I
If you go to Southampton and search the register of the Walloon
church there, you will find that in the summer of 157- “_Madame Vefue
de Montgomery with all her family and servants were admitted to the
Communion_”--“_Tous ceux ci furent Reçus là à Cêne du 157-, comme
passans, sans avoir Rendu Raison de la foi, mes sur la tesmognage de
Mons. Forest, Ministre de Madame, qui certifia qui ne cognoisoit Rien
en tout ceux la pó quoy Il ne leur deust administré la Cêne s’il
estoit en lieu pó la ferre._”
There is another striking record, which says that in August of the
same year Demoiselle Angèle Claude Aubert, daughter of Monsieur de
la Haie Aubert, Councillor of the Parliament of Rouen, was married to
Michel de la Forêt, 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 _dénoûment_ satisfactory to
myself and in sympathy with fact, when the Angel of Accident stepped
forward with some “human documents.” 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 Angèle
Claude Aubert to Michel de la Forêt 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 flavor or the idiom of the language:
“_Written on this May Day of the year 157-, at the place hight Rozel
in the Minor called of the same of Jersey Isle, to Michel de la
Forêt, 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 my
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 Ecréhos. 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 savor 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 ’twixt 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.
“ANGÈLE
“_An Afterword_:
“I doubt not we shall come to the heights where there is peace,
though we climb thereto by a ladder of swords.