THE river Avon, on its course to the sea, passes through a beautiful,
thickly wooded valley in Wiltshire, in which lies Amesbury, or, to follow
the old spelling, Ambresbury, signifying the land of Ambrosius. This
fascinating place, and the wild country surrounding it, possess a charm
and beauty all their own, and those born and bred there ever pine for the
breezy downs, as the Swiss for their mountains or north-country people
for the moorland; and no one who has walked or ridden on some glorious
summer morning over the fine, close grass clothing these Wiltshire downs
can ever forget its delicious “springy” quality underfoot. A talented
modern artist once happily christened Amesbury “The Golden Valley;” he
saw it in the spring, at which season of the year the whole country-side
seems ablaze with brilliant yellow flowers.
[Picture: The Palladian Bridge]
Amesbury lies eight miles north of Salisbury, and we may consider that it
occupies a space in the midst of that vast tract of undulating country
that (somewhat erroneously to my mind) is given the name of “Salisbury
Plain.” I now propose to trace, as briefly as I can, some of the history
of this interesting and beautiful place. Its antiquity is so great as to
take us back to pre-historic times. In its near neighbourhood many
desperate battles were fought between Briton, Saxon, and Roman with
varying success. Lewis, in his ancient _History of Britain_, says: “In
the reign of Vortigern, 461 A.D., a Conference was appointed to take
place near the Abbey of Ambri, with Hengist the Saxon, and it was agreed
that both parties should come without armour. But Hengist, under colour
of peace, devised the subversion of all the nobility of Britain, and
chose out to come to this assembly his faithfullest and hardiest men,
commanding every one of them to hide under their garment a long knife,
with which, when he should give the watchword, every one should kill the
Briton next him. Both sides met upon the day appointed, and, treating
earnestly upon the matter, Hengist suddenly gave the watchword and caught
Vortigern by the collar, upon which the Saxons, with their long knives,
violently murdered the innocent and unarmed Britons. Thus were 460 earls
and noblemen of the Britons treacherously murdered. They were buried in
the convent at Amesbury. This massacre took place near Stonehenge, where
repeated battles were fought between Ambrosius and Hengist.” {10}
There is a fanciful legend, told by an old writer called Geoffrey of
Monmouth, about Stonehenge. He says that Ambrosius, wishing to
commemorate those who had fallen in battle, thought fit to send for
Merlin the Wizard, to consult him on the proper monument to be erected to
the memory of the slain. On being interrogated Merlin replied, “Send for
the ‘Giants’ Dance,’ which is in Killarus (Kildare), a mountain in
Ireland; they are stones of a vast magnitude, and if they can be placed
here quite round this spot of ground they will stand _for ever_.” At
these words Aurelius laughed and said, “How was it possible to remove
such stones from so distant a country, and had not Britain as good
stones?” Merlin replied “that they were mystical stones and had a
medicinal virtue,” whereupon the Britons resolved to send for them and to
risk a battle. Upon landing in Ireland, the removal of the stones was
violently opposed by Gillomanius, a youth of wonderful valour. At the
head of a vast army, he exclaimed, “While I have life they shall not take
from us the least stone of the Giants’ Dance.” A battle ensued, which
was won by the Britons. They then proceeded to Killarus, where the sight
of the stones filled them with joy and admiration, and, while they were
all standing round, Merlin asked them to try and remove the stones.
Their efforts proving futile, he laughingly proceeded with his own
contrivances, and took down the stones with incredible facility. This
done, they set sail to Britain, and repaired to the burial-place with the
stones, Aurelius ordering Merlin to get them up in the same manner as
they had been in the mountain of Killarus, which he accordingly did.
Queen Elfrida, who performed many penances and built monasteries in
atonement for the crime of the murder of her step-son, Edward the Martyr,
founded a Benedictine nunnery at Amesbury in 980. This nunnery
flourished for many years, until the ill-conduct of the nuns caused King
Henry II. to expel them (1177), and place them under stricter discipline
in other religious houses. He then gave the monastery of Ambresbury to
the Abbey of Fontevrault, in Normandy. This order was founded by Robert
d’Arbrissel about the end of the eleventh century. It is looked upon as
a singularity in the church, some finding it strange to see an abbess
exercising equal authority over men as well as women. Before his death
d’Arbrissel appointed Petronilla de Craou Chemille as head and chief of
his order, of which he drew up statutes, putting them under the order of
St. Benedict. Under the new rule, this monastery increased in splendour
and royal favour, King John conferring upon it important privileges.
Eleanor, only daughter of Geoffrey, Earl of Bretagne, was buried,
according to her own request, at Ambresbury in 1241. Mary, sixth
daughter of Edward I., together with thirteen young ladies of royal
birth, took the veil in 1283; and two years afterwards, anno 1287,
Eleanor, queen of Henry III., entered the order, and died and was buried
at Ambresbury in 1292. The monastery continued to prosper, and became
one of the richest in England. The following names of the prioresses
have been preserved:—Isabella of Lancaster, fourth daughter of Henry,
Earl of Lancaster; Joan de Gennes; Sibilla de Montacute; Katherine of
Arragon lodged within the convent walls on her first arrival in England
in 1501.
[Picture: Chinese Summer House]
At the time of the Reformation, the last prioress (but one), Florence
Bormewe, refused to surrender her monastery to the King’s emissaries.
They wrote: “Albeit we have used as many ways with her as our poor wits
could attain, yet in the end we could not by any persuasion bring her to
any conformity, but at all times she resteth and so remaineth in these
terms.” She answered, “If the King’s Highness command me to go from this
house I will gladly go, though I beg my bread, and as for pension I care
for none.” The death of this brave prioress saved her from further
humiliation.
Joan Darell was abbess at the time of the Dissolution; she surrendered to
King Henry VIII. Dec. 4th, 1540.
The old Chronicle of Geoffrey of Monmouth gives Amesbury as the place of
Queen Guinevere’s penitential retirement. The modern poet, Tennyson,
takes the same view:
“Queen Guinevere had fled the Court and sat
There in the holy house at Almesbury.”
Antiquarians disagree as to whether the fine church now standing—with its
lancet windows, pointed arches, and massive turret—is the old abbey
church, or only that of the parish. In an obscure corner at the back of
the church is found a window of quite another description—very beautiful,
and more approaching to the “rose” style of architecture. Of the old
stained glass only a few broken fragments remain. On one piece is a
picture of a fair-haired, long-necked woman suppose to represent Queen
Guinevere.
The churchyard (lying to the south of the old church), with its grey
tombstones and dark green yew-trees, has a solemn, calm and peaceful air.
Over a grave is found the following epitaph:—
“Altho’ his body here doth lye
Till the last trump doth it raise,
His soul is now in heaven high
And sings Jehovah’s praise.”
I now finish my description of Amesbury’s monastic period and turn to the
modern years. According to a good authority, Henry VIII. bestowed
Amesbury upon Edward, Earl of Hertford, afterwards Duke of Somerset and
Lord Protector in the succeeding reign. After his trial, death sentence,
and execution, the lands were confiscated by the Crown till the reign of
Queen Elizabeth, who probably restored them to the Protector’s son,
Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford. This gentleman was thrice married, his
last wife being a widow of fascinating beauty and charm. She had
previously been engaged to Sir George Rodney, who loved her madly, but,
being ambitious, she left him for Lord Hertford. The day before the
marriage, Sir George Rodney travelled to the inn at Amesbury and waited
for the home-coming of the bride and bridegroom. All the night he
occupied himself by composing a dying love song written with his own
blood. Upon the arrival in the village of his false love, he went to
greet her, and fell upon his sword and expired at her feet. I give the
following extract from the poem, which is somewhat long and tedious:—
“Sir George Rodney before he killed himself—
What shall I do that am undone,
Where shall I fly myself to shunne?
Ah mee! myselfe must kill,
And yet I die against my will.
In starry letters I behold
My death in the Heavens enrolled.
There finde it wrytt in skyes above
That I (poore I) must die for love.
’Twas not my love deserved to die,
O no! it was unworthy I.
I for her love should not have dyde,
But that I had no worth beside.
Ah mee! that love such woe procures,
For without her no love endures.
I for her vertues her doe serve,
Doth such a love a death deserve?”
Lady Hertford presented a bell to the parish of Amesbury. An inscription
on it runs thus:—
“Be stronge in faythe, prayes God well.
Frances, Countess Hertford’s bell.”
[Picture: Kent House]
After the Seymour period, the Amesbury estates passed through different
hands, belonging in 1720 to Henry, Lord Carleton; he having purchased
them from Charles, Lord Bruce, son of the Earl of Ailesbury. Lord
Carleton left them by will to his nephew, Charles, Duke of Queensberry,
in 1724, who married the charming Lady Catherine Hyde in 1720. This
couple spent much time at Amesbury, altering and improving it in various
ways, and entertaining their friends.
The poet Gay was a devoted friend and admirer of the Duchess, who,
indeed, seems to have been an attractive woman of immense spirit and wit.
She offended George II. and his Queen by her defence of Gay’s play, the
_Beggars’ Opera_, and was forbidden the Court for some time; but she,
standing firmly by her friend, refused to retract or alter her
sentiments, and finally forced the Court to receive and forgive her.
Here is a copy of her message to the King:—
“_Feb._ 27_th_, 1729.
“That the Duchess of Queensberry is surprised and well pleased the
King has given her so agreeable a command as to stay from Court,
where she never came for diversion, but to bestow a civility upon the
King and Queen. She hopes, by such an unprecedented order as this,
that the King will see as few as he wishes at his Court, particularly
such as dare to think or speak truth. I dare not do otherwise, and
ought not nor could not have imagin’d that it would not have been the
very highest compliment that I could possibly pay the King, to
endeavour to support truth and innocence in this house.
(Signed) “C. QUEENSBERRY.”
The following is an extract from a letter from Gay to Swift:—“To the lady
I live with I owe my life and fortune; think of her with respect, value
and esteem her as I do. She hath so much goodness, virtue, and
generosity, that if you knew her you would have a pleasure in obeying her
as I do.” In another letter from Gay to Swift, the former presses his
coming to join the party at Amesbury, saying (speaking of the
Duchess):—“I think her so often in the right, you will have great
difficulties to persuade me she is in the wrong. The lady of the house
is not given to show civility to those she does not like. She speaks her
mind and loves truth, for the uncommonness of the thing. I fancy your
curiosity will prevail over your fear, and you will like to see such a
woman. But I say no more till I know whether her Grace will fill up the
rest of the paper.” P.S. by the Duchess: “Write I must, particularly
now, as I have an opportunity to indulge my predominant passion of
Contradiction. I do, in the first place, contradict most things Mr. Gay
says of me to deter you from coming here, which, if ever you do, I hereby
assure you that, unless I like my own way better, you shall have yours;
and in all disputes you shall convince me if you can. But, by what I see
of you, this is not a misfortune that will always happen, for I find you
a great mistaker. For example, you take prudence for imperiousness.
’Tis from this I first determined not to like one who is too giddy-headed
for me to be certain whether or no I shall ever be acquainted with him.
I have known people take great delight in building castles in the air;
but I should choose to build friendship on a more solid foundation. I
would fain know you, for I often hear more likeable things than ’tis
possible any one can deserve. Pray come that I may find out something
wrong, for I, and I believe most women, have an inconceivable pleasure to
find out any faults except their own.” P.S.—“Mr. Gay is very peevish
that I spell and write ill, but I don’t care, for neither the pen nor I
can do better!”
[Picture: The Diamond]
This Duchess also attracted the attention of Prior, who wrote the
well-known ballad:—