Adelaide
Yes, even this you can surmount by art,
Lee has surrendered, but—
Lee has surrendered, but—
Booth
No! all is lost.
God judge me, right or wrong, but never man.
I love peace more than life, have loved the Union.
Have waited for the clouds to break, have prayed
For justice, peace; but now all hope is dead.
My prayers are futile, as my hopes have been.
God’s will be done. I go to see and share
The end, though bitter.
God judge me, right or wrong, but never man.
I love peace more than life, have loved the Union.
Have waited for the clouds to break, have prayed
For justice, peace; but now all hope is dead.
My prayers are futile, as my hopes have been.
God’s will be done. I go to see and share
The end, though bitter.
Adelaide
John! you must be calm.
Booth
I am most calm, but fixed.
Adelaide
You are not calm;
Strange light is in your eyes, your face is pale.
You cannot stretch your hands out but they tremble.
You have avoided me, you walk alone,
Sup, sit alone, lest concentrated thought,
This thought of yours be turned aside. My friend,
Take Beauty in your heart to heal its hurts.
Art is for you. You are a son of Art—
Why waste your spirit on such things as these?
Rulers and nations pass, and wars are lost,
Their issues are forgotten, pushed aside—
Art is eternal and the sons of Art
Live in its calm, above the dust and sweat
Of politics and statecraft. O my friend,
Why should this Brutus, the tyrranicide,
The patriot, move you so; and why not Brutus
As a soul made clear by Shakespeare for your Art
To glory in and re-create for men
To see what Brutus was?
Strange light is in your eyes, your face is pale.
You cannot stretch your hands out but they tremble.
You have avoided me, you walk alone,
Sup, sit alone, lest concentrated thought,
This thought of yours be turned aside. My friend,
Take Beauty in your heart to heal its hurts.
Art is for you. You are a son of Art—
Why waste your spirit on such things as these?
Rulers and nations pass, and wars are lost,
Their issues are forgotten, pushed aside—
Art is eternal and the sons of Art
Live in its calm, above the dust and sweat
Of politics and statecraft. O my friend,
Why should this Brutus, the tyrranicide,
The patriot, move you so; and why not Brutus
As a soul made clear by Shakespeare for your Art
To glory in and re-create for men
To see what Brutus was?
Booth
Why, what is this
But playing with life, that’s all it is to play,
Hard play at that, to sleep, to walk, to rest
For strength to trip the stage and imitate
The soul of Brutus! If it be so much,
Art as you say, to live him on the stage,
What would it be to live him to the life,
And do his act in deed?
But playing with life, that’s all it is to play,
Hard play at that, to sleep, to walk, to rest
For strength to trip the stage and imitate
The soul of Brutus! If it be so much,
Art as you say, to live him on the stage,
What would it be to live him to the life,
And do his act in deed?
Adelaide
What do you say?
John, you are mad! So that is in your heart!
Look! pause! and muster all your strength of mind,
Forecast, survey—fly from yourself—away—
Even for a week withdraw your mind from this—
That you may see, return with freshened mind
To look upon the horror that you plot.
John, by the love you woke in me for beauty
Of face and genius, listen, on my knees
I ask you, pause and think!
John, you are mad! So that is in your heart!
Look! pause! and muster all your strength of mind,
Forecast, survey—fly from yourself—away—
Even for a week withdraw your mind from this—
That you may see, return with freshened mind
To look upon the horror that you plot.
John, by the love you woke in me for beauty
Of face and genius, listen, on my knees
I ask you, pause and think!
Booth
But I have thought.
I know I shall be hated by the North,
And doubted in the South, it may be, yet
God’s will be done. For in a day to come
My name will shine as shines the name of Brutus,
Whose spirit is in me and speaks to me.
Could you have seen, as I have seen, the woes
And horrors of this war in every state,
Then you would pray, as I have prayed, to God
To give the Northern mind pity and justice,
And dry this sea of blood. Alas! my country!
What is this trifling Art beside my country,
This rhetoric spoken, memorized? My friend,
I would have given a thousand lives to see
My country whole, unbroken. Even now
I’d give my life to see her what she was,
Before this man, this tyrant, bloody Cæsar,
This Cæsar worse than Cæsar, who—behold,
In the name of God—why, think in the name of God
Made her a pitiless sovereignty, a force
As cold as steel, and dragged her glorious flag
Through cruelty, oppression, till its stripes
Are bloody gashes on the face of heaven.
How I have loved that flag! How I have longed
To see it flap free from the scarlet mist
That spoils its glory. As for me, this country
Which I loved as a lover loves his bride,
Seems now a dream! The South has all my love,
What has it done? Withdrawn, and that alone,
From the Union which was formed by states withdrawing
From the old confederacy, and leaving states
Out in the cold that did not wish to join.
What has the South done that it might not do
Under the Declaration? Then to think
That all these tens of thousands of our kin,
Our blood, our brothers, should be massacred
For loving God and Liberty, serving God.
And now this day! The South is crushed at last,
The negroes freed by what?—by force, by force
Which John Brown used, and for the which he paid
With his damned neck! O Reason! Adelaide,
Of all men I am sanest, they are mad
Who cannot see these truths: that slavery
Is sanctioned by the Creator, read St. Paul;
That men may revolutionize, as matter of right,
Secede from what they have acceded to,
And not be murdered for it. Do you think
I have not measured motives, thoughts? My friend,
I could be happy, if I could forget
The duty laid upon me, have the means
For happiness, so many friends and you,
Great competence and fame, and greater fame
In store for deeper art. So much for this!
As for the South, as citizens, persons, love
The South is not my friend. Then there’s my mother,
Whom I adore: See what I sacrifice:
Fame, money, friends, my mother—and for what?
Were it the South, I should not think to act—
But it is God, is Justice, and I love
God, Justice, more than wealth or fame, yes more
Than home or mother. All is lost at last.
The South has been erased and is no more.
The Republic of the North and South is dead,
Gutted by a guerilla. Yes, my country
Has vanished from the earth and is no more,
I have no wish to live, my country being
Dead and a stench.
I know I shall be hated by the North,
And doubted in the South, it may be, yet
God’s will be done. For in a day to come
My name will shine as shines the name of Brutus,
Whose spirit is in me and speaks to me.
Could you have seen, as I have seen, the woes
And horrors of this war in every state,
Then you would pray, as I have prayed, to God
To give the Northern mind pity and justice,
And dry this sea of blood. Alas! my country!
What is this trifling Art beside my country,
This rhetoric spoken, memorized? My friend,
I would have given a thousand lives to see
My country whole, unbroken. Even now
I’d give my life to see her what she was,
Before this man, this tyrant, bloody Cæsar,
This Cæsar worse than Cæsar, who—behold,
In the name of God—why, think in the name of God
Made her a pitiless sovereignty, a force
As cold as steel, and dragged her glorious flag
Through cruelty, oppression, till its stripes
Are bloody gashes on the face of heaven.
How I have loved that flag! How I have longed
To see it flap free from the scarlet mist
That spoils its glory. As for me, this country
Which I loved as a lover loves his bride,
Seems now a dream! The South has all my love,
What has it done? Withdrawn, and that alone,
From the Union which was formed by states withdrawing
From the old confederacy, and leaving states
Out in the cold that did not wish to join.
What has the South done that it might not do
Under the Declaration? Then to think
That all these tens of thousands of our kin,
Our blood, our brothers, should be massacred
For loving God and Liberty, serving God.
And now this day! The South is crushed at last,
The negroes freed by what?—by force, by force
Which John Brown used, and for the which he paid
With his damned neck! O Reason! Adelaide,
Of all men I am sanest, they are mad
Who cannot see these truths: that slavery
Is sanctioned by the Creator, read St. Paul;
That men may revolutionize, as matter of right,
Secede from what they have acceded to,
And not be murdered for it. Do you think
I have not measured motives, thoughts? My friend,
I could be happy, if I could forget
The duty laid upon me, have the means
For happiness, so many friends and you,
Great competence and fame, and greater fame
In store for deeper art. So much for this!
As for the South, as citizens, persons, love
The South is not my friend. Then there’s my mother,
Whom I adore: See what I sacrifice:
Fame, money, friends, my mother—and for what?
Were it the South, I should not think to act—
But it is God, is Justice, and I love
God, Justice, more than wealth or fame, yes more
Than home or mother. All is lost at last.
The South has been erased and is no more.
The Republic of the North and South is dead,
Gutted by a guerilla. Yes, my country
Has vanished from the earth and is no more,
I have no wish to live, my country being
Dead and a stench.
Adelaide
I put my arms around you—
Be patient—listen—do not thrust me off—
John—
Be patient—listen—do not thrust me off—
John—
Booth
Adelaide
John! John!
Booth
God calls me—I obey!
BRUTUS LIVES AGAIN IN BOOTH
(Ford’s Theatre, Good Friday, April 14th, 1865.)
First Stage Hand
What time is it?
Second Stage Hand
Time for the curtain nearly.
First Stage Hand
There’s Miss Keene in the wings.
The orchestra starts up; the audience sings:
Honor to our soldiers,
Our Nation’s greatest pride,
Who ’neath our Starry Banner’s folds,
Have fought, have bled and died.
They’re Nature’s noblest handiwork,
No king as proud as they.
God bless the heroes of the land,
And cheer them on their way.
Our Nation’s greatest pride,
Who ’neath our Starry Banner’s folds,
Have fought, have bled and died.
They’re Nature’s noblest handiwork,
No king as proud as they.
God bless the heroes of the land,
And cheer them on their way.
Scene II. The White House.
Colfax
Oglesby
Lincoln
Oglesby
Lincoln
Lincoln
This for you, Colfax.
(Hands him a pass)
Come in at nine to-morrow.
I’m off soon for the theatre with my wife—
A little party. Grant was going too;
Has changed his mind, goes north with Mrs. Grant.
There’ll be an audience to see the hero
Of Appomatox.
I’m off soon for the theatre with my wife—
A little party. Grant was going too;
Has changed his mind, goes north with Mrs. Grant.
There’ll be an audience to see the hero
Of Appomatox.
Oglesby
Well, rather you, I think
Who picked Grant for the work, and brought the war
To end, as it has ended.
Who picked Grant for the work, and brought the war
To end, as it has ended.
Lincoln
Oh, not me.
I am familiar as an old shoe here.
I’d say the war is ending. There may be
Some battle yet.
I am familiar as an old shoe here.
I’d say the war is ending. There may be
Some battle yet.
Colfax
Mere sputterings of the flame.
Lincoln
Well, something’s on. I had my dream last night
Which I have had before, so often, always
Before some great event: I’m in a boat,
And swiftly move toward a shadowy shore.
I had this dream preceding Bull Run, Vicksburg,
Gettysburg, Antietam. It may be
A battle’s on this minute. I think so.
It must relate to Sherman. For I know
No other great event to follow my dream.
Which I have had before, so often, always
Before some great event: I’m in a boat,
And swiftly move toward a shadowy shore.
I had this dream preceding Bull Run, Vicksburg,
Gettysburg, Antietam. It may be
A battle’s on this minute. I think so.
It must relate to Sherman. For I know
No other great event to follow my dream.
Oglesby
Our dreams are made of days lived long ago:
Your boat’s perhaps your flat boat at New Salem.
Your boat’s perhaps your flat boat at New Salem.
Colfax
I’m happy to live now, the war is won.
God bless you, Mr. President, keep you too.
God bless you, Mr. President, keep you too.
Lincoln
You will excuse me, gentlemen. I go,
For Mrs. Lincoln waits.
For Mrs. Lincoln waits.
(He goes out.)
Oglesby
The other day
Lincoln was with Charles Sumner down the James,
Was reading Shakespeare, read aloud three times
Those lines which read: “Duncan is in his grave,
After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst: nor steel nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing
Can touch him further.”
Lincoln was with Charles Sumner down the James,
Was reading Shakespeare, read aloud three times
Those lines which read: “Duncan is in his grave,
After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst: nor steel nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing
Can touch him further.”
Colfax
Did you note to-night
He looked those words: “Nothing can touch him further”?
These months before how ghastly gray his face!
What droop of melancholy in his eyes!
What weariness without words, what ultimate woe!
And now to-night he stood transfigured here
Clothed in a great serenity and a joy
As if his life had wrought what he would have it.
He looked those words: “Nothing can touch him further”?
These months before how ghastly gray his face!
What droop of melancholy in his eyes!
What weariness without words, what ultimate woe!
And now to-night he stood transfigured here
Clothed in a great serenity and a joy
As if his life had wrought what he would have it.
Oglesby
Yes, he is changed. Shall we go on?
(They go out.)
Scene III. The entrance of Ford’s Theatre.
Booth
(Passing the doorkeeper without a ticket.)
Is this all right?
Doorkeeper
All right for you.
Booth
Can you leave,
Go with me for a brandy?
Go with me for a brandy?
Doorkeeper
Booth
Why not?
The play’s commenced, and everyone is here.
The play’s commenced, and everyone is here.
Doorkeeper
Not everyone—the presidential party!
Booth
They enter without tickets.
Doorkeeper
Yes, I know.
Go in and watch Miss Keene a little, John.
You might get wakened up to play again,
Marc Antony to your brother’s Brutus.
Go in and watch Miss Keene a little, John.
You might get wakened up to play again,
Marc Antony to your brother’s Brutus.
Booth
No!
Never with him again. And as for that
My next part will be Brutus.
Never with him again. And as for that
My next part will be Brutus.
(He goes into the theatre.)
Scene IV. Lincoln and Mrs. Lincoln Driving to the Theatre.
Lincoln
Mary, the war is over. We have had
Hard times since we came here. But now, thank God,
The war is over. We may hope for peace,
And happiness for the four years that remain,
While I close up my work as President.
Then back to Illinois to rest and live.
I have some money saved. Wrote recently
To friends to find a house for me in Chicago—
We can live there, or Springfield. Law again,
At least enough to keep us.
Hard times since we came here. But now, thank God,
The war is over. We may hope for peace,
And happiness for the four years that remain,
While I close up my work as President.
Then back to Illinois to rest and live.
I have some money saved. Wrote recently
To friends to find a house for me in Chicago—
We can live there, or Springfield. Law again,
At least enough to keep us.
Mrs. Lincoln
That’s my dream,
And from this night we start to live, rejoice.
And from this night we start to live, rejoice.
(They drive on.)
Scene V. The stage of Ford’s Theatre.
(Laura Keene as “Florence Trenchard”; John Dyatt as “Dundreary” in dialogue in Tom Taylor’s “American Cousin.”)
(Lincoln, Mrs. Lincoln and party enter the box.)
Florence
(Making a profound courtesy to Lincoln.)
“Everyone can see that!”
(The audience breaks into great applause. The band plays “Hail to the Chief.” Lincoln bows to the audience.)
Scene VI. Back of the stage.
First Stage Hand
Whose horse is at the door?
Second Stage Hand
Booth’s!
A Voice
Ten twenty-five.
First Stage Hand
Ten twenty-five.
Second Stage Hand
Ten twenty-five.
Scene VII. The Presidential Box.
Lincoln
Oh, no! No persecution, bloody work,
How to articulate the states again,
Just how to handle the states that left us—well,
There will be problems up from day to day,
During my term, at least. But no revenge,
No hate, no hanging, killing—rather shoo!
Like Hannah Armstrong used to shoo her chickens.
Let the obstreporous, unreconciled
Go clear to—Halifax—get out! But, Major,
My feeling is to treat the Southern people
As fellow citizens. To be their fellows
And not their masters is my way.
How to articulate the states again,
Just how to handle the states that left us—well,
There will be problems up from day to day,
During my term, at least. But no revenge,
No hate, no hanging, killing—rather shoo!
Like Hannah Armstrong used to shoo her chickens.
Let the obstreporous, unreconciled
Go clear to—Halifax—get out! But, Major,
My feeling is to treat the Southern people
As fellow citizens. To be their fellows
And not their masters is my way.
Maj. Rathbone
We need
Your genius, Mr. President, for the work
Of reconstruction more, if that may be,
Then we had need of you to push the war.
Your genius, Mr. President, for the work
Of reconstruction more, if that may be,
Then we had need of you to push the war.
Mrs. Lincoln
How do you like the play?
Lincoln
Oh, very good.
Scene VIII. Dress Circle.
First Auditor
(Gazing at the Presidential box.)
What’s keeping General Grant? I came to see
The conqueror of Lee.
The conqueror of Lee.
Second Auditor
He will not come.
Too late now.
Too late now.
First Auditor
(Looking at his watch.)
Yes, ten twenty-five.
Second Auditor
Who’s that?
First Auditor
Who?
Second Auditor
Why, a man as pale as snow
Or ivory, with hair black as a horse’s tail
Passed back of the seats there, and approached the entrance
To Lincoln’s box.
Or ivory, with hair black as a horse’s tail
Passed back of the seats there, and approached the entrance
To Lincoln’s box.
First Auditor
A secret officer,
With message of a battle. Oh, perhaps
Sherman has vanquished Johnston!
With message of a battle. Oh, perhaps
Sherman has vanquished Johnston!
Scene IX. In the passageway leading to the Presidential box.
Booth
Right or wrong, God judge me—never man.
Liberty is dead—I would not live,
Beyond my country’s life. Oh, Liberty!
Brutus, sustain me!
Liberty is dead—I would not live,
Beyond my country’s life. Oh, Liberty!
Brutus, sustain me!
Scene X. The Presidential box.
Major Rathbone
(Observing Lincoln rise.)
Can I get something for you?
Lincoln
I want my coat.
I felt a chill and shudder down my back.
I felt a chill and shudder down my back.
(He gets his coat and is seated.)
Scene XI. Booth at the door of the Presidential box aiming a pistol.
Booth
Brutus! (He fires. The President’s head falls upon
his breast. Booth rushes into the box, slashes Major
Rathbone with a dagger, leaps from the box to the stage.
Falls, arises.)
his breast. Booth rushes into the box, slashes Major
Rathbone with a dagger, leaps from the box to the stage.
Falls, arises.)
Scene XII. On the stage.
Booth
Sic semper Tyrannis! The South is avenged!
(He rushes off. Great confusion.)
BOOTH’S PHILIPPI
(Garrett’s Tobacco House, Bowling Green, Virginia, April 26th, 1865. Booth and Harrold.)
SCENE I
Booth
If this must be, I take it. Be a man.
Don’t whine like that. You suffer only from fear.
But if you had this torturing leg. My God!
If you rode sixty miles as I did, flesh
Prodded at every jump by broken bones ...
Don’t whine like that. You suffer only from fear.
But if you had this torturing leg. My God!
If you rode sixty miles as I did, flesh
Prodded at every jump by broken bones ...
Harrold
What’s that?
Booth
A dog there in the yard.
Harrold
Those troopers
We hid from on the way here—Federals—
Did they go on, or follow, hunting us?
We hid from on the way here—Federals—
Did they go on, or follow, hunting us?
Booth
We’re ended likely. Let us stand our ground.
We have our carbines for the ending up ...
But oh, to be thus hunted, like a dog,
Through swamps, woods, thickets, chased by gunboats too,
With every hand against me. And for what?
For doing what brought honor unto Brutus,
And deathless fame to Tell. Who’ll clear my name?
Who’ll print what I have written? There’s the pang
To die and have my spirit and sacrifice
Sealed up in silence, or drowned out in cries
Of “cut-throat” or “assassin.”
I struck down
A greater tyrant than great Brutus slew.
And my act was more pure than his or Tell’s.
One would be great, and one had private wrongs
To heap his country’s up for quick revenge.
But I, what greatness could I hope for this?
What wrongs had I except the common wrong?
I struck for country and for that alone;
I struck for liberty that groaned beneath
A tyrant’s monstrous tyranny—and now look
The cold hand they extend me in the South
For which I struck! Our country bleeding, broken,
Cried to me for relief, and I was made
The instrument of God by God alone.
We have our carbines for the ending up ...
But oh, to be thus hunted, like a dog,
Through swamps, woods, thickets, chased by gunboats too,
With every hand against me. And for what?
For doing what brought honor unto Brutus,
And deathless fame to Tell. Who’ll clear my name?
Who’ll print what I have written? There’s the pang
To die and have my spirit and sacrifice
Sealed up in silence, or drowned out in cries
Of “cut-throat” or “assassin.”
I struck down
A greater tyrant than great Brutus slew.
And my act was more pure than his or Tell’s.
One would be great, and one had private wrongs
To heap his country’s up for quick revenge.
But I, what greatness could I hope for this?
What wrongs had I except the common wrong?
I struck for country and for that alone;
I struck for liberty that groaned beneath
A tyrant’s monstrous tyranny—and now look
The cold hand they extend me in the South
For which I struck! Our country bleeding, broken,
Cried to me for relief, and I was made
The instrument of God by God alone.
Harrold
A rooster crows!
Booth
Harrold
What shall we do?
Booth
To-night we’ll try the river once again ...
Why not return to Washington and end it?
They’d try me and I’d clear my name. Repent?
No, I do not repent. But I’ve a soul
Too great to die a felon’s death. Swift guns
Against a firing wall are honorable.
Before them I can clear my name. O God!
Give me a brave man’s death, for I have wronged,
Nor hated no one. And was this a wrong
To kill a tyrant? God must deem it so,
By making it a curse upon our time,
Our country and our countrymen. My fate
How miserable soever it may be
Proves not I did a wrong.
Why not return to Washington and end it?
They’d try me and I’d clear my name. Repent?
No, I do not repent. But I’ve a soul
Too great to die a felon’s death. Swift guns
Against a firing wall are honorable.
Before them I can clear my name. O God!
Give me a brave man’s death, for I have wronged,
Nor hated no one. And was this a wrong
To kill a tyrant? God must deem it so,
By making it a curse upon our time,
Our country and our countrymen. My fate
How miserable soever it may be
Proves not I did a wrong.
Great Milton come
And comfort me in this my agony!
You who could write a tyrant forfeits life
To those whom he oppresses, and ’tis just
To take him off. O curse of Cain no less!
Now I must pray again.
And comfort me in this my agony!
You who could write a tyrant forfeits life
To those whom he oppresses, and ’tis just
To take him off. O curse of Cain no less!
Now I must pray again.
Scene II. (At the Garrett House.)
(Lieutenant Baker, and a squad, including Boston Corbett.)
Baker
(Knocking at the door.) Halloo! halloo!
A Voice
What’s wanted?
Baker
Open the door!
Scene III. (Inside the Tobacco House.)
Harrold
They’ve come.
Booth
Yes! rapping at the door. Perhaps
Old Garrett will not tell that we are here.
Hold to your carbine. Do as I command.
Old Garrett will not tell that we are here.
Hold to your carbine. Do as I command.
Scene IV. (At the Garrett House.)
Scene V. (Inside the Tobacco House.)
Harrold
They’re walking toward us.
Booth
Do as I command.
Baker
(Outside.) Come out of there.
Boston Corbett
(Outside.) Lieutenant, they can pick
The whole of us through cracks with their carbines.
Old Garrett says they’re armed.
The whole of us through cracks with their carbines.
Old Garrett says they’re armed.
(He goes back of the tobacco house.)
Baker
Come out of there.
Five minutes to come out, then I set fire
To the tobacco house.
Five minutes to come out, then I set fire
To the tobacco house.
Booth
(Inside.)
Who are you? What do you want?
Baker
(Outside.)
We want you. And we know you. Come, you are
Booth, assassin of the President. Surrender arms.
Come out!
Booth, assassin of the President. Surrender arms.
Come out!
Booth
(Inside.)
I want a little time to think about it.
(A silence.)
Baker
(Outside.)
Well, now come out.
Booth
(Inside.)
You are a brave man, captain, I believe,
Honorable too. I am a cripple, have
One leg, the other broken. Yet no less
If you will take your men a hundred yards
From the door of the tobacco house, I’ll come
Out as you command and fight you all.
Honorable too. I am a cripple, have
One leg, the other broken. Yet no less
If you will take your men a hundred yards
From the door of the tobacco house, I’ll come
Out as you command and fight you all.
Baker
(Outside.)
I have not come to fight, but capture you.
Booth
(Inside.)
Give me a chance for life. I’ll better terms.
If you will take your men off fifty yards
I’ll come out, fight you all, till I am killed,
Or kill you all.
If you will take your men off fifty yards
I’ll come out, fight you all, till I am killed,
Or kill you all.
Baker
(Outside.)
No!
Booth
(Inside.)
You are a coward, sir,
Denying to a brave man chance for life.
Denying to a brave man chance for life.
Harrold
(Inside.)
They’ve set the house afire! Now, let me out!
(The house burns.)
Booth
(Inside.)
You hellish coward, would you leave me now?
Go! Go! and leave me. It would be dishonor
To die with such a coward.
Let this man
Come out of here!
Go! Go! and leave me. It would be dishonor
To die with such a coward.
Let this man
Come out of here!
Baker
(Outside.)
All right! Hand out his arms
And come.
And come.
Booth
(Inside amid flames.)
A coward goes to cowards.
(The flames are coming up around Booth.)
(He stands on a crutch, pale and defiant.)
Scene VI. (Boston Corbett looking through a crack in the Tobacco House at Booth amid the flames.)
Corbett
I hear you God and will obey!
(He points a carbine through a crack and fires at Booth. Booth leaps and falls. The soldiers go in and bring him out on the lawn.)
Scene VII. (On the lawn.)
Baker
(To Corbett.)
Why did you shoot? You had no orders to?
I’ll take you back to Washington in chains!
Why did you shoot?
I’ll take you back to Washington in chains!
Why did you shoot?
Corbett
God told me to.
Baker
It looks it.
You hit him just behind the ear. Same place
Where Lincoln got the mortal wound.
You hit him just behind the ear. Same place
Where Lincoln got the mortal wound.
Booth
Tell mother
I died for country, liberty, as Brutus
Did what he did for Rome. I thought it best
To do what I have done. God’s will be done
As I have tried to do it.
I died for country, liberty, as Brutus
Did what he did for Rome. I thought it best
To do what I have done. God’s will be done
As I have tried to do it.
THE BURIAL OF BOSTON CORBETT
(One warden to another.)
(Asylum for the insane, Kansas, 1885.)
So this is what we bury? How his face
Seems like a smear of yellow wax. This beard
Grown fine and curly. Something nasty here,
Hermaphroditic, feminine. Like a dog
That has run loose with rabies, yelps and snaps,
And makes a terror for a day, is slain,
And lies where passers-by can foot the corpse,
So he lies here: this steadfast paranoic!
How vanished from these sealed lids dreams of God!
Where are they now? For all this outer world
Of lunatics, care-takers, wardens, world
Of fields and villages, the state and states
Smiles at these lids so neatly sealed, the God
That had his altar in the spectral light
Of his mad eyes!
Seems like a smear of yellow wax. This beard
Grown fine and curly. Something nasty here,
Hermaphroditic, feminine. Like a dog
That has run loose with rabies, yelps and snaps,
And makes a terror for a day, is slain,
And lies where passers-by can foot the corpse,
So he lies here: this steadfast paranoic!
How vanished from these sealed lids dreams of God!
Where are they now? For all this outer world
Of lunatics, care-takers, wardens, world
Of fields and villages, the state and states
Smiles at these lids so neatly sealed, the God
That had his altar in the spectral light
Of his mad eyes!
This is the man who slew
The slayer of the noble Lincoln. First
For the common good was Cæsar slain by Brutus,
And Booth slew Lincoln in a dream of Brutus,
This Corbett slew the slayer in a faith
Of God. Catch up the corner of the sheet.
He gets a grave where many hundreds lie,
Each with his epitaph of “Rest in Peace”;
Who had no peace in living, for the dreams
Of God, or Duty, Terror, Visions Vain.
The slayer of the noble Lincoln. First
For the common good was Cæsar slain by Brutus,
And Booth slew Lincoln in a dream of Brutus,
This Corbett slew the slayer in a faith
Of God. Catch up the corner of the sheet.
He gets a grave where many hundreds lie,
Each with his epitaph of “Rest in Peace”;
Who had no peace in living, for the dreams
Of God, or Duty, Terror, Visions Vain.
Some say he came to Kansas, hither drawn
By hope of sympathy, since all are mad
In Kansas; otherwise the true God know,
And keep His ritual of reform. He found
God mocked in Kansas, or he had not tried
To shoot the state assembly to a man,
When he was keeper of the door. Perhaps
’Twas right enough to slay the actor Booth,
Obeying God; we might accept his word
God told him to kill Booth. But was it God
Commanded him to slay so many honorable
Members of the Kansas legislature
For legislating, or not legislating
As God would have them? Well, I have a doubt.
And many doubted his divine appointment
For massacre like that. And so we flung
The lasso round him, gathered him, and quick
We shut him in the pound, dishonored God,
As he conceived it, doing so.
I’ve heard
Brutus at last said, Miserable Virtue, Bawd,
Thou wert a world alone, a cheat at last!
This Boston Corbett never did recant
The faith, or God, the word.
By hope of sympathy, since all are mad
In Kansas; otherwise the true God know,
And keep His ritual of reform. He found
God mocked in Kansas, or he had not tried
To shoot the state assembly to a man,
When he was keeper of the door. Perhaps
’Twas right enough to slay the actor Booth,
Obeying God; we might accept his word
God told him to kill Booth. But was it God
Commanded him to slay so many honorable
Members of the Kansas legislature
For legislating, or not legislating
As God would have them? Well, I have a doubt.
And many doubted his divine appointment
For massacre like that. And so we flung
The lasso round him, gathered him, and quick
We shut him in the pound, dishonored God,
As he conceived it, doing so.
I’ve heard
Brutus at last said, Miserable Virtue, Bawd,
Thou wert a world alone, a cheat at last!
This Boston Corbett never did recant
The faith, or God, the word.
So ends it here.
Mad unto death! This Corbett is the corneous
And upcurved withered calyx of a flower
Rich out of time. His madness is the lisping
Of that same stricken calyx in the wind
Of Infinite Mysteries.
Mad unto death! This Corbett is the corneous
And upcurved withered calyx of a flower
Rich out of time. His madness is the lisping
Of that same stricken calyx in the wind
Of Infinite Mysteries.
Are you ready now?
Knot fast your corners of the sheet to hold.
All ready, to the field. There in corruption
We’ll sow him, to be raised—but why at all
Should he be raised?
Knot fast your corners of the sheet to hold.
All ready, to the field. There in corruption
We’ll sow him, to be raised—but why at all
Should he be raised?
THE NEW APOCRYPHA
BUSINESS REVERSES
(Mark, Chapter VI.)