The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the cavalcade of America. Tonight's star, Dorothy McGuire. Tonight's DuPont cavalcade, The Rose and the Thorns, starring Dorothy McGuire as Winnie, the daughter of Jefferson Davis, begins in the year 1885. The season is spring. In a plush and guilt suite of Delmonico's Hotel on New York's Lower Broadway, a young woman sits at a desk writing a letter. My darling Alfred, when you read this, I will have left New York and with it all my dreams of happiness. I know you will call me a coward for running away. The choice I've made is a sorrowful one, and it has taken all the strength of my being to see it through. On the desk before me is the bouquet of roses you sent, and their perfume brings back a hundred memories. Do you remember Beauvoir, our plantation in Mississippi? The glory of France roses were in full bloom that morning when first we met. I was sitting on the veranda writing down the words my father spoke as he paced nervously. And my purpose in writing this history of the Confederacy is to perpetuate the dream the South fought for, a way of life that held as its ideal the dignity of the individual man. Father, excuse me. Oh, what is it, Winnie? There's a carriage coming up the drive. I wasn't expecting visitors. Now who can that be? I think it's a hard hack. Here you are, my boy. Thank you, sir. Morning, Mars Davis. Good morning, Luther. You want me to wait for you, sir? No, come back in an hour. Yes, sir. Get up. I hope you'll forgive this intrusion. You are Colonel Davis. I am Jefferson Davis. My name is Wilkinson. Welcome to Beauvoir, Mr. Wilkinson. May I present my daughter, Winnie? How do you do, Mr. Wilkinson? I'm deeply honored, Miss Davis. And to what may we ascribe the honor of your visit, Mr. Wilkinson? I'm writing a series of articles for the New York world on conditions in the South. I see. Winnie, will you order some refreshments for our guest? And with your permission, sir, I will retire. But Colonel Davis, I've come all the way from New York to interview you. I am sorry, sir, but I am afraid it would serve no purpose, either to you or to your readers. If I were you, our readers would welcome news of you. May I ask why? Well, you've become something of a legend, sir. A legend? I dare say. Tell me, do you Yankees still sing that song, we'll hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree? Most assuredly not, sir. All that's been forgotten. And you may tell your readers that the South has not forgotten. Good day, Mr. Wilkinson. But Colonel Davis, I... To our guest's needs, Winnie. You must forgive my father, Mr. Wilkinson. He's in frail health. He's been taxing his strength to the limit of late. Oh, I understand. Tell me, has he embarked on some new project? Yes. He's writing a history of the Confederacy. That's a very ambitious project. Yes. Well, I try to relieve him of as much of the arduous work as I can. I go through the archives and look for lost documents, and then I write down his words. You know, it's very sad to see a man who's lived a life of action. I mean... Jefferson Davis does not need your pity, Mr. Wilkinson. No, Miss Davis, please. I didn't mean... You just see an old man, poutering about, writing memoirs and trying to resurrect the glories of a vanished past. That's all you see in him, isn't it? I see a young girl wasting her youth among the dusty archives and moldering documents of a vanished world. A rose among the thorns. I fail to see what business it is of yours, sir. I'm a newspaper man. I'm interested in people. Well, it strikes me that the quality of your interest is such that you won't find a warm reception here in Biloxi, Mr. Wilkinson. I anticipate it's a little trouble, but I'll get what I came here for in time. Mr. Wilkinson, I... I must go in now. Pray, make yourself comfortable until your carriage arrives. Thank you. If you like, read my father's manuscript. I assure you, there's nothing in it that will interest your Yankee readers. I don't believe everything you hear about us Yankees. In fact, someday a Yankee may surprise you. And you did surprise me. Or perhaps I should say, I surprised myself. One morning as I strolled along our beach, do you remember? Miss Winnie! What? Miss Winnie! Oh, it's Mr. Wilkinson. Well, what a pleasant surprise. Do you mind if I walk along with you? If it pleases you? It pleases me very much. And have you written an article for your paper describing our life at Beauvoir in all its lurid details? If someone doesn't grant me an interview soon, I shall be obliged to invent some lurid details. I warned you. You would not find a warm welcome here, Mr. Wilkinson. And I told you I'd get what I came here for in time. You know what my father said about you? I'd like to. He said, if that young man wasn't a Yankee, I'd take his persistence for sheer rebel cousinness. I regard that as a very high compliment. You do? Your father is a very proud man. A proud man doesn't often unbend that far. I think you understand my father a little. Well, I did read part of his history of the Confederacy. Do you approve of it? Well, let me put it this way. He made me see for the first time the vision that lay behind the South's struggle. Oh, I wish you would tell him that. He's been so discouraged of late. And if he knew that you are Yankees... Must we go on being Yankees and rebels forever? Oh, it's hard not to. It's hard for both sides to forget. There's bitterness... For those who fought the war, there needn't be for us. Look at us. We talk together. We understand each other. Understand each other? Yes. Yes, I think we do. Winnie, where have you been? Your mother has been worried about you. Oh, I'm sorry, Mother. I must have lost track of the time. It's all right, dear. Did you enjoy your walk? Very much. Oh, it was such a beautiful day. We walked nearly to the Custom House. We? Oh, Mr. Wilkinson and I. That Yankee? You walked with him? Now, Mother, he's very nice. And Father, he read some of your history and he thinks it's wonderful. Wonderful, um? Well, he didn't use that word. Oh, but you must talk to him and hear what he has to say about it. We really misjudged him terribly, Father. Well, now, if you think he's all right, then I'll talk to him, Winnie. I'll even give him his interview. Oh, thank you, Father. I know you like him. I must say you seem to have developed a strong liking for him in one short walk. Oh, we walked for miles. I hope no one saw you together. Oh, Mother, why? The daughter of the Confederacy walking out with a Yankee? There'll be no end of gossip. Let him gossip. I think it's shameful the way everyone has snubbed him, including us. Excuse me, Moss Davies. Yes, James, what is it? Miss Peeves is calling, sir. Oh, now, what does that old busybody want? Now, James. All right, tell her to come in, James. Moss Davies says go on in, Miss Peeves. Thank you, James. Oh, Verena, and Winnie, oh, Winnie, my precious. What a touch and tribute that dear Mr. Wilkinson wrote. Aren't you proud? Tribute? In the New York world? Why, haven't you read it? We don't take any Yankee papers ever. Well, we wouldn't either. Only Mr. Peevey gets it for the market quotations. I brought the clipping with me. Wait till you read it, Winnie. It's all about you. About me? Yes, honey. Here, read it out loud. You have such a pretty voice. Where? Oh, here it is. Rose Among the Thorns. Mm-hmm. Lovely flower of the old south blooms unseen behind plantation walls, heart rendering devotion of Jeff Davis' daughter. How dare he? Well, he doesn't write the headlines. Read the article, honey. Biloxi, Mississippi. Behind the stark white columns of Beauvoir, Jeff Davis' beautiful plantation house on the Gulf Coast, the child whom Robert E. Lee held in his arms and was called the daughter of the Confederacy, has grown to graceful young womanhood. But instead of receiving the Beaux and admirers who yearn to surround her and pay their court, she has chosen to spend her lovely youth assisting her father in the preparation of a monumental history which will take years to complete. She sits among old Confederate archives and documents, a rose among the thorns. Isn't it lovely? Oh, go on, honey. Oh, I can't. I'm so ashamed. I could die. Oh, now, now, honey. Don't take on so. It's only a New York paper and nobody will read it. Why, they'll be all over town. I'll never be able to show my face again. Well, he's right about one thing, though. You shouldn't be cooped up in this house day after day. Why don't you let me help you with your book, Jeff? I have more time than I know what to do with. But I want to help father. Well, yes, of course you do, my dear, but your mother's right now. You should get out of here. And your Aunt Emma has done something about it. I'm giving the ball in your honor, Winnie. Oh, no. Aunt Emma, you can't. Well, I've already invited everyone under the sun and especially that handsome Yankee. Mr. Wilkinson? Why, naturally. Well, in that case, I wouldn't miss it for the world. I told no one what I had in mind. But my pride was hurt and I was determined to avenge it. Yet even while I was planning my vengeance, I knew in my heart that I would regret it. The ball at the Peavey Mansion was one of the grandest that had ever been given since antebellum days. And then Biloxi was there, and you were there too, my darling. Oh, my heart skipped a beat when I saw you crossing the room to greet me. Miss Winnie, how lovely you look this evening, like a princess released from a dark tower. And you are the magician who did it. Oh, you must be enjoying yourself at the spectacle of all these simple country people being taken in by your flowery faces. Now look here, Miss Winnie. Please, excuse me, Mr. Wilkinson. You're attracting attention. Well, then we'd better talk out on the veranda. What if I don't choose to? I'll make a scene. Come on. Well? Now listen to me, Winnie Davis. I didn't write that article to make fun of you. I meant every word of it. I don't believe you. But you must believe me. Mr. Wilkinson, on your honor, as a gentleman, what do you really think of my father? I think he's a brilliant, courageous man. But you think he was wrong, don't you? You think we were all wrong. Uh, not wrong, mistaken. Have you the courage to go in there and tell these people that? I suppose so. Why are you talking so strangely? I'm just curious. I want to see just how far your hypocrisy can carry you. Hypocrisy? What else can it be called? I don't understand you. What have I done? You've spoiled everything for me with that horrid newspaper story. You've separated me from my father's work. Oh? You admit that's what you were trying to do. Yes. And you know why? No. Because I love you. Why? Why you don't even know me? I know you better than you know yourself. We'll see about that. The music has stopped playing. Now's a good time as any. For what? You profess to understand us so well. You dare to say you know me better than I do myself? Well, you may have deceived a few foolish old women, but not Jefferson Davis's daughter. Winnie, how can I prove to you that I mean what I say? Go in there and tell those people exactly how you feel about the war between the states, about my father. Then I may believe you. Very well. But I warn you, you'll regret it. I'll regret it? I told you I know you better than you do yourself. Well, so be it. I'll do it and you'll regret it. Ladies and gentlemen. Ladies and gentlemen, please. I have been challenged to make a public profession of certain matters that will undoubtedly give offense to you, who have been my friends and generous hosts. But it has been put upon a point of honor. And so I have no choice. I am, as you all know, a Yankee. Unlike many Yankees, I never sang the song whose refrain goes, we'll hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree. But now that I am challenged to tell the whole truth, I must confess to you that I have agreed with Abraham Lincoln that a house divided against itself cannot stand. Finally, and I beg him to bear in mind that I stand here under duress, I have never agreed and do not now agree with the public utterances of Jefferson Davis. Good night. Thank you for your kind indulgence. You, boy. Can I help you, Mr. Wilkinson? Yes, fetch me my hat and stick. Yes, sir. Mr. Wilkinson? May I speak to you for just a moment? What is it now? Hasn't enough damage been done for one evening? I was wrong. You do know me. You said I'd regret it. I may know you, Winnie Davis, but I'll never understand you. Here's your things, Mr. Wilkinson. Thank you. Good night, Winnie. Wait a moment. Yes? Won't you escort me home? No, I'm sorry, but it's impossible. Why? You know perfectly well you don't dare to be seen with me after tonight. I dare anything after tonight. Winnie, you don't understand. They'd never forgive you. If I let a Yankee outdo me in courage, I'd never forgive myself. So that's all it is, a gesture. You know it's more than that, Alfred. No, no, I can't let you do it. If I follow you to your carriage, if I insist... I beg you to consider what you're doing. What do I care what people think? I'm Jeff Davis' daughter. And Jeff Davis' daughter can do no wrong? What if you really love me? Boy. Yes, Mr. Wilkinson? Fetch Miss Winnie's cloak. She's leaving with me. You are listening to The Cavalcade of America, starring Dorothy McGuire in The Rose and the Thorns, sponsored by the DuPont Company, makers of better things for better living through chemistry. The DuPont Cavalcade continues, starring Dorothy McGuire as the daughter of Jefferson Davis, who is writing a letter to Alfred Wilkinson, the man she loves. After we left the ball that night, people gossiped. Neither of us took it seriously until one day... Yes? Oh, good morning, Mrs. Peavey. Good morning, Mr. Wilkinson. I wonder if I may speak to you for a few moments. I won't take much of your time. Certainly, won't you come in? Thank you. May I take your cloak, ma'am? No, thank you. I want to talk to you about Winnie Davis, Mr. Wilkinson. That's a pleasant subject, Mrs. Peavey. I understand that you and she are engaged to be married. We had hoped to announce our engagement in the near future, as soon as all this gossip about the other night dies down. It will not die down, Mr. Wilkinson. I'm sure it will. It will not die down. It will get worse. Biloxi's in a turmoil about it now. A turmoil? I can't believe that. Mr. Wilkinson, I know our people. I'm one of them. I was in Richmond when Winnie was born, in the executive mansion of the Confederacy. I was in the crowd when General Lee carried her out on the steps to show to the people, and she was called the daughter of the Confederacy. There are those who don't forget things like that, Mr. Wilkinson. Aren't you over-dramatizing it a little? What can you know of those days? After Richmond fell, Winnie's mother carried her in her arms through the long, agonizing days and nights as they fled before the victorious Union armies. Everywhere they went, the confused and disheartened people took new courage from their example. And it's been that way ever since. Why, without such a symbol to look up to, the South would never have borne its defeat as it has. But that was 20 years ago. Wounds like ours take a long time to heal, Mr. Wilkinson. Why are you telling me this? Because I don't think you realize just how deeply Winnie's roots are implanted in the South. She thinks now she can throw over everything she has ever stood for, turn her back on her people and find happiness with you up north. But it's not as easy as that. Why isn't it? Try her, and you'll see. Go back to New York. Let her think things over here by herself for a while. Then, if she still feels the same, let her join you there. That's ridiculous. Are you afraid to put it to the test? Yes. Yes, I am. But...but nevertheless, Mrs. Peavy, I'll do it. I give you my word. But Alfred, why should we? Why should we let that meddling old woman influence us? She's not just a meddling old woman. She speaks for all the millions of people to whom you've become a symbol. I don't want to be a symbol. I want to be a woman. Then come away with me now, before it's too late. No, I...I can't. Not just now. Mother's ill, and there's no one to help Father with his history. Can't he hire someone to help him? Oh, you don't understand. He could never do his best work with strangers. That woman is right. Your roots are deep. Very deep. Are you angry with me? I love you, Winnie. I shall always love you. I think you love me too, but you have another love. What? That's why I'm going away, so that you can be free to choose between us. Another love? The South. Oh, it's not the same as my love for you. Winnie, if you knew for certain that you could never come back here again, would you go away with me now? I don't know. Everything I love is here, except you. Oh, why couldn't I have been born in another time and another place? You had no choice any more than I had. Oh, I can't let you go. You must. It may all look very different to you when I'm gone. You may find it easy to forget me. And if I can't? Then come to me in New York. I'll be waiting for you. Always. Oh, my darling, I shall miss you so. My dear. Go now. Quickly. Goodbye, Winnie. Goodbye. Goodbye, my love. But I couldn't forget. And I followed you to New York. And now you must ask why. Why I must leave you and return to Biloxi. Why am I running away on the very eve of our wedding? Oh, I'm not certain myself. It is so many things. Here is a letter from my father. Perhaps it will help you to understand. My dearest Winnie, your mother and I rejoice in your happiness. And only regret that you cannot be married here at Beauvoir. The glory of France roses are in full bloom and the gulf is a vivid blue against a sky only a little less blue. And the voices of the field hands are raised in song. And it makes one feel that we have emerged from a terrible dream and life goes on. I pray the day may come when you return here with your husband. Because for me, I'm like a bit of Spanish moss. I may be bad for the tree, but I must cling to it for dear life. And it condescends to wear me for an ornament. If we do not meet again in this world, know that my thoughts and my love are with you wherever you go. Your loving father, Jefferson Davis. That is all, dear love. The other love has one out after all. Think of me sometimes, remember the good things. And I will remember you as you looked that day when you first came to Beauvoir. And you took my hand in yours and looked in my eyes. And your eyes said, I know you, but I will never understand you. And still we do belong to each other. And now goodbye. All my love, Winnie. Coming for to carry me home. Our thanks to Dorothy McGuire and the Cavalcade players for tonight's story, The Rose and the Thorns. Tonight's DuPont Cavalcade, The Rose and the Thorns was written by Robert Tallman. Dorothy McGuire is currently starring in the 20th Century Fox production, Mr. 880. On tonight's DuPont Cavalcade, John Raby was featured as Wilkinson and Bill Smith was Jefferson Davis. Music is composed by Arden Cornwell and conducted by Donald Borez. The program is directed by John Zoller. This is Cy Harris speaking. Have fun with Baby Snooks. Three chimes mean good times on NBC.
