable for its apparelling;The bearing of man facing it is all.So, kinsmen, we presentThis for no loud eventThat is but fugitive,But that you may beholdOur mimic action mouldThe spirit of man immortally to live.First Chronicler: Once when a peril touched the daysOf freedom in our English ways,And none renowned in governmentWas equal found,Came to the steadfast heart of one,Who watched in lonely Huntingdon,A summons, and he went,And tyranny was bound,And Cromwell was the lord of his event.Second Chronicler: And in that land where voyagingThe pilgrim Mayflower came to rest,Among the chosen, counselling,Once, when bewilderment possessedA people, none there was might drawTo fold the wandering thoughts of men,And make as one the names againOf liberty and law.And then, from fifty fameless yearsIn quiet Illinois was sentA word that still the Atlantic hears,And Lincoln was the lord of his event.The two speaking together: So the uncountedspirit wakesTo the birthOf uncounted circumstance.And time in a generation makesPortents majestic a little story of earthTo be remembered by chanceAt a fireside.But the ardours that they bear,The proud and invincible motions ofcharacter—These—these abide.SCENE I.
The parlour of Abraham Lincoln's House at Springfield, Illinois, early in 1860. MR. STONE, a farmer, and MR. CUFFNEY, a store-keeper, both men of between fifty and sixty, are sitting before an early spring fire. It is dusk, but the curtains are not drawn. The men are smoking silently.
Mr. Stone (after a pause): Abraham. It's a good name for a man to bear, anyway.
Mr. Cuffney: Yes. That's right.
Mr. Stone (after another pause): Abraham Lincoln. I've known him forty years. Never crooked once. Well.
He taps his pipe reflectively on the grate. There is another pause. SUSAN, a servant-maid, comes in, and busies herself lighting candles and drawing the curtains to.
Susan: Mrs. Lincoln has just come in. She says she'll be here directly.
Mr. Cuffney: Thank you.
Mr. Stone: Mr. Lincoln isn't home yet, I dare say?
Susan: No, Mr. Stone. He won't be long, with all the gentlemen coming.
Mr. Stone: How would you like your master to be President of the United States, Susan?
Susan: I'm sure he'd do it very nicely, sir.
Mr. Cuffney: He would have to leave Springfield, Susan, and go to live in Washington....