XIX
When De la Foret and Angele saw the Queen again it was in the royalchapel.
Perhaps the longest five minutes of M. de la Foret's life were thosein which he waited the coming of the Queen on that Trinity Sundaywhich was to decide his fate. When he saw Elizabeth enter the chapelhis eyes swam, till the sight of them was lost in the blur of colormade by the motions of gorgeously apparelled courtiers and the peopleof the household. When the Queen had taken her seat and all wasquiet, he struggled with himself to put on such a front of simpleboldness as he would wear upon day of battle. The sword the Queen hadgiven him was at his side, and his garb was still that of agentleman, not of a Huguenot minister such as Elizabeth in her grimhumor, and to satisfy her bond with France, would make of him thisday.
The brown of his face had paled in the weeks spent in the palace andin waiting for this hour; anxiety had toned the ruddy vigor of hisbearing; but his figure was the figure of a soldier and his hand thatof a strong man. He shook a little as he bowed to her Majesty, butthat passed, and when at last his eye met that of the Duke's Daughterhe grew steady; for she gave him, as plainly as though her tonguespoke, a message from Angele. Angele herself he did not see--she waskneeling in an obscure corner, her father's hand in hers, all thepassion of her life pouring out in prayer.
De la Foret drew himself up with an iron will. No nobler figure of aman ever essayed to preach the Word, and so Elizabeth thought; andshe repented of the bitter humor which had set this trial as hischance of life in England and his freedom from the hand of Catherine.The man bulked larger in her eyes than he had ever done, and shestruggled with herself to keep the vow she had made to the Duke'sDaughter the night that Angele had been found in De la Foret's rooms.He had been the immediate cause, fated or accidental, of the destinedbreach between Leicester and herself; he had played a significantpart in her own life. Glancing at her courtiers, she saw none thatmight compare with him, the form and being of calm boldness andcourage. She sighed she knew scarce why.
When De la Foret first opened his mouth and essayed to call theworshippers to prayer no words came forth--only a dry whisper. Someladies simpered, and more than one courtier laughed silently. Michelsaw, and his face flamed up. But he laid a hand on himself, and amoment afterwards his voice came forth, clear, musical, and resonant,speaking simple words, direct and unlacquered sentences, passionatelyearnest withal. He stilled the people to a unison of sentiment, nonethe less interested and absorbed because it was known that he hadbeen the cause of the great breach between the Queen and thefavorite. Ere he had spoken far, flippant gallants had ceased toflutter handkerchiefs, to idly move their swords upon the floor.
"'AND WHAT MATTER WHICH IT IS WE WIELD'"]
He took for his text, "_Stand and search for the old paths_." Thebeginning of all systems of religion, the coming of the Nazarene, therise and growth of Christianity, the martyrdoms of the early Church,the invasion of the truth by false doctrine, the abuses of theChurch, the Reformation, the martyrdom of the Huguenots for thereturn to the early principles of Christianity, the "search for theold paths," he set forth in a tone generous but not fiery, presentlypowerful and searching, yet not declamatory. At the last he raisedthe sword that hung by his side and the book that lay before him, andsaid:
"And what matter which it is we wield--this steel that strikes forGod or this book which speaks of Him? For the book is the sword ofthe Spirit, and the sword is the life of humanity; for all faith mustbe fought for and all that is has been won by strife. But the pathswherein ye go to battle must be the old paths; your sword shall beyour staff by day and the book your lantern by night. That which yelove ye shall teach, and that which ye teach ye shall defend; and ifyour love be a true love your teaching shall be a great teaching andyour sword a strong sword which none may withstand. It shall be thepride of sovereign and of people; and so neither 'height, nor depth,nor any other creature shall be able to separate us from the love ofGod.'"
Ere he had ended some of the ladies were overcome, the eyes of theDuke's Daughter were full of tears, and Elizabeth said, audibly, whenhe ceased speaking: "On my soul, I have no bishop with a tongue likehis. Would that my lord of Ely were here to learn how truth should bespoke. Henceforth my bishops shall first be Camisards."
Of that hour's joyful business the Queen wrote thus to the Medicibefore the day was done:
"Cancelling all other letters on the matter, this M. de la Foretshall stay in my kingdom. I may not be the headsman of one of myfaith--as eloquent a preacher as he was a brave soldier. Abiding bythe strict terms of our treaty with my brother of France, he shallstay with us in peace and in our own care. He hath not the eloquenceof a Knox, but he hath the true thing in him, and that speaks."
To the Duke's Daughter the Queen said, "On my soul, he shall bemarried instantly, or my ladies will carry him off and murder him forlove."
And so it was that the heart of Elizabeth the Queen warmed again, anddearly, towards two Huguenot exiles, and showed that in doing justiceshe also had not so sour a heart towards her sex as was set down toher credit. Yet she made one further effort to keep De la Foret inher service. When Michel, once again, declined, dwelt earnestly onhis duty towards the widow of his dead chief, and begged leave toshare her exile in Jersey, Elizabeth said, "On my soul, but I did notthink there was any man on earth so careless of princes' honors!"
To this De la Foret replied that he had given his heart and life toone cause, and since Montgomery had lost all, even life, the leastMichel de la Foret could do was to see that the woman who loved himbe not unprotected in the world. Also, since he might not at thispresent fight for the cause, he could speak for it; and he thankedthe Queen of England for having shown him his duty. All that hedesired was to be quiet for a space somewhere in "her high Majesty'sgood realm" till his way was clear to him.
"You would return to Jersey, then, with our friend of Rozel?"Elizabeth said, with a gesture towards Lempriere, who, now recoveredfrom his wound, was present at the audience.
De la Foret inclined his head. "If it be your high Majesty'spleasure."
And Lempriere of Rozel said, "He would return with myself your nobleMajesty's friend before all the world, and Buonespoir his ship the_Honeyflower_."
Elizabeth's lips parted in a smile, for she was warmed with theluxury of doing good, and she answered:
"I know not what the end of this will be, whether our loyal Lemprierewill become a pirate or Buonespoir a butler to my court; but it istoo pretty a hazard to forego in a world of chance. By the rood, butI have never, since I sat on my father's throne, seen black so whiteas I have done this past three months. You shall have yourBuonespoir, good Rozel; but if he plays pirate any more--tell himthis from his Queen--upon an English ship, I will have his head, if Imust needs send Drake of Devon to overhaul him."
That same hour the Queen sent for Angele, and by no leave, save herown, arranged the wedding-day, and ordained that it should take placeat Southampton, whither the Comtesse de Montgomery had come on herway to Greenwich to plead for the life of Michel de la Foret and tobeg Elizabeth to save her poverty, both of which things Elizabethdid, as the annals of her life record.
After Elizabeth--ever self-willed--had declared her way about themarriage ceremony, looking for no reply save that of silentobedience, she made Angele sit at her feet and tell her whole storyagain from first to last. They were alone, and Elizabeth showed tothis young refugee more of her own heart than any other woman hadever seen. Not by words alone, for she made no long story; but onceshe stooped and kissed Angele upon the cheek, and once her eyesfilled up with tears, and they dropped upon her lap unheeded. All thedevotion shown herself as a woman had come to naught; and it may bethat this thought stirred in her now. She remembered how Leicesterand herself had parted, and how she was denied all those softresources of regret which were the right of the meanest women in herrealm. For, whatever she might say to her Parliament and people, sheknew that all was too late--that she would never marry, and must gochildless and
uncomforted to her grave. Years upon years of delusionof her people, of sacrifice to policy, had at last become aself-delusion, to which her eyes were not full opened yet--she soughtto shut them tight. But these refugees, coming at the moment of herown struggle, had changed her heart from an ever-growing bitternessto human sympathy. When Angele had ended her tale once more the Queensaid:
"God knows ye shall not linger in my court. Such lives have no placehere. Get you back to my Isle of Jersey, where ye may live in peace.Here all is noise, self-seeking, and time-service. If ye twain arenot happy I will say the world should never have been made."
Before they left Greenwich Palace--M. Aubert and Angele, De la Foret,Lempriere, and Buonespoir--the Queen made Michel de la Foret the giftof a chaplaincy to the crown. To Monsieur Aubert she gave a smallpension, and in Angele's hands she placed a deed of dower worthy of agenerosity greater than her own.
At Southampton Michel and Angele were married by royal license, andwith the Comtesse de Montgomery set sail in Buonespoir's boat, the_Honeyflower_, which brought them safe to St. Helier's, in the Isleof Jersey.
XX
Followed several happy years for Michel and Angele. The protection ofthe Queen herself, the chaplaincy she had given De la Foret, thefriendship with the governor of the island, and the boisterous talesLempriere had told of those days at Greenwich Palace quickened thesympathy and held the interest of the people at large, while thesimple lives of the two won their way into the hearts of all, even,at last, to that of De Carteret of St. Ouen's. It was Angele herselfwho brought the two seigneurs together at her own good table; and itneeded all her tact on that occasion to prevent the ancient foes fromdrinking all the wine in her cellar.
There was no parish in Jersey that did not know their goodness, butmostly in the parishes of St. Martin's and Rozel were their faithfullabors done. From all parts of the island people came to hear Michelspeak, though that was but seldom; and when he spoke he always worethe sword the Queen had given him and used the Book he had studied inher palace. It was to their home that Buonespoir the pirate--faithfulto his promise to the Queen that he would harry English ships nomore--came wounded, after an engagement with a French boat sent tocapture him, carried thither by Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Itwas there he died, after having drunk a bottle of St. Ouen'smuscadella, brought secretly to him by his unchanging friendLempriere, so hastening the end.
The Comtesse de Montgomery, who lived in a cottage near by, cameconstantly to the little house on the hill-side by Rozel Bay. She hadnever loved her own children more than she did the brown-haired childwith the deep-blue eyes which was the one pledge of the greathappiness of Michel and Angele.
Soon after this child was born M. Aubert had been put to rest in St.Martin's churchyard, and there his tombstone might be seen so late asa hundred years ago. So things went softly by for seven years, andthen Madame de Montgomery journeyed to England, on invitation of theQueen and to better fortune, and Angele and De la Foret were left totheir quiet life in Jersey. Sometimes this quiet was broken by bitternews from France of fresh persecution and fresh struggle on the partof the Huguenots. Thereafter for hours, sometimes for days, De laForet would be lost in sorrowful and restless meditation; and then hefretted against his peaceful calling and his uneventful life. But thegracious hand of his wife and the eyes of his child led him back tocheerful ways again.
Suddenly one day came the fearful news from England that the plaguehad broken out and that thousands were dying. The flight from Londonwas like the flight of the children of Israel into the desert. Thedead-carts, filled with decaying bodies, rattled through the foulstreets, to drop their horrid burdens into the great pit at Aldgate;the bells of London tolled all day and all night for the passing ofhuman souls. Hundreds of homes, isolated because of a victim of theplague found therein, became ghastly breeding-places of the disease,and then silent, disgusting graves. If a man shivered in fear orstaggered from weakness, or for very hunger turned sick, he wasmarked as a victim, and despite his protests was huddled away withthe real victims to die the awful death. From every church, whereclergy were left to pray, went up the cry for salvation from "plague,pestilence, and famine." Scores of ships from Holland and from Francelay in the Channel, not allowed to touch the shores of England norpermitted to return whence they came. On the very day that news ofthis reached Jersey came a messenger from the Queen of England forMichel de la Foret to hasten to her court, for that she had need ofhim, and need which would bring him honor. Even as the young officerwho brought the letter handed it to De la Foret in the little houseon the hill-side above Rozel Bay, he was taken suddenly ill and fellat the Camisard's feet.
De la Foret straightway raised him in his arms. He called to hiswife, but, bidding her not come near, he bore the doomed man away tothe lonely Ecrehos rocks lying within sight of their own doorway.Suffering no one to accompany him, he carried the sick man to theboat which had brought the Queen's messenger to Rozel Bay. Thesailors of the vessel fled, and alone De la Foret set sail for theEcrehos.
There, upon the black rocks, the young man died, and Michel buriedhim in the shore-bed of the Maitre Ile. Then, after two days--for hecould bear suspense no longer--he set sail for Jersey. Upon thatjourney there is no need to dwell. Any that hath ever loved a womanand a child must understand. A deep fear held him all the way, andwhen he stepped on shore at Rozel Bay he was as one who had come fromthe grave, haggard and old.
Hurrying up the hill-side to his doorway, he called aloud to hiswife, to his child. Throwing open the door, he burst in. His deadchild lay upon a couch, and near by, sitting in a chair, with thesweat of the dying on her brow, was Angele. As he dropped on his kneebeside her, she smiled and raised her hand as if to touch him, butthe hand dropped and the head fell forward on his breast. She wasgone into a greater peace.
Once more Michel made a journey--alone--to the Ecrehos, and there,under the ruins of the old Abbey of Val Richer, he buried the twainhe had loved. Not once in all the terrible hours had he shed a tear;not once had his hand trembled; his face was like stone and his eyesburned with an unearthly light.
He did not pray beside the graves. But he knelt and kissed the earthagain and again. He had doffed his robes of peace, and now wore thegarb of a soldier, armed at all points fully. Rising from his knees,he turned his face towards Jersey.
"Only mine! Only mine!" he said, aloud, in a dry, bitter voice.
In the whole island, only his loved ones had died of the plague. Theholiness and charity and love of Michel and Angele had ended so!
When once more he set forth upon the Channel, he turned his back onJersey and shaped his course towards France, having sent Elizabethhis last excuses for declining a service which would have given himhonor, fame, and regard. He was bent upon a higher duty.
Not long did he wait for the death he craved. Next year, in aHuguenot sortie from Anvers, he was slain.
He died with these words on his lips:
"Maintenant, Angele!"
* * * * *
In due time the island people forgot them both, but the Seigneur ofRozel caused a stone to be set up on the highest point of land thatfaces France, and on the stone were carved the names of Michel andAngele. Having done much hard service for his country and forEngland's Queen, Lempriere at length hung up his sword and gave hisyears to peace. From the Manor of Rozel he was wont to repairconstantly to the little white house, which remained as the two hadleft it--his own by order of the Queen--and there, as time went on,he spent most of his days. To the last he roared with laughter ifever the name of Buonespoir was mentioned in his presence; heswaggered ever before the royal court and De Carteret of St. Ouen's;and he spoke proudly of his friendship with the Duke's Daughter, whohad admired the cut of his jerkin at the court of Elizabeth. But inthe house where Angele had lived he moved about as though in thepresence of a beloved sleeper he would not awake.
* * * * *
Michel and Angele had had their fe
w years of exquisite life and love,and had gone; Lempriere had longer measure of life and little love,and who shall say which had more profit of breath and being? Thegenerations have passed away, and the Angel of Equity hath a smilingpity as she scans the scales and the weighing of the past.
THE END
"Come hither, O come hither, There's a bride upon her bed; They have strewn her o'er with roses, There are roses 'neath her head: Life is love and tears and laughter, But the laughter it is dead-- Sing the way to the valley, to the valley! Hey, but the roses they are red!"
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