My Meggie. I knew you’d forgive me. I knew. All your life… I’ve watched you
wage your battles against God. Yet you were always closer
to his desires for us than I. In the end… you’ve always been able to love. For all you’ve lost… you’ve never lost that. Somewhere in me… I must have known from the first
that Dane was mine. But I didn’t want to know. I wanted to be Cardinal de Bricassart… more than I wanted our son. More than I wanted you. Of all the wrong I’ve done… the worst is that I never made a choice… for love. Half given to you, half given to God… but really given to my own ambition. I knew it… and I did it anyway.
I told myself it was meant to be. Long ago… I told you a story, a legend about a bird… that sings only when it dies. The bird with the thorn in its breast. You said it pays its life for that one song. But the whole world stills to listen. And God in his Heaven smiles. Driven to the thorn, with no knowledge
of the dying to come. But when we… When we press the thorn to our breast… we know… we understand… and still we do it. Still… we do it.