VII. FAIR ROSAMOND.
[_]
Most of the circumstances in this popular story of king
Henry II. and the beautiful Rosamond have been taken for
fact by our English Historians; who, unable to account for
the unnatural conduct of queen Eleanor in stimulating her
sons to rebellion, have attributed it to jealousy, and supposed
that Henry's amour with Rosamond was the object of that passion.
Our old English annalists seem, most of them, to have followed
Higden the monk of Chester, whose account with some
enlargements is thus given by Stow. “Rosamond the fayre
daughter of Walter lord Clifford, concubine to Henry II.
(poisoned by queen Elianor, as some thought) dyed at
Woodstocke [A. D. 1177.] where king Henry had made
for her a house of wonderfull working; so that no man
or woman might come to her, but he that was instructed
by the king, or such as were right secret with him touching
the matter. This house after some was named Labyrinthus,
or Dedalus worke, which was wrought like unto
a knot in a garden, called a Maze
; but it was commonly
said, that lastly the queene came to her by a clue of
thridde, or silke, and so dealt with her, that she lived
not long after: but when she was dead, she was buried
at Godstow in an house of nunnes, beside Oxford, with these verses upon her tombe,
“Hic jacet in tumba, Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda:
Non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet.
“In English thus:
“The rose of the world, but not the cleane flowre,
“Is now here graven; to whom beauty was lent:
“In this grave full darke nowe is her bowre,
“That by her life was sweete and redolent:
“But now that she is from this life blent,
“Though she were sweete, now foully doth she stinke.
“A mirrour good for all men, that on her thinke.”
Stowe's Annals, Ed. 1631. p. 154.
How the queen gained admittance into Rosamond's bower
is differently related. Hollingshed speaks of it, as “the
common report of the people, that the queene . . . founde
hir out by a silken thread, which the king had drawne
after him out of hir chamber with his foot, and dealt
with hir in such sharpe and cruell wise, that she lived
not long after.” Vol. III. p. 115. On the other hand,
in Speede's Hist. we are told that the jealous queen found
her out “by a clew of silke, fallen from Rosamund's lappe,
as shee sate to take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from the
sight of the searcher, the end of her silke fastened to her
foot, and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde:
which the queene followed, till shee had found what she
sought, and upon Rosamund so vented her spleene, as the
lady lived not long after.” 3d Edit. p. 509. Our
ballad-maker with more ingenuity, and probably as much
truth, tells us the clue was gained, by surprise, from the
knight, who was left to guard her bower.
It is observable, that none of the old writers attribute
Rosamond's death to poison, (Stow, above, mentions it meerly
as a slight conjecture); they only give us to understand, that
the queen treated her harshly; which furious menaces, we
may suppose, and sharp expostulations, which had such effect
on her spirits, that she did not long survive it. Indeed on
her tombstone, as we learn from a person of credit
, among
other fine sculptures, was engraven the figure of a
cup.
This, which perhaps at first was an accidental ornament,
might in after times suggest the notion that she was poisoned;
at least this construction was put upon it, when the stone
came to be demolished after the nunnery was dissolved. The
account is, that “the tombstone of Rosamund Clifford was
taken up at Godstow, and broken in pieces, and that upon
it were interchangeable weavings drawn out and decked
with roses red and green, and the picture of the
cup, out
of which she drank the poison given her by the queen, carved in stone.”
Rosamond's father having been a great benefactor to the
nunnery of Godstow, where she had also resided herself in
the innocent part of her life, her body was conveyed there,
and buried in the middle of the choir; in which place it remained
till the year 1191, when Hugh bishop of Lincoln
caused it to be removed. The fact is recorded by Hoveden,
a contemporary writer, whose words are thus translated by
Stow. “Hugh bishop of Lincolne came to the abbey of
nunnes, called Godstow, . . . . and when he had entred
the church to pray, he saw a tombe in the middle of the
quire, covered with a pall of silke, and set about with
lights of waxe: and demanding whose tombe it was, he
was answered, that it was the tombe of Rosamond, that
was some time lemman to Henry II. . . . . who for the
love of her had done much good to that church. Then
quoth the bishop, take out of this place the harlot, and
bury her without the church, lest christian religion should
grow in contempt, and to the end that, through example
of her, other women being made afraid may beware,
and keepe themselves from unlawfull and advouterous
company with men.” Annals, p. 159.
History further informs us, that king John repaired Godstow
nunnery, and endowed it with yearly revenues, “that
these holy virgins might releeve with their prayers, the
soules of his father king Henrie, and of lady Rosamund
there interred.”
. . . . In what situation her remains
were found at the dissolution of the nunnery, we learn from
Leland, “Rosamundes tumbe at Godstowe nunnery was
taken up [of] late; it is a stone with this inscription,
Tumba Rosamundæ. Her bones were closid in
lede, and withyn that bones were closyd yn lether. When
it was opened a very swete smell came owt of it.” See
Hearne's discourse above quoted, written in 1718; at
which time, he tells us, were still seen by the pool at Woodstock
the foundations of a very large building, which were
believed to be the remains of Rosamond's labyrinth.
To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) account, Henry had
two sons by Rosamond, from a computation of whose ages, a
modern historian has endeavoured to invalidate the received
story. These were William Longue-espè (or Long-sword)
earl of Salisbury, and Geoffrey bishop of Lincolne
. Geoffrey
was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and yet is said to have
been twenty years old at the time of his election to that see in
1173. Hence this writer concludes, that king Henry fell in
love with Rosamond in 1149, when in king Stephen's reign
he came over to be knighted by the king of Scots; he also
thinks it probable that Henry's commerce with this lady
broke off upon his marriage with Eleanor [in 1152.] and
that the young lady, by a natural effect of grief and resentment
at the defection of her lover, entered on that occasion
into the nunnery of Godstowe, where she died probably before
the rebellion of Henry's sons in 1173.” [Carte's hist.
Vol. I. p. 652.] But let it be observed, that Henry was but
sixteen years old when he came over to be knighted; that he
staid but eight months in this island, and was almost all the
time with the king of Scots; that he did not return back to
England till 1153, the year after his marriage with Eleanor;
and that no writer drops the least hint of Rosamand's having
ever been abroad with her lover, nor indeed is it probable
that a boy of sixteen should venture to carry over a mistress to
his mother's court. If all these circumstances are considered,
Mr. Carte's account will be found more incoherent and improbable
than that of the old ballad; which is also countenanced
by most of our old historians.
Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth, and consequently
of Henry's commerce with Rosamund, seems to be best ascertained
from an ancient manuscript in the Cotton library:
wherein it is thus registered of Geofferey Plantagenet, “Natus
est 5°. Hen. II. [1159.] Factus est miles 25°. Hen.
II. [1179.] Elect. in Episcop. Lincoln. 28°. Hen. II.
[1182.].” Vid. Chron. de Kirkstall. (Domitian XII.) Drake's Hist. of York, p. 422.
The following ballad is printed from four ancient copies
in black letter; two of them in the Pepys library.
When as king Henry rulde this land,
The second of that name,
Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
A faire and comely dame.
Most peerlesse was her beautye founde,
Her favour, and her face;
A sweeter creature in this worlde
Could never prince embrace.
Her crisped lockes like threads of golde
Appeard to each mans sight;
Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
Did cast a heavenlye light.
The blood within her crystal cheekes
Did such a colour drive,
As though the lillye and the rose
For mastership did strive.
Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,
Her name was called so,
To whom our queene, dame Ellinor,
Was known a deadlye foe.
The king therefore, for her defence,
Against the furious queene,
At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
The like was never seene.
Most curiously that bower was built
Of stone and timber strong,
An hundered and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong:
And they so cunninglye contriv'd
With turnings round about,
That none but with a clue of thread,
Could enter in or out.
And for his love and ladyes sake,
That was so faire and brighte,
The keeping of this bower he gave
Unto a valiant knighte.
But fortune, that doth often frowne
Where she before did smile,
The kinges delighte and ladyes joy
Full soon shee did beguile:
For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised warres
Within the realme of France.
But yet before our comelye king
The English land forsooke,
Of Rosamond, his lady faire,
His farewelle thus he tooke:
“My Rosamonde, my only Rose,
That pleasest best mine eye:
The fairest flower in all the worlde
To feed my fantasye:
The flower of mine affected heart,
Whose sweetness doth excelle:
My royal Rose, a thousand times
I bid thee nowe farewelle!
For I must leave my fairest flower,
My sweetest Rose, a space,
And cross the seas to famous France,
Proud rebelles to abase.
But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt
My coming shortlye see,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
Ile beare my Rose with mee.”
When Rosamond, that ladye brighte,
Did heare the king saye soe,
The sorrowe of her grieved heart
Her outward lookes did showe;
And from her cleare and crystall eyes
The teares gusht out apace,
Which like the siver-pearled dewe
Ranne downe her comely face.
Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
Did waxe both wan and pale,
And for the sorrow she conceivde
Her vitall spirits faile;
And falling down all in a swoone
Before king Henryes face,
Full oft he in his princelye armes
Her bodye did embrace:
And twentye times, with watery eyes,
He kist her tender cheeke,
Untill he had revivde againe
Her senses milde and meeke.
Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?
The king did often say.
Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres
My lord must part awaye.
But since your grace on forrayne coastes
Amonge your foes unkinde
Must goe to hazard life and limbe,
Why should I staye behinde?
Nay rather, let me, like a page,
Your sworde and target beare;
That on my breast the blowes may lighte,
Which would offend you there.
Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
Prepare your bed at nighte,
And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
At your returne from fighte.
So I your presence may enjoye
No toil I will refuse;
But wanting you, my life is death;
Nay, death Ild rather chuse!
“Content thy self, my dearest love;
Thy rest at home shall bee
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;
For travell fits not thee.
Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;
Soft peace their sexe delightes;
‘Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;
Gay feastes, not cruell fightes.’
My Rose shall safely here abide,
With musicke passe the daye;
Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes,
My foes seeke far awaye.
My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde,
Whilst Ime in armour dighte;
Gay galliards here my love shall dance,
Whilst I my foes goe fighte.
And you, sir Thomas, whom I truste
To bee my loves defence;
Be carefull of my gallant Rose
When I am parted hence.”
And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,
As though his heart would breake:
And Rosamonde, for very griefe,
Not one plaine word could speake.
And at their parting well they mighte
In heart be grieved sore:
After that daye faire Rosamonde
The king did see no more.
For when his grace had past the seas,
And into France was gone;
With envious heart, queene Ellinor,
To Woodstocke came anone.
And forth she calles this trustye knighte,
In an unhappy houre;
Who with his clue of twined thread,
Came from this famous bower.
And when that they had wounded him,
The queene this thread did gette,
And went where ladye Rosamonde
Was like an angell sette.
But when the queene with stedfast eye
Beheld her beauteous face,
She was amazed in her minde
At her exceeding grace.
Cast off from thee those robes, she said,
That riche and costlye bee;
And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,
Which I have brought to thee.
Then presentlye upon her knees
Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
And pardon of the queene she crav'd
For her offences all.
“Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,
Faire Rosamonde did crye;
And lett mee not with poison stronge
Enforced bee to dye.
I will renounce my sinful life,
And in some cloyster bide;
Or else be banisht, if you please,
To range the world soe wide.
And for the fault which I have done,
Though I was forc'd theretoe,
Preserve my life, and punish mee
As you thinke meet to doe.”
And with these words, her lillie handes
She wrunge full often there;
And downe along her lovelye face
Did trickle many a teare.
But nothing could this furious queene
Therewith appeased bee;
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge,
As she knelt on her knee,
Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke;
Who tooke it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arose,
And on her feet did stand:
And casting up her eyes to heaven,
Shee did for mercye calle;
And drinking up the poison stronge,
Her life she lost withalle.
And when that death through everye limbe
Had showde its greatest spite,
Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse
Shee was a glorious wight.
Her body then they did entomb,
When life was fled away,
At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,
As may be seene this day.