Michel and Angele [A Ladder of Swords], Complete - Gilbert Parker
De la Foret straightway raised him in his arms. He called to his wife,
but, bidding her not come near, he bore the doomed man away to the lonely
Ecrehos Rocks lying within sight of their own doorway. Suffering no one
to accompany him, he carried the sick man to the boat which had brought
the Queen's messenger to Rozel Bay. The sailors of the vessel fled, and
alone De la Foret set sail for the Ecrehos.
There upon the black rocks the young man died, and Michel buried him in
the shore-bed of the Maitre Ile. Then, after two days--for he could bear
suspense no longer--he set sail for Jersey. Upon that journey there is no
need to dwell. Any that hath ever loved a woman and a child must
understand. A deep fear held him all the way, and when he stepped on
shore at Rozel Bay he was as one who had come from the grave, haggard and
old.
Hurrying up the hillside to his doorway, he called aloud to his wife, to
his child. Throwing open the door, he burst in. His dead child lay upon a
couch, and near by, sitting in a chair, with the sweat of the dying on
her brow, was Angele. As he dropped on his knee beside her, she smiled
and raised her hand as if to touch him, but the hand dropped and the head
fell forward on his breast. She was gone 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 twain he 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 eyes burned with
an unearthly light.
He did not pray beside the graves; but he knelt and kissed the earth
again and again. He had doffed his robes of peace, and now wore the garb
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. The
holiness and charity and love of Michel and Angele had ended so!
When once more he set forth upon the Channel, he turned his back on
Jersey and shaped his course towards France, having sent Elizabeth his
last excuses for declining a service which would have given him honour,
fame and regard. He was bent upon a higher duty.
Not long did he wait for the death he craved. Next year, in a Huguenot
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 of Rozel
caused a stone to be set up on the highest point of land that faces
France, and on the stone were carved the names of Michel and Angele.
Having done much hard service for his country and for England's Queen,
Lempriere at length hung up his sword and gave his years to peace. From
the Manor of Rozel he was wont to repair constantly to the little white
house, which remained as the two had left 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 if ever the name of Buonespoir was mentioned
in his presence; he swaggered ever before the Royal Court and De Carteret
of St. Ouen's; and he spoke proudly of his friendship with the Duke's
Daughter, who had admired the cut of his jerkin at the Court of
Elizabeth. But in the house where Angele had lived he moved about as
though in the presence of a beloved sleeper he would not awake.
Michel and Angele had had their few 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? The generations have
passed away, and the Angel of Equity hath a smiling pity as she scans the
scales and the weighing of the Past.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Never believed that when man or woman said no that no was meant
Slander ever scorches where it touches
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE "MICHEL AND ANGELE":
Boldness without rashness, and hope without vain thinking
Each of us will prove himself a fool given perfect opportunity
Never believed that when man or woman said no that no was meant
No note of praise could be pitched too high for Elizabeth
Nothing is futile that is right
Religion to him was a dull recreation invented chiefly for women
She had never stooped to conquer
Slander ever scorches where it touches
Slander ever scorches where it touches