The King presently kissed Master Richard's hand and asked his pardon and
his prayers, saying that he had known nothing of what went forward
during those two days, until the crying of Jesus' name by Master Richard
before the cardinal, but blaming his own craven heart, as he called it.
And when Master Richard had spoken awhile, he asked the King to go out,
for that he had much to say to me in secret.
So the King went out very softly, and set other guards at the doors,
and we two sat there a long while.
* * * * *
I was astonished at Master Richard's strength and courage, for he had
spoken aloud to the King, but when the King was gone out, he spoke in a
lower voice, holding my hand. It was very dark, for he would have no
lights, and I could see no more of him but a little of his hair, and the
pallour of his face beneath it, until the morn came and the end came.
* * * * *
He told me first of what he had done, and what had been done to him
since a week ago, when we had kissed one another at the lych-gate--all
as I have told it to you. He talked quietly, as I have said, but he
laughed a little now and again, and once or twice his voice trembled
with tears as he related our Lord's loving-kindness to him. (I have
never known any man who loved Jesu Christ more than this man loved Him.)
I asked him a few questions, and he answered them, but the effect of
all that he said was what I have written down here, and sometimes I have
his very words as he spoke them.
At last he came to the end of what he had to say, and began to tell me
of the _Night of the Soul_, and here he talked in a very low voice so
that I could scarcely hear what he said, and of what he said I did not
understand one half, [I am thankful that Sir John recognized his own
limitations.] for it was full of mysteries such as other contemplative
souls alone would recognise--for all contemplatives, as you know, relate
the same things to one another which they have seen and heard, and the
words that each uses the other understands, but other men do not; for
they speak of things that they have seen indeed, but for which there are
no proper human words, so that they have to do the best that they can.
He told me that the state that I have described to you continued until
he came before my lord cardinal, so that although he saw men's faces
and heard their words they were no more to him than shadows and
whisperings; for since (as it appeared to him) he had lost God by his
own fault there was no longer anything by which he might communicate
with man.
Yet all this while there was the conflict of which I have spoken. There
was that in him, which we name the Will, which continued tense and
strong, striving against despair. Neither his mind nor his heart could
help him in that _Night_; his mind informed him that he had sinned
deadly by presumption, his heart found nowhere God to love; and all
that, though he told himself that God was loveable, and adorable, and
that he could not fall into hell save by his own purpose and intention.
Yet, in spite of all, and when all had failed him, his will strove
against despair (which is the antichrist of humility [A curious phrase,
and, I think, rather a good one. I suspect it was originally Master
Richard's.]), though he did not recognise until afterwards that he was
striving, for he thought himself lost, as I have said.
Then a little after noon, at the time when I saw his image at the door
of his cell, stretching himself as if after labour or sleep, he had his
release.
Now this is the one matter of which he did not tell me fully, nor would
he answer when I asked him except by the words, "_Secretum meum mihi_."
["My secret is mine."] But this I know, that he saw our Lord.
And this I know, too, that with that sight his understanding came back
to him, and he perceived for himself that Charity was all. He perceived,
also, that he had been striving, and amiss. He had striven to bear his
own sins, and for those few hours our Lord had permitted him to bear the
weight. He who bears heaven and earth upon His shoulders, and who bore
the burden of the sins of the world in the garden and upon the rood, had
allowed this sweet soul to feel the weight of his own few little sins
for those few hours.
When he saw that he made haste to cast them off again upon Him who alone
can carry them and live, and to cry upon His Name; and he understood in
that moment, he said, as never before, something of that passion and of
the meaning of those five wounds that he had adored so long in
ignorance.
But what it was that he saw, and how it was that our Lord shewed
Himself, whether on the rood, or as a child with the world in His hands,
or as crowned with sharp-thorned roses, or who was with Him, if any
were; I do not know. It was then that he said "_Secretum mihi._" And
when Master Richard had said that, he added "_Vere languores nostros
ipse tulit; et dolores nostros ipse portavit._" ["Surely He hath borne
our infirmities, and carried our sorrows" (Is. liii. 4.)]
* * * * *
He lay silent a good while after that, and I did not speak to him. When
he spoke again, it was to bring to my mind the masses that were to be
said, and then he spoke of the Quinte Essence, and said that it was to
be mine if I wished for it; and all other things of his were to be mine
to do as I pleased with them, for he had no kin in the world.
And after he had spoken of these things the King came in timidly from
the parlour, and stood by the door; I could see the pallour of his face
against the hangings.
"Come in, my lord King," said Master Richard very faintly. "I have done
what was to be done, and there now is nothing but to make an end."
The King knelt down at the further side of the bed.
"Is it the priest you want, Master Hermit?" he asked.
"Sir John will read the prayers presently," said Master Richard.