The Last of Mrs. Lincoln (1976) - full transcript

(gentle music)

(footsteps stomping)

- [Tad] We're here!

Take some of these, will you?

- [Robert] You ran up the stairs.

- Four flights.

It's not much, is it?

- It's cheap, and it's quiet.

That's what mother cares about.

- Are we really this poor?

- We are not poor at all.



$25,000 should do very nicely
until the estate is settled.

Where's mother?
- She's on the way up.

Uncle Ninian made her rest at the landing.

Bobby's here!

The place looks marvelous!

- [Ninian] I merely took your arm.

It's what any gentleman would have done.

- I can climb stairs perfectly well,

although I do believe they've moved us up

a flight since yesterday.

Taddie, you ran all the way.

- I couldn't wait to get here.

- [Ninian] Oh, good evening, Robert.

- [Robert] Hello, Uncle Ninian.



- I hope you counted, Robert.

Those men didn't look
entirely honest to me.

There should be seven
barrels and three trunks.

- Yes. I counted.

- One of them acted as
if he knew who we were.

You didn't overpay them, did you?

- I paid them what they asked.

- We may have made a mistake.

That fella on Dearborn Street
might have done it cheaper.

I trust Mr. Lincoln's
letters to nobody but myself.

- Don't you like the
apartment, Uncle Ninian?

It's very quiet.

(Ninian laughs)
- Rented rooms.

- Now hush, Lizzie.

This will do just fine.

You'll all be surprised when
we get our things arranged.

Mr. Lincoln and I lived in rooms once

when we were first married,

over a tavern where you were born, Robert.

$4 a week, and that included meals.

When I got done with that place,

why, it looked like the
Palace of Versailles.

- You have a house in Springfield, Mary.

You ought to be in it.

- Couldn't we?

We'd have a yard!

- Yes, I really wish

you'd consider it, Mother.
- I don't want to hear this!

Not a word.

Do you think I could go
back and live in that house?

I couldn't, couldn't even bear to see it.

- We like Chicago.

- Well, we had to go somewhere.

And Robert's here, doing
splendidly in his new job,

and the beautiful young lady
who is the apple of his eye

is not very far away.

Now, Taddie and I, we'll just make a place

for ourselves and try to--

- [Ninian] Your home is
in Springfield, Mary.

Elisabeth and I'd be glad

to have you stay with
us as long as you like.

You'd be with your family.

You could see your friends,
visit with your neighbors.

- Seems such a long time
since I've had neighbors.

- You had neighbors in Washington, Mother.

- A president's wife has no neighbors.

I'll come when I can.

- Well, I'd better be moving along.

I don't want to miss my train.

- [Robert] All right.

- [Mary] I wish you'd stay
and have some supper with us.

- I appreciate that,

but Elisabeth would fret
if I missed my train.

- Well, if she'd come along,

she wouldn't have to sit home and fret.

- Oh, I'll be dining out tonight, Mother.

Mary's gonna meet me here.

She wanted to see how everything looked.

- Well, we are not ready for guests.

Mercy, look at this room.

Robert, why didn't you tell me?

- Mary's not a guest.

- Well, I believe you're blushing.

(Mary chuckles)

Taddie, look at your brother.

The first time I saw Mary Harlan

was at a reception at the White House.

She was the prettiest
thing I had about ever seen

and I thought, why, I'll
just bet she and Robert

will get along splendidly.

But he wasn't having any.

He was at Harvard then

and his mind was filled with deep thoughts

and he didn't have time
for pretty young things.

He didn't even want to meet her.

But aren't you glad you did?

I wouldn't be surprised if we were invited

to a wedding before long.

- Mother, please.
- Oh?

- [Mary H] Robert?

- Oh, up here!

Mary?!
- Well, I don't know

what she'll think, her hopes are so fancy.

Why, we couldn't exist for a year

on what they pay the help for a week.

- [Robert] Mother.

- You're gonna meet a lovely girl.

- It's so high up.

- Yes.

- Hello, Mrs. Lincoln.

- Mary, dear.

I want you to meet my
sister's husband, Mr. Edwards,

off from Springfield just in
time to help with the moving.

- How do you do, sir?

- Well, now they didn't exaggerate a bit.

I envy you, son.

- Thank you.

Hello, Tad.
- Howdy, Mary.

- I just beat the rain.

This is very nice, Mrs. Lincoln.

Much more comfortable
than living in a hotel,

I should think.
- Well, after supper,

I'm going to pitch in
and you'll be surprised.

Of course, it's not what your used to.

- Shall we go?

- I have a very important
message to deliver.

Mother and Father say I
am under no circumstances

to return without you.

You too, Mr. Edwards.

- Oh, I appreciate that,

but I'm afraid I have to catch a train.

Mrs. Edwards would be worried.

- You'll come?

Taddie?
- Oh, I couldn't.

There's so much to be done.

- Tomorrow's time enough.

- Oh, you tell your folks how
much I appreciate being asked,

but, well, I think the
moving may have been,

well, I'm not really tired, I'm just...

You go along and have a good
time and take Taddie with you.

It'll do him good.

- Mother, I'd like you to come.

- Well, I will one day.

But you mustn't get wet.

Now, Taddie, I think
that basket over there,

oh, there's an umbrella
here somewhere, but I can't,

now, I think we should be able to find

some winter things in
here, coats and mufflers,

and we should be able to find
something for your heads.

- [Tad] It's too warm for a muffler!

- Now, you don't want to catch cold.

Now, here, put this on.

Bundle up good.

Now, Robert, you need
something for your head.

- I don't need anything

for my head.
- Now, don't worry

about what it looks like,

your health is the important thing.

Now, what shoes do you have on?

Try to keep your feet dry.

Is your carriage downstairs, Mary?

- Right at the door,
they won't feel a drop.

- [Mary] How about you?

You'd better take a muffler.

- No, I'm used to prairie weather.

Nothing can get me down.

- Prairie weather is the worst.

Mr. Lincoln used to come
home chilled to the bone,

he worried me sick.

He wouldn't bundle up.

Now, here.

I couldn't send you home to
Sister with the sniffles.

- Can we drop you at
the depot, Mr. Edwards?

- [Ninian] Oh, I'd appreciate that.

- I wish you'd change your mind.

- You give my best to your folks.

- Will you be all right?

- Well, who'll have time
to think about that,

I'd be so busy.
- And we'll stop by tomorrow

and see how you are.

- Our young lawyer is so
independent these days.

A job, his own room.

- Goodbye, Mary.

You think about what I said.

Lights is always out.

You have two fine sons.

- You give my love to Sister.

- I won't stay late.

- [Mary] You just have a good time.

- Taddie!
- I'm coming!

- [Robert] Oh, don't run!

(group laughs)

(Lizzie humming)

(Mary sighs)

(whimpers softly)

- Lizzie!

- They leave you all alone?

- Come and sit with me a minute.

- You all worn out.

- Oh, I wish I were.

Oh, why can't it be over, Lizzie?

Why can't I be with Mr. Lincoln?

- Now, you mustn't talk like that!

He wouldn't want you talking like that.

You got things to do here yet.

There's Mr. Robert and
Mr. Tad to think about.

- Robert's already left me.

Oh, Lizzie, if it weren't for Taddie, I...

We were blessed with wonderful children.

You never knew little Eddie.

He was such a sweet, good little boy.

Sunniest disposition.

He was only four when
he was taken from us.

And Willie, I think you loved Willie

nearly as much as we did.

- Yeah.

Everybody loved Master Willie.

(sighs loudly)

I'm gonna make you a strong cup of coffee.

- Oh, what am I going to do, Lizzie?

- You're gonna keep on going.

The Lord put you on this
earth for as long as he says,

and you can't leave it a minute sooner,

so you might as well make up your mind

to keep on going the best way you know.

(sighs loudly)

- Now, where did I put those letters?

- Here are Mr. Lincoln's--
- No, no, no.

I mean the others, the
dreadful, nagging letters.

You haven't said anything to Robert?

- Of course not.

- I don't want Robert to
know a thing about this.

Oh.

Here they are.

Misery in white envelopes.

Oh, I just don't understand it, Lizzie.

There wasn't a one of these
gentlemen didn't assure me

that I could pay anytime.

They said I wasn't to
worry my head about it,

that next year or the year
after would be time enough.

And now, they come flying
at me from all directions,

threatening me with
lawsuits and going to court

and printing my shame in the newspapers

for all the world to see.

- Now, now.
- There's no end to it.

My hands shake when I
open the mail, Lizzie.

The money's nearly gone,
but the bills keep coming.

Oh, I don't know what I'm gonna do.

- Are you sure you owe all that money?

- Well, it doesn't seem
possible, but I'm sure.

- [Lizzie] I think you
ought to talk to Mr. Robert.

- That would take more
courage than I possess.

I've just got to find the money
without his knowing about it

and pay every last one of these bills.

I must protect Mr. Lincoln's good name.

If I'd been born a man,
it'd be a different story.

I could go out and earn the money.

- You gonna get your pension, I know!

- When?

The widow of any private

who falls on the
battlefield gets a pension.

They give retired generals fancy houses.

But nothing for the
family of the great man

who laid down his life as surely as if...

Well, they have got to
do something for us.

- I don't think they understand
you need money so bad.

- Well, I'll tell them.

I'm gonna write letters
until my fingers are sore!

It isn't just the government
that owes us something, Lizzie.

There are plenty of people in this country

who wouldn't be so high and mighty

if I hadn't put in a word for them.

Well, now they can repay
some of the generosity

that helped get them where they are.

- You have a nap while I cook something.

- Oh, there isn't time.

- Now, you be careful.

You know you always regretting

the letters you write once they're gone.

- Not these letters,

these letters are going to save our lives.

- I have here a letter,
an incredible letter

written by the widow
of our late president.

In this letter, she has
the audacity to beseech

the members of the Senate
of the United States

to award her a pension.

Need I remind you that
she was a southerner?

Born into a family of slave owners,

a daughter of the plantation.

Is it not true that while residing

within the very walls of
the executive mansion,

she offered daily to the enemy,

not only sympathy, but information.

A pension?

It's a matter of record,

our late president left
his wife and her two sons

an estate of $83,000.

$83,000.

I find it very difficult

to shed tears for the
poor, destitute widow

with such figures staring me in the face.

No!

- Where's Mother?

- [Tad] Why, she's having a nap!

- Well, get her up!

- [Tad] What's the matter?!

- I don't know what we're
going to do with her.

What made her do this?!

- What did she do?!

- Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not as bad

as you're making out.

- I don't see how it could be any worse.

She has ruined the reputation

of this entire family,
everything father did,

whatever Tad might want to do.
- What is this shouting?

- Are you out of your mind?

- Don't you speak to me like that!

What's happened?

- He published them.

- Yes, he published them.

- I didn't know.

- It's all right, I'm sure it's not all--

- Mary, you let me handle this.

I want to know exactly what you've done.

- Well, she didn't mean it!
- Tad, I want her to tell me!

- I just wanted to sell a few things

to keep us off the streets.

- We are not on the streets.

And we are not going to be on the streets.

Do you think that I would let that happen?

I assume this is the reason
you were in New York,

not visiting friends.

- Well, I wanted to sell some
of my jewelry and dresses.

Well, they're mine, I have the right to.

- [Robert] And so you went to W.H. Brady.

- Well, I heard he was very good.

- He's the biggest scoundrel in New York.

- Well, how was I to know?

- You might have asked!

- You leave her be.

- Now, Lizzie, stay out of this.

This is a family matter.

- Now, don't you get grand with Lizzie,

she's close to me as family.

- She is a paid employee.

- Unpaid employee.

- Robert, how dare you treat

Lizzie like that.
- Mother.

Exactly what transpired
between you and Mr. Brady?

- Well, he seemed so sympathetic, Robert.

He offered to help me sell my things.

He said he was shocked at
the way I'd been treated.

He said it was incredible
that the leaders of the party,

for whom your father did so much,

should stand by and watch me starve.

- Can't imagine who gave him
the idea you were starving?

- I merely gave him the facts.

I told him I'd written letters

to every one of those
leaders pleading for help

and nothing would induce
them to give me a penny.

Well, they owe us something.

It's only right, Robert.

- They don't owe us a thing.

- And Mr. Brady felt that we
should write to them again.

With an election year coming up,

he said it would go very
badly with them at the polls,

were it to become known that
I was in a state of want.

- I believe there's a name for
that sort of thing, Mother.

- Well, if there is, I
don't want to hear it.

And I explained to Mr.
Brady very carefully

that I would do nothing that would reflect

on the memory of my husband.

- Then why did he publish these letters?!

Who's idea was that?!

- Why, it was his, of course, Robert.

- [Robert] Did you give your permission?

- Well, the response was so poor.

He felt that if we let
the newspapers know--

- Did you give your permission?

- Yes.

(sighs softly)

- I see.

Mother, are you aware
that at this very moment,

your clothes are on
display in New York City

for every shop girl and
scullery maid to paw over?!

- They're not on display, Robert!

They're for sale!

- It's called an exhibit!

Furthermore, a traveling
exhibit will tour the country

in which will be displayed

the actual blood-stained
garments worn by the president

on the night he--
- Oh!

I know nothing of that, I swear to you!

(Mary gasps)

Well, we must take him to court.

We'll make him pay!

- Well, I think we've
made enough headlines.

Mother, do you realize the dreadful things

that people are saying about you?

- I only wanted to pay my debts.

You don't know--

- What?

What don't I know?

- The true circumstances.

- I'll help Lizzie in the kitchen.

- Tell us the true circumstances.

- Now, you're not to be condescending.

Whatever I've done,

I've done with the best
intentions in the world.

I'm not a criminal.

- Nobody could think that.
- Well, some people do.

There's some people who think
your mother's a monster.

- You're not!

You're a great lady!

- Mother, how deeply in debt are you?

- Very deeply.

- Our father saw that you
were well-provided for.

- Oh, he didn't know his
wife was such a fool.

He didn't know the extent of the debts.

Robert, I have only have $1,800 a year.

Well, I can't manage on that,

even if I pack up and move us to Europe

and we live like peasants!

And believe me, I've thought of it.

- You had Father's salary
for a year, $25,000!

- It wasn't $25,000.

They took out for the month he'd worked

and then there were the taxes and--

- How much of it do you have left?

- Oh, well, I'm not sure,

but I don't believe very much of it.

- Well, when the estate is settled,

we'll each of us have $30,000 and--

- We must never touch that, Robert.

It's all we have, it goes in the bank.

And anyway I don't know that
that would be sufficient.

- Mother, tell us the truth.

How much do you owe?

- Now, you understand that
these are not new debts.

Most of them are very old,

from when we were living in Washington

when it was necessary for
us to keep up appearances

as the first family of the land.

- Good God.

- Well, I've been worried sick.

- [Tad] You should've told us.

- And be disgraced in
front of my children?

I want you to love me.

- I can't believe there's so many of them.

Leavitt and Sloan,

oriental carpet for the
east room, 2,500 doll...

Why did you have to pay for this?

Why didn't the government pay for this?

- Because they wouldn't, Robert,

no matter how I pleaded with them!

And all they gave us to repair that place

was a pitiful little allowance.

When we moved in, the White
House was so shabby and rundown,

it wasn't fit for a pig to live in.

It was my duty to make the home

of the President of the United States

worthy of the American people.

- Not out of your own pocket!

If you had to buy luxuries like this,

it seems to me to be
reckless and irresponsible.

- And it seems to me

that the Chief Magistrate of his country

is entitled to a few luxuries.

And it wasn't only
luxuries either, young man.

If you'll search back in your mind,

you'll remember it was your
mother who had furnaces put in

so that we'd be warm at night

and not have to huddle around fireplaces.

And it was your mother who
thought to have plumbing put in.

Why, they'd never seen anything like water

coming out of faucets in the
executive mansion before.

And it was your mother
who installed gas light

so that the president, and any
other servant of our country,

wouldn't ruin their eyes over candlelight.

Now, I'm proud of what I did,

I don't want any criticism of that.

- You should have stayed
within the allowance.

- I meant to, Robert,
I sincerely meant to,

but almost before I knew it,

I'd spent more money than they gave us,

and, oh, I was so frightened
your father would find me out.

We may have been the First Family,

but we were far from rich.

Your father had to borrow
money to make ends meet

those first few months in office.

Well, money was not important to him.

- It's a wonder they
haven't attached the estate.

- Well, I would never permit that.

- You've been lucky.

Guess we must tighten our belts a little.

- I could get a job.

- Oh, you'll do nothing of the kind.

Now, you're gonna finish your schooling

and go on to Harvard.

Oh, and anyway, I'm sure to
get my pension before long.

- Mother, promise me one thing.

Promise me you will never
again do anything at all

without telling me about it.

- Oh, Robert.

You don't know how long I've been...

I've laid awake at night in the dark

with no one to talk to,
no one to confide in.

After your father was taken from me,

people said that as time
went on, it would get easier.

Well, it doesn't.

It gets harder!

But I have my sons,

that is my comfort.

(gentle music)

- Uh.

(speaks in foreign language) English?

- [Man] English? Ja, ja.

- Good, I'm looking for someone

calling herself Mrs. Stevens.

- [Bearded Man] Frau Stevens?

Ja, Frau Stevens is by third floor.

- Is she home?

- Ja.

Frau Stevens is always home.

(speaking in foreign language)

(knocking)

- Who is it?

- [Senator Austin] A friend from America.

- Who is it?

- [Senator Austin] Senator Austin, ma'am.

- Senator Austin?

- May I come in?

- Why, I never thought
to lay eyes on you again.

- I imagine you must be surprised.

Mrs. Austin and I were over
here on a tour and we...

You're living here?

- Well, it does for us.

- A great many of these foreign hotels

aren't like what you would find at home.

Well, you surely are looking
fine, Mrs. Lincoln, just fine.

- Oh, I can't get over it.

Senator Austin!

- Now, I know we haven't always
seen eye to eye in the past,

but since we were in the
neighborhood, so to speak,

I certainly wanted to stop in

and see how you were getting along,

Mrs. Austin too, of course.

You remember Flora?

- Very well.

- Flora certainly wanted
to look in on you,

but she's lying down at the hotel.

Flora hasn't been well
these last few years,

not since we lost our
son, you know, in the war.

- As I lost my husband.

- But you have to hand it to Flora though.

She does manage to keep
hopping, parties, receptions.

I can't keep up with her.

- Well, I'm interested
to hear you say that

because I never could either,

and I spent a great
deal of money trying to.

- May I sit down?

- Oh, please.

I'm forgetting my manners.

Are you warm enough?

- [Senator Austin] Perfectly
comfortable, thank you.

- [Mary] The winter has been so severe.

I could have the porter bring us hot tea.

- [Senator Austin] Please, don't trouble.

Now, what is this nonsense,
calling yourself Mrs. Stevens?

- I'm afraid it's a necessary deception.

As a widow of a President
of the United States,

I find everywhere I go,
I'm shamefully overcharged.

We keep moving from hotel to hotel,

but sooner or later,
they find out who I am

and the bill is increased.

Well, I'm sure our days here are numbered.

Did you notice the porter as you came in,

the peculiar one, the one
who looks like General Grant?

- [Senator Austin] I
spoke to him in the hall.

- I'm sure he suspects who we are.

- Shocking how they try to take advantage.

- Well, I'm in the uncomfortable position

of being somewhat of a
personage in the world,

but almost totally without funds.

- Yes.

It is nice to travel though,

at least that's what
Flora's always telling me.

Never cared for it much myself.

We were surprised to hear
that you had moved to Europe.

- My son is in school here in Frankfurt,

at Dr. Hohagen's institute.

- Taddie?
- Yes.

And I've always wanted to see Europe.

- Of course, you have.

And a change of scene
can be very refreshing,

whatever the reasons behind it.

- I'm offering you my
hospitality, Senator,

do me the courtesy of
being civil in return.

- I didn't mean--

- Oh, I'm aware of what you mean.

I admit that after the publication

of certain correspondence,

my life in America was unbearable,

but I had always wanted to see Europe.

- I hope, Mrs. Lincoln,

that you're not going to misinterpret

everything I say on this little visit.

I assure you my coming here this afternoon

was prompted solely by
my concern and kindness.

- I should like to think so, Senator.

But forgive me if I seem somewhat confused

since neither of these are traits

I have ever before
observed in your character,

nor, I might add, in the character

of many of your fellow senators.

- Say what you like of me, ma'am,

but don't go attacking the Senate.

We've heard enough of that.

- Well, I find it difficult not to attack

a body of politicians known
only for dragging their heels

when there's so much to be done.

Why, I should like to every
one of them a good talking to.

- You've done that in the past.

I had hoped in the intervening years,

you'd learned the wisdom of silence.

- [Mary] Where I see injustice,
I feel it my duty to speak.

- The duty of a president's
wife is to smile

and dispense tea, nothing more.

- Oh, is she to show no interest

in the affairs of her country?

- [Senator Austin] Interest is one thing,

interference quite another.

- Is that an accusation
toward me, Senator?

- Oh, call it what you like.

You tampered with political appointments,

you attempted to influence the president.

- Well, I admit I did
my share of the talking,

but I seem to remember you
did a bit of it yourself.

And you know as well as I that
nobody could rule Mr. Lincoln

once he'd made his mind up.

- I'm sorry to say your womanish views

are not to be taken seriously.

I really must be going,

Flora wants to do the
cathedral this afternoon.

She thinks she will be feeling
better by this afternoon.

- I'm sure she will.

- I'm sorry our little
visit hasn't gone better.

I thought perhaps we
could be friends at last.

- [Mary] Senator, we've been hoping

to hear about my pension.

Mr. Sumner has introduced a bill

to the Congress on my behalf.

- I know about that.

- It would mean a great deal to us.

- [Senator Austin] Well,
these things take time.

- Time?

It's been five years.

- [Senator Austin] You must be patient.

Surely you're not in actual need.

- The only thing I'm
not, Senator, is in debt.

My son Robert has been
a tower of strength,

and with his help, I've managed to pay off

a few debts that I accumulated

during those expensive
years in Washington.

But, even with the settlement
of my husband's estate,

we have only the merest income.

Well, it's a continuous struggle,
even for the necessities.

I'm sure one word from
you, in the proper circles,

would assure that would
not have to continue.

- Madam, I do not control either the House

or the Senate of the
United States of America.

- Well, I vow that comes
as a surprise to me.

Has there been a revolution?

- That remark is in poor taste, ma'am.

- Oh, indeed it is.

But I know how things
get done in Washington

and I know that if I have been
abandoned by my government,

it's because you and others
like you are content with that.

- I would help you, Mrs.
Lincoln, if I could.

But I must admit, I'm not prepared

to do battle for your cause.

It's a far too unpopular one.

- [Mary] Well, I will
never understand why.

- Well, it's a known fact you harbored

a confederate sympathizer in
the White House during the war.

- And who was that?

- The Helm woman.

- Emilie?

She's my half-sister!

- You were criticized, and
rightly so, for having her there.

- It was fashionable in Washington

to criticize the Lincolns,
especially Mrs. Lincoln,

but I assure you, I did
not waiver in loyalty

to my husband or his cause!

- I wish I could believe you.

- Well, you're a banker,
aren't you, Senator?

And a very prosperous one,

and I'm sure you have a
keen eye for a dollar,

and I'm sure that you're fully aware

that you can save your government

the sum of my pension by not believing me.

- I consider that an insult!

- [Mary] Well, it's meant as one!

- You might be interested
to know, Mrs. Lincoln,

that it was the congressional committee

suggested I pay you this call,

and you have my word for it,
there will be no pension.

- Well, in that case, I can lose nothing

by speaking my mind!

You were always a thorn

in the side of my husband, Senator Austin.

All you cared about was keeping things

exactly the way they were

because that kept the coins
jingling in your pockets

and carrying on about the great service

you were doing the country.

Well, you are without vision

or intelligence or the
slightest trace of humanity,

and I'm sorry to have
offered you my hospitality.

Good day, Senator.

- And I'm sorry to have accepted it.

But after all, you were
the wife of a president!

- I am still the wife of a president.

- And as exasperating as ever!

- You can't speak to my mother like that.

- I assure you, young man,

I have nothing further to say to her!

- [Mary] Oh!

- What was he doing here?

- Oh!

He was merely passing through.

Well, I gave him a dose of my mind.

Oh.

But I'm afraid we shall have to wait

just a bit longer for my pension.

Oh, well.

Never mind.

I'll simply sit down after supper,

write some good firm letters.

Now, don't you worry your head about it.

(coughing)

Are you all right?

Taddie, you're not feeling
ill again, are you?

- No.

I'm all right.

Only, couldn't we go home?

Couldn't we go back where we belong?

(elegant music)

- The doctor's keeping something from me.

What did he say to you, Robert?

- He simply wanted me to tell you, Mother.

- Tell me what?

- He's worried about you too, Mother.

You've got to be strong.

- [Mary] Well, how could
I have endured this long

if I weren't strong?

Tell me what?

- Tad's very ill, Mother.

The doctor's afraid that he may never--

- Well, he's got to!

We must do something!

- The doctor's doing everything he can.

He left instructions.

Because of the chest, he mustn't lie down,

he'll have to sit up at all times.

Strap him into a chair if necessary.

There may be a great deal of pain.

- Oh, not my Taddie.

Not my darling boy!

He's so sweet, so good.

Oh, I hate God!

I hate him, I won't let him take Taddie!

- There's nothing we can do,

except make him as
comfortable as possible.

Now, you mustn't let him see how you feel.

- I can't look at his face, I
can't bear to see him suffer.

What's he ever done to deserve this,

except be kind and loving?

What has any of us ever
done to deserve this?

- I don't know.

(group laughs)

- I shouldn't have eaten so much,

but it was so good, I just couldn't stop.

- Taddie, you ate hardly anything at all.

- I'm not hungry.

Thank you, Mary.
- It doesn't matter.

If Taddie doesn't want to eat,
he certainly doesn't have to.

This is a very special occasion,

he doesn't have to do
anything he doesn't want to.

When you're 18 years old, you
are a man and your own master.

Now, from now on, you're
the head of the house

and I take orders from you.

- For how long?

- Well, forever.

Forever and ever.

- Well, we're witnesses to that,

you have a rare opportunity here, Tad.

- Then I have a request.

For tonight, I decree that one word

shall not be spoken in this house: money.

- Why, Thomas Lincoln, as if I would.

Well, very well, sire.

If that is your command, it shall be done,

and I further promise to make no illusions

to the Senate of the
United States of America.

You don't make it easy
for your old mother.

- I love my mother.

- And I love you, Tad.

- Isn't it time for the presents?

- We won't wait a moment longer.

And then I've got a surprise for Taddie,

something he's been
wanting for a long time.

Now, don't try to make me tell what it is

because my lips are sealed.

Wild horses couldn't drag it out of me.

Mary, the presents.

Robert, did you know that Lizzie

had the audacity to send
Taddie a birthday note?

Now, I call that gall after
the things she wrote about me.

She fancies herself a historian,

but she's just a malicious gossip.

- Now, Mother, please,
this is a party, hm?

- Oh, just look at these presents,

I can't wait to see what's in them.

- This is from little Mary, Tad.

- What pretty paper.

Just look at that.

- She made it all by herself.

- Why isn't she here?

She should be here for my birthday.

- Well, she'll come when
you're feeling better, Taddie.

We were afraid she'd tire you out.

(Tad chuckles)

- It's beautiful.

- What is it, Taddie?

- It's supposed to be you, Tad.

She said she wanted to make a picture

of her Uncle Taddie for his birthday.

- Oh, why, I think that's remarkable.

Robert, just look what your daughter did.

- [Robert] Yeah. I saw it.

(Mary chuckles)

- Well, those certainly
are your eyes, Taddie.

(Mary laughs)

Well, Robert, I think you ought
to engage a drawing master

or maybe we could find some young student

who'd be glad to get the money,

help him and help us at the same time.

Well, that shouldn't cost too much--

- Mother, now, you promised.

(gasps)

- I haven't said a word.

- Tell Mary she made her uncle very happy.

- I will, Tad.

This is from Robert and me.

Happy birthday, darling.

- Did you tell Tad the news?

- Oh, we were saving it for another time.

This is his night.

- Oh, well, I think he'd
be delighted to know.

Tad, your brother has been made assistant

to the president of the railroad.

Now, what do you think of that?

Aren't you proud of your big brother?

- Congratulations, Bobby.

- Thank you, Tad.

- [Mary H] Open your present.

- Oh, I'm just bursting
to see what this is.

- [Mary H] It's just a
little remembrance, Tad.

- It's very elegant.

- [Mary H] I'm afraid it's for money.

(Mary chuckles)

- Well, that's about the
handsomest purse I ever saw.

Did you do that embroidery, Mary?

Taddie, it's got your
initials worked right into it.

Oh, you'll be quite a dandy with that.

Robert, just look at this.

- [Robert] Mm.

- Now, won't that turn
heads in the Harvard yard?

Show them folks from Chicago

all is provincial as they think.

- Thank you, Mary.

Thank you, Bobby.

- Well, that certainly is grand.

Now, I guess it's my turn.

I'm giving you one of
my dearest treasures.

It's Mr. Lincoln's volume of Shakespeare.

- [Tad] This is--

- I know.

When we were courting,

we used to sit in the
parlor and read from it.

Back in Springfield,

when Mr. Lincoln was riding the circuit,

he never went off without this little book

packed in his satchel and I'd say,

Mr. Lincoln, you get your rest!

But I heard what he did.

He'd be on the go all day

and then he'd sit up half
the night in some room

with four, five other lawyers
snoring to beat the band

and he'd read his Shakespeare.

And he did the same
thing in the White House,

only he didn't have the
lawyers snoring, he had me.

Now, Taddie, his name is
right there on the front.

- You should keep this, Mother--

- No.

He'd want you to have it.

Did you know, Mary, that Mr.
Lincoln and I wrote poetry?

- No.
- Yes, we did.

Oh, he always had a kind
of poetry in his nature.

What we wrote though,

back in those days was political satire.

There, now.

That's what I mean.

Didn't that sound like cannon to you?

- I didn't hear anything.

- Oh, sometimes it's
so loud, I can't sleep.

Like thunder!

I think it comes from down by the lake.

Robert, I wish you'd see
what you can do about it.

- We didn't hear anything, Mother.

- Well, I don't imagine things.

Well, you heard it, Taddie, didn't you?

- I heard it.
- Well, there now,

I don't know what's the
matter with you two.

Well, now, my surprise.

Mary.

We just have to disappear
for a few minutes,

and then, Mary, don't you have something

to do in the kitchen?
- Oh, yes.

- Now, Robert, you entertain
our guest of honor.

Are you comfortable, dear?

Do you want anything?

- I'm fine.

- Aren't birthdays wonderful things?

I once told your father on his birthday

that I was so grateful for his love.

If only he were with us.

I'm all right.

Now, we won't be a jiffy.

- I wonder if it's a good
idea to agree with her

when she's like that.

- She thinks she hears things.

I can't tell her she doesn't.

- Mary and I have been
concerned about her.

Even before father died, she wasn't...

Remember how he always used to try

to get her to control her emotions?

- Yes.

- Well, if it's getting worse, then...

Well, let's not worry you about that, hm?

You just concentrate on getting well.

- You will take care of her, won't you?

- Well, we'll all take care of her.

You'll be up and about in no time.

- Assistant to the
president of the railroad.

- Mother makes too much of these things.

- Father would be proud of you.

- Not sure he would.

He's never much impressed by businessmen.

No, we never had much in common.

Willie was always their
favorite, and then you.

I used to feel like a foundling.

- He loved you as much as the rest of us.

- Ah, spoiled we were,
we could do anything.

"Let the children have
a good time," they said.

People must've hated us.

- Do you remember when
we were on the train

from Springfield to Washington and--

(coughing)

- Are you all right?

Does it hurt?

- Sometimes.

What was I saying?

- On the train, Springfield to Washington.

- Oh, yes.

Yes.

And father let you take
care of his satchel?

- Ah, he was teaching me responsibility.

- Responsibility.

(chuckles)

And you lost it.

- With his inaugural address inside, yes.

(Robert laughs)

I'll never forget it.

Mother was frantic, so was Father,

though he tried not to show it.

He said it was his "certificate
of moral character"

written by himself.

I thought they were making a
terrible fuss about nothing,

it was just another speech as far

as I was concerned.
- We'll be ready in a minute.

- [Tad] Everything would be different

if Father hadn't have been
killed, wouldn't it, Bobby?

- [Robert] Well, I suppose so.

- How could she stand it,

being there when that man came in

and she was sitting beside Father?

She told me once.

They were holding hands.

How could she stand it?

- Well, I could only answer
that if I had been there,

and I should have been.

- What could you have done?

- Maybe I could've knocked
the gun from his hand.

Anyway, Mother asked
me to go and I refused.

- You do love her, don't you, Bobby?

- You know the answer to that.

- I was just trying to get you to say it.

- [Mary] Are you ready, Mary?

- [Mary H] Yes, Mother!

- [Mary] Tad, close your eyes!

Did you light the candles, Mary?

- [Mary H] I'm all ready.

- [Mary] Robert, are Taddie's eyes closed?

- Yes, Mother.

- Surprise!

- You're beautiful.

(Mary chuckles)

- Why, thank you, sir.

Happy birthday, Tad.

- Happy birthday, Tad.
- Happy birthday.

- Now, you must make a wish,

and then we'll help you
blow out the candles.

- What shall I wish for?

- [Mary] Whatever you want
most, and it'll come true.

- I wish--
- You mustn't tell!

- Oh, of course he can
tell if he wants to.

- I wish we could all
be together, forever.

- Oh, that's a beautiful wish, Taddie.

And now, we'll all help.

One, two, three.

- Mm.
- Oh!

(group laughs)

There!

(Mary laughs)

Now, it'll come true.

Nothing can part us, ever again.

- [Mary H] You look wonderful, Mother.

- Well, I wouldn't do this
for anyone but Taddie,

and you, of course, Robert.

I swore I'd wear black
for the rest of my life,

but Taddie here wanted to see his mother

the way she used to be,

and this being a very special occasion,

I just thought I'd comply.

- Well, you look just the same, Mother.

- Do I?

Well, I was afraid the
years had taken their toll,

but I can still get into it.

Now, there are some ladies
who couldn't say that.

(Robert chuckles)

Now, I'll just cut the cake.
- Oh, can't I do that, Mother?

- Mercy, no, I'm not an invalid yet

and I can do it with gloves on.

I learned to do a lots of things

with gloves on in Washington.

Now, Taddie, I'm giving
you a very small piece

and you just eat what you feel like.

- [Tad] Thank you.

- Now, this is for you, Mary.
- Oh, that is too much.

- Oh, you just eat what you can.

And here's a great, big piece
for our budding executive.

It's such a comfort to have a
man of affairs in the family.

Oh, don't lean forward, dear.

You know what the doctor said,

we must keep our back straight.

I know it isn't easy, but you
must do it for your chest.

- [Mary H] When did you
wear that dress, Mother?

- I was hoping you were gonna ask me that.

You boys remember Senator Douglas?

- Mm.
- Mm.

Oh, Mary, this cake is delicious.

- It's very good.

- Mm, I wish I could cook like you, Mary.

Now, where was I?

Oh.

Senator Douglas was an old
beau of mine in Springfield,

at the same time I first knew Mr. Lincoln.

The difference in those two
men, like night and day.

Mr. Douglas was a bit of
a dandy and so amusing,

such a witty little man, not very tall,

but, oh my, he did dress well.

And he had quite an
unusual gift for oratory.

Well, not to my taste, mind,

he was always too flowery for
me, and next to your father,

he always appeared, well, a little silly.

But he did have a way with the ladies,

and I enjoyed his company
as much as the next one.

Well, one day, I was
sitting on the veranda,

making a flower wreath.

(Tad chuckles)

Now, don't you laugh, Taddie.

I was just sitting there
making a flower wreath,

well, it's exactly the kind of
thing young ladies did then,

all over Springfield, they
were sitting on their verandas,

making flower wreaths.

(group chuckles)

And along came Senator Douglas,

well, he was just plain
Mr. Douglas in those days,

and he said in those golden tones of his,

"Miss Todd, would you care
to take a stroll with me?"

and I said, why, yes indeed, Mr. Douglas.

I will stroll with you, on one condition.

"And what is that?" asked he.

Why, sir, said I, it is that you will wear

this flower wreath while we stroll.

(group laughs)

Well, quick as a wink,
he put on the wreath,

and we promenaded from
one end of Springfield

to the other laughing fit to burst.

(group laughs)

Now, what was I gonna say?

- About the dress.

- Oh.

I wore this dress at the
inaugural ball at the White House.

Because of protocol,

your father had to lead some other lady in

and I followed on the
arm of Senator Douglas.

And I remember thinking that
just a few short years ago,

these would be my two beaus
back in Springfield, Illinois.

And now, here we three were

at the White House in Washington D.C.,

and Mr. Douglas was a senator

and Mr. Lincoln was President
of the Unites States.

Isn't life a peculiar thing?

Oh, who would've thought
it would turn out that way?

It makes you believe
there must be something--

(Tad groans)
What is it?

Is it the pain?

Oh, dear God.

- I'm all right.

- [Mary] Oh, Taddie.

It's just been too much
and we've worn you out.

Now, you just rest.

Try to get some sleep.

- [Mary H] We'd better go.

- Taddie, do you want anything?

Is there anything I can get you?

- Please don't go.

I didn't mean to spoil the party.

- No, no, no, Tad.

We should.
- You didn't spoil a thing.

- [Mary] I think you better get some rest.

- It was a lovely party, Tad.

Thank you for having us.

- Thank you for coming.

- Goodnight, Tad.

- Goodbye, Bobby.

- Oh, no, don't say goodbye.

My goodness, you'll see them tomorrow.

You come by tomorrow, Robert.

- Oh, yes, of course.

- Goodnight, my dear Mary.

You come by tomorrow.

- Yes, we will.

- Oh.

You've just done too
much today, that's all.

- [Tad] You're so good to me.

- Oh, nothing of the kind.

Why, when I was feeling
so poorly in Frankfurt,

you were just the best nurse.

I don't know how I would've
gotten along without you.

- Will you read to me?

- Why, that's a lovely idea.

And you just close your eyes,
go to sleep if you want.

Oh.

Your father did love this book.

Next to his bible,

I think he got more comfort
from this than from anything.

Now then, what would you like to hear?

- Henry V.

- Oh, that's still your favorite.

(chuckles)

All right, then.

Here it is.

Are you comfortable?

- [Tad] Yes.

- O for a muse of fire,

that would ascend the
brightest heaven of invention,

a kingdom for a stage, princes to act,

and monarchs to behold the swelling scene.

Then should the warlike
Harry, like himself,

assume the port of Mars;

and at his heels leashed in like hounds...

(lively harmonica music)

(Mary laughs)

Oh, that carried me right
back to my childhood.

(laughs)

I was brought up in
Lexington, down in Kentucky,

and when I was a girl,

our colored folk just loved

to sing and dance in the evening.

- Thank you, missy.
- Oh, I thank you.

I enjoyed that.

(Mary laughs)

- [Man] You shouldn't be sitting out here

by yourself this time of night.

- I'm waiting for my son,

I'm sure he'll be along in a moment.

- He should take you home.

- [Mary] Now, don't you preach.

He will.

- [Man] All kinds of trash
in this park at night.

- My son always takes
very good care of me.

He wouldn't let any harm come to me.

Is this your little boy?

- No, this here is my grandchild,

don't know where his ma gone to.

- Oh, you're a handsome little man.

What's your name?

- [Man] Speak up when
the lady talk to you.

- [Abraham] Abraham Lincoln Cunningham.

- Why, you know, you're
named after my husband.

I'm Mrs. Lincoln.

How old are you?

- [Abraham] Seven.

(Mary gasps)

- Seven years old, that's
a wonderful age to be.

My son is older than you, he's 18.

He'll be along in a minute
and you can say hello to him.

Won't that be nice?

(Mary groans)

Taddie?!

Where could he have gone to?

- [Man] He shouldn't leave
you sitting out here.

- Oh, don't you worry about me.

I'll tell you a little secret.

I've got all my money sewed right here

into my skirts, so it's safe.

Isn't that a good idea?

- [Man] You shouldn't ought to do that.

There's thieves come round here.

- I expect Tad's still at school.

He goes to school over on
Michigan Avenue by the lake.

Oh, he'll be along, he wouldn't
leave his mother alone.

Who do you belong to?

- Oh, before the war,

we was Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham's people.

They mighty fine white folks.

And we still work for 'em

'cause they say we like
part of the family.

- Oh, I'm sure you're
great comfort to them.

Have you always lived in Chicago?

- We ain't never been in Chicago.

(laughs)

- Well, you're in
Chicago, this is Chicago.

- No, ma'am, it ain't.

This here is St. Augustine.

- You're telling me a story.

- No, ma'am, I ain't.

This here is St. Augustine.

- Why have you brought me here?

Where's Taddie?

What have you done with my son?

- [Man] Just calm yourself.

- Where is my son?

- Ain't you feeling all right?
- Oh, God,

where is my little Tad?

They killed my son.
- Now, you just rest yourself.

- They gave me my pension and took my son.

- [Abraham] I wanna to go home.

- Now, you just come along with us.

Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham,
they see you all right.

You let me take you on home.

- [Mary] Where are we going?

- You just come along.

- This is very kind of you.

When I was a girl,

I always had a feeling
for the colored folks.

When I was little, Mammy Sally always took

very good care of me,

but she wouldn't put up with any mischief.

Do you know about old man Satan?

Well, you just better give me your hand.

Well, when we were bad,

Mammy Sally used to say that the jay bird

went down to Hades every Friday night

and told old man Satan all about it.

And do you know what he did?

(Mary gasps)

He'd get in such a rage!

Now, don't you get scared.

He'd come up from Hades and...

(mysterious music)

(doorknob rattling)

(knocking)

- [Robert] Mother?

(knocking)

Mother?

(knocking)

- Who's there?

- [Robert] It's Robert,
why is the door locked?

- Robert?

- [Robert] Let me in.

- Is it really Robert?

- [Robert] Mother, open the door.

- I'm coming.

Who is with you?

- [Robert] Nobody, open the door.

- [Mary] I don't want
anyone in here but you.

Quick.

- [Robert] Now, why have
you got the door locked?

- Did you see them?

I'm keeping them out.

- Mother, there's no one out there.

- Oh, they followed me all afternoon.

Great, burley brutes.

One of them attempted to
drag me into a carriage.

They had pistols and
they wanted to kill me

the way they killed Taddie.

I ran.

Oh, how I ran.

Well, they're after you too, Robert.

You must be very careful.

- [Robert] There's no
one out there, Mother.

- Well, they're waiting, they'll be back.

- [Robert] Where's Mrs. Fitzgerald?

- Oh, I had to let her go.

I caught her stealing.

She said she was just
arranging linens in the bureau,

but I knew what she was up to.

- Now, she had very good
references, she wouldn't do that.

- Well, she did.

Are you doubting my word?

- Well, she should have let me know.

- Announce to the world
that she's a thief?

I don't think she'd do that.

- This is the third nurse we've lost

in the last four months.

- Well, you should be more
careful in your selections.

You're too trusting, Robert.

- Yes, well, you'll be happy to learn

I grow less trusting every day.

I trusted you and you went to Florida.

You simply wandered out
of your friend's house

in the dead of night.

I trusted you--
- Now, Robert,

I have been very patient with you,

but this nonsense must stop.

You know as well as I, that
I have never been to Florida,

much as I should enjoy such an excursion.

Now, you've got to stop making things up.

- What am I going to do with you?

- [Mary] Oh.

(Mary laughs)

- Why do you have these dresses out?

- Oh, aren't they pretty?

Oh, I declare, I couldn't resist them.

Oh, look at this pretty thing.

Oh, isn't that precious?

(laughs)

I feel like a girl again.

- These were all packed away.

- No, Robert.

These are not my old dresses,
these are new dresses.

- You bought them?
- Now don't you scold,

I'm only doing what's right.

(Mary chuckles)

You don't know everything that goes on,

but only the other day,
some ladies came to see me,

some very fine, upstanding,
patriotic ladies.

They said, "Mrs. Lincoln,
we are very concerned

"about buying luxuries in time of war.

"This is no time for us to
be buying foreign goods.

"We'll just have to do without
the laces, and the furs,

"and the ornaments, till
this terrible war's over."

They wanted me to sign a pledge
that I would join with them

in abstaining from such purchases.

I told them right out

that I was in utmost
sympathy with their cause,

but that I couldn't sign anything

till I'd made absolutely
certain it was the best thing

for the side of the union.

Well, I sent a little note to
the Secretary of the Treasury,

and he came by to see me and I asked him.

Now, he explained that the government

needs the revenue that
comes from imported goods.

Well, I had never thought of that.

I went right out and bought these dresses

to help our boys at the front.

Now, how can people criticize that?

- I see. I see.

- [Mary] Robert, I've
very annoyed with you.

- With me?
- With you, young man.

You'll treat my guests with civility.

You'll come downstairs and
stand with your father and me

to receive them, I
won't hear another word.

- Mother, Mother, you've got

to stop this--
- I don't know what

they're teaching you at Harvard,

but you seem to think all of a sudden

that you're better than other people.

You know what I'm talking about,

I refer to General Tom
Thumb and his bride.

Now, just you remember, young man,

that it doesn't matter
how short people are,

they're still people.

I don't want to hear any more jokes

about my turning the
White House into a circus,

and I don't want to hear any
son of mine talk about freaks!

I don't care what they look like.

People who are in love are never freaks,

and don't you forget it!

- Mother.

Now, Mother--
- You get away from me.

- No, Mother, I'm trying to help you.

- I don't want your help!

- [Robert] I know you don't,
but I've got to help you.

- Have you seen the way those
women look at Mr. Lincoln?

- [Robert] No, Mother.

Father is dead.

- Don't you tell me Mr. Lincoln is dead.

I don't have to be told
my husband is dead.

I've lived with his death

through every second of 10 long years.

- I'm trying to make it easier.

- How can you make it easier?

Death is death.

Violent, ugly death.

Why have you done this to me?

- I've done nothing to you.

- Oh, you're very clever,
but I know who you are.

I know how you schemed and plotted,

and I've seen you digging
graves in the dark

when you thought I was asleep!

You don't fool me, Robert!

I who you really are!

- Mother, you don't know what you're

talking about--
- Now, you get out of here!

I won't have any more of your death!

I want you out of this house!
- I won't listen to this!

- [Mary] You leave this house
and you never come back,

do you hear me?

- Give me the key.
- No!

What are you up to?
- I want the key!

- No.

No, this is my house.

I'll show you.

- [Robert] What are you doing?

- I'm gonna get the authorities,

and they're gonna lock you up

where you can't get at innocent people.

I'm gonna put on my best dress
so they'll know who I am.

- Mother, just give me the--
- No!

- Give me the key, Mother--
- No.

- [Robert] Mother, give me the key.

Give me the key.
- No!

- Give me the--
(Mary screams)

Key!

(loud slap)
- Murderer!

(Mary yelps)

- Now, you stay there.

You stay there, you devil.

And you writhe in agony and
you scream out your vengeance

and when you stop, when you stop,

then I want my mother back.

- [Mary] Oh!

- I want her back.

(Mary groaning)

- Oh, Mr. Lincoln, help me.

Help me!

(ominous music)

- Robert?

Look, Robert, isn't this pretty?

It's for Mary to wear to
the McCormick boy's party.

She's growing so fast.

- [Robert] Mm.

- What's making you
grumpy, the stock market?

- Another editorial about mother.

- [Mary H] Oh, dear.

- Yes.

One would think, after a time,
this nonsense would stop, hm?

Fools will write editorials, however.

Newspapers will print them.

- [Mary H] Is it something awful?

- Mrs. Lincoln is virtually imprisoned,

locked behind grates
and bars by her jailer.

It is all the more appalling

because the jailer is her
son, Mr. Robert T. Lincoln,

a tycoon who's heart, we assume,

is made of railroad spikes.

I would hardly call living
in Dr. Patterson's house

and dining at his table being imprisoned

behind grates and bars.

- And your heart isn't made
of railroad spikes, either.

Oh, poor Robert.

Does it really say tycoon?

- Yes, well, I may be a tycoon,
but I'm not above the law.

Humiliating trial.

The only way I could get
mother into a sanitarium.

- Of course it was.

And if she's as much
better as the doctor says,

then it's proved to be the right thing.

Maybe she won't have to
stay there much longer.

- Well, she's certainly
doing her best to get out.

- I'll never understand

how she can write those dreadful letters,

telling people you're
nothing but a criminal,

saying she's no longer your mother.

- Well, if you'd been in
the courtroom that day,

if you'd seen the hurt in her eyes

when she realized what was happening,

I think you would understand.

- I'm glad I wasn't there,
I couldn't have endured it.

Do you think she's really getting well?

- Most we can hope for
is that she's getting

proper medical attention.

All I ask is that she be able

to handle her financial affairs capably,

not fill trunk after trunk
with ridiculous purchases.

Then she shall be out.

Question is, where is she to go?

- We'll find her a nice
little house in the country,

someplace away from noise and people.

We can't have her here.

- Well, since she refuses
to ever see me again,

there seems very little danger of that.

Should she wish to come, however,

she will always have a home under my roof.

- I'm sorry, Robert, but
I must put my foot down.

We have to think of the children.

- They're her grandchildren,
she would enjoy them.

- I'm aware of that, but having her here

would be the worst
possible thing for them.

She's too depressing--

- Don't ever say that to me.

- Robert.
- You didn't know her.

I can remember our mother
as bright and amusing

as any person I've ever met.

- I'm sorry.
- She was the most important

thing in my father's life, I saw it!

I'm not convinced he would have attained

the presidency without her.

I don't think he would
have made the effort.

He needed her.

Well, she needed him
more, as it's turned out.

- I know that.

(somber music)

So many times I've even thought

how much better it would've
been, how much kinder, really,

if there had been two
bullets, one for each of them.

(gentle music)

- I see you stand like
greyhounds in the slips,

straining upon the start.

The game's afoot, follow your spirit,

and upon this charge cry, God for Harry,

England, and Saint George.
- You haven't dirtied

the room, have you?

- [Lewis] I don't go
about dirtying up rooms,

that was years ago.

- I'm feeling quite nervous.

Your grandfather's gone to meet the train,

they'll be here any moment.

Is that a clean shirt?

- My shirts are always clean.

- Now, Lewis, we must be
very careful what we say,

she's been through a terrible ordeal.

When I think that a sister of mine

has been confined in such a place,

it makes my blood run cold.

- Anyway, she's out now.

- Thanks to us.

She might have been there forever

if your grandfather hadn't
pulled a few strings.

But, Lewis, we must guard
our tongue every minute,

we don't know quite what to expect.

- Well, don't worry about
me, I like old ladies.

- That's very good of you, I'm sure.

You needn't speak of her
as if she were prehistoric.

She's my younger sister, after all.

- [Lewis] All I intend to do
is ask her about the president.

- [Elisabeth] Which president?

- [Lewis] Lord, Grandma,
President Lincoln.

- In my house, we do not
take the Lord's name in vain,

and you will do nothing of the kind.

Never refer to the past in any way,

it would be too painful for her.

- That's all old ladies
do want to talk about.

I never met one who wanted to talk

about the future, did you?

- You might try the present.

- How dull.

Anyway, I don't see the point in being

the grandnephew of a
president of the United States

if I can't get a few
anecdotes from the widow.

- Maybe we should've sent you home.

- I'll be good, Grandma, I promise.

We'll talk about President Grant.

- That would be most suitable.

- I don't care very much for him, though.

He isn't half the man Lincoln was.

- That's a matter of opinion.

You're far too young to know

what sort of man Mr. Lincoln was.

- I do read books, you know.

- Books are not always truthful, Lewis.

Oh, I wish those draperies
weren't so shabby,

she'll remember better days.

- Oh, when was she here last?

- Years and years, not since Mr. Lincoln

was elected president.

They went off in such a blaze of glory,

cannons, booming fireworks, all very chic.

Did you know she was married in this room?

- Here?
- In this very room,

standing right here.

(horse trotting)

Is that the carriage?

They're here.

Is the room all right?

Fix the cushions, I'll go meet her.

- [Ninian] Here she is, Elisabeth!

- [Elisabeth] Oh!

- [Ninian] She's here!

- How do you do, Mrs. Lincoln?

May I call you Aunt Mary?

I very much admired President Lincoln.

- [Elisabeth] Come into the parlor, Mary,

it's just as you remember it.

(gentle music)

This is Julia's son, Lewis Baker.

He's visiting us for a few months.

- How do you do, Mrs. Lincoln?

May I call you Aunt...

- Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

You remind me so much...

Someone who was very dear to me.

I'm sure we're going to be great friends.

- So am I.

Come and sit, Aunt Mary.

- It's so good to have
you home again, Mary.

- [Mary] Oh.

- This is your home now, Mary.

You're where you belong.

- Ah.

You sit here beside me.

(Mary chuckles)

- [Elisabeth] Wouldn't you like a cushion,

be more comfortable?
- Now don't fuss, Elisabeth.

- Mary was amazed to see the changes

in Springfield as we drove through.

- Oh, it was as if I
was in a strange town.

- It's terrible what's happened.

I hardly know anyone any more.

Mary, if you're not feeling too tired,

a few people you remember simply insisted

on stopping by later.

- Oh.

Well, I should like to see old friends.

- They're so anxious to see you.

- I wouldn't be surprised

if one of these days Springfield
was as big as Chicago.

Putting up those new houses all over

and wooden sidewalks everywhere you look.

(chuckles)

I miss the mud.

Remember the time, Mary,
when you and Vada Riddle

started walking into town

with your arms full of roofing slates?

Mud was as high as your ankles.

Oh, excuse me, Mary.

And they'd throw down
a slate and step on it,

and then another one, halfway into town.

(laughs)

I laughed when I heard that.

Finally, some young lady came along

and drove them the rest of the way,

I don't remember who.

It couldn't have been Abe Lincoln then,

he couldn't have afford a carriage.

It must've been--

- Did you see about
the horse, Mr. Edwards?

- The horse is in the barn.

- I don't trust that new man.

He looks shifty to me.

The help these days
isn't what it used to be,

and so expensive.

I think you should see if
he's taken care of the horse.

- I'm being dismissed from my own house.

Very glad you're here, Mary.

Well, now, I shall go and see

if that shifty new man has
neglected my old horse.

- Poor Mr. Edwards.

I expect you'll find him changed.

He's had so many worries.

We haven't had an easy time of
it, Mary, ever since the war.

Countries in such a state.

Of course, it'll never be the way it was.

I do think President Grant
has done a splendid job

in bringing the country
around to economic stability.

Generals in the White
House is such a comfort.

- President Grant's a bit of
a fumble bum, if you ask me.

We've only had two great
presidents, Washington and Lincoln.

- And I'm not sure about Washington.

(both chuckle)

Lewis, I want to hear where
you're going to school.

- College?

We don't know yet.

Yale or Harvard next year, I hope.

- Oh, it must be Harvard.

Elisabeth, it must be Harvard.

- Well, we don't know, Mary.

It's a question of money.

We haven't been able
to give Julia anything

and her husband is--

- Well, then I want to help.

Oh, I don't have much, Lewis,

a few stocks and bonds
and a small pension,

but I'm writing to the
Senate to have it increased

and even if it isn't, I
should hope I could manage

to help a deserving young
man through Harvard.

- I couldn't let you do that.

- We'll discuss it another time, Mary.

- Well, I mean to do it, that's settled.

- I understood that Robert was
still handling your affairs,

at least until...

- Until I'm judged sane again.

Did you realize you're
sitting next to a lunatic?

- Do you throw fits and things?

- Lewis!
(Mary chuckles)

- No, I only did that when I was sane.

Now I'm crazy, I don't bother.

- Mary, you're not crazy,
don't say such things.

- Well, until we have another
trial and find differently,

I'm quite cuckoo.

And you're my keeper
at present, Elisabeth.

- Were they kind to you at the sanitarium?

- Well, I couldn't have
been more surprised.

I had callus from every side.

Oh, at first I own I was a
rather difficult patient,

but then, you know, I
began to appreciate it,

just being taken care of.

And do you know what we discovered?

The trouble was not so much in
my head as it was elsewhere.

I had bodily ailments.

Well, I may not be the lunatic
everybody thought I was

and I think we are very
close to a second trial.

One day, I shall be out of the
clutches of that scoundrel.

- Who?

- Robert T. Lincoln.

- Cousin Robert?

- I quite agree, Mary.

He's behaved very badly.

You may be sure he'll never
set foot in this house again.

- But he's your son, Aunt Mary.

- Not any longer.

My sons are all dead, Lewis.

- The kettle is on.

A cup of tea will do you good.

- Well, where's Addie?

- [Elisabeth] Why, she
passed away, Mary, years ago.

I wrote you, don't you remember?

- [Mary] Oh, she was so good to us all.

- In the family for 60 years.

Father bought her in Lexington.

- A slave?

- You needn't sound so shocked.

You keep Sister company, and
you remember what I told you.

- I wonder what she told you.

- She told me not to
mention President Lincoln.

- Oh.

- What was he like?

- He was the kindest,

most loving man who ever lived.

We were married in this room.

- Grandma told me.

- I can still hear the rain
beating against the windows.

And Reverend Dresser, our minister,

standing in front of the fireplace,

and Mr. Lincoln, so tall
and strong beside me

and calm as anything.

But my hand was trembling,

so he could hardly get
the ring on my finger.

(Mary chuckles)

Oh, I dreamed of that moment

from the first time I saw Mr. Lincoln.

And there were times, let me tell you,

when it looked like it
was never gonna happen.

Our engagement was broken off

because of outside interference.

- What outside interference?

- It was somebody who's making
tea at this very moment.

- Grandma?
(Mary laughs)

- Well, I love Sister dearly,

but she could never
understand Mr. Lincoln.

All that she saw was that
his clothes didn't fit right.

But I'd always wanted a big
wedding with all the trimmings,

but because of the ill feeling

in this house toward Mr. Lincoln,

we decided to give them a wide girth

and just go around to Revered Dresser's

and have him perform the
ceremony in his parlor.

Well, I came home and I sat Brother Ninian

and Sister Elisabeth
down on this very sofa

and I announced that Mr. Lincoln and I

were gonna be married
that very next evening.

Well, Sister nearly had a conniption.

She stood up and she said--
- I asked you to remember

you're a Todd.

All our lives, I've had to
remind you you're a Todd.

- Well, I'm no longer a Todd,
Elisabeth, I'm a Lincoln.

- Well, you wouldn't have
been if you listened to us,

but you went right ahead
and married beneath you.

- I think by now it should be
clear that I married above me.

- Mr. Lincoln was a--
- Mr. Lincoln

was not a gentleman.

- You're quite right, Elisabeth.

Mr. Douglas was a gentleman.

Mr. Lincoln was a saint.

- I am concerned for your health, Mary.

I am reeling to hear you talk like that.

Why, it's a matter of
constant amazement to us

that Mr. Lincoln got anywhere at all,

let alone the White House.

And then he brought on a war

that stripped us of everything we had,

and Mr. Edwards had to go to him

hand-in-hand--
- I will not listen to this!

I will not stay in this house.

- Mary, Mary, we mustn't quarrel.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for what I said.

Please forgive me.

- You are forgiven, dear sister.

- You were married
here, among your family.

No matter how we felt,
you were married here.

We must remember that.

(doorbell rings)

Oh, not so soon.

Mary, are you too tired?

It's just that everybody wants to see you.

- I'm all right, Elisabeth.

- If you feel worn out,

you just excuse yourself
and go on up and lie down.

You have your old room.

People will understand.

(doorbell rings)

- We used to have such
good times in this room.

(Mary chuckles)

It was always filled with
music and people laughing.

Long time ago.

- Mary, you remember--

- Why, Mary Todd.

My goodness, you haven't changed a bit.

- Oh.
- I bet you don't remember me.

- Oh.

Louella Stark?

(Louella chuckles)

- Louella McCullough.

I married Mr. McCullough
who had the dry goods store.

He's Irish, but...

Oh.

Hello, Lewis.

- [Lewis] Hello, Mrs. McCullough.

- I can't get over how
well you're looking.

- We were just having tea, Louella.

- Isn't that nice?

Tea time.

- Well, I remember Mr.
McCullough very well.

- Do you?
- He seemed to me

a very fine gentleman.

- Really?

Well, we had seven children,
Mary, and they all survived.

- You wouldn't recognize the
dry good store now, Mary.

Oh, it's enormous.

What do they call it now?
- Oh, a department store.

All of the merchandise is
in different departments

so they call it a department store.

Mike, that's Mr. McCullough,

he go the idea from a
store he saw in Chicago.

We're making money hand over fist.

Of course, we haven't done anything

compared to what you and Mr....

To what you did.

(chuckles)

Living in the White House and all,

meeting all those famous people.

General Tom Thumb, do you remember him?

- Why, of course, Louella.
- Do you?

What was he like?

- Well, he was a very pleasant
gentleman, and his wife--

- But so short, just a little fellow.

(laughs)

I would have enjoyed seeing him.

I adore oddities.

Mm.

And speaking of oddities,

we have a new minister at the church

and I just don't know
what to think of him.

He's so young, for one thing,

and he's got a lot of newfangled notions.

I like the old time religion,
you can't beat that.

Are you still a churchgoer,
I mean, do they let you?

Oh, what I mean to say is--

- I go when I can.

- Yes.

Elisabeth never misses a Sunday.

We're proud of her.

Mr. McCullough is a Catholic, you know,

but I'm glad to say he
doesn't practice it.

Mr. Lincoln wasn't religious, was he?

- My husband was the most
religious man I ever knew.

- Really?

I thought, well, we never heard
that he went to church much.

Of course, he always
meant well, we know that.

(chuckles)

My, I can't get over
how fine you're looking.

We didn't know what to
expect, your illness and all.

Are you feeling all right?

- Well, I'm beginning
to feel a little tired.

- I shouldn't wonder,

it's a long trip down
from the, that place.

Why, it must be nearly 200 miles.

But I guess you're used to travel.

- Well--
- I understand you went

over to Europe.

- I always enjoy a trip, Louella.

It almost doesn't matter where
to, I like to see things.

- Yes.

Well, I wouldn't wanna go over to Europe,

all those strange people.

I always say, if America
isn't good enough for you,

then you're not good enough for America.

(Louella laughs)

- Why, Louella, I never
felt any less American

because I wanted to see other places.

I'm always glad to get home.

- Well, of course you're right there.

I hadn't thought of it that way.

I didn't mean to upset you.
- I'm not upset at all.

- More tea, Louella?

- Oh, I don't mind if I do.

(Louella chuckles)

- [Lewis] I can't wait to see Europe.

- And you must.

- Well, isn't it nice to
have Mary Todd back with us?

I suppose Springfield looks
like a one-horse town to you

after all the places you've been to.

- I spent the happiest years
of my life in Springfield.

I'm glad to be back.

And my husband is here, you know.

- Oh, yes.

I know that.

Everybody knows that.

Out at Oak Ridge.

We'd hoped he was going
to be here in town.

- He asked to be laid to
rest in a country cemetery.

We discussed it one day while walking

in just such a cemetery
outside Washington.

That was only a few days before...

- I wonder what's keeping Mr. Edwards.

He went out to see--
- I want you to know

that the people of Springfield
don't harbor grudges.

We're not that kind.

I'm sure you did what
you thought was right.

And Elisabeth, I must say,

I don't find Mary in the
least uppity, not a bit.

- I was never uppity, Louella.

It wasn't I who changed toward my friends

when we went to Washington,

it was my friends changed toward me.

- Of course it was.

No need to get upset.

- I'm not upset.

- I can see you're not.

- Now that you mention it, maybe I am.

- Well, you have every
right to be, certainly.

I don't blame you for a minute.

- Do you believe, Louella,

that the moon is made of green cheese?

- How's that?
- Mary.

- Well, I believe it must be made

of green cheese, don't you agree?

- Well, of course, Mary, if you say so.

- Or do you think it could be blue cheese?

- Now, stop this, Mary.

- Elisabeth, I find I'm
more tired than I thought.

I believe I'll go up to my room.

- [Lewis] Let me help you.

- Louella Stark, I remember
you from years back.

I don't see how you could be stupider now

than you were then, but you managed it.

And I'd like to give you a word of advice,

don't you be afraid of
lunatics and foreigners.

To find out what you really
should be frightened of,

you don't have to go
outside your front door.

- She's acting real peculiar,
Elisabeth, real peculiar.

(gentle music)

- Imitate the sun,

who doth permit the base contagious clouds

to smother up his beauty from the world,

that, when he please again--
- What time is it, Lewis?

- [Lewis] Nearly three.

- Well, I don't know
why I have the feeling

I'm late for something.

Stand up a minute, dear.

Let me just see.

Oh, well, that should fit very well.

- It's the nicest one you've done.

(Mary chuckles)

- I used to make all of
Mr. Lincoln's shirts.

When we were in the White House,

people didn't see how I
found the time, but I did.

I just made the time.

It was one of my greatest pleasures,

seeing the president look nice.

He appreciated my shirts.

- Aunt Mary, I'm thinking
of becoming a writer.

Don't you think I could do a
volume on President Lincoln?

- Why, Lewis, that would be splendid,

and it is most desperately
needed, let me tell you,

after the writings of
one William H. Herndon.

- I read the articles he wrote.

- Oh, he's an unmitigated liar.

When he worked for Mr.
Lincoln in his law office,

he was not dependable.

Oh, I won't even mention
his use of spirits

which was excessive, to say the least.

I would not invite him into my home,

not with my children there.

And for that, I have paid dearly.

- [Lewis] I was furious
at what he said about you.

- Oh, it's only spite, Lewis.

The moment Mr. Lincoln was taken from us,

Mr. Herndon saw his opportunity
for fame and fortune.

He proceeded to build a career

on my beloved husband's death.

I tried to stop him, but
there was nothing I could do.

His story about a young
woman who Mr. Lincoln

was actually supposed to
have been in love with.

- Ann Rutledge.
- Well, how dare he say that.

I wrote letters, I asked
old friends about it.

She was the fiance of a John MacNamar,

and dearly loved by him.

Well, Mr. Lincoln knew the
family, I don't deny that.

He lived in their house in New Salem,

and they were very good to him.

When their daughter died,

you may be sure Mr. Lincoln grieved.

His great heart was
always touched by death.

But he told me many times

that I was the only woman he ever loved.

Well, you must set things
right, Lewis, state the facts.

Oh, if only you could go with
me, we could work together.

- Where?

- [Mary] Now, you mustn't
breathe this to a soul.

I'm hatching a little plot.

- Tell me.

- [Ninian] Mary.

I'm sorry to interrupt
the Shakespeare hour.

This letter just came for you, Mary.

- Is it from the Senate?

- [Ninian] No.

It's from Robert.

- I'm not interested in
letters from Robert Lincoln.

- [Ninian] I think you
should read it, Mary.

- Please do, Aunt Mary.
- I'm not interested!

- I'll leave it here on the table.

I'm driving Elisabeth down to the church.

I understand your feelings, Mary,

I even share them to a certain extent.

But there comes a time for forgiveness,

especially between mother and son.

- There are some things
that can never be forgiven.

- I'm driving Elisabeth down to church

for some function or other.

I think it'd do you good
to come along, Mary.

- Are you afraid I've become a heathen?

- Oh, nothing of the sort.

I just think it would
do you good to get out.

- Maybe you should, Aunt Mary.

- Oh, I think it's too cold for me still.

One thaw doesn't make a spring.

Besides--
- You don't want

to see people.

- I wasn't going to say that.

I was gonna say I don't
want people to see me.

- [Ninian] Oh, now, Mary--

- You look just fine, Aunt Mary.

- Well, that's not what
I mean, and you know it.

Why, I can't even sit on the veranda.

Remember that day last fall

when I thought I'd get a breath of air?

I was just sitting in my
old rocker on the veranda...

- [Lewis] What is it?

- Making a flower wreath.

I was gonna say making a flower wreath.

I hadn't thought of that in years.

Well, I wasn't doing anything,

I was just enjoying the afternoon

when all of a sudden these two little boys

ran across the lawn and said

could they please see the crazy lady?

Well, I told them that they
didn't have to look any further,

that I was the party in question.

- Now, Mary.

That's all behind you now.
- The court said you're sane,

everybody knows, it was in the papers.

- People never believe
the good things they read

about you in the papers,
Lewis, only the bad.

- I'd better go, Elisabeth
will have my scalp.

Sure you won't change your mind?

- I'll fool you one
day and just go flying,

but not quite yet.

- [Ninian] I don't suppose you'd care

to accompany your old grandfather?

- I think I'd better stay with Aunt Mary.

- Well, you certainly cast
a spell over the boy, Mary.

He refuses to go home ever again.

- Tell me this plan you're hatching.

(Mary chuckles)

- How would you like to
accompany me to Europe?

- Would I?!
- Now, shh, shh, shh, shh.

We don't know that your dear mother

would permit it, or your grandparents.

And we must find a way to convince them

that it is absolutely
vital to your education.

- But it is!

It is.

- Of course it is.

But you know how some people around here

are prejudice against travel,
unless it's to Niagara Falls.

- Oh, we could go to Paris, or
Versailles, or Saint Peters.

Do you think we could
see Shakespeare's house?

- Oh, I should enjoy that very much.

- But what about money?

Won't it be awfully expensive?

- Oh, now, don't you worry
your head about that.

I'll manage somehow.

- [Lewis] Do you think
cousin Robert will approve?

- Robert T. Lincoln no longer has anything

to say about my finances,
the court saw to that.

- [Lewis] When do you think we could go?

- Well, the sooner the better, I say.

Oh, I've just gotta get away somewhere

where I'm not regarded as a lunatic.

Sometimes, I think I'll have to spend

the rest of my life in
the company of strangers.

(gentle music)

- Uncle Ninian.

- [Ninian] Hello, Robert.

- Aunt Elisabeth.

I was planning to stop by the
house and see her later today.

- How kind of you.

- I would have written,
but I assumed you'd know

I was in Springfield.

- Why, yes, the papers
have been full of it.

It isn't every day the Secretary
of War comes through town.

- You're both looking very well.

- How do you dare to come here?

- Now, Elisabeth.
- How do you dare to stand

before the tomb of your
father and brothers?

- Elisabeth, this isn't helping anything.

- I want an answer, because
I can them laughing.

Your father and brothers laughing, Robert,

at the mockery you call grief.

What would you know of grief?

- I did what I had to do.

- Let's go home, Elisabeth.

- Uncle Ninian.

Tell me where she is, please.

I have tried to reach her,
my letters are all returned.

Where is she?

- Why ask him?

I can tell you where she is, Robert.

She's wandering the earth
homeless, a homeless wanderer.

My sister, your mother,
snickered at, reviled,

because you called her poor,
exhausted brain demented.

- Tell me where she is.

- Why, so you can bring
her back in chains?

- Now, we've had enough of this.

She's still in Europe, Robert.

We get letters postmarked here and there,

towns we'd never heard of.

But by the time we write back,
she appears to have moved on.

That's all we can tell you,

except that I hope you'll
see her again one day.

- [Elisabeth] Never.

(elegant music)

- My dearest Lewis,

it is early evening

and the sun is slowly disappearing

behind the mountain that
rises above our village.

How often I've wished that
you were here with me,

for I'm certain that one
look at your beautiful face,

filled with sweet sympathy,

would gladden the heart of a lonely exile

so very far from home.

Four long years, dear Lewis,

four long years since we held
one another in a last embrace

and I watched as you grew smaller

and smaller standing on the pier.

And even as you became a
tiny speck and vanished,

I knew that you were waving still.

As I've told you, I am not
bitter towards your dear mother.

A dreary old woman sick in her heart

and weary in her mind

would hardly have been a
suitable traveling companion

for a bright and fun-loving boy.

But if you were here,

if those I've loved in
the past were with me,

would I not still be young and happy?

It is not the years that age us,

dear Lewis, it is loneliness.

And I must try to remember
that you are no longer a boy

but a young man of 21,

soon to be a graduate of Harvard

and go out into the world with...

Oh, now, what is her name,
the girl you wrote of?

Estelle.

She has long, brown hair
that floats down her back

and she loves to make jokes,
but she's very serious indeed.

There are moments when her eyes

suddenly look at you with a wonder

that makes you want to shelter
her forever in your arms,

and so you do, and so you must.

But please, I beg of you,

keep a small corner of
your heart for an old lady

who occupies a whole
bedroom in a tiny hotel

in the smallest village in the Pyrenees.

She's known to the
villagers as Madam Gardner,

an unhappy American lady in mourning

for her husband and her children.

Not unkind, not a cold woman,

a woman who sits alone in the square

and smiles at the children as they play.

"Oh, it's very sad," say the villagers,

"for the poor old soul with no
family and so far from home."

Well, they don't understand.

They don't know that I am here
cradled in these mountains,

shielded from time and its
terrors, so that I am nowhere.

And in this emptiness,
I make my own world.

Don't laugh at me, dear Lewis,

but when I hear the cowbells
echoing in the mountains,

I rush to the window of
a house on the corner

of Eighth Street and Jackson
in Springfield, Illinois,

and my, the bells get louder and louder,

and I look down the street
to where a crowd is coming,

cheering and throwing
their hats in the air.

And in the center of the crowd,

taller than anyone, walks Mr. Lincoln,

the expression I know so well on his face,

sad and tired but with a slight smile,

everybody trying to shake his hands.

His face lit by torchlight.

My heart is beating so fast

I have to hold onto the window frame.

I rush down the stairs
to meet him at the door

and I can't keep the tears from my cheeks.

People pour in and I don't
hear what they're saying.

It's only when he comes
in, stands above me,

I feel his hands on my
shoulders, and he says to me,

"Well, Mother, I am to be the president,

"that I understand what has happened."

I'm very glad, Mr. Lincoln, I say,

but I had better put on a pot
of coffee on for our guests.

And presently, it fades away

and I'm in a foreign land

and my dear ones have
disappeared into the years,

and I'm sitting in my
little room, existing,

merely existing, until
the next memory comes

to transport me back again.

I live from dream to dream.

It is not better than death, dear Lewis,

nothing could be better
than death for me now,

but it is better than life.

It will do while I wait.

But, oh, the waiting is so long.

(gentle music)

- Excuse me.

Is this 41 West 26th Street?

- Yeah.
- Dr. Miller's Medical Baths?

- [Man] Yeah, yeah.

- Good, I'm looking for a lady.

- What's her name?

- Well, I'm not sure what name
she'd be registered under.

Do you have a Mrs. Gardner?

- Nobody by that name.

What's her complaint?

- Well, I'm not quite sure.

I understand she limps now.

Perhaps her leg, or her hip.

- Maybe it's 112.

Kind of a stingy old dame, never tips.

Her name is Baker.

- Baker?
- Yeah.

- I'm sure she's who I'm looking for.

- 112.

Rear of the first floor, cheap section.

- Thank you.

Aunt Mary?

Aunt Mary?

- Lewis?

- Why didn't you let
me know where you were?

Why didn't you tell me?

- My dearest.

- I've been nearly out of my mind.

Let me look at you.

Well, you look just fine.

- No, no.

I'm old and I've been so ill, Lewis.

- [Lewis] What happened?

- Well, I fell and injured my back.

The doctor in France
thought I shouldn't travel,

but I told him that I couldn't
bear the pain in my body

and the pain of being an
exile at the same time.

Oh, Lewis, I can hardly walk.

I didn't want you to see me like this.

I was waiting until I--

- It doesn't matter.

I found you.

- Oh, I'm so glad to see you,

but how did you know I was in New York?

- A reporter saw you on the ship

when he was covering
Sarah Bernhardt's arrival,

so I knew you were here,
but I didn't know where.

And I'm taking you home
to Springfield right now.

Grandma and Grandpa have been frantic.

Get you out of this place.

- [Mary] Well, it's very reasonable.

- Yes, well, it should be.

Where are your things?

- [Mary] Well, everything's there.

- Estelle's waiting at the hotel.

We were married last week, Aunt Mary.

- Well, that's the best news I could have.

I feel better already.

(Mary chuckles)

- [Lewis] Is that your trunk?

- Now, you'd better speak to the doctor.

- I'll take care of that and
I'll wire cousin Robert to--

- [Mary] No.

- He's been terribly

worried, Aunt Mary.
- I forbid you

to telegraph Robert.

I couldn't bear to face him.

Oh, Lewis, all these years alone,

I saw how much I missed
him and needed him,

loved him,

and I've behaved so wickedly.

Now, promise me you will
not telegraph Robert.

- I make no promises.

(gentle music)

- Expected so much.

That first day that she
arrived up here from Lexington,

that pretty, pretty creature.

Why, I thought she'll be
the belle of Springfield.

What a match we can make.

Mr. Douglas would...

Am I a Christian woman, am I?

- You try, Elisabeth.

- I could never understand
what she saw in Mr. Lincoln.

- Well, we were all guilty of that.

- But the terrible thing is I still can't.

Were we so wrong?

Is that what a great man is?

That homely, awkward, backwoodsman?

- I guess it can be.

- You know, I have nightmares.

I dream that Christ comes to my door,

and I won't let him in.

His feet are dusty and his
clothes have been slept in

and he isn't from Springfield,
and I won't let him in.

- Don't think we have to worry

about Christ coming to Springfield.

(people chattering)

- Why don't they leave us
alone, those newspaper men?

Camping on the doorstep like vultures.

- Some of the have come
all the way from New York.

- [Elisabeth] I'm afraid she'll hear them.

- I think it might be Christian of us

to provide them with a cup of coffee.

- All right, I'll make a pot of coffee,

but you'll have to take it out to them.

(Ninian chuckles)

Mary, you shouldn't be down here.

The doctor said that--

- I don't care what the doctor said.

I can't have Robert find his mother in bed

so early in the evening.

Lewis carried me, it was
a very pleasant trip.

- [Lewis] You're light as a feather.

- Well, you shouldn't stay up too late.

You can see Robert in the morning.

- Why isn't he here?

- We don't know.

He wasn't on either of
the scheduled trains.

Expect he's got his own
private train by now.

You mustn't let this excite you

too much, Mary.
- I don't want to miss Robert.

- [Ninian] No, he'll be along, Mary.

- Mr. Edwards and I have
an errand to perform.

Lewis will look after you.

- [Lewis] Where do want to be?

- Over there.

- [Lewis] Can I get you anything?

- Where's Estelle?

- She's in the kitchen cooking.

I never saw a girl who
liked to cook so much.

I'll be the fattest husband in the world.

- She's a wonderful girl.

Sit down.

(people chattering)

Who's that?

- [Lewis] Why, it's probably
just friends stopping by

to see if you're better.

- Oh, I thought it might be Robert.

- [Lewis] We'll let you
know the minute he comes.

- Yes.

- Don't you think you ought to rest?

- I want to talk to you.

I want to tell you something.

It was in this room,

there was a party, music,

and I had been dancing.

I was sitting on the sofa to
get my breath and I looked up.

I looked up and I saw him,

I saw him, Lewis, coming toward me,

this strange, beautiful
man coming toward me.

And I knew in that moment
what my life was meant to be.

I saw what nobody else
in the world could see.

I saw shining through his beautiful eyes,

the look of God.

"Miss Todd," he said,

"I want to dance with
you in the worst way."

And he did.

(chuckles)

That was our little joke for years.

- [Lewis] Please rest.

- I put my hand in his.

I put my hand...

Where am I?

- [Lewis] You're home.

- Has Robert called?

- [Lewis] No, not yet.

- I want to be read to,

upstairs by the bed, Taddie,

Mr. Lincoln's Shakespeare.

- [Lewis] I'll get it.

Is the light too bright?

- If I fall asleep, you wake me.

- I will.

(people chattering)

(door thuds)

Here he is, Aunt Mary.

- Mother?

Mother, I wanted to say that...

Mother?

(somber music)

I loved you.

I should like to inform you,
as members of the press,

that at 8:15 this evening, July 16th,

in the year of our Lord 1882,

my mother, Mary Todd Lincoln,

passed away peacefully in her sleep.

We do not shed tears.

Those of us who mourned with her so often,

rejoice with her now.

She is with my father, where
her heart has always been.

My brother, Tad, who
died so many years ago,

used to tell my mother
that she was a great lady.

Well, perhaps she was not that,

but I hope that when you write
of her, you will say this,

as she would have wished
and let it be her epitaph:

She had a great love.

I bid you goodnight.

(bell tolling)

(elegant music)