The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the cavalcade of America. Tonight's story, as if a door were opening, is about one of America's great heroes, a man whose intimate history is little known to most of us. Our star, John Hodiac. In the beginning, we are in a palace. The year is 1773. And the palace is the home, hip home is a word that can be applied to such an imposing structure, the home of the ancient, powerful family of the Duke of Valle in Paris. Here in this magnificent edifice, a great door opens. There. You will go and talk with her now, Gilbert? If I must. Adrienne is a sensitive child. Be gentle, my son. I am not your son, sir. I am the son of no man living. But you will be my son. You will be. I cannot help myself. Go now. See, she's waiting. Poor girl. Someone's waiting for you. Poor girl, so unlovely too, so plain. Her name is Adrienne. Marie Adrienne Faussewellers. She's a good girl, Gilbert. Her mother has taught her... Obedience, yes. Obedience, I'm sure of that. Very well. Will you leave us alone? Look you now, however long the way, I go to meet your daughter. So... The young man is tall, awkward-seeming, with red hair, green eyes, large bones, and a sullen, rebellious expression. He's wearing the black uniform of a cadet in the King's Musketeers. And there are diamond rings on his fingers, diamond sparkle on the buckles of his shoes, and on the hilt of his sword. He bows. My service, Mademoiselle. It is a very great pleasure, Monsieur Lemarque. So I have been told to say to you... And I have been told to say that... Well, that you are very beautiful, Mademoiselle. We have been told then to tell lies to each other. Why, certainly. It would be good practice. But you'll be married, are we not? Yes. It is ordered so. I have been instructed to say, Mademoiselle, that this marriage is the dearest wish of my heart. And my aunt has told me to say that I shall do my utmost to be a good, wise, and dutiful wife, according to the precepts of the Church. Oh, now, now. Oh, now, see here, girl. This will never do. We must go through with this thing. But why? Why must they do this to us? Because I am very wealthy and I have no father. The marriage has been arranged for the King's Ward by the King and by your father. This is the way of our world. And tears will do no good. But we, we need not tell lies any more. No more lies. My word on it. I, I am not beautiful. I'm, I'm ugly. Am I, am I not? No, no, girl. You're not ugly. Not when you smile. There, like that. After all, I'm not handsome myself. Oh, but you are. No lies, girl. No more lies. Why, they mock me at school. They cry out, carot, carot, blondinet, they call me. It was not a lie. I said it quickly. Always when I lie, I must think first to remember what I have been told to say. I like red hair. But, but, oh dear. Now what troubles you at the end? You'll not cry again. No, but, but I don't know your name. They have recited your titles over and over, but your, your Christian name. I have too many Christian names for a man who lacks a father. I'm called Mary Joseph Paul Yves Roche Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette. This then is a portrait and miniature of Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette. Let us open all the doors, other portals of the past. The year is now 1776, shortly after the marriage of Gilbert and Adrienne. We are outside the Hall of Arms of the garrison at Metz, France, where Gilbert is captain of a regiment of dragoons. A second door opens. Louis, Louis, you must not drink so much. I'm beaten. And you're right, Gilbert, but what else can one do but drink here in Metz, or in Paris, or in all of France? So, let us accept our dull fate with grace, and more wine. Corporal, Captain Darcy, wine for the heroes of France, lad. Wine for the knights of the wooden sword. Well, Captain Darcy, come, come, come, Gilbert, cheer up, man. Sit down here. Stop thinking about like a caged tiger. Tiger? Say rather like a pet poodle. Louis, an ancestor of mine, Sir Joan of Arcadolio, and he died a marshal of France. My own father died at Minden before I could know. I know, I know, and now the walls are over, eh? No glory for the last of the Lafayette. No glory for France. Canada gone, lost, debauched court, an impotent fat and thrift king, the people enslaved, an idle rotting army. I can't stand this any longer, Darcy. Quietly, quietly. The wine, sir. Leave it on the table. Quiet, my friend, not much longer. Have you heard the news from America? Not only that they've taken upon themselves what was once the national sport of France, they're fighting Englishmen. News has just been received that they have declared independence from the English crown. A man named Jefferson is their spokesperson. Listen, listen to this. I brought it here to read to you, listen. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I'm going to America, Louis. Ha, ha. Do not think so, my friend. You're too important. Nevertheless, let us drink to the prospect, to all our dismal prospects, to America, and to Jefferson, to America, and to the last of the Lafayette. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Why do you laugh? Ha, ha, ha, ha. If you dare to take up your saber again, in earnest. Ha, ha, ha, ha. I say you'll not laugh at me. Quietly, quietly, as you bear, my good friend. I was just thinking of the look on the face of your father-in-law, the duke, when you tell him that all men are created equal. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Poisonous, poisonous nonsense. This man Jefferson will end on the gallows. Wrong with that other fellow, the renegade British. What is his name? General Washington. For this reason, she'll bear you are dreaming. This madness must end. What can you have in common with this wilderness rebel? Change, sir, change. Ha, nonsense. You have money to buy anything you want, anything. What do you want? Liberty, sir, to be my own man. She'll bear by the terms of your marriage contract, I am your guardian. I'd hoped I might not need to use more than persuasion, but you force me to more active measures. I shall talk with the king himself. Nevertheless, sir, I am going to America. We will see, boy, we will see. When you are older, you will realize that these mad hopes, these bookish dreams. She'll bear, don't leave me. I am your father. You are not my father. Driver, take me to the residence of the American minister, Mr. Silas Dean. You will pardon my poor French, Marquis. Have we received your letter? Do I understand all right? You wish no pay to serve in the American army? I have no need of payment, Mr. Dean. Most unusual, most unusual. But considering your age, the commission you request is also, well, unusual. Three of my ancestors have been Martians of France under Joan of Arc at the siege of Orleans, one of them. Yes, yes, yes, I know. Well, then I shall read you what I have written to our Congress. Listen, if you will. Be it our birth, his alliances, the great dignities which his family holds at this court, his considerable estates in Israel, such as to induce me to promise him in the name of the United States the rank of Major General. At last. At last. I thank you, sir. Driver, there's a horseman following us. Master, master. Yes, mature. My greetings, Darcy, to the last of the Latvians. Louis, what are you doing here? You didn't think I'd let you keep all the fun to yourself, did you? I'm going with you, you bear. Louis, splendid, splendid. I'm not sure it's as fine as all that. I have news, bad news. Tell me quickly. The king, aroused by his ministers from a usual stupor, has acted. The captains of all French ships are forbidden to give you passage. What? There are no other ships? Will you swim to America? If necessary, I'd try. Captains, you say, have been forbidden to give me passage? Captains and owners, upon pain of death. Why, then, I shall buy me a ship. You will buy? Ships can be bought. Look here, Louis. Since I last met with my revered father-in-law, I have changed the motto of the House of Lafayette. I have had a new signet ring made. I have caused my new password to be graven in the gold of this ring. Here, look, read it. It's short enough. Read it. It reads, cool, known. Why not? Yes, why not? Ships can be bought. All right, why not? Why not, my friend? To live on Cabo Cato of America, John Hodiac is starring as the Marquis de Lafayette. Needless to say, Lafayette was cheated in the price of the ship he bought. But he did buy a ship. The victory and sale he did from San Sebastian in fame. It's a clear night of stars with the victory wheeled over in a brisk, squalorin' wind, and she'll bear with his friend, Louis D'Arcy, up in the eyes of the victory's bowels. Look down there, Louis. See how it glows and turns. Now white, now green, but always, always new. The sea. I think I shall always love the sea. Oops, my bad. Have you forgotten the seasickness? Are we almost dying? Nonsense. We were sick at the stomach, that was all. You cried out the loudest. You, Major General. And now you love the sea. May I laugh a little? Yes. Good, I laugh silently. If at all I'd care to risk, or I might be sick again. Look down there, Louis, into the sea. Some say all life came from the sea. Oh, not mine, not my life. I was born on the top of a very dry rock in the province of Gatskene, of noble but slightly starving folk. Or the slightly stupid you, like me. Quiet, Louis. Look down into the sea. Full of phathoms, five. My father lied. Of his bones a coral made. Those are pearls that were his eyes. Nothing of him that does fade but to suffer sea change into something rich and strange. How about ten thousand devils, you are the mystery who wrote that fizzle. An Englishman, an enemy then? No, the enemy has no flag. He's all around us everywhere. He denies life. The enemy says this cannot be changed because it has always been so. Never take justice for justice has never been found. Never take love for love is a filthy justice. Life is evil, he says, and God is dead. Yes, I know you, man. I know the enemy. The lion drives him away and so I drink. Come, should we not drink now, my friend? No. No, I'm happy here in this sea-rich night. It's as if there were a door opening to me out there toward the west. A door I've always known would exist and would someday swing wide forward. Swing wide for me. I've always wanted something, something better than I've known, something I could believe. Perhaps out in the west yonder there is that which can make us clean anew. Full fathom size, his father lies, of his bones are coral made. Is it that easy, Louis, the answer to my trouble? Do I search out only that, a father? Oh yes, Gilbert, when all the fine words are said and done and you find them all quite empty, it's the father you seek, General Lafayette. And now in the end we are in not a palace but a tavern, the city tavern in Philadelphia. In a private dining room on a sweltering hot summer afternoon, Gilbert waits for another door to open. The commander in chief is passing through Philadelphia on his way to Chester, and he's curious about this aristocratic new recruit to the Republican cause, this golden boy. It's evening and candles are lighted on the tavern table as Gilbert waits for a door to open. General Washington. You are the Marquis de Lafayette? I am, sir. Gilbert du Mortier, sir. My friends, you're very young. I'm nineteen, sir. And they have given you the rank of Major General. The men of my family, sir, have commanded armies during four hundred years, at only under Joan of Arc and Anson. Yes, yes, yes. And you'll be able to teach us, no doubt, how to defeat General Howe. I'm here, sir, to learn, not to teach. What was that? I said, sir, I wish to learn. I cannot hope to teach. Lad, I hope you'll pardon me. We, uh, we've had many officers from abroad come to join us. Without exception, they've let it be known that they understand all the secrets of the art of war and that they will part with those secrets for consideration. But I've asked for no pay. I've come here, sir, to place my fortune as well as my sword at the disposal of Liberty's cause. That cause, lad, stands in need of treasure as well as valor if it's to live the winter out. All I possess down to the last field, the last acre, the last copper piece is yours to command. That is why I am here. But your father, lad, surely he must want you? I have no father, General. And I have no son. I have no son. Not yet. There's a thing I must say to you, a word that's hard to voice. For it makes me in a manner old and seeming less in my own eyes than I could wish yet. I'll say it still for, for you were right to know. Lad, there's little glory here. But, General, your victory at Trenton, at Princeton, all of Europe rings with the news, even Frederick of... ...Europe is far away, another world lost in a dream of ancient battles fought by the rulebook on parade. War is different here. A thing of strike and run and get behind yon tree, you poor, lost devil. Here on this continent between the wilderness and the sea, I command a few hard-bitten souls against the... ...panoply and might of Earth's new ocean empire. With the sea touches our shore, the red-coat rules. In the narrow corner between forest and sea, I twist and turn, hang on... ...and sometimes win. Then winning, needs must fly again. You do not look to win in the end. Most surely I do look to win. In the end I'll win or die. But no glorious banner's mark the road I take. Less than a dingy third of this our people wish us well or sell us beef and grain. No, this is no romance. This is civil war. Perhaps you'd best go home. I'll stay on. I have no need of banners. Most young men do have such a need. At your age, lad, I burned with flame as bright and fed that flame upon a like illusion. Is freedom an illusion then? Is that your word? No. This news is old in Europe, sir, and I've come a long journey to escape such death rattles. Do you too take the hopeless way... No, boy, no, you miss my meaning. Freedom's no dream. The illusion lies in this. To dream that freedom's boon is easy won. A garland gained in tournament, a trophy to be borne away in one wild reckless charge, a sword to wave, a cup to drain, a... a girl to kiss. Well, it's none of these. What is it then, this freedom? Freedom's the struggle, not the victory, the game and not the candle. It's man's fate when he's strong and wise to seek it. It's our blessed doom, our providential grace. For me, it's the road I must take, with all who will stay by me steadily in this my task, the path of suffering and hungry days of cold monotony and vexatious waiting and blood upon the snow. But at the end of the road, surely, sir, there's glory there for all. No? In the eye of history, lad. Who knows? Histories are written by false witnesses in waiting at the victor's course. If we lose this war, I'll be written down a colonial bumpkin at arms who outran disaster for a while, but only for a while. And as for you, they'd name me ever as a rich young fool. Yes, if we should lose. General Washington, I do not believe you understand. I wish, how I most desperately do wish, to make you know how it is with me. From childhood, sir, from my most early memory, I have had no one, no thing, no hope, no reason for being alive. Only the bad things, the easy, evil things they taught me. But even so young, so young as I was, I did not wish those things. Against them all, I have come to your country, and I have found here a reason to be born. Oh, sir, I know the enemy you fight against. I know the courts of Europe, how they're crawling with the rottenness, the evil of old, old habit. It is my wish to fight against that corruption, just to fight. Not for pay, not for glory, not even for winning, but just to fight, to fight, to fight. But you do not understand. There, there, lad, I do understand. Perhaps you are older than I thought. You will pardon me, sir. In my country, it is not considered unmanly to speak with emotion. And when I first saw you, there, in the doorway. Yes, yes, I know. I felt this too. Perhaps I am younger than I feared. General Lafayette, my staff is dining in the public room below. I hope you will join us. But of course, come then. Come, my son. The end. Our thanks to John Hodiac and the Cavalcade players for tonight's story, as if a door were opening. How many boys have there been who could say, my father is President of the United States? Well, next week you'll hear how one 13-year-old boy felt when he moved into the White House with his father. Our star is that fine young picture actor, Dean Stockwell. Our play, The Night There Was No President. Be sure to listen. Tonight's DuPont Cavalcade, as if a door were opening, was written by George H. Faulkner and based on the book, The People's General, The Personal Story of Lafayette, by David Lowe, published by Charles Scribner and Sons. Original music was composed by Arden Cornwell, conducted by Donald Borey. The program was directed by John Zoller. John Hodiac, who starred as Lafayette, can currently be seen in MGM's People Against O'Hara, photographed on DuPont motion picture film by Paul Vogel, A.S.C. Tonight in our Cavalcade cast, Arnold Moss was featured as Washington, Ross Martin was Darcy, Susan Miller was Adrienne, Kermit Murdoch, the Duke, and Robert Dryden, Silas Deane. Your narrator, Cy Harris. Ladies and gentlemen, join the 1952 March of Dimes. Join the fight against infantile paralysis now. Your dimes and dollars will help science conquer this crippler of children. Send your dimes and dollars to your local March of Dimes headquarters today. Don't forget next week, our star, Dean Stockwell. The DuPont Cavalcade of America comes to you from the Velasco Theater in New York and is sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry. Next, Hollywood Theater stars Barry Sullivan on NBC.
