Grant (taking the paper from the table and handing it to LEE): They are simple. I hope you will not find them ungenerous.
Lee (having read the terms): You are magnanimous, sir. May I make one submission?
Grant: It would be a privilege if I could consider it.
Lee: You allow our officers to keep their horses. That is gracious. Our cavalry troopers’ horses also are their own.
Grant: I understand. They will be needed on the farms. It shall be done.
Lee: I thank you. It will do much towards conciliating our people. I accept your terms.
LEE unbuckles his sword, and offers it to GRANT.
Grant: No, no. I should have included that. It has but one rightful place. I beg you.
LEE replaces his sword. GRANT offers his hand and LEE takes it. They salute, and LEE turns to go.
THE CURTAIN FALLS.
The two Chroniclers: A wind blows in the
And the pride of the rose is gone.
It laboured, and was delight,
And rains fell, and shone
Suns of the summer days,
And dews washed the bud,
And thanksgiving and praise
Was the rose in our blood.
And out of the night it came,
A wind, and the rose fell,
Shattered its heart of flame,
And how shall June tell
The glory that went with May?
How shall the full year keep
The beauty that ere its day
Was blasted into sleep?
Roses. Oh, heart of man:
Courage, that in the prime
Looked on truth, and began
Conspiracies with time
To flower upon the pain
Of dark and envious earth....
A wind blows, and the brain
Is the dust that was its birth.
What shall the witness cry,
He who has seen alone
With imagination’s eye
The darkness overthrown?
Hark: from the long eclipse
The wise words come—
A wind blows, and the lips
Of prophecy are dumb.
The evening of April 14, 1865. The small lounge of a theatre. On the far side are the doors of three private boxes. There is silence for a few moments. Then the sound of applause comes from the auditorium beyond. The box doors are opened. In the centre box can be seen LINCOLN and STANTON, MRS. LINCOLN, another lady, and an officer, talking together.
The occupants come out from the other boxes into the lounge, where small knots of people have gathered from different directions, and stand or sit talking busily_.
A Lady: Very amusing, don’t you think?
Her Companion: Oh, yes. But it’s hardly true to life, is it?
Another Lady: Isn’t that dark girl clever? What’s her name?
A Gentleman (consulting his programme:) Eleanor Crowne.