"A certain degree of success... in the delineation of Queen Mary," [in "The Abbot "] wrote Scott in 1831, "naturally induced the author to attempt something similar respecting 'her sister and her foe,' the celebrated Elizabeth." Among the various conceptions of that remarkable personage, "I have," he continued, “ endeavored to describe her as at once a high-minded sovereign, and a female of passionate feelings, hesitating betwixt the sense of her rank and the duty she owed her subjects on the one hand, and on the other her attachment to a nobleman, who, in external qualifications at least, amply merited her favor. The interest of the story is thrown upon that period when the sudden death of the first Countess of Leicester seemed to open to the ambition of her husband the opportunity of sharing the crown of his sovereign." The later life and the fate of this reputed first countess form the central interest of the action of the story. The leading incidents appear real," if we can trust Ashmole's 'Antiquities of Berkshire,'” in which these are narrated. The scene of the catastrophe they brought on was "a manor, anciently belonging to the monks of Abington," "in which was a chamber called Dudley's chamber, where the Earl of Leicester's wife was murdered." Ashmole has given a long account of the affair; but, wrote Scott, "my first acquaintance with the history was through the more pleasing medium of verse," — “a ballad, or rather a species of elegy, on the subject of Cumnor Hall." "The first stanza especially had a peculiar species of enchantment for the youthful ear of the author, the force of which is not even now entirely spent" [1831]. The opening and also the closing lines of the poem are these: "The dews of summer night did fall; The moon, sweet regent of the sky, So much did Scott fancy the musical lines of portions of this fine ballad, that he at first wished to give the novel the same title, "Cumnor Hall;" but in deference to the publisher, Constable, he substituted the title it bears,-"Kenilworth." Lockhart informs us that it appeared, like "Ivanhoe," "in 3 vols. post 8vo," and that it "was one of the most successful" of Scott's prose works "at the time of publication; and it continues, and I doubt not will ever continue, to be placed in the very highest rank of prose fiction. The rich variety of character and scenery and incident in this novel has never, indeed, been surpassed; nor, with the one exception of the Bride of Lammermoor, has Scott bequeathed us a deeper and more affecting tragedy than that of Amy Robsart. "Kenilworth,'" said Jeffrey, "rises almost, if not altogether, to the level of Ivanhoe,' — displaying, perhaps, as much power in assembling together, and distributing in striking groups, the copious historical materials of that romantic age, as the other does in eking out their scantiness by the riches of the author's imagination. . . . The great charm and glory of the piece, however, consists in the magnificence and vivacity of the descriptions with which it abounds; and which set before our eyes, with a freshness and force of coloring which can scarcely ever be gained except by actual observation, all the pomp and stateliness, the glitter and solemnity, of that heroic reign. . . . The most surprising piece of mere description, however, that we have ever seen, is that of Amy's magnificent apartments at Cumnor Place, and of the dress and beauty of the lovely creature for whom they were adorned." The masterly composition, the dramatic effect, and much of the historic probability and correctness of this work are superior to unfavorable criticism. The strict examination and accurate narration necessary in the statement of accomplished facts, however, appear to show that real circumstances have, to some extent, been adapted to the impressive development of the story. Mr. George Adlard, in a very full examination of the real history of "Amye Robsart and the Earl of Leycester" (8vo, London, 1870), informs us that she never was his countess, as he was not created an earl until several years after her death; that "Sir John Robsart, her father, died several years previous to" that event, and that her marriage "with Sir Robert Dudley took place at Sheen (now Richmond) on the 4th of June, 1550, with great splendour, in the presence of Edward VI., who has recorded the fact in his journal." The same critic also informs us that "Amye was doubtless born at Stanfield Hall, Norfolk, in all probability in the year 1532," and that "it is perhaps not too much to say that the mystery" of her "death (at Cumnor Place) will probably never be cleared up." He farther states that, "in 1573, thirteen years after the death of Lady Amye Dudley, and two years previous to the Kenilworth revels (the period of this story), Leycester had privately married Douglas Howard, Lady Sheffield, which marriage was kept a profound secret." The character of Varney in the novel does not appear to be founded on fact. Bartlett's account of Cumnor Place remarks that some representations of it in the novel show great variation from "sober history." Any comparison of Scott's creations with actual events or persons is, however, apt to suggest an essay to prove that "Macbeth or "Hamlet" are historically inaccurate, and that scenery used in representing them is neither a Scottish or Danish castle; or that Titian's Venus is not the goddess; or Michel Angelo's Moses, the great leader. We assent to facts, but turn with admiration and delight to the master-piece of art. "It is the privilege of tale-tellers (wrote Scott) to open their story in an inn, the free rendezvous of all travellers, and where the humor of each displays itself without ceremony or restraint. This is especially suitable when the scene is laid during the old days of merry England;" during which, characteristics of the times and of the people rendered a place of this sort very appropriate for such an exhibition. Accordingly, the action of this novel begins "during the eighteenth year of Queen Elizabeth," at "an excellent inn of the old stamp, conducted, or, rather, ruled by Giles Gosling" in "the village of Cumnor, within three or four miles of Oxford." Every one who travels in Britain is supposed sometime to visit that venerable city. This tour leads to it, not only for an excursion from it to Cumnor, but also for one to the scenery of "Woodstock" near it, a sketch of which will be given in the next chapter. Cumnor- to which the way from Oxford is across a pleasant, although open country is a pretty village of thatched cottages scattered over a long and very gentle slope of land. Upon a slight eminence is the church, a low, strongly built, rough-cast building, in ancient Saxon and pointed styles, and surrounded by a green church-yard, according to the beautiful English custom. There is a wide view from it over portions of the counties of Oxford, Gloucester, and Berks; and close to it on a slope below, over the site of the Hall. This edifice was sometime ago shown by fragments, parts of which formed a farm-house, and part contained a room called the Dudley chamber, in which, according to tradition, the countess was murdered. The surrounding ground is grass-grown, and shows by uneven surfaces that terraces and parterres may once have covered it. A few noble oaks yet grow "thereby," while humble but quaint buildings and farm-grounds environ the spot. The mansion, we are told, was "a large monastic building, with a quadrangular court in the centre," "called Cumnor Place," belonging to "the abbots of Abingdon, who formerly had a seat or place of retirement here." Little can be said of the excellent old inn. Its age and its quaint name suggest one of those curious, ancient public-houses, scattered through Old England, and only through its more primitive parts. The "Black Bear" at Cumnor may not be seen by bodily eyes, but its counterpart may perhaps be found in "The Swan" at Mansfield, or "The Mitre" at Oxford; or, on an humble scale possibly, in the neat "Nag's Head" below Hellvellyn, or "The Golden Grove' by St. Anne's Hill, Chertsey." Certainly it ranks among the inns of England famous in literature, from "The Tabard" at Southwark to "The Great White Horse" at Ipswich, wherein Mr. Pickwick had his romantic nocturnal adventure with a middle-aged lady. At the "Black Bear," Cumnor, accordingly, and at the beginning of the story, we are introduced to Giles Gosling, its corpulent, consequential landlord, and to one whom he recognized among his guests, Michael Lambourne, who had gone to the wars in the low countries an unpromising youth, and had returned a bold soldier. The latter, during the evening, became acquainted with a mysterious, quiet traveller, who said that his name was Tressilian, from which the landlord inferred that he was a Cornish man. Although Tressilian and Lambourne were, from the first, evidently of different character, they formed a plan to visit on the next day the "Place," about which and certain inexplicable persons occupying it there occurred some general talk among the company at the inn. The two adventurers succeeded in obtaining an entrance as they proposed, and an interview with the master of the house, Mr. Anthony Foster, represented by the novel to have been a repulsive, inscrutable man, who, from "one of Queen Mary's Papists," had become "one of Queen Elizabeth's Protestants," and from poverty had risen to unaccountable wealth, but never to a desirable reputation. His tombstone in Cumnor church, however, affirmed that he was a model country gentleman, almost a Sir Roger de Coverley. The "Place was gloomy and weird as any haunted castle that Mrs. Radcliffe herself could have imagined. -- If the seats of living families could, allowably, be associated with it, several ancient houses in England might be named as its representatives, among others, Compton-Winyates, that stands in a remote spot in the southern part of Warwickshire. Lambourne engaged Foster in the library, the books of which were disappearing as those of other valuable collections disappeared after the suppression of monastic institutions left them in charge of new, purified, and enlightened holders, they furnished kindling for the cook, and waste for the groom. Tressilian, meanwhile, waited in a lofty, oak-ceiled room, adjoining, that was lighted by a window with stone shafts and painted glass. It soon became apparent that his motives for entering the house were as different as well could be from those of Lambourne, whom he had used only as a means to an end. While he waited, he was surprised, according to his evfdent desire, by the entrance of a "beautiful and richly attired female. . . not above eighteen years old," who at first mistook him for another, but who, with no little agitation, recognized him and demanded the cause of his visit. He replied that he came from "her broken-hearted father, the aged Sir Hugh Robsart," who was lying near to death, at the family home, "Lidcote Hall, on the frontiers of Devonshire," and who had desired him to find his daughter Amy, and to induce her to return "from the villain who, under disguise of friendship, abused every duty of hospitality, and stole" her from that home. But the beautiful young ladyAmy Robsart herself-could not, or would not, hear such a mention of the brilliant and exalted man who had, in every sense, captivated her. Tressilian, too earnest in his well-intended endeavor to remove her from a virtual imprisonment into which she had been fascinated, only succeeded in alarming her, and her vigilant watchman, Anthony Foster, and thus procuring her abrupt withdrawal and his own expulsion from the "Place." He mistook his way out and reached a postern-gate instead of the main-gate, and encountered a certain Sir Richard Varney. Former acquaintance and a quarrel between the two produced a mutual recognition and a sword-fight that might have resulted fatally to Varney, and thus have rid this story of an accomplished rascal, had not Lambourne arrived opportunely and prevented such an issue. Varney soon met Foster; and they together, in virtuous council, showed themselves interested and relentless agents of the great Earl of Leicester. Into his service Lambourne was received. |