Free Lincoln by Gore Vidal Page B

destroy the government, while
I
shall have the most solemn one to “preserve, protect and defend” it. With
you
and not with
me
, is the solemn question of “Shall it be peace, or a sword?” ’ ”
    “That is the case. That is
my
case.”
    Seward inhaled the cigar smoke deeply, comfortably. “Never end a speech with a question.”
    Lincoln smiled. “For fear you’ll get the wrong answer?”
    Seward nodded. “People are perverse. I would cut all that I have just read. It is too menacing. I’ve written a paragraph to take its place. It’s inside the case.”
    Lincoln opened the case, withdrew the speech which he had had, in greatest secrecy, set up in type by a printer so that there would be exactcopies for the wire-services as opposed to the usual garbled reporters’ or recorders’ shorthand notes; or confusion over his own not-always-clear calligraphy. Lincoln read to himself Seward’s flowery coda. He nodded. “I can use some of this. If you don’t mind my turning it into my own words.”
    “It’s yours, sir. You’ll cut the other?”
    “I can’t cut the part about the oath that I have sworn to uphold the Constitution. That is what gives me—and the Union—our legitimacy in the eyes of heaven.”
    “I did not think of you as a religious man, Mr. Lincoln.”
    “I am not, in any usual sense. But I believe in fate—and necessity. I believe in this Union. That is
my
fate, I suppose. And my necessity.”
    “You are a man of sentiment,” said Seward. “I had not known that.” Seward rose. “Since there has always been a rumor that you were not a proper Christian and churchgoer—”
    “Founded, I’m afraid, on my
im
propriety and chronic absence from church.”
    “I, as an important layman of the Episcopal church, am going to take you over to St. John’s, where the minister and congregation will be able to see that you are at peace with Our Lord Jesus Christ, and they will then spread the good news.”
    Lincoln laughed; and got to his feet. Then he noticed the pile of newspapers beside his chair. He frowned. “Did you see the
New York Times
?”
    On principle, Seward said that he had not, while doing his best to anticipate Lincoln’s response. “Sir,” Seward began, “there was no doubt about the plot in Baltimore …”
    “If there had been a plot, why was no attempt made on the cars that I was supposed to be in?”
    “Because everyone in Baltimore knew by then that you had already gone through the city.”
    “No, I’ve made an error that I’ll never live down. According to the
Times
I arrived in the city wearing a Scotsman’s plaid hat and a cloak. What sort of idle malice invents such a thing?”
    “It is the nature of newspapers. I suppose the writer wanted to make the cartoonist’s job easier.”
    “He has. I’ll be shown with that hat and cloak from one end of the country to the other. Such lies go out all the time,” said Lincoln darkly, “on the telegraph.”
    “It is a hazard of our estate, sir. Will Mrs. Lincoln join us?”
    “No, she’s going off with her cousins to see the sights, which is ironic, since she is the churchgoer of the family.”
    “Then she need
not
go to St. John’s, as her soul is saved.”
    So, together, Seward and Lincoln, guarded by the watchful Lamon, made their way across Lafayette Square, where David Herold stood in the crowd that had gathered—the minister had already spread the word that the President-elect would attend the morning service. David watched the tall man as he walked slowly by, lifting his hat to the people who greeted him. David thought that the old man looked surprisingly pleasant and friendly. In a way, it was a shame that he was going to be shot just before he took his oath of office, by two of the wild boys who, even now, were at target practice across the river in Alexandria, Virginia.

SEVEN
    A T THE CORNER of Sixth and E streets, senator-elect and would-be president Salmon P. Chase had rented an elegant three-story