Scene 7
[Richard returns to his manor house to
find Mary there]
Richard: My wife! In too
much haste I left thee.
Mary: I knew thine absence would not
last.
Is thy soul settled?
Richard: Settled, yes, but
still it mourns.
Mary: I mourned, too—awhile, at least.
For Charles, more than for myself.
He would have been so great and
good,
Had not fate untimely
ripped him
From our
embrace—
Oh, Richard!—so great and good.
Richard: Weep not bitterly,
my love—
Our son is still thus great and
good, and shall be so eternally,
For he’s upheld in God’s
vast love.
All things are small in God’s eyes—
The cosmos and the
stars,
The world
and its kings,
Yea, and
Charles too—
All are
small, yet great in that he loves them.
We shall see our Charles again,
See him greater and
better than ere we knew him here,
For he has
passed through the kilner’s fire
And is made
himself at last.
I shall pray for thy healing, Mary,
But if God’s mercy
tarries till the end,
Then thou
shalt soon enjoy bright Charles’ smile.
Mary: This I know, and I thank thee,
Richard.
Thy faith heartens mine.
Forgive me my accusations,
My wild violences of
speech and heart.
A wounded
creature lashes out.
Richard: I know, dear wife,
and understand,
Though before I saw it not.
We are all wounded
creatures, all—
But ‘tis our wounds that
give us space
To heal into a new
creation.
[Ailred, the steward of the estate,
enters]
Ailred: My lord. My lady.
Accept the consolations of a friend’s
grieving
To echo alongside thine.
Richard: Accepted, friend.
Grief is the song of the spinning
wheel
That molds us toward
unending joy.
We know not why, exactly,
Nor how the potter works
this way,
But we accept the hope that blessed
writ foretells,
That steadfast anchor
for our souls,
That God
shall make all these things well.
Ailred: Truth, my lord. So I believe.
Mary: And I, with tears, as well.
Richard: Methinks we all
believe with tears.
Tearfully, grievingly, we cling unto
the splintered wood
Where fought and bled
and died the Lord,
Where blood of heaven
matched our grief
In words that no one
understood.
But understand we shall one day,
When the endless passion
of our God
Ends sorrow with
a word, an act,
A miracle of
long-suff’ring grace.
Thus ends the world,
And thus we meet our blessed end:
In joy no language can
portend,
When Christ
makes all things well.
The End