THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER

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[Transcriber's Note: This Table of Contents was not present in the original.]

"OUR HERO." HENRY PURCELL: THE PIONEER OF ENGLISH OPERA. WORDS TO THE WISE OR OTHERWISE. ORPHEUS. FATHER ANTHONY. CHINA MARKS. ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE. "IN MINE HOUSE." ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. THE GIRL'S OWN QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS COMPETITION.

"OUR HERO."

A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.

By AGNES GIBERNE, Author of "Sun, Moon and Stars," "The Girl at the Dower House," etc.

All rights reserved.]

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CHAPTER VII.

ON PAROLE.

If the shock of this abrupt arrest of the whole body of English travellers, who happened to be within reach of the First Consul, fell sharply on those at home, it fell at least no less sharply on those who were arrested.

An official notice was served upon all who could, by the utmost stretching, be accounted amenable to the act. In that notice, received alike by Colonel Baron and by Denham Ivor, they were informed that—"All the English enrolled in the Militia, from the ages of eighteen to sixty, or holding any commission from His Britannic Majesty, shall be made prisoners of war;"—the reason given being the same as was alleged in the version which speedily appeared in English papers.

The mention of the Militia was, however, additional; and there was something else also. It might fairly have been argued that professional men, men of business, and men of no particular employment, could not be included in the above statement. To guard against such reasoning the document went on to explain—"I tell you beforehand that no pretext, no excuse, can exclude you; as, according to British law, none can dispense you from serving in the Militia."

This notion was made the basis for a far more sweeping arrest than had at first been supposed possible. Not only officers in the Army and Navy, who were then in France or in other countries under the dominion of Napoleon, not only men who had served or who might be called upon to serve in the Militia, but lawyers and doctors, clergymen and men of rank, men of business and men in trade, all alike were detained, all alike were forced immediately to constitute themselves prisoners of war upon parole, with only the alternative of becoming prisoners of war in prison, instead of upon parole.

Those who consented to give their word of honour not to attempt to escape were allowed to remain at large, and to lodge where they would, under certain limitations. That is to say, they had to live in specified places, where they were under the continual inspection of the gendarmerie, and where they had at regular intervals to report themselves. Whether they were soldiers, sailors, clergymen, or business men, they were thus at once cut off from their work in life, and many were debarred from their only means of livelihood.

As a first move, the mass of the Paris détenus were ordered to Fontainebleau; and thither Colonel and Mrs. Baron had to betake themselves. Thither also Denham Ivor would speedily have to follow: though, on the score of danger to others from infection, a few days' delay was permitted.

The question had at once arisen whether Mrs. Baron should not be sent to England with Roy, as soon as the boy might be fit to travel, since women were theoretically free to go where they would, provided only that they could obtain passports. But Mrs. Baron refused to consider any such proposal. She could not and would not be separated from her husband. "Of course I shall go to Fontainebleau," she said decisively. "It cannot be for long. Roy must come to us there. It only means leaving his schooling for a quarter of a year; and he will not be strong enough for lessons at present. Something is sure to be arranged soon, and then we shall all go home together."

Others were less sanguine of a quick release; but Colonel Baron could seldom stand out against his wife, when she set her dainty foot down. He made a half struggle, and won from her a promise that, if he should be ordered farther away, she would then consent to Roy's being sent home. Beyond that he failed to get his own way.

Long before Roy could be counted safe for even the short journey to Fontainebleau, Denham had an intimation that his going thither might be no longer deferred. Thus far he had not thought it needful to tell the boy what had happened; but now the telling had become a necessity.

"Den, I want to look out of the window. Oh, let me look out," entreated Roy, as the heavy beat of a drum sounded. He wriggled on the hard sofa, where he had begun to spend a part of each day. Roy had grown thin, and his eyes blinked weakly when turned to the light.

"You want to see the soldiers?"

"Yes. Do let me. May I try to walk to the window all alone? I know I can."

Ivor laughed, though not mirthfully. "Try!" he answered, and Roy made a brave attempt, actually reaching the window without being helped.

"Come, that was good. You are getting on nicely. Now sit down, and look out for the soldiers. I think they are coming this way."

The boy gazed eagerly, flushing.

"I wish they were English," he said. "I wish I was in England. When are we going home, Den? And when may I see my mamma? I do want to have Molly again. It's ages since I saw Molly—and I want her!"

Denham was silent.

"It was stupid of me to be so glad to come away from Molly. Nothing is half nice without her."

"I am glad you have found that out. She is a dear little sister, and she would do anything in the world for you."

"Oh, well, of course, I know she would," assented Roy. "And I always was fond of Molly too. She gets cross sometimes, though."

"Roy never gets cross, I suppose?"

Roy laughed rather consciously, and then gave vent to a sigh. "Oh, dear, I don't like this chair. Not half so much as the sofa. It makes me tired. I wish nobody ever had the small-pox. When shall I be all right again, I wonder? I do hate being ill such a tremendously long time."

Denham picked him up bodily, as if he had been an infant, carried him across, and deposited him where he had been before.

"You have done about enough for one day. Oh, you will soon be well now; no fear! And you may count yourself fortunate, not to have been much worse. Yours has been a slight attack, compared with what many people have."

"I don't call it slight. I call it a most beastly horrid illness. Den, when shall we go home? I want Molly."

Denham took a seat by his side.

"I am not sure. It may not be just yet."

"Why not? I thought we were going as soon as ever we could."

"As soon as possible; yes. The question is, how soon that will be. Some of us are not able to go yet; but I am hoping that your father will send you home, and not let you wait for him and me."

"Why, Den?" Roy twisted round to gaze in astonishment. "Why, Den! I thought you were all waiting, only just till I should get over this. I didn't know there was anything else. Is there anything else? Has something happened? Do tell me."

"You and your mother are free to go back to England, as soon as she is willing to do so. Your father and I are not free."

"Aren't you? Why not? What is the matter with papa?"

"Nothing is the matter with him, so far as health is concerned. Only, he is not free and I am not free. We are both prisoners."

Roy's large grey eyes grew bigger and rounder.

"Den! Why—Den—what can you mean? Prisoners! You and papa prisoners! Why, you haven't been fighting."

"No, we have not been fighting. We ought not to be prisoners. Such a thing has never happened before, in any war between civilised countries. But war has been declared, as you know was expected before you were taken ill. And one of the first things that Napoleon did, directly war broke out, was to make all English travellers prisoners of war."

Roy clenched his fist.

"He professes to have had provocation. There were French vessels in our ports, and these were seized, as soon as our Ambassador had been ordered to return home. But that was in accordance with a very old custom—centuries old. Napoleon's act of reprisal is altogether new. It is a thing unheard of—making war on travellers and peaceful residents; a disgrace to himself and his nation. You know what is meant by 'reprisals' in war. This is his 'reprisal' for the vessels seized. Every Englishman in France, or in any country under Napoleon's sway at this moment, is declared to be a prisoner."

"Then I'm a prisoner too."

"You are under age. Some boys of your age have been arrested, I believe, but only because they hold His Majesty's Commission in the Navy. Otherwise, under eighteen you are free."

"But you are not in prison."

"I am on parole. I have given my word of honour not to try to get away."

"Then you mustn't escape, even if you can?"

"No. If I had refused to give my parole, I should have been at once sent{99} to prison—probably have been thrown into a dungeon."

The boy was as white as a sheet.

"And papa——?"

"Has given his parole also."

"And—mamma?"

"Your mother is at liberty to go home, and your father wishes her to do so, and to take you; but she says she will not leave him. One can understand her feeling, and yet it is a pity. In England she would be safer and better off. But you know how unhappy she always is, if she is away from your father even for a few days. You, of course, will have to be sent home soon, so as to go on with your schooling; but at first you will join us at Fontainebleau. We hope to be all released in a very little while. The thing is so disgraceful, that Napoleon can hardly persevere in it—so most people say. But we shall soon see. If we are not soon set free, your father will no doubt try to persuade your mother to take you home."

"Where is Fontainebleau?"

"Some distance from Paris. Don't you know the name? Your father and mother are there already, and now I have to go too. I have only been allowed to wait for a few days, because of your illness, and I must not put off any longer."

"Are you going soon? Will you take me?"

"Not just yet, my boy. You are hardly fit for the journey. A chill might lay you by again; besides, other people might catch the small-pox from you. So I have settled to leave you here a little longer, in charge of kind Mademoiselle de St. Roques. She and Monsieur and Madame de Bertrand will see well after you."

Roy looked very doleful.

"When are you going?"

"I am afraid—to-morrow. But for that I would not have told you quite so soon. But you will keep up a brave heart. You are a soldier's son, you know, so you mustn't give in."

Roy's face worked.

"I don't want you to go," he said. "That horrid old beast of a Napoleon; I wish somebody or other would guillotine him—that I do! He deserves it richly! Must you go?"

"I'm afraid I have no choice. The gendarmes have been looking me up; and if I put off any longer I shall get into trouble with those gentlemen. I'm bound to report myself at Fontainebleau before the evening of the day after to-morrow. But you will soon come after me. Why—Roy!"

"I can't help it. It's so horrid," sobbed Roy, direfully ashamed of himself. "I—don't like you to go. I don't like you and papa to be prisoners. And oh—poor little Molly! What will she do! Den, why does God let such wicked men be in the world? I wouldn't. I'd kill them right off."

"One can't always see the reason. Some good reason there must be."

"I don't know how there can be! It's all as horrid as horrid, and everything is miserable!" The boy rubbed his coat-sleeve across his eyes, only to burst out sobbing afresh. "I can't help it," he gasped. "Oh, please don't ever tell Molly."

"No, I will not. But Molly would understand. It is only that you are pulled down and weak. In a few days you will not feel inclined to cry. Never mind, Roy, things will be better by-and-by. You see, you and I can't help what Buonaparte does. He has to answer for himself. You and I have only to see that we do our part in life bravely and rightly and truly. This is rather hard to bear, but it has to be borne, and we must try and be cheery for the sake of other people. Don't you see?"

Something in the young man's voice made Roy ask, "Do you mind very, very much?"

"What do you think? Wouldn't you mind in my place? Roy—if you have Molly at home, I have—Polly!"

"Oh, it's just perfectly horrid!" sobbed Roy. "It's just as beastly as it can be!"

Roy had good reason to talk of "poor little Molly." Molly's state of mind during many days bordered on despair—so far as despair is possible to a healthy child. The very idea that weeks and months might pass before she could again see her beloved twin-brother was too dreadful.

"Roy will be sent home, of course. It is out of the question that he should be allowed to stay in France. Think of the boy's education," Mrs. Fairbank said repeatedly. But others were not so sure.

There is much variety in the different accounts given at the time, as to the number of English subjects who actually suffered arrest. Some estimates amount to as high a figure as ten thousand, but these appear to make no allowance for the rapid homeward rush just at the last. This assertion may be found in Sir Walter Scott's writings, which does not settle the matter, since strict accuracy was not his peculiar gift. Other estimates give only a few hundreds as the number detained, most of them belonging to upper ranks in society.

A burning outburst of indignation took place throughout England, and the newspapers vied one with another in wrathful condemnation of the "unmannerly violation of the laws of hospitality."

One serious complication of affairs, which perhaps had not been foreseen by the First Consul, when he took this step, was a deadlock in the exchange of prisoners, usual in war between civilised nations.

It was impossible for the English Government to recognise that men so unjustly seized were lawful prisoners of war, by consenting to release, in exchange for them, French prisoners lawfully taken. Indeed, from that date exchange practically ceased altogether; English prisoners having to languish in France, and French prisoners having to languish in England, without this hope of gaining their freedom before the close of the war. Some few exceptions were made in later years, but not many.

After a time an attempt was made by the body of détenus themselves—this being the name that they were known by, in distinction from regular and lawfully-made prisoners—to obtain their release. They sent a carefully-worded petition to the French Minister of War, entreating to be set free, and offering, if their petition were granted, to pay out of their own pockets the value of those vessels which had been first seized by the English, as well as to do their utmost to obtain the release of the French sailors who had been on board those vessels. This request was flatly refused. The French Minister, in his reply, plainly declared that the English had not been detained merely on account of those captured vessels, as was stated in Napoleon's manifesto, but for other reasons as well.

War, once begun, was carried on with energy by both the English and the French. Napoleon marched his troops about Europe, as it pleased him, meeting with little or no resistance. Germany, Austria, and other nations, all meekly and tamely submitted; the only continental power which had the pluck to offer even a faint resistance at that date being little Denmark. Great Britain alone faced the usurper with a scornful and fearless determination; and the most ardent desire of Napoleon's heart was to crush the haughty island, which would have none of his pretensions, and which refused to bow before him.

As a first step, he did his best to damage English commerce, by closing continental markets against her—supremely careless of the suffering which, by this move, he inflicted on his own friends and subjects. But at this particular game England was the better hand of the two. At that time ironclads were unknown; and though the great three-deckers, with their fifty or seventy guns a-piece, could not be built in a day, yet war vessels were of every description, from such three-deckers down to merchant ships, hastily fitted with a few guns, and sent forth to do their best. In a short time England had about five hundred war vessels of divers kinds, large or small, with which she swept the seas, recaptured such colonies as had been yielded to France by the Treaty of Amiens, blockaded harbours in countries subject to the First Consul, and made descents upon French ports, carrying off prizes in the very teeth of French guns and fortifications.

Napoleon's next move was definitely to announce his intention of invading England, of conquering the country, and of making it into a province of France—a feat more easily talked of than accomplished. But preparations for this scheme were pushed forward on a great scale. Huge flotillas of flat-bottomed boats, to act as transport for the invading army, were collected at various places, more especially at Boulogne; and at the latter spot a camp was formed of about one hundred thousand soldiers, to be in readiness for the moment of action. Also a fleet of French men-of-war was being prepared to convoy the flat-bottomed boats full of soldiers across the Channel.

(To be continued.)

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HENRY PURCELL: THE PIONEER OF ENGLISH OPERA.

By ELEONORE D'ESTERRE-KEELING.

On the 25th of November, 1680, there appeared in the columns of the London Gazette the following announcement:—

"Josias Priest, who kept a boarding-school of gentlewomen in Leicester Fields, is removed to the great schoolhouse at Chelsey that was Mr. Portman's. There will continue the same masters and others to the improvement of the said school."

Leicester Fields was in 1680 the name of that part of London now known as Leicester Square, and the removal of their school from this central position to the village of Chelsea, at two miles distance, must have made a considerable difference in the lives of the young gentlewomen who had been confided to the care of Mr. Josias Priest. But preparations were just then being made for a great event, and the wily dominie doubtless knew what he was about when he chose the drear month of November for his flitting.

In the great schoolhouse which had been Mr. Portman's there was to be such a Christmas "break-up" as had never been known, and the young gentlewomen of Mr. Priest's establishment had no leisure to lament the gaieties of London life, for their thoughts were fully occupied by the practising of their music and their steps, not to mention such frivolous matters as the trying-on of fancy costumes and the twisting of bright English tresses into the coils which should surmount the dainty heads of maids and matrons of classic Carthage.

The new Chelsea school-master was nothing if not ambitious, and no less a thing would satisfy him than the performance of an original opera by the young gentlewomen of his establishment. To realise the full extent of this ambition one must remember that up to this time (1680) opera was unknown in England. The first opera ever written was Peri's Dafne, and this had been privately performed in Florence in 1597. The same composer's second opera, Eurydice, was the first work of the kind to receive public support, it being performed in 1600, also at Florence. Opera now slowly found its way across Europe, reaching Germany in 1627, when Heinrich Schutz's Dafne was given at Torgau; and arriving at Paris in 1659, in which year La Pastorale, by Robert Cambert, was sung before a public audience. From this time it made rapid strides in the French capital, and Lully's operatic compositions were regarded as masterpieces. England, however, still hung back, not because there was any lack of excellent musicians in the country, but because the sympathy and encouragement which are

necessary to the advancement of any art were not forthcoming.