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A brilliantly conceived and vividly drawn story—Washington, D.C. on the eve of Abraham Lincoln’s historic second inaugural address as the lens through which to understand all the complexities of the Civil War
By March 4, 1865, the Civil War had slaughtered more than 700,000 Americans and left intractable wounds on the nation. After a morning of rain-drenched fury, tens of thousands crowded Washington’s Capitol grounds that day to see Abraham Lincoln take the oath for a second term. As the sun emerged, Lincoln rose to give perhaps the greatest inaugural address in American history, stunning the nation by arguing, in a brief 701 words, that both sides had been wrong, and that the war’s unimaginable horrors—every drop of blood spilled—might well have been God’s just verdict on the national sin of slavery.
Edward Achorn reveals the nation’s capital on that momentous day—with its mud, sewage, and saloons, its prostitutes, spies, reporters, social-climbing spouses and power-hungry politicians—as a microcosm of all the opposing forces that had driven the country apart. A host of characters, unknown and famous, had converged on Washington—from grievously wounded Union colonel Selden Connor in a Washington hospital and the embarrassingly drunk new vice president, Andrew Johnson, to poet-journalist Walt Whitman; from soldiers’ advocate Clara Barton and African American leader and Lincoln critic-turned-admirer Frederick Douglass (who called the speech “a sacred effort”) to conflicted actor John Wilkes Booth—all swirling around the complex figure of Lincoln.
In indelible scenes, Achorn vividly captures the frenzy in the nation’s capital at this crucial moment in America’s history and the tension-filled hope and despair afflicting the country as a whole, soon to be heightened by Lincoln's assassination. His story offers new understanding of our great national crisis, and echoes down the decades to resonate in our own time.
542 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 3, 2020
Lincoln's speeches and state papers seemed puzzling to their readers at first because, unlike the works of more systematically [my emphasis] educated presidents, they popped with catchy phrases and homely ideas. The July 4, 1861, message, for example, included the phrase "sugar-coated," which a government editor and seasoned newspaperman ... urged Lincoln to remove, noting the use of such a term was undignified and unworthy of a state paper of lasting historic importance. ... Lincoln responded, "that the word expressed precisely my idea... . The time will never come ... when people won't know exactly what sugar-coated means." Many highly educated Americans found Lincoln's folksiness embarrassing and ungentlemanly. [my emphasis]From page 105:
[An Illinois lawyer said] "Was there ever such a curious melange of almost supreme greatness and boyish vacuity as was compressed in this unique, uneven and incomprehensible man?" ... Ralph Waldo Emerson [said] "You cannot refine Mr. Lincoln's taste, extend his horizon, or clear his Judgements [sic]; he will not walk dignifiedly through the traditional role of the President of America, but will pop out his head at each railway station and make a little speech, and get into an argument with Squire A or Judge B. He will write letters to... any editor or reporter or saucy party committee that writes to him, and cheapen himself."
May found his style to be clunky and uninspiring.