AMY ROBSART AT CUMNOR. THE HE pretty little village of Cumnor is located in Berkshire, some five miles from Abingdon, but not more than three and a quarter west of Oxford. Standing on the summit of a lofty down, the air is agreeably fresh and clear, and affords a pleasant contrast to that of the ancient city lying below. The village is composed mainly of thatched cottages and houses of grey stone, presenting, on the whole, a pleasing picture of rural life and repose. St. Michael's Church, with a tower of the Transition Norman period, has its yard surrounded by tall trees, which screen it from the main road. Although so near Oxford, and perched on a high hill, Cumnor is, nevertheless, somewhat secluded, and is an excellent example of an old English village that has suffered little at the hands of time. Of the three "lions" that once made Cumnor famous-the church, the Place, and the inn-the first alone remains intact. There is still, it is true, an inn possessing for its sign "The Bear and Ragged Staff," but it was built during the reign of Victoria, and is some way from where the former edifice opened its hospitable doors. Only a low wall, forming the western boundary of the churchyard, exists of the historic Cumnor Place, where the disconsolate Amy Robsart met her death. But the Church of St. Michael still lives to tell the tale of the past glories of Cumnor, and is the shrine of the modern pilgrim's devotion. Notwithstanding the many hard knocks which it has received from the restorer, it is still, without doubt, a really fine specimen of its style, and contains many attractions for antiquaries. On the immediate right of the altar is to be seen the tomb, with two fine brasses, of Anthony Forster and his wife, above which is inscribed the oft-quoted epitaph in Latin attributing to Amy Robsart's host virtues sufficient to have graced the memory of a medieval saint. This monument, it is not generally known, was put up after the death of Mrs. Forster-that is to say, not until eight and thirty years after her husband's funeral. The brasses represent the Forsters kneeling, apparently absorbed in prayer. The nave of the church contains a chained Bible and a small statue of Queen Elizabeth. The destruction of the former inn, which bore the sign of the "Bear," was an impious act of vandalism, originating under somewhat curious circumstances. A late vicar of Cumnor objecting to the noise made by revellers in the bar parlour, petitioned the lord of the manor to have the "Bear" taken down. His Lordship, the Earl of Abingdon of that day, consented, and down it came. The story goes that, after issuing the fatal order, Lord Abingdon repented, but too late, and the messenger sent by him to stop the workmen found the house a ruin. Of the present "Bear" it need merely be mentioned that it possesses no features of architectural interest whatever. As an act of vandalism the destruction of Cumnor Place was, perhaps, even a greater and more reprehensible outrage than the demolition of the inn. The excuse put forward in defence was that, owing to the peculiar terms of the lease, whilst the Place stood no timber on the estate could be cut down. Lead to a very considerable value was taken from the roof, and sold. And in that manor now no more Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball! Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. Cumnor Place was not a large house, as readers of "Kenilworth " would naturally imagine, nor was it lofty. It was an ecclesiastical building of one storey, built round a quadrangle measuring seventy-two feet by fifty-two. Constructed about the middle of the fourteenth century, as a sanitarium, probably, for the monastery at Abingdon, it was leased by Anthony Forster, at the time of Amy Robsart's residence at Cumnor, from William Owen. Shortly after Amy's death Forster purchased it, bequeathing it in his will to Leicester, but Mrs. Forster continued to inhabit the house till her decease in 1599. The landlord of the Place, when Amy Robsart knew it, was not, as generally stated, Dr. Owen, whose Christian name was George, but one of his This is important, as certain writers, who hold rather strong views of Queen Elizabeth's connection with Amy's death, have pointed out that "Robert Dudley sent his wife to be confined at Cumnor under the care of Dr. Owen, the Queen's physician." As a matter of sons. fact, the Doctor died a few weeks before Elizabeth ascended the throne, and before Amy went to Cumnor. The famous staircase, down which Amy did or did not fall, was a short, winding, stone flight, and the luckless lady must have exercised some little ingenuity in twisting her body into an extraordinary position if she broke her neck down this corkscrew-shaped mode of communication between two floors. At the bottom of this set of stairs, however, she was found lying dead in the evening (not the night) of Sunday, September 8, 1560, to the sorrow and alarm of the servants just returned from Abingdon Fair. Although it is not within the scope of this paper to institute an inquiry into the vexed question of how or why Lord Robert Dudley's (he was not then Earl of Leicester) wife was killed, or died, at Cumnor, I would like to point out one important circumstance which has, I believe, hitherto escaped the attention of all those writers who have examined into the history of the supposed murder. I refer to the peculiar geographical position of Cumnor Place itself. It was not by any means a country house that could rightly be described as either "hidden," or "lonely." On the contrary, its position was completely destitute of privacy. So close, indeed, was it to both the church and another building that it was within an easy stone's throw of the one, and within little more of the other. Standing, too, on high ground, and almost touching the road, it was easily accessible on all sides. Full of guests staying there when Amy died, it must surely have been a very inappropriate spot to select to bring off successfully the murder of a noble lady! Once dead, it is proved that no attempt was made-as the legend runs to bury Amy's body secretly and hastily at Cumnor. A coroner's jury was speedily summoned, and the corpse carefully watched. The only other site where it rested, immediately prior to its interment in a brick vault beneath the floor of St. Mary's University Church, in the High Street, Oxford, was at Gloucester Hall, now called Worcester College. It was at the funeral that there occurred, according to "Leycester's Commonwealth," a sensational incident, of which so much to Dudley's discredit has been made by those who consider him guilty of Amy's murder. Dr. Babyngton, Dudley's chaplain, in delivering an oration in praise of the deceased's character, referred to Amy as having been "pitifully murdered." He "tripped in his speech," we are told, and let these ominous words slip out before he could correct himself. But it is unfortunate so important a piece of information should rest on no better authority than that of the work in question, written as it is by an author whose name has not come down to us. It is true that the authenticity of the episode has not been challenged, although, personally, I am surprised that it has not, for the "Commonwealth," considered in the light of an historical document, is proved to contain many statements contrary to fact. Some accounts of Amy's funeral omit all reference to Babyngton's faux pas, and all mention of him even as the preacher of the sermon. According to them, the talented author was Edmund Campion, who afterwards went over to Rome, and was, as a Jesuit priest, hanged at Tyburn. Campion's oratorical powers had early won for him at Oxford great renown, and he is as likely as Babyngton to have been asked to preach. Moreover, as Dudley's private chaplain, Babyngton would hardly have been so foolish as to let drop an expression inimical to his own interests as well as those of his patron, before a congregation including the Mayor and Corporation of Oxford, Heralds from the College of Arms, relatives of poor Amy, and many of her friends and domestics. Of Amy's correspondence two items have been preserved, and if they throw no light upon the mystery of her retired life at Cumnor they prove that her Christian name was Amy, and not Anne, as some critics have endeavoured to show. One of these letters, written in 1556, was to her friend Mr. Flowerdew, a former neighbour of hers in Norfolk, and related to the sale of some sheep. In this she manifests her affection for her husband when she confesses, as a reason for her delay in communicating with Mr. Flowerdew, "I not being alltogether in quyet for his " (Dudley's) "soden departyng." The other scrap of writing consists of a brief message to her dressmaker, or rather tailor, William Edney, of Tower Royal. In both these manuscripts it is worthy of comment that Amy, notwithstanding the fact of her having been an heiress in her own right, complains of being much pressed for want of ready money. Indeed, the tailor seems to have "dunned" her for payment of his account. That the dense cloud which hangs over the mystery of Amy's death at Cumnor will ever be dispelled seems very doubtful. But the vexed question of how she met her death is not the only riddle connected with her residence in Berkshire that awaits solution. We have yet to learn, for instance, the name of the author who wrote the book ("Leycester's Commonwealth ") that formulates so many terrible charges against her husband for his treatment of her; and we have yet to discover where Anthony Forster spent the eventful evening when she died. Up till recently the authorship of "Leycester's Commonwealth," the contents of which were printed abroad, was generally attributed to the virulent pen of Father Robert Parsons, S.J. Internal evidence clearly demonstrates, however, that Parsons was not the author. No Jesuit would have spoken in such loyal terms of Queen Elizabeth as does the anonymous author of the attack upon Dudley on his title-page. Moreover, in one of his works, Parsons furnishes an account of Amy's funeral, mentioning Campion as the orator. In the "Commonwealth" we are informed that Babyngton was the orator, and Campion's name is never quoted at all. The "Commonwealth" is probably the work of a courtier, who must have borne some strong grudge against the man whom a queen "delighted to honour." Additional difficulty in arriving at the whereabouts of Anthony Forster on the evening when Amy died is due to the ambiguous language used by Thomas Blount, writing to Lord Robert Dudley, from Cumnor, on September 11, 1560. He says that Amy wold not that daie suffer one of her owne sorte to tarrie at home, and was so earnest to have them gone to the fayre that with any of her owne sorte that mad reason of tarrying at home she was verie angrie, and cam to Mrs. Odingsells, the widow, that liveth with Anthony Forster, "who" refused that daie to go to the fayre, and was verie angrie with her also. To whom does this enigmatical pronoun (who) refer-to the widow or to Forster? If to the widow, we must conclude that Anthony Forster did not remain at Cumnor, but went to Abingdon with the rest of the party; if to Forster, then we can but assume that he purposely remained behind at Cumnor Place, where he was when Amy met her fate. As to which of the pair Blount refers, much difference of opinion has existed; but it is only fair to remind those defenders of Forster who have contended that the pronoun undoubtedly alludes to Mrs. Odingsells, that one of the greatest authorities on the history of the Elizabethan age has not been able to join them in forming such a verdict. Further perplexity from the intelligence transmitted by Blount arises owing to his contradictory views concerning Forster's popularity in the neighbourhood. In one place, he states that Anthony was highly thought of as an "honest gentleman," whose "great honestie doth much curb the evill thoughts of the people;" in another, he fears lest the coroner's inquest may be protracted to Dudley's disadvantage, because several of the jurymen "are verie enemies to Anthony Forster!" Amongst all these doubts and difficulties that impede the path VOL. CCXCIII. NO. 2059. H |