All language subtitles for the_adams_chronicles_s01e09_president

Four generations of one family. Their
lives and causes reveal 150

years of American history.

February 1825.

John Quincy Adams, son of the second
president of the United States, has been

elected sixth president by a majority of
one state in the House of

Representatives.

As vice president -elect, Mr. Adams,
these have been strange days for me, not

knowing which candidate I would be
called upon to serve, to remain

simultaneously loyal to the scholar from
Massachusetts and the great Indian

fighter from the West.

I, a Southerner.

I can tell you, Mr. Adams, I am glad the
decision has been made at last.

My congratulations to you, sir, and my
wholehearted support.

Which I will need, Mr. Calhoun.

Will you maintain President Monroe's
cabinet?

I'm considering General Jackson for
Secretary of War.

I think General Jackson would first like
to know who he is to be Secretary of

State.

General Jackson knows, as do you, Mr.
Calhoun.

I'm considering, Mr. Clay.

I cannot believe it.

It's all been decided.

Despite the repeated cries of bargain
and corruption?

In this campaign, Mr. Calhoun, I have
stood alone, as always.

I have made no bargains. I have given no
money. I have pushed no appointments

for campusing partisans to office, nor
shall I in the future. It is...

Common knowledge that you and Mr. Clay
have had meetings?

Yes.

To discuss certain matters of national
policy.

In secret?

Private, Mr. Calhoun.

Surely not secret when they are common
knowledge.

Look at you, Mr. Adams. One would not
know that you had just been elected

president of the United States.

I find very little cause for exultation
in the manner of the decision, Mr. Clay.

Still, it would please everyone here to
see you smile.

Good evening, Mr. Adams.

Russell Jarvis of the Daily Telegraph.

Congratulations on your election, sir.

Thank you, Mr. Jarvis.

Congratulations to you, too, Mr. Clay.

I've not been elected to any office,
sir.

Nevertheless, sir, congratulations to
you, too.

Have you spoken to General Jackson this
evening, Mr. Adams?

I was not aware that the general had
arrived. Oh, yes, sir.

He's in the next room with the crowd.

Then I shall wait for the crowd to
disperse before paying my respects. That

be quite some time, sir. You know how
popular the general is.

The people seem determined not to desert
him.

That man is, of course, in the employ of
the Jacksonians. Don't you see what he

wrote today in the telegraph?

He was doubtless instructed what to
write.

Expired at Washington, it said. A poison
administered by the assassin hands of

John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay.

The virtue, liberty, and independence of
the United States. Mr. President.

Yes, yes. Congratulations.

Jacksonian cant.

There is wide feeling the delegations
were improperly influenced.

The accusations must be dealt with.

At your service, sir.

As you know, I am experienced in the art
of the duello.

Your levity is misplaced.

Excuse me.

Father, you're acquainted with my son,
John, Mr. Clyde. Oh, yes.

Mr. Webster tells me that you are a
brilliant, if erratic, student of the

That's my older brother, George, sir, in
Mr. Webster's offices in Boston.

Oh, then you're the one at Harvard.

That's my younger brother, Charles.

One thing upon which you and I agree,
Mr. Adams, is the necessity for

And as the country expands, so
apparently, too, the Adamses.

John is with me here serving as my
secretary.

I see. And in the line of duty, he's
come to inform us that the guests are

wondering what your father and I are
plotting now.

I came to say that my mother is not
feeling well.

My levity is again misplaced.

For penance, I shall go and comfort old
General Van Rensselaer, trembling in the

corner. Poor man, his messmates won't
speak to him.

Considering Mr. Clay's opposition to you
in the past, Father, his ambition for

you in recent weeks is rather
overwhelming.

It is not that his opposition for me is
less, but that his opposition to General

Jackson is more.

The two great Westerners, you know.

I must look to your mother's comfort.

What's wrong with her, John?

Nothing more than usual, Father. Will
you lead the way?

I cannot

leave without greeting General Jackson.

Of course you can't. That's what
everyone's here to see.

But John may be excused to escort you
home. I must stay, too. I won't be rude

Mrs. Monroe on her last evening.

John, get your mother a glass of water.

Yes, sir.

May I help you, John?

Of course, Mary.

Perhaps you can tell me, Mr. Adams, just
how much help does our grown son need

to carry a glass of water from the next
room to this?

She follows him wherever he goes.

I sometimes wonder if Mary remembers
which of our sons she's engaged to.

I'm sure I don't know what poor George
would say if he knew.

Louisa, you mustn't make yourself ill
because of it.

That's not what's making me ill. It's
these people. Who are they?

They're not the kind one expects to see
in the President's mansion.

I understand the Marshal has been unable
to keep them out.

They're not here as friends to President
and Mrs. Monroe.

Nor as friends to you, Mr. Adams. Or
certainly not as friends to me.

They're here to spy and gossip.

I heard a man refer to you as Henry
Clay's president.

A sneer.

I watched Mr. Calhoun.

He never left General Jackson's side.

It was as if he were openly taking a
stand against you.

And so the opposition is established
publicly.

Mr. Calhoun intends to bring in General
Jackson as president four years from

now. To that end, I and my
administration must be rendered

whatever its acts and measures may be.

Ah, well, at least I am forewarned. It's
only if you appoint Mr. Clay Secretary

of State.

Which he is counting on.

They are all looking to the next
election.

I seem to be the only one still to have
an eye on this one.

Will you make the appointment, Father?

Yes.

I consider it due to Mr. Clay's talents
and services.

I consider it due to the western section
of this country, whence he comes, and

to the confidence manifested in me by
their delegations.

But if that confidence was
manipulated... I consider it an

Mr. Clay's talents and services.

I stood up for the people.

Against the politicians, John.

But it was the politicians, not the
people, who've elected me.

However, it is absolutely
constitutional. I cannot undo it.

I do not really want to undo it.

Musicians, Uncle John.

They've come to serenade you.

Musicians? It's true, John. They're
downstairs. They want to play for you.

At midnight?

That's the whole point, Uncle John. It's
not customary.

Oh, well, I am very gratified.

Very grateful. I have always respected
musicians.

Will you come downstairs?

But I am in my dressing gown.

Besides, I must write my father before
retiring.

Thank the musicians for me, John. Tell
them that I am most appreciative.

Yes, sir.

Will you be writing to George, too,
Uncle John?

On Wednesday. It's not my habit.

However, considering the events of the
day, perhaps... Will you tell him how

pleased I would be to hear from him?

Surely that is for you to say directly,
isn't it?

In light of your engagement.

Well, I have said it. Why, don't you
see? Stop thinking of yourself, Mary.

Try to think of George. Try to give him
one thought.

Struggling with a career for which he is
totally unsuited.

Shouldering the financial
responsibilities of the entire family

of all places.

A community hostile to him and his
family.

Try to think of George.

I will try, Aunt Louisa.

She expects too much of him.

Mr. Adams... Imagine my father at this
moment wondering what has been the

outcome of this day.

how deeply he will feel the solemnity of
the occasion.

And my mother, how she'd love to have
seen her firstborn now become, like his

father, guardian of his country's laws
and liberties.

Mr. Adams, I wish you could give as much
specific attention to your own

firstborn as you do to your mother's.

I write George once a week, as I write
his brothers when they're away from

And what do you say to him?

I exhort him to regulate his work and
recreation, to proportion them properly

for an orderly life.

In other words, to shape himself in the
image of his father and his grandfather.

It is difficult from this distance.

It's a heavy burden for him.

It is midnight, Louisa.

On the most important day of my life.

I would close it as it began.

If you will forgive me, my dear.

Alone.

Of course.

Shall I leave the window open so you can
hear the music?

Thank you.

It was generous of the musicians to
come.

A spontaneous demonstration of affection
for you.

They might have welcomed a spontaneous
gesture in return.

I wouldn't know what to say.

Silence is too austere.

Well, some say that I am a gloomy
misanthrope. Others call me an unsocial

savage.

With this knowledge of the actual
defects of my character, I have not the

pliability to reform it.

When I'm hostess in the president's
mansion, I will at least have music.

Perhaps it will drown out the talk.

Oh, father of mercies.

May the consequences of this day...
Redound to thy glory and to the welfare

of my country.

Liberty is power.

While foreign nations less blessed with
that freedom which is power than

ourselves are advancing with gigantic
strides in their career of public

improvement.

Were we to slumber in indolence or fold
up our arms and proclaim to the world

that we are palsied by the will of our
constituents, would it not be to cast

away the bounties of providence and doom
ourselves to perpetual inferiority?

Well, gentlemen, shall I continue? If we
could have copies for ourselves to

study. You've given us enough for one
day, Mr. Adams.

Is it?

Tactful? In your first speech to the
Congress to warn it against being

by the will of its constituents?

Especially since a great number of those
constituents already feel their will

palsied by my election to the
presidency.

Is that what you're implying, Mr. Wirt?
You are too blunt, Mr. Adams.

Tact is all I'm suggesting.

My specific recommendations are
undeniably for the benefit of the

You specifically recommend a national
naval academy, a national university, a

national observatory, a national
bankruptcy law, a national militia law,

national system of weights and measures,
a national patent law, a national

system of internal improvements.

All anyone will hear is the word
national.

It is excessively bold.

Too bold.

What was that expression you used in
connection with the astronomical

observatory?

Lighthouses of the sky. Ah, yes. As
maintained by European governments for

advancement of science.

Correct. European governments, Mr.
Adams? Then you mean monarchies. You

example of monarchies.

You summon up the old canard that all
Adamses are monarchists.

Tact, Mr. Adams.

It is not tactlessness of which he will
be accused, but tyranny.

Mr. Southern.

I am in favor of suppressing the
enumeration of... All the purposes of

improvements for which you assert the
Congress has powers.

Canals, Mr. Adams?

Highways? I am fully convinced that
Congress has the powers which Mr.

Southard questions.

I go even further.

I hold the view that the government's
abstention from using all of its powers

a treachery to its most sacred trusts.

However...

I am for discarding the National
University and anything relating to the

Office.

I will give up everything related to the
Patent Office.

We seem to be stripping off your draft
alternately, Mr.

Adams.

Well, it is not material to me whether I
present these views in my first message

to Congress or my last.

But I do feel that it's my undeniable
duty.

To suggest them, now or later.

That is not a tyrant speaking, sir, Mr.
Barber, but a teacher.

I urge that you present your views
immediately. So do I, Mr. Rush.

Thank you, gentlemen.

Although I scruple at some details.

which we can discuss further tomorrow.

It is a noble and spirited thing, Mr.
Adams, but I dread its effect on my

popularity in Virginia and yours, sir.
Until tomorrow, gentlemen.

Good day, Mr. President. Thank you.

Thank you for your support, Mr. Clay.

Qualified, though it may be.

You are the president.

I support you even when you insist on
defeating yourself.

There was a time that you would not have
held that view of my actions.

You've been in office almost a year, Mr.
Adams.

How long can you postpone the decision?

This message to Congress, however you
send it in, is your decision.

The hidden issue, John.

We seem to be talking about one thing,
but in reality we are talking about

something quite different behind every
thought.

The hidden issue.

What hidden issue, Father?

Today, for example, these men, Barber,
Wirt, Southard, Rush, Mr. Clay,

at heart they are with me. They know the
wisdom of what I propose here.

But there is concern that a grand
consolidated government... might one day

become so powerful as to upset the
balance between North and South, and

even redeem the coin of freedom by
abolishing slavery.

That is the hidden issue?

So hidden, I only write of it in my
diary.

Mr. Clay is right. This is a perilous
experiment.

I cannot be sure of the future.

I may not be destined to send in another
message to Congress.

Thus situated, the perilous experiment
must be made.

Thank heaven they found you, George. I
didn't know where you'd be. I was with

friends preparing for the celebrations.

How is he? Well, I am sorry to break in
on your... Is grandfather dying, Susan?

He's still alive, isn't he?

Just barely.

When will my father be here?

I wrote him yesterday.

Not until then?

And again this morning at grandfather's
request.

But my father won't receive those
letters for three days.

Three days more at best.

And on the long trip, he can't possibly
be here until the 11th or 12th.

My father should be with him, Susan. He
should be with him when he dies.

As long as you are here, it's all right.

And you, Susan?

Oh, it's not the same thing. You're a
cousin. He's your grandfather, too.

But you are the eldest son of the eldest
son.

I can't be alone with him.

Not when he dies.

There ought to be somebody else. It's
too much.

I'm sorry, Susan. It's just that it's
unexpected.

It's such a surprise.

Your grandfather is almost 91 years old,
George. Now, it cannot be that much of

a surprise.

It's the trip from Boston. It's very
difficult on a holiday.

I feel unprepared.

Perhaps a sip of whiskey.

Perhaps, after you have seen
grandfather.

Grandfather?

Who is it?

It's your grandson, sir.

Oh, Charles?

No, sir, George.

Oh, yes.

For today, I'm the whole family, sir.

What day is it?

It's the 4th of July.

The 50th 4th of July.

Independence forever.

Hopefully, sir.

It is a great day.

It is a good day.

Jefferson still lives.

My dears, Mr. Jefferson is dead.

On the 4th of July.

It was almost one o 'clock in the
afternoon.

And by the post, two letters from
Susan... that my father's end is fast

approaching.

An express was sent for George in
Boston.

I hope he arrives before... I shall
leave for

Quincy in the morning. John and Charles
are making preparations.

I'll see what I can do to help.

I will miss the old gentleman.

His letters nourished me.

I was looking forward to my annual
vacation with him.

One more visit.

Do you have a message for George?

Tell him his brother John continues to
be very kind to me.

Is that all?

Tell him I try to be useful and enjoy
myself at the same time.

It's of great value for young ladies to
learn to draw leaves and flowers from

nature.

It's a study that ought to be commenced
young.

pursued through a whole life.

You're very proficient already.

Thank you.

Perhaps my tracings will help determine
the varieties of the leaves.

Oh, that will be a great service to me.
Thank you.

I propose to commence a nursery next
autumn.

Oh, I should have commenced it 30 years
ago.

But I never had a permanent residence.

Aren't these leaves from trees at
Quincy?

Oh, yes.

Yes, I took these leaves from two lofty
and beautiful oaks standing side

by side.

Like Mr. Jefferson and Mr.

Adams.

What was it he said, George?

Jefferson still lives.

And at that moment, Mr.

Jefferson had breathed his last.

The time, the manner, the coincidence
are visible signs

of divine favor.

2 ,000 people attended the funeral,
Father.

Peter Whitney delivered a sermon from
the first book of Chronicles.

He died in a good old age, full of days
of riches and honor.

And Solomon, his son, reigned in his
stead.

I'm glad you were with him, George.

Thank you.

Where's Father?

I want him to see the stars.

There's no need tonight for his
lighthouses in the skies.

I know that is the popular quotation,
Charles, but Father actually said

lighthouses of the skies.

One is a dream, the other is a joke. For
his sake, try to keep them separate. He

wasn't making fun of his ideas. Where is
he?

With George, trying to settle his
problems.

I should think George's problems could
be more easily settled with you.

Then you would be wrong.

I received dark and mysterious hints
about Mary in every letter from our

Mary has alluring ways which make every
man forget himself. As you well know,

Charles, you were the first.

We once had a warm, brotherly
relationship, John.

But there is about you at times an
affected mystery which repels all the

feelings of the heart.

George's only problem is money.

He drinks and dreams.

He buys books and goes into debt for
them.

And then father settles his debt.

Isn't that right, George?

Yes, he has agreed to settle my debts.
Who will settle his?

He says those flour mills he bought in
Washington will provide... Colombian

mills have been mismanaged for so many
years that they have only plunged him

further into debt and may never even
give him a living.

All he has is this house.

Not even that.

Didn't grandfather leave it to him?

Upon payment of $10 ,000 to the other
heirs.

Grandfather died in a good old age.

Full of days and honor.

But not riches.

Where will father get $10 ,000?

We must all work hard to help him.

Out of our devotion to the family name.
Well, at least this house must remain in

the family.

Should you have left him alone, George?

What is he doing?

Everything about the house seems to be
the same.

Only in this room am I fully aware of
the change.

My mother and father have departed.

I feel it's time to begin to set my own
house in order and to prepare for the

churchyard myself.

May we sit with you, Father?

from grief and

Charming, Mr. President. Your daughter
-in -law sings charmingly. I agree, Mr.

Jarvis. Her voice is quite an addition
to your receptions, Mrs. Adams.

As if they were not royal enough.

Royal? In matters of company,
entertainment, and wines, your evenings

superior to any in Washington, perhaps
even the country.

There's indeed something quite European
about them.

I may have been brought up in Europe,
Mr. Jarvis, but I am as American as any

president's wife before me, including
Abigail Adams, if you'll excuse me.

My wife is not well, Mr. Jarvis.

I am sorry to hear it.

I was about to thank her for allowing
members of the press to attend her

functions. It is most unexpectedly
democratic of her.

I will extend to her your gratitude.

Excuse me, sir.

Russell Jarvis of the Daily Telegraph?

I have heard of you, Mr. Jarvis.

Oh. Thank you.

Perhaps you can help me. I arrived late.
The young lady who just sang, was that

Mrs. Adams, the wife of the president's
son?

Why, yes.

I understand her wedding was an elegant
affair, but the press were actually

prohibited from attending.

Although, would you believe it, the
family's servants were allowed.

Perhaps they put more trust in the
servants than they do in the press.

An attitude entirely in keeping with the
European background of Mrs. Adams Sr.

Or perhaps they feel they must keep in
their servants' good graces.

I'm sure the servants, if not placated,
could speak fluently on matters the

family would rather keep secret.

What matters, sir?

The whereabouts of the president's
famous billiard table, the one paid for

the taxpayers of the United States.

The billiard table was purchased from
the president's private funds.

Oh, but surely you know, sir, it was
included in an inventory submitted by

Mr. Adams II of furnishings purchased
for the president's mansion from an

appropriation authorized by Congress.

Young Mr. Adams was in error. Was he
now?

Do you know that for a fact?

I do.

If that is what he says, then he's
either excessively stupid or excessively

devious.

If you will excuse me, sir, young Mrs.

Adams, my wife, is about to sing again.

Are you all right, Louisa?

I'm writing a letter to the United
States Daily Telegraph.

Not about that man Jarvis, I hope. No.

About myself.

I'm explaining that my father was an
unwavering patriotic American.

You always find a reason for leaving
your own receptions, Louisa.

John's wife's an able hostess.

It's not the same thing.

Already he looks as if he had all the
cares of the world on his shoulder and

he's not married a month.

Watch his drinking, Mr. Adams. It's a
weakness our sons inherit from your

mother's family.

May I remind you that it was you that
finally insisted that John and Mary be

married as soon as possible?

Well, I thought it brought to the point
of it she would withdraw.

And John would see how unworthily she
had behaved to him and his brothers.

But she did not withdraw.

And now John has connected himself with
a woman who has no affection for him.

She has affection for you, Louisa.

She is pointedly singing your favorite
songs this evening.

One of Mr. Thomas More's songs.

Do you remember when he came to our
house?

He said, I sang delightfully, but I had
no soul.

I'd said his songs were so full of
sentiment that it would not be becoming

suitable for ladies to echo his tones
and the expression of his words on men.

Mary's not afraid of sentiment.

Oh, she's cool easy, Mr. Adams.

She's not afraid of sentiment because
she feels none.

My heart tells me there's much to fear.

I must finish my letter to the Daily
Telegraph.

It's a waste of your time, my dear.

Facts will not straighten out the
thinking of a Jacksonian newspaper in

year. Do you, Mr. Adams, say that it is
a waste of time to put down my thoughts?

It's an Adam's trait, an Adam's
obsession.

Your father, your mother, yourself, all
Adamses can sign their thoughts to

paper. Why shouldn't I?

I've been an Adams for 31 years.

Louisa, I don't send my thoughts to
newspapers for publication.

It's all right, Mr.

Adams. They'll never know it's from me.

I write as a third person, a bystander,
an observer of Louisa Catherine

Adams. I describe her to them.

A woman of unassuming manners, fond of
reading and knitting.

A woman who detests politics.

A woman who unknowingly pounded herself
in a marriage upon a man who did not

realize her destitute state.

You wouldn't dare write such a thing.

It's true, isn't it?

When my father's business affairs
failed, you felt it your duty to marry

You were really in love with Mary
Frazier, weren't you?

That was before I knew you.

Long before.

And you promised each other never to
marry one less than the first love.

And yet you did, didn't you?

I would like you to come out to your
guests.

In your duty, you Adams men are
peculiarly harsh and severe with your

There seems to exist in you no sympathy,
no tenderness for the weakness of the

sex, or for that part of their nature.

I shall stay and finish my letter to the
Daily Telegraph.

And when I have done, I will continue
the writing of my autobiography.

I'm calling it the diary of a nobody.

The French delegates don't like all this
crowd, you see.

So they asked the president if they
could come early.

But Mr. Adams, knowing that this is
election year, declined democratically

give them special treatment.

So they refused to come at all.

And so now Mrs. Adams, Mrs. Adams, has
retired to her chamber out of pique.

She declines to attend her own reception
because she has no chance to show off

her French.

Who is that man, John?

That is one Russell Jarvis, a journalist
hired by General Jackson to come here

and defame, slander, and insult the
President of the United States.

John. If Mr. Jarvis had any idea of
propriety in the conduct of a gentleman,

would not show his face in this house.

must be sent to young Mr. Adams,
demanding an explanation of his remarks.

If he repeats them in writing, it would
be grounds for a duel.

Are you all right, Louisa?

I'm writing a letter to the United
States Daily Telegraph.

Not about that man Jarvis, I hope. No,
about myself.

I'm explaining that my father was an
unwavering, patriotic American.

You always find a reason for leaving
your own receptions, Louisa.

John's wife's an able hostess.

It's not the same thing.

Already he looks as if he had all the
cares of the world on his shoulder and

he's not married a month.

Watch his drinking, Mr. Adams. It's a
weakness our sons inherit from your

mother's family. May I remind you that
it was you that finally insisted that

John and Mary be married?

As soon as possible?

Well, I thought it brought to the point
of it she would withdraw.

And John would see how unworthily she
had behaved to him and his brother.

But she did not withdraw.

And now John has connected himself with
a woman who has no affection for him.

She has affection for you, Louisa.

She is pointedly singing your favorite
songs this evening.

One of Mr. Thomas More's songs.

Do you remember when he came to our
house?

He said, I sang delightfully, but I had
no soul.

I'd said his songs were so full of
sentiment that it would not be becoming

suitable for ladies to echo his tones
and the expression of his words on that.

Mary's not afraid of sentiment.

Oh, she's cool easy, Mr. Adams.

She's not afraid of sentiment because
she feels none.

My heart tells me there's much to fear.

finished my letter to the Daily
Telegraph.

A waste of your time, my dear.

Facts will not straighten out the
thinking of a Jacksonian newspaper in

year. Do you, Mr. Adams, say that it is
a waste of time to put down my thoughts?

It's an Adams trait, an Adams obsession.

Your father, your mother, yourself, all
Adamses can sign their thoughts to

paper. Why shouldn't I?

I've been an Adams for 31 years.

Louisa, I don't send my thoughts to
newspapers for publication.

It's all right, Mr. Adams.

They'll never know it's from me.

I write as a third person, a bystander,
an observer of Louisa Catherine

Adams. I describe her to them.

A woman of unassuming manners, fond of
reading and knitting.

A woman who detests politics.

A woman who unknowingly pounded herself
in a marriage upon a man who did not

realize her destitute state.

You wouldn't dare write such a thing.

It's true, isn't it?

When my father's business affairs
failed, you felt it your duty to marry

You were really in love with Mary
Frazier, weren't you?

That was before I knew you.

Long before.

And you promised each other never to
marry one less than the first love.

And yet you did, didn't you?

I would like you to come out to your
guests.

In your duty, you Adams men are
peculiarly harsh and severe with your

There seems to exist in you no sympathy,
no tenderness for the weakness of the

sex.

Or for that part of their nature.

I shall stay and finish my letter to the
Daily Telegraph.

And when I have done, I will continue
the writing of my autobiography.

I'm calling it The Diary of a Nobody.

The French delegates don't like all this
crowd, you see.

So they asked the president if they
could come early.

But Mr. Adams, knowing that this is
election year, declined democratically

give them special treatment.

So they refused to come at all.

And so now Mrs. Adams, Mrs. Adams, has
retired to her chamber out of pique.

She declines to attend her own reception
because she has no chance to show off

her French.

Who is that man, John?

That is one Russell Jarvis, a journalist
hired by General Jackson to come here

and defame, slander, and insult the
President of the United States.

John. If Mr. Jarvis had any idea of
propriety in the conduct of a gentleman,

would not show his face in this house.

A letter must be sent to you, Mr. Adams,
demanding an explanation of his

remarks. If he repeats them in writing,
it would be grounds for a duel.

My answer is that there is no answer,
sir.

Good day, sir.

Would you deliver this message to the
Congress immediately?

Yes, Father.

Who is that man, John?

His name is McLean.

He's a friend of Russell Jarvis of the
Daily Telegraph.

What did he want to see you about?

A personal matter, Father.

Be careful of matters pertaining to the
family, John.

This campaign for the coming election
will be fought in the press.

The opposition will not hesitate to use
anything. I know that, Father.

What I mean is, our own press... We have
no press.

Very well.

The press on our side, it has already
written slanderous things about General

Jackson's wife.

They have actually called him a
bigamist.

If we allow it, and we have allowed
it...

How can we criticize the other side for
doing the same thing?

General Jackson is an honorable man.

He knows that I am an honorable man and
had nothing to do with it. You should

say that in public, Father. We must keep
ourselves removed from it

in all ways.

Mr. John Adams?

I beg your pardon?

You have given me your final answer.

I have not lowered myself to answer you,
sir.

I've kept myself removed in all ways.

You are Mr.

John Adams, aren't you?

As surely as you are Mr.

Russell Jarvis. You know my name and the
place of my residence.

That is enough.

I hadn't heard of the incident until
last evening.

Mr. Everett called and spoke of the
assassin's attack on my son. That was

word he used.

While my son was in the discharge of
public duty. I must emphasize that.

Do you propose to make any communication
to the Congress concerning the matter?

It's so obviously the work of Mr.
Calhoun and the supporters of General

that I'm inclined to do nothing.

No one can question the courage of your
honor or your experienced judgment in

these affairs, Mr. Clay.

What would you suggest?

Oh, I believe that a message should be
sent to Congress at all costs and

immediately. The act is of a most
dangerous nature, as an example. It has

tendency to introduce assassination into
the Capitol. The word assassination is

not too strong.

Or it might be practiced for the robbery
of a confidential message between the

executive and the legislature.

Well, that's exactly what it was.

The unlawful interference with the
confidential messenger.

Yes, Mr. President.

In short, if Mr. Jarvis and his friends
set out to defame the executive,

he chose the wrong way, the wrong
moment.

In the wrong place.

That's quite right, Mr. President.

I don't think the President is most
urgent. Certainly, Mrs. Adams.

Mr. Adams.

Louisa. I fear for the safety of our
son.

George. It's John I'm thinking of. And
that man from the Daily Telegraph.

Well, now, there's no cause for alarm,
my dear.

John is not going to fight a duel.

The servants heard a man openly threaten
him with personal violence in the

street. I'm constantly in receipt of
such threats, Louisa.

I didn't know that.

Ever since I took office.

They usually come in the post.

Which means the writer has had the time
to sort out his thoughts on paper.

Which makes it even more serious.

Father?

I know you were only defending me, John.

And father.

How tragic that you should have parents
that have to be defended.

It has been proposed in the house,
father, that Jarvis be brought before

of the house for reprimand and
discharge.

And that the speaker withhold from him
the courtesies usually extended to the

editors of the press.

Well, that will end the matter. And
there was a resolution, father, that the

Constitution of the United States... be
amended so as to prohibit the practice

of dueling.

What became of that resolution?

Since the House was adjourning, the
resolution was laid on the table.

And there it will remain.

But when Congress reconvenes in
December... By then, General Jackson

been elected president.

It's almost a certainty.

And the whole matter will be forgotten.

It's a victory for you, Father.

which is why it will be forgotten.

George?

George?

Father will be here any minute.

I came ahead to warn you.

Can't you keep the fire going?

This place is a pigsty.

Are you sick again or drunk?

I'm all right.

Put on your coat.

Straighten yourself.

Don't you have any sense? You'll freeze
to death in this room.

If I should, Charles... Should what?

Die. You won't because Father won't hear
of it.

He's on his way back to Washington, but
he won't go unless he feels you're all

right.

Convince him.

He has enough problems.

Listen to me, George.

You're not to be a burden to him.

He's lost the election in case you slept
through it, and now his old friend's in

Massachusetts attorney against him.

Don't cause him any other worry.

And do not ask him for money, because he
hasn't any.

He's so honest, he hasn't even any
investments.

Always afraid he'd be accused of a
conflict of interest on top of

else. So now John has to go to work and
flog those mills into some kind of a

paying business.

There is no money, George, so don't
expect any.

I was having a dream when you came in.

I dreamt I was making love.

The girl was faceless, nameless.

But I was making love to her.

And Father appeared suddenly, directly
in my view.

And I heard him say, Remember, George,
who you are.

And what you are doing.

And what have you been doing?

If I should die, Charles, before the
year is out... You'd better hurry.

little more than a month. I'm serious.

I'm listening.

If I should die, I want you to read this
letter.

Hadn't you better tell me what's in it?

No, I can't do that.

Is it about this girl?

There is a child.

See that they are taken care of. My God.

Don't tell father.

Don't you tell father.

I'm here ahead of you, Father.

So I see.

I'll be right outside on the landing.

I couldn't go home without seeing you
once more. How are you feeling, George?

Better, Father.

The illness seems to have passed.

It will give me pleasure to report that
to your mother.

I have very little time, so I'll be
brief.

I understand one Henry Wood is pressing
you for a payment of a thousand dollar

note. How did you find it? He came to
see me.

I have a bank draft here for you to take
up that note.

Please, Father. Let us have no more
apologies.

No more explanations.

It's a waste of time for both of us.

It occurred to me that I sometimes ask
too much of you.

In return for that admission, I would
ask a favor.

Anything, Father.

Whatever I can do.

If I can do it.

It's simply this. Your mother and I will
move shortly from the presidential

mansion to a house on Meridian Hill in
Washington.

It is our intention to return to Quincy
to live.

But your mother is not well enough to
withstand a winter journey.

Not until spring has advanced and the
roads are dry for more comfortable

traveling. Perhaps in April, if you will
come to us at that time, help us with

the journey home.

If they'd listen to you, Father, the
roads would be better, wouldn't they?

There would be highways.

Not many people remember that, George.

Will you come?

I will, Father.

Regulate your living habits.

Set a goal for yourself, George.

Let spring be your goal. Let it be a
goal for all of us.

Charles will ready the house in Quincy.

John, unfortunately, has to remain in
Washington to oversee the mills.

Your mother and I will rely on your
attendance, George.

Still battling for internal
improvements, whether in the nation or

family. That great object in my life, as
applied to the administration of

government, has failed.

I will not accept the same failure in my
sons.

Goodbye, George.

Goodbye, Father.

Thank you for coming.

Take care of your brother, Charles.

And thank you.

We'll have everything ready in Quincy.

Charles?

We were saying goodbye.

Has he gone?

Yes.

Then why do I still hear his voice?

The firstborn is the one you never
forget, Mary.

Even when she's grown up and married and
has children of her own, you still

think of her as she is now.

As I still think of George when he was
just born. Those bleak days.

We were in Berlin, you know.

The joy with which I held him in my
arms.

Louisa, you're up.

I trust that means you're feeling
better. Quite, Mr. Adams.

I must do a little more each day if I'm
to be ready when George comes for him.

When does he arrive, Mr. Adams?

His steamship is due this Thursday.

I really should have gone to church with
you.

Oh, it was probably more beneficial to
the spirits that you stay home and

your grandchild, hmm?

Besides, Dr.

Laurie's scripture lesson was the 14th
chapter of Job. Oh, I can't pretend. I'm

sorry I missed him.

Man that is born of woman is a few days
and full of trouble.

General Jackson was among the
congregation.

I don't know to whom Dr. Lorry addressed
his words, but on my way home, they

continued to pronounce themselves to my
mind.

His flesh upon him shall have pain, and
his soul within him shall mourn.

I couldn't help reviewing the
vicissitudes of my own life.

I felt myself to be living through an
hour of defeat.

Oh, but I seem to be coming through it,
don't I?

To more felicitous times.

Thank you, Mary.

Yes,

well, where is John?

Uncle Nathaniel called. It was some news
of a confidential nature.

They've been together for half an hour.

Oh, I hope he doesn't leave without
saying good day.

Where is your uncle?

Having made his communication, he
felt... He felt what?

He felt he must leave.

What was the nature of his
communication?

George has disappeared.

I don't understand.

He disappeared from the deck of the
steamship Benjamin Franklin.

His hat was found near the stern.

His cloak not far away.

There was no other trace.

What can I do for you, Louisa?

Mary will look after me. Mary's here.

I'll do anything you say.

Then I beg you to leave me.

I cannot.

You keep referring to his disappearance.
Why don't you say death? Well, that's

what it is.

We still don't know.

There's no hope.

John and I will stop in New York on our
way to Quincy.

We'll see what news awaits us.

At what time of day did he disappear?

Just before dawn.

Perhaps he saw the little spark at sea
that grows mid -darkness brilliantly. Is

that the end of the poem that George
wrote, Mary?

Well, there's one more stanza.

Such friendships, beaming light appears
through the long line of coming years.

In thorough's cloud it shined the far.

A feeble but a constant star.

And like that little spark at sea, burns
brightest in adversity.

Did the beaming light of your
friendship, Mr. Adams, burn brightest

adversity?

If you stay...

I beg you not to believe anything I may
say and reproach or blame because I will

reproach you. I will blame you.

May we humble ourselves in the

dust and be conscious that just Heismans
have been

deserved.

The body has been washed ashore, Father.

It drifted in with the tide on City
Island.

Above the East River, at the western end
of Long Island Sound.

It has been placed in a tomb at East
Chester.

It's not quite the homecoming I had
envisioned for myself, but thank you.

You'll feel better, Father.

We'll have the service in late autumn.

Your mother should be well enough to
travel by then.

I wouldn't want her to miss it.

What shall I do until late autumn?

Start your garden, Father.

Yes.

There is my garden.

I should have commenced it 30 years ago.

But I never had a permanent residence.