President Lincoln felt fit enough to return to his office after two days of recuperation. It was a fairly routine day: he made several endorsements and appointments, received the Austrian minister, Count Wydenbruck, and sent him a very cordial note wishing him an enjoyable residence in the United States. The president also wrote to Thurlow Weed, who was one of New York State's most influential Republican bosses. Thurlow Weed had praised a recent speech Lincoln made to the Congressional Notification Committee as well as his inaugural address.

The letter is surprisingly cheerful and upbeat, considering the tension and anxiety the president had been under. “Everyone likes a compliment,” Lincoln wrote. “Thank you for yours on my little notification speech, and on the recent Inaugural Address.” He agreed with Weed that the inaugural speech will “wear as well as—perhaps better than—anything I have produced,” even though it was not immediately popular. “Men are not flattered by being shown that there has been a difference of purpose between the Almighty and them.”1

That evening, the president and Mrs. Lincoln, along with Colonel James G. Wilson and Clara Harris, attended a performance of Mozart's opera The Magic Flute at Grover's Theatre. The opera “was performed in excellent style by the German company last night,” according to the Washington Evening Star.²

“Mr. Lincoln's life was almost devoid of recreation,” according to his secretary, John Hay.³ Actually, the president's life was not all that lacking for either recreation or amusement. Lincoln enjoyed the theater, everything from opera to Shakespeare to minstrel shows, and went as often as he could—for relaxation as much as for entertainment. But because of his current frame of mind, he was not always able to enjoy the performance.

During the performance of The Magic Flute, the president “sat in the rear of the box leaning his head against the partition, paying no attention to the play and looking…worn and weary.” Colonel Wilson asked Lincoln if he was enjoying the performance, and was told that he had not come to the theater to see the opera—he had come for some rest: “I am being hounded to death by office seekers, who pursue me early and late, and it is simply to get two or three hours relief that I am here.” Attending the opera was just an excuse for getting away from the White House and all of its worries.4

John Wilkes Booth had also been to the theater on March 15. He was in Washington to work out a plan for the abduction of President Abraham Lincoln; his visit to the theater was part of that plan. He had gone to Ford's Theatre to watch a performance of The Tragedy of Jane Shore, by Nicholas Rowe, along with two friends, John Surratt and Lewis Powell.

Booth was not all that interested in the play, which has been described as an imitation of one of Shakespeare's history plays. He bought his guests tickets for the box above the stage, where president and Mrs. Lincoln sat when they attended plays at Ford's Theatre. His main object in going to Ford's Theatre was for John Surratt and Lewis Powell to see the inside of the box, to familiarize themselves with it, while Booth himself watched the play from backstage, along with members of the cast.

After the performance, Booth and Lewis Powell went to Gautier's Restaurant to wait for four other men: Samuel Arnold, George Atzerodt, David Herold, and Michael O'Laughlen. Booth had reserved one of the restaurant's private rooms. All the men smoked, drank, and played cards until about 1:30 on the morning of March 16, when the waiters and other members of Gautier's staff finally locked the building and went home.

None of Booth's guests had any idea why they had been invited to Gautier's. None of the men knew each other very well; David Herold did not know Samuel Arnold or Michael O'Laughlen at all. After the restaurant staff left for the night, Booth finally announced the reason for the meeting—he had called everyone together because he had concocted an idea to kidnap President Lincoln, and he needed their help to carry out his plan.

His scheme involved handcuffing Lincoln and lowering him to the stage during one of the president's visits to Ford's Theatre. The president and his wife frequently went to Ford's, and always sat in the box above the stage. Since Powell was familiar with the layout of the presidential, this should help facilitate the abduction.

According to his arrangement, Booth and one other man would handcuff Lincoln and lower him down to the stage, where he would be seized by the others and carried out of the theater. A carriage would be waiting just outside of the stage entrance. All of the men, including Booth, would then gallop across Washington and escape out of the city, where they would make contact with Confederate agents. The president would then be held hostage in exchange for Confederate prisoners of war.

John Wilkes Booth thought his plan was perfect—not only foolproof but brilliant. By holding President Lincoln for ransom, the South would not only have the ultimate bargaining chip for carrying out a prisoner of war exchange, but Booth would also be dealing a severe blow to the morale of the North. He was certain that everyone present would agree that his kidnapping scheme was nothing less than outstanding.

The reaction to Booth's scheme came as a rude shock. Everyone in the room reached a unanimous agreement, but it was not the agreement that Booth was expecting—his cronies thought that the plan was ludicrous, foolhardy, and, above all else, suicidal. They pointed out that the president was not just going to sit still and let himself be tied up and manhandled out of the theater. Also, Lincoln was sure to be surrounded by guards, who would also have something to say about kidnapping the president. And Samuel Arnold pointed that the idea of using Lincoln as a hostage for exchanging Confederate prisoners was totally unfeasible—General Ulysses S. Grant had already reinstated a prisoner of war exchange two months earlier, in January 1865. Booth's plan was completely impractical, everyone said, and had absolutely no chance of succeeding.

Booth tried to argue with Sam Arnold and the others, and did his best to convince everyone that his plan would succeed if they would only give it a chance. But no one would listen. Booth's would-be conspirators wanted no part of his proposal; they refused to risk their lives by taking part in such an insane scheme.

John Wilkes Booth was angered and disappointed by the reaction. But he was determined to do something that would put an end to Lincoln and his presidency—Booth considered Lincoln to be one of the great tyrants in history, as well as the South's principal enemy. The idea for kidnapping Lincoln had fallen through, but there would be other plans and other opportunities. As far as Booth was concerned, anything, including assassination, would be more than justified when done to stop a tyrant.5