Produced by David Widger MICHEL AND ANGELE, Complete [A Ladder of Swords] By Gilbert Parker INTRODUCTION If it does not seem too childish a candour to say so, âMichel and Angeleâ always seems to me like some old letter lifted out of an ancient cabinet with the faint perfume of bygone days upon it. Perhaps that is because the story itself had its origin in a true but brief record of some good Huguenots who fled from France and took refuge in England, to be found, as the book declares, at the Walloon Church, in Southampton. The record in the first paragraphs of the first chapter of the book fascinated my imagination, and I wove round Michel de la Foret and Angele Aubert a soft, bright cloud of romance which would not leave my vision until I sat down and wrote out what, in the writing, seemed to me a true history. It was as though some telepathy between the days of Elizabeth and our own controlled me--self-hypnotism, I suppose; but still, there it was. The story, in its original form, was first published in âHarperâs Weeklyâ under the name of Michel and Angele, but the fear, I think, that many people would mispronounce the first word of the title, induced me to change it when, double in length, it became a volume called âA Ladder of Swordsâ. As it originally appeared, I wrote it in the Island of Jersey, out at the little Bay of Rozel in a house called La Chaire, a few yards away from the bay itself, and having a pretty garden with a seat at its highest point, from which, beyond the little bay, the English Channel ran away to the Atlantic. It was written in complete seclusion. I had no visitors; there was no one near, indeed, except the landlord of the little hotel in the bay, and his wife. All through the Island, however, were people whom I knew, like the Malet de Carterets, the Lemprieres, and old General Pipon, for whom the Jersey of three hundred years ago was as near as the Jersey of to-day, so do the Jersiais prize, cultivate, and conserve every hour of its recorded history. As the sea opens out to a vessel making between the promontories to the main, so, while writing this tale which originally was short, the larger scheme of âThe Battle of the Strongâ spread out before me, luring me, as though in the distance were the Fortunate Isles. Eight years after âMichel and Angeleâ was written and first published in âHarperâs Weeklyâ, I decided to give it the dignity of a full-grown romance. For years I had felt that it had the essentials for a larger canvas, and at the earnest solicitation of Messrs. Harper & Brothers I settled to do what had long been in my mind. The narrative grew as naturally from what it was to larger stature as anything that had been devised upon a greater scale at the beginning; and in London town I had the same joy in the company of Michel and Angele--and a vastly increased joy in the company of Lempriere, the hulking, joyous giant--as I had years before in Jersey itself when the story first stirred in my mind and reached my pen. While adverse reviews of the book were few if any, it cannot be said that this romance is a companion in popularity with, for instance, âThe Right of Wayâ. It had its friends, but it has apparently appealed to smaller audiences--to those who watch the world go by; who are not searching for the exposure of lifeâs grim realities; who do not seek the clinic of the soulâs tragedies. There was tragedy here, but there was comedy too; there was also joy and faith, patience and courage. The book, taken by itself, could not make a permanent reputation for any man, but it has its place in the scheme of my work, and I would not have it otherwise than it is. A NOTE There will be found a few anachronisms in this tale, but none so important as to give a wrong impression of the events of Queen Elizabethâs reign. MICHEL AND ANGELE CHAPTER I If you go to Southampton and search the register of the Walloon Church there, you will find that in the summer of â57, âMadame Vefue de Montgomery with all her family and servants were admitted to the Communionâ--âTous ceux ce furent Recus la a Cene du â57, comme passans, sans avoir Rendu Raison de la foj, mes sur la tesmognage de Mons. Forest, Ministre de Madame, quj certifia quj ne cognoisoit Rien en tout ceux la poâ quoy Il ne leur deust administre la Cene sâil estoit en lieu poâ a ferre.â There is another striking record, which says that in August of the same year Demoiselle Angele Claude Aubert, daughter of Monsieur de la Haie Aubert, Councillor of the Parliament of Rouen, was married to Michel de la Foret, of the most noble Flemish family of that name. When I first saw these records, now grown dim with time, I fell to wondering what was the real life-history of these two people. Forthwith, in imagination, I began to make their story piece by piece; and I had reached a romantic âdenoumentâ satisfactory to myself and in sympathy with fact, when the Angel of Accident stepped forward with some âhuman documents.â Then I found that my tale, woven back from the two obscure records I have given, was the true story of two most unhappy yet most happy people. From the note struck in my mind, when my finger touched that sorrowful page in the register of the Church of the Refugees at Southampton, had spread out the whole melody and the very book of the song. One of the later-discovered records was a letter, tear-stained, faded, beautifully written in old French, from Demoiselle Angele Claude Aubert to Michel de la Foret at Anvers in March of the year 157_. The letter lies beside me as I write, and I can scarcely believe that three and a quarter centuries have passed since it was written, and that she who wrote it was but eighteen years old at the time. I translate it into English, though it is impossible adequately to carry over either the flavour or the idiom of the language: Written on this May Day of the year 157_, at the place hight Rozel in the Manor called of the same of Jersey Isle, to Michel de la Foret, at Anvers in Flanders. MICHEL, Thy good letter by safe carriage cometh to my hand, bringing to my heart a lightness it hath not known since that day when I was hastily carried to the port of St. Malo, and thou towards the King his prison. In what great fear have I lived, having no news of thee and fearing all manner of mischance! But our God hath benignly saved thee from death, and me He hath set safely here in this isle of the sea. Thou hast ever been a brave soldier, enduring and not fearing; thou shalt find enow to keep thy blood stirring in these days of trial and peril to us who are so opprobriously called Les Huguenots. If thou wouldst know more of my mind thereupon, come hither. Safety is here, and work for thee--smugglers and pirates do abound on these coasts, and Popish wolves do harry the flock even in this island province of England. Michel, I plead for the cause which thou hast nobly espoused, but--alas! my selfish heart, where thou art lie work and fighting, and the same high cause, and sadly, I confess, it is for mine own happiness that I ask thee to come. I wot well that escape from France hath peril, that the way hither from that point upon yonder coast called Carteret is hazardous, but yet-but yet all ways to happiness are set with hazard. If thou dost come to Carteret thou wilt see two lights turning this- wards: one upon a headland called Tour de Rozel, and one upon the great rock called of the Ecrehos. These will be in line with thy sight by the sands of Hatainville. Near by the Tour de Rozel shall I be watching and awaiting thee. By day and night doth my prayer ascend for thee. The messenger who bears this to thee (a piratical knave with a most kind heart, having, I am told, a wife in every port of France and of England the south, a most heinous sin!) will wait for thy answer, or will bring thee hither, which is still better. He is worthy of trust if thou makest him swear by the little finger of St. Peter. By all other swearings he doth deceive freely. The Lord make thee true, Michel. If thou art faithful to me, I shall know how faithful thou art in all; for thy vows to me were most frequent and pronounced, with a full savour that might warrant short seasoning. Yet, because thou mayst still be given to such dear fantasies of truth as were on thy lips in those dark days wherein thy sword saved my life âtwixt Paris and Rouen, I tell thee now that I do love thee, and shall so love when, as my heart inspires me, the cloud shall fall that will hide us from each other forever. ANGELE. An Afterword: I doubt not we shall come to the heights where there is peace, though we climb thereto by a ladder of swords. A. Some years before Angeleâs letter was written, Michel de la Foret had become an officer in the army of Comte Gabriel de Montgomery, and fought with him until what time the great chief was besieged in the Castle of Domfront in Normandy. When the siege grew desperate, Montgomery besought the intrepid young Huguenot soldier to escort Madame de Montgomery to England, to be safe from the oppression and misery sure to follow any mishap to this noble leader of the Camisards. At the very moment of departure of the refugees from Domfront with the Comtesse, Angeleâs messenger--the âpiratical knave with the most kind heartâ presented himself, delivered her letter to De la Foret, and proceeded with the party to the coast of Normandy by St. Brieuc. Embarking there in a lugger which Buonespoir the pirate secured for them, they made for England. Having come but half-way of the Channel, the lugger was stopped by an English frigate. After much persuasion the captain of the frigate agreed to land Madame de Montgomery upon the island of Jersey, but forced De la Foret to return to the coast of France; and Buonespoir elected to return with him. CHAPTER II Meanwhile Angele had gone through many phases of alternate hope and despair. She knew that Montgomery the Camisard was dead, and a rumour, carried by refugees, reached her that De la Foret had been with him to the end. To this was presently added the word that De la Foret had been beheaded. But one day she learned that the Comtesse de Montgomery was sheltered by the Governor, Sir Hugh Pawlett, her kinsman, at Mont Orgueil Castle. Thither she went in fear from her refuge at Rozel, and was admitted to the Comtesse. There she learned the joyful truth that De la Foret had not been slain, and was in hiding on the coast of Normandy. The long waiting was a sore trial, yet laughter was often upon her lips henceforth. The peasants, the farmers and fishermen of Jersey, at first--as they have ever been--little inclined towards strangers, learned at last to look for her in the fields and upon the shore, and laughed in response, they knew not why, to the quick smiling of her eyes. She even learned to speak their unmusical but friendly Norman-Jersey French. There were at least a half-dozen fishermen who, for her, would have gone at night straight to the Witchesâ Rock in St. Clementâs Bay--and this was bravery unmatched. It came to be known along the coast that âMaâmâselleâ was waiting for a lover fleeing from the French coast. This gave her fresh interest in the eyes of the serfs and sailors and their women folk, who at first were not inclined towards the Huguenot maiden, partly because she was French, and partly because she was not a Catholic. But even these, when they saw that she never talked religiously, that she was fast learning to speak their own homely patois, and that in the sickness of their children she was untiring in her kindness, forgave the austerity of the gloomy-browed old man her father, who spoke to them distantly, or never spoke at all; and her position was secure. Then, upon the other hand, the gentry of the manors, seeing the friendship grow between her and the Comtesse de Montgomery at Mont Orgueil Castle, made courteous advances towards her father, and towards herself through him. She could scarce have counted the number of times she climbed the great hill like a fortress at the lift of the little bay of Rozel, and from the Nez du Guet scanned the sea for a sail and the sky for fair weather. When her eyes were not thus busy, they were searching the lee of the hillside round for yellow lilies, and the valley below for the campion, the daffodil, and the thousand pretty ferns growing in profusion there. Every night she looked out to see that her signal fire was lit upon the Nez du Guet, and she never went to bed without taking one last look over the sea, in the restless inveterate hope which at once sustained her and devoured her. But the longest waiting must end. It came on the evening of the very day that the Seigneur of Rozel went to Angeleâs father and bluntly told him he was ready to forego all Norman-Jersey prejudice against the French and the Huguenot religion, and take Angele to wife without penny or estate. In reply to the Seigneur, Monsieur Aubert said that he was conscious of an honour, and referred Monsieur to his daughter, who must answer for herself; but he must tell Monsieur of Rozel that Monsieurâs religion would, in his own sight, be a high bar to the union. To that the Seigneur said that no religion that he had could be a bar to anything at all; and so long as the young lady could manage her household, drive a good bargain with the craftsmen and hucksters, and have the handsomest face and manners in the Channel Islands, heâd ask no more; and she might pray for him and his salvation without let or hindrance. The Seigneur found the young lady in a little retreat among the rocks, called by the natives La Chaire. Here she sat sewing upon some coarse linen for a poor fisherwomanâs babe when the Seigneur came near. She heard the scrunch of his heels upon the gravel, the clank of his sword upon the rocks, and looked up with a flush, her needle poised; for none should know of her presence in this place save her father. When she saw who was her visitor, she rose. After greeting and compliment, none too finely put, but more generous than fitted with Jersey parsimony, the gentleman of Rozel came at once to the point. âMy name is none too bad,â said he--âRaoul Lempriere, of the Lemprieres that have been here since Rollo ruled in Normandy. My estate is none worse than any in the whole islands; I have more horses and dogs than any gentleman of my acres; and I am more in favour at court than De Carteret of St. Ouenâs. I am the Queenâs butler, and I am the first that royal favour granted to set up three dove-cotes, one by St. Aubinâs, one by St. Helierâs, and one at Rozel: and--and,â he added, with a lumbering attempt at humour--âand, on my oath, Iâll set up another dove-cote with out my sovereignâs favour, with your leave alone. By our Lady, I do love that colour in yon cheek! Just such a colour had my mother when she snatched from the head of my cousin of Carteretâs milk-maid wife the bonnet of a lady of quality and bade her get to her heifers. Godâs beauty! but âtis a colour of red primroses in thy cheeks and blue campions in thine eyes. Come, I warrant I can deepen that colourâ--he bowed low--âMadame of Rozel, if it be not too soon!â The girl listened to this cheerful and loquacious proposal and courtship all in one, ending with the premature bestowal of a title, in mingled anger, amusement, disdain, and apprehension. Her heart fluttered, then stood still, then flew up in her throat, then grew terribly hot and hurt her, so that she pressed her hand to her bosom as though that might ease it. By the time he had finished, drawn himself up, and struck his foot upon the ground in burly emphasis of his devoted statements, the girl had sufficiently recovered to answer him composedly, and with a little glint of demure humour in her eyes. She loved another man; she did not care so much as a spark for this happy, swearing, swashbuckling gentleman; yet she saw he had meant to do her honour. He had treated her as courteously as was in him to do; he chose her out from all the ladies of his acquaintance to make her an honest offer of his hand--he had said nothing about his heart; he would, should she marry him, throw her scraps of good-humour, bearish tenderness, drink to her health among his fellows, and respect and admire her--even exalt her almost to the rank of a man in his own eyes; and he had the tolerance of the open-hearted and open-handed man. All these things were as much a compliment to her as though she were not a despised Huguenot, an exiled lady of no fortune. She looked at him a moment with an almost solemn intensity, so that he shifted his ground uneasily, but at once smiled encouragingly, to relieve her embarrassment at the unexpected honour done her. She had remained standing; now, as he made a step towards her, she sank down upon the seat, and waved him back courteously. âA moment, Monsieur of Rozel,â she ventured. âDid my father send you to me?â He inclined his head and smiled again. âDid you say to him what you have said to me?â she asked, not quite without a touch of malice. âI left out about the colour in the cheek,â he answered, with a smirk at what he took to be the quickness of his wit. âYou kept your paint-pot for me,â she replied softly. âAnd the dove-cote, too,â he rejoined, bowing finely, and almost carried off his feet by his own brilliance. She became serious at once--so quickly that he was ill prepared for it, and could do little but stare and pluck at the tassel of his sword; for he was embarrassed before this maiden, who changed as quickly as the currents change under the brow of the Couperon Cliff, behind which lay his manor-house of Rozel. âI have visited at your manor, Monsieur of Rozel. I have seen the state in which you live, your retainers, your men-at-arms, your farming-folk, and your sailormen. I know how your Queen receives you; how your honour is as stable as your fief.â He drew himself up again proudly. He could understand this speech. âYour horses and your hounds I have seen,â she added, âyour men-servants and your maid-servants, your fields of corn, your orchards, and your larder. I have sometimes broken the Commandment and coveted them and envied you.â âBreak the Commandment again, for the last time,â he cried, delighted and boisterous. âLet us not waste words, lady. Letâs kiss and have it over.â Her eyes flashed. âI coveted them and envied you; but then, I am but a vain girl at times, and vanity is easier to me than humbleness.â âBlood of man, but I cannot understand so various a creature!â he broke in, again puzzled. âThere is a little chapel in the dell beside your manor, Monsieur. If you will go there, and get upon your knees, and pray till the candles no more burn, and the Popish images crumble in their places, you will yet never understand myself or any woman.â âThereâs no question of Popish images between us,â he answered, vainly trying for foothold. âPray as you please, and Iâll see no harm comes to the Mistress of Rozel.â He was out of his bearings and impatient. Religion to him was a dull recreation invented chiefly for women. She became plain enough now. ââTis no images nor religion that stands between us,â she answered, âthough they might well do so. It is that I do not love you, Monsieur of Rozel.â His face, which had slowly clouded, suddenly cleared. âLove! Love!â He laughed good-humouredly. âLove comes, Iâm told, with marriage. But we can do well enough without fugling on that pipe. Come, come, dost think Iâm not a proper man and a gentleman? Dost think Iâll not use thee well and âfend thee, Huguenot though thou art, âgainst trouble or fret or any manâs persecutions--be he my Lord Bishop, my Lord Chancellor, or King of France, or any other?â She came a step closer to him, even as though she would lay a hand upon his arm. âI believe that you would do all that in you lay,â she answered steadily. âYours is a rough wooing, but it is honest--â âRough! Rough!â he protested, for he thought he had behaved like some Adonis. Was it not ten years only since he had been at Court! âBe assured, Monsieur, that I know how to prize the man who speaks after the light given him. I know that you are a brave and valorous gentleman. I must thank you most truly and heartily, but, Monsieur, you and yours are not for me. Seek elsewhere, among your own people, in your own religion and language and position, the Mistress of Rozel.â He was dumfounded. Now he comprehended the plain fact that he had been declined. âYou send me packing!â he blurted out, getting red in the face. âAh, no! Say it is my misfortune that I cannot give myself the great honour,â she said; in her tone a little disdainful dryness, a little pity, a little feeling that here was a good friend lost. âItâs not because of the French soldier that was with Montgomery at Domfront?--Iâve heard that story. But heâs gone to heaven, and âtis vain crying for last yearâs breath,â he added, with proud philosophy. âHe is not dead. And if he were,â she added, âdo you think, Monsieur, that we should find it easier to cross the gulf between us?â âTut, tut, that bugbear Love!â he said shortly. âAnd so youâd lose a good friend for a dead lover? Iâ faith, Iâd befriend thee well if thou wert my wife, Maâmâselle.â âIt is hard for those who need friends to lose them,â she answered sadly. The sorrow of her position crept in upon her and filled her eyes with tears. She turned them to the sea-instinctively towards that point on the shore where she thought it likely Michel might be; as though by looking she might find comfort and support in this hard hour. Even as she gazed into the soft afternoon light she could see, far over, a little sail standing out towards the Ecrehos. Not once in six months might the coast of France be seen so clearly. One might almost have noted people walking on the beach. This was no good token, for when that coast may be seen with great distinctness a storm follows hard after. The girl knew this; and though she could not know that this was Michel de la Foretâs boat, the possibility fixed itself in her mind. She quickly scanned the horizon. Yes, there in the north-west was gathering a dark-blue haze, hanging like small filmy curtains in the sky. The Seigneur of Rozel presently broke the silence so awkward for him. He had seen the tears in her eyes, and though he could not guess the cause, he vaguely thought it might be due to his announcement that she had lost a friend. He was magnanimous at once, and he meant what he said and would stand by it through thick and thin. âWell, well, Iâll be thy everlasting friend if not thy husband,â he said with ornate generosity. âCheer thy heart, lady.â With a sudden impulse she seized his hand and kissed it, and, turning, ran swiftly down the rocks towards her home. He stood and looked after her, then, dumfounded, at the hand she had kissed. âBlood of my heart!â he said, and shook his head in utter amazement. Then he turned and looked out upon the Channel. He saw the little boat Angele had descried making from France. Glancing at the sky, âWhat fools come there!â he said anxiously. They were Michel de la Foret and Buonespoir the pirate, in a black-bellied cutter with red sails. CHAPTER III For weeks De la Foret and Buonespoir had lain in hiding at St. Brieuc. At last Buonespoir declared all was ready once again. He had secured for the Camisard the passport and clothes of a priest who had but just died at Granville. Once again they made the attempt to reach English soil. Standing out from Carteret on the Belle Suzanne, they steered for the light upon the Marmotier Rocks of the Ecrehos, which Angele had paid a fisherman to keep going every night. This light had caused the French and English frigates some uneasiness, and they had patrolled the Channel from Cap de la Hague to the Bay of St. Brieuc with a vigilance worthy of a larger cause. One fine day an English frigate anchored off the Ecrehos, and the fisherman was seized. He, poor man, swore that he kept the light burning to guide his brother fishermen to and fro between Boulay Bay and the Ecrehos. The captain of the frigate tried severities; but the fisherman stuck to his tale, and the light burned on as before--a lantern stuck upon a pole. One day, with a telescope, Buonespoir had seen the exact position of the staff supporting the light, and had mapped out his course accordingly. He would head straight for the beacon and pass between the Marmotier and the Maitre Ile, where is a narrow channel for a boat drawing only a few feet of water. Unless he made this, he must run south and skirt the Ecriviere Rock and bank, where the streams setting over the sandy ridges make a confusing perilous sea to mariners in bad weather. Else, he must sail north between the Ecrehos and the Dirouilles, in the channel called Etoc, a tortuous and dangerous passage save in good weather, and then safe only to the mariner who knows the floor of that strait like his own hand. De la Foret was wholly in the hands of Buonespoir, for he knew nothing of these waters and coasts; also he was a soldier and no sailor. They cleared Cape Carteret with a fair wind from the north-east, which should carry them safely as the bird flies to the haven of Rozel. The high, pinkish sands of Hatainville were behind them; the treacherous Taillepied Rocks lay to the north, and a sweet sea before. Nothing could have seemed fairer and more hopeful. But a few old fishermen on shore at Carteret shook their heads dubiously, and at Port Bail, some miles below, a disabled naval officer, watching through a glass, rasped out, âCriminals or fools!â But he shrugged his shoulders, for if they were criminals he was sure they would expiate their crimes this night, and if they were fools--he had no pity for fools. But Buonespoir knew his danger. Truth is, he had chosen this night because they would be safest from pursuit, because no sensible seafaring man, were he Kingâs officer or another, would venture forth upon the impish Channel, save to court disaster. Pirate, and soldier in priestâs garb, had frankly taken the chances. With a fair wind they might, with all canvas set--mainsail, foresail, jib, and fore-topsail--make Rozel Bay within two hours and a quarter. All seemed well for a brief half-hour. Then, even as the passage between the Marmotier and the Ecrehos opened out, the wind suddenly shifted from the north-east to the southwest and a squall came hurrying on them--a few moments too soon; for, had they been clear of the Ecrehos, clear of the Taillepieds, Felee Bank, and the Ecriviere, they could have stood out towards the north in a more open sea. Yet there was one thing in their favour: the tide was now running hard from the north-west, so fighting for them while the wind was against them. Their only safety lay in getting beyond the Ecrehos. If they attempted to run in to the Marmotier for safety, they would presently be at the mercy of the French. To trust their doubtful fortunes and bear on was the only way. The tide was running fast. They gave the mainsail to the wind still more, and bore on towards the passage. At last, as they were opening on it, the wind suddenly veered full north-east. The sails flapped, the boat seemed to hover for a moment, and then a wave swept her towards the rocks. Buonespoir put the helm hard over, she went about, and they close-hauled her as she trembled towards the rocky opening. This was the critical instant. A heavy sea was running, the gale was blowing hard from the north-east, and under the close-hauled sail the Belle Suzanne was lying over dangerously. But the tide, too, was running hard from the south, fighting the wind; and, at the moment when all seemed terribly uncertain, swept them past the opening and into the swift-running channel, where the indraught sucked them through to the more open water beyond. Although the Belle Suzanne was in more open water now, the danger was not over. Ahead lay a treacherous sea, around them roaring winds, and the perilous coast of Jersey beyond all. âDo you think we shall land?â quietly asked De la Foret, nodding towards the Jersey coast. âAs many chances âgainst it as for it, Mâsieuâ,â said Buonespoir, turning his face to the north, for the wind had veered again to north-east, and he feared its passing to the north-west, giving them a head-wind and a swooping sea. Night came down, but with a clear sky and a bright moon; the wind, however, not abating. The next three hours were spent in tacking, in beating towards the Jersey coast under seas which almost swamped them. They were standing off about a mile from the island, and could see lighted fires and groups of people upon the shore, when suddenly a gale came out from the southwest, the wind having again shifted. With an oath, Buonespoir put the helm hard over, the Belle Suzanne came about quickly, but as the gale struck her, the mast snapped like a pencil, she heeled over, and the two adventurers were engulfed in the waves. A cry of dismay went up from the watchers on the shore. They turned with a half-conscious sympathy towards Angele, for her story was known by all, and in her face they read her mortal fear, though she made no cry, but only clasped her hands in agony. Her heart told her that yonder Michel de la Foret was fighting for his life. For an instant only she stood, the terror of death in her eyes, then she turned to the excited fishermen near. âMen, oh men,â she cried, âwill you not save them? Will no one come with me?â Some shook their heads sullenly, others appeared uncertain, but their wives and children clung to them, and none stirred. Looking round helplessly, Angele saw the tall figure of the Seigneur of Rozel. He had been watching the scene for some time. Now he came quickly to her. âIs it the very man?â he asked her, jerking a finger towards the struggling figures in the sea. âYes, oh yes,â she replied, nodding her head piteously. âGod tells my heart it is.â Her father drew near and interposed. âLet us kneel and pray for two dying men,â said he, and straightway knelt upon the sand. âBy St. Martin, weâve better medicine than that, apothecary!â said Lempriere of Rozel loudly, and, turning round, summoned two serving-men. âLaunch my strong boat,â he added. âWe will pick these gentlemen from the brine, or know the end of it all.â The men hurried gloomily to the long-boat, ran her down to the shore and into the surf. âYou are going--you are going to save him, dear Seigneur?â asked the girl tremulously. âTo save him--thatâs to be seen, mistress,â answered Lempriere, and advanced to the fishermen. By dint of hard words, and as hearty encouragement and promises, he got a half-dozen strong sailors to man the boat. A moment after, they were all in. At a motion from the Seigneur, the boat was shot out into the surf, and a cheer from the shore gave heart to De la Foret and Buonespoir, who were being driven upon the rocks. The Jerseymen rowed gallantly; and the Seigneur, to give them heart, promised a shilling, a capon, and a gallon of beer to each, if the rescue was made. Again and again the two men seemed to sink beneath the sea, and again and again they came to the surface and battled further, torn, battered, and bloody, but not beaten. Cries of âWeâre coming, gentles, weâre coming!â from the Seigneur of Rozel, came ringing through the surf to the dulled ears of the drowning men, and they struggled on. There never was a more gallant rescue. Almost at their last gasp the two were rescued. âMistress Aubert sends you welcome, sir, if you be Michel de la Foret,â said Lempriere of Rozel, and offered the fugitive his horn of liquor as he lay blown and beaten in the boat. âI am he,â De la Foret answered. âI owe you my life, Monsieur,â he added. Lempriere laughed. âYou owe it to the lady; and I doubt you can properly pay the debt,â he answered, with a toss of the head; for had not the lady refused him, the Seigneur of Rozel, six feet six in height, and all else in proportion, while this gentleman was scarce six feet. âWe can have no quarrel upon the point,â answered De la Foret, reaching out his hand; âyou have at least done tough work for her, and if I cannot pay in gold, I can in kind. It was a generous deed, and it has made a friend for ever of Michel de la Foret.â âRaoul Lempriere of Rozel they call me, Michel de la Foret, and by Rollo the Duke, but Iâll take your word in the way of friendship, as the lady yonder takes it for riper fruit! Though, faith, âtis fruit of a short summer, to my thinking.â All this while Buonespoir the pirate, his face covered with blood, had been swearing by the little finger of St. Peter that each Jerseyman there should have the half of a keg of rum. He went so far in gratitude as to offer the price of ten sheep which he had once secretly raided from the Seigneur of Rozel and sold in France; for which he had been seized on his later return to the island, and had escaped without punishment. Hearing, Lempriere of Rozel roared at him in anger: âDurst speak to me! For every fleece you thieved Iâll have you flayed with bow-strings if ever I sight your face within my boundaries.â âThen Iâll fetch and carry no more for Mâsieuâ of Rozel,â said Buonespoir, in an offended tone, but grinning under his reddish beard. âWhen didst fetch and carry for me, varlet?â Lempriere roared again. âWhen the Seigneur of Rozel fell from his horse, overslung with sack, the night of the royal Dukeâs visit, and the footpads were on him, I carried him on my back to the lodge of Rozel Manor. The footpads had scores to settle with the great Rozel.â For a moment the Seigneur stared, then roared again, but this time with laughter. âBy the devil and Rollo, I have sworn to this hour that there was no man in the isle could have carried me on his shoulders. And I was right, for Jersiais youâre none, neither by adoption nor grace, but a citizen of the sea.â He laughed again as a wave swept over them, drenching them, and a sudden squall of wind came out of the north. âThereâs no better head in the isle than mine for measurement and thinking, and I swore no man under eighteen stone could carry me, and I am twenty-five--I take you to be nineteen stone, eh?â âNineteen, less two ounces,â grinned Buonespoir. âIâll laugh De Carteret of St. Ouenâs out of his stockings over this,â answered Lempriere. âTrust me for knowing weights and measures! Look you, varlet, thy sins be forgiven thee. I care not about the fleeces, if there be no more stealing. St. Ouenâs has no head--I said no one man in Jersey could have done it--Iâm heavier by three stone than any man in the island.â Thereafter there was little speaking among them, for the danger was greater as they neared the shore. The wind and the sea were against them; the tide, however, was in their favour. Others besides M. Aubert offered up prayers for the safe-landing of the rescued and rescuers. Presently an ancient fisherman broke out into a rude sailorâs chanty, and every voice, even those of the two Huguenots, took it up: âWhen the Four Winds, the Wrestlers, strive with the Sun, When the Sun is slain in the dark; When the stars burn out, and the night cries To the blind sea-reapers, and they rise, And the water-ways are stark-- God save us when the reapers reap! When the ships sweep in with the tide to the shore, And the little white boats return no more; When the reapers reap, Lord give Thy sailors sleep, If Thou cast us not upon the shore, To bless Thee evermore: To walk in Thy sight as heretofore Though the way of the Lord be steep! By Thy grace, Show Thy face, Lord of the land and the deep!â The song stilled at last. It died away in the roar of the surf, in the happy cries of foolish women, and the laughter of men back from a dangerous adventure. As the Seigneurâs boat was drawn up the shore, Angele threw herself into the arms of Michel de la Foret, the soldier dressed as a priest. Lempriere of Rozel stood abashed before this rich display of feeling. In his hottest youth he could not have made such passionate motions of affection. His feelings ran neither high nor broad, but neither did they run low and muddy. His nature was a straight level of sensibility--a rough stream between high banks of prejudice, topped with the foam of vanity, now brawling in season, and now going steady and strong to the sea. Angele had come to feel what he was beneath the surface. She felt how unimaginative he was, and how his humour, which was but the horse-play of vanity, helped him little to understand the world or himself. His vanity was ridiculous, his self-importance was against knowledge or wisdom; and Heaven had given him a small brain, a big and noble heart, a pedigree back to Rollo, and the absurd pride of a little lord in a little land. Angele knew all this; but realised also that he had offered her all he was able to offer to any woman. She went now and put out both hands to him. âI shall ever pray Godâs blessing on the lord of Rozel,â she said, in a low voice. ââTwould fit me no better than St. Ouenâs sword fits his fingers. Iâll take thine own benison, lady--but on my cheek, not on my hand as this day before at four of the clock.â His big voice lowered. âCome, come, the hand thou kissed, it hath been the hand of a friend to thee, as Raoul Lempriere of Rozel said heâd be. Thy lips upon his cheek, though it be but a rough fellowâs fancy, and I warrant, come good, come ill, Rozelâs face will never be turned from thee. Pooh, pooh! let yon soldier-priest shut his eyes a minute; this is âtween me and thee; and whatâs done before the worldâs without shame.â He stopped short, his black eyes blazing with honest mirth and kindness, his breath short, having spoken in such haste. Her eyes could scarce see him, so full of tears were they; and, standing on tiptoe, she kissed him upon each cheek. ââTis much to get for so little given,â she said, with a quiver in her voice; âyet this price for friendship would be too high to pay to any save the Seigneur of Rozel.â She hastily turned to the men who had rescued Michel and Buonespoir. âIf I had riches, riches ye should have, brave men of Jersey,â she said; âbut I have naught save love and thanks, and my prayers too, if ye will have them.â ââTis a manâs duty to save his fellow anâ he can,â cried a gaunt fisherman, whose daughter was holding to his lips a bowl of conger-eel soup. ââTwas a good deed to send us forth to save a priest of Holy Church,â cried a weazened boat-builder with a giantâs arm, as he buried his face in a cup of sack, and plunged his hand into a fishwifeâs basket of limpets. âAye, but what means she by kissing and arm-getting with a priest?â cried a snarling vraic-gatherer. ââTis some jest upon Holy Church, or yon priest is no better than common men but an idle shame.â By this time Michel was among them. âPriest I am none, but a soldier,â he said in a loud voice, and told them bluntly the reasons for his disguise; then, taking a purse from his pocket, thrust into the hands of his rescuers and their families pieces of silver and gave them brave words of thanks. But the Seigneur was not to be outdone in generosity. His vanity ran high; he was fain to show Angele what a gorgeous gentleman she had failed to make her own; and he was in ripe good-humour all round. âCome, ye shall come, all of ye, to the Manor of Rozel, every man and woman here. Ye shall be fed, and fuddled too ye shall be anâ ye will; for honest drink which sends to honest sleep hurts no man. To my kitchen with ye all; and you, messieursâ--turning to M. Aubert and De la Fore-âand you, Mademoiselle, come, know how open is the door and full the table at my Manor of Rozel--St. Ouenâs keeps a beggarly board.â CHAPTER IV Thus began the friendship of the bragging Seigneur of Rozel for the three Huguenots, all because he had seen tears in a girlâs eyes and misunderstood them, and because the same girl had kissed him. His pride was flattered that they should receive protection from him, and the flattery became almost a canonising when De Carteret of St. Ouenâs brought him to task for harbouring and comforting the despised Huguenots; for when De Carteret railed he was envious. So henceforth Lempriere played Lord Protector with still more boisterous unction. His pride knew no bounds when, three days after the rescue, Sir Hugh Pawlett, the Governor, answering De la Foretâs letter requesting permission to visit the Comtesse de Montgomery, sent him word to fetch De la Foret to Mont Orgueil Castle. Clanking and blowing, he was shown into the great hall with De la Foret, where waited Sir Hugh and the widow of the renowned Camisard. Clanking and purring like an enormous cat, he turned his head away to the window when De la Foret dropped on his knees and kissed the hand of the Comtesse, whose eyes were full of tears. Clanking and gurgling, he sat to a mighty meal of turbot, eels, lobsters, ormers, capons, boarâs head, brawn, and mustard, swan, curlew, and spiced meats. This he washed down with bastard, malmsey, and good ale, topped with almonds, comfits, perfumed cherries with âipocras,â then sprinkled himself with rose-water and dabbled his face and hands in it. Filled to the turret, he lurched to his feet, and drinking to Sir Hughâs toast, âHer sacred Majesty!â he clanked and roared. âElizabeth!â as though upon the field of battle. He felt the star of De Carteret declining and Rozelâs glory ascending like a comet. Once set in a course, nothing could change him. Other men might err, but once right, the Seigneur of Rozel was everlasting. Of late he had made the cause of Michel de la Foret and Angele Aubert his own. For this he had been raked upon the coals by De Carteret of St. Ouenâs and his following, who taunted him with the saying: âSave a thief from hanging and heâll cut your throat.â Not that there was ill feeling against De la Foret in person. He had won most hearts by a frank yet still manner, and his story and love for Angele had touched the women folk where their hearts were softest. But the island was not true to itself or its history if it did not divide itself into factions, headed by the Seigneurs, and there had been no ground for good division for five years till De la Foret came. Short of actual battle, this new strife was the keenest ever known, for Sir Hugh Pawlett was ranged on the side of the Seigneur of Rozel. Kinsman of the Comtesse de Montgomery, of Queen Elizabethâs own Protestant religion, and admiring De la Foret, he had given every countenance to the Camisard refugee. He had even besought the Royal Court of Jersey to grant a pardon to Buonespoir the pirate, on condition that he should never commit a depredation upon an inhabitant of the island--this he was to swear to by the little finger of St. Peter. Should he break his word, he was to be banished the island for ten years, under penalty of death if he returned. When the hour had come for Buonespoir to take the oath, he failed to appear; and the next morning the Seigneur of St. Ouenâs discovered that during the night his cellar had been raided of two kegs of canary, many flagons of muscadella, pots of anchovies and boxes of candied âeringo,â kept solely for the visit which the Queen had promised the island. There was no doubt of the misdemeanant, for Buonespoir returned to De Carteret from St. Brieuc the gabardine of one of his retainers, in which he had carried off the stolen delicacies. This aggravated the feud between the partisans of St. Ouenâs and Rozel, for Lempriere of Rozel had laughed loudly when he heard of the robbery, and said ââTis like St. Ouenâs to hoard for a Queen and glut a pirate. We feed as we get at Rozel, and will feed the Court well too when it comes, or Iâm no butler to Elizabeth.â But trouble was at hand for Michel and for his protector. The spies of Catherine de Medici, mother of the King of France, were everywhere. These had sent word that De la Foret was now attached to the meagre suite of the widow of the great Camisard Montgomery, near the Castle of Mont Orgueil. The Medici, having treacherously slain the chief, became mad with desire to slay the lieutenant. She was set to have the man, either through diplomacy with England, or to end him by assassination through her spies. Having determined upon his death, with relentless soul she pursued the cause as closely as though this exiled soldier were a powerful enemy at the head of an army in France. Thus it was that she wrote to Queen Elizabeth, asking that âthis arrant foe of France, this churl, conspirator, and reviler of the Sacraments, be rendered unto our hands for well-deserved punishment as warning to all such evil-doers.â She told Elizabeth of De la Foretâs arrival in Jersey, disguised as a priest of the Church of France, and set forth his doings since landing with the Seigneur of Rozel. Further she went on to say to âour sister of Englandâ that âthese dark figures of murder and revolt be a peril to the soft peace of
{'title': 'Michel and Angele [A Ladder of Swords] — Complete by Gilbert Parker', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}