Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

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``It is sad enough,'' replied Athelstane; ``but
I trust they will hold us to a moderate ransom---
At any rate it cannot be their purpose to starve us
outright; and yet, although it is high noon, I see
no preparations for serving dinner. Look up at the
window, noble Cedric, and judge by the sunbeams
if it is not on the verge of noon.''

``It may be so,'' answered Cedric; ``but I cannot
look on that stained lattice without its awakening
other reflections than those which concern the
passing moment, or its privations. When that window
was wrought, my noble friend, our hardy fathers
knew not the art of making glass, or of staining
it---The pride of Wolfganger's father brought
an artist from Normandy to adorn his hall with this
new species of emblazonment, that breaks the golden
light of God's blessed day into so many fantastic
hues. The foreigner came here poor, beggarly,
cringing, and subservient, ready to doff his cap to
the meanest native of the household. He returned
pampered and proud, to tell his rapacious countrymen
of the wealth and the simplicity of the Saxon
nobles---a folly, oh, Athelstane, foreboded of old, as
well as foreseen, by those descendants of Hengist
and his hardy tribes, who retained the simplicity
of their manners. We made these strangers our
bosom friends, our confidential servants; we borrowed
their artists and their arts, and despised the
honest simplicity and hardihood with which our
brave ancestors supported themselves, and we became
enervated by Norman arts long ere we fell
under Norman arms. Far better was our homely
diet, eaten in peace and liberty, than the luxurious
dainties, the love of which hath delivered us as
bondsmen to the foreign conqueror!''

``I should,'' replied Athelstane, ``hold very humble
diet a luxury at present; and it astonishes me,
noble Cedric, that you can bear so truly in mind
the memory of past deeds, when it appeareth you
forget the very hour of dinner.''

``It is time lost,'' muttered Cedric apart and impatiently,
``to speak to him of aught else but that
which concerns his appetite! The soul of Hardicanute
hath taken possession of him, and he hath no
pleasure save to fill, to swill, and to call for more.
---Alas!'' said he, looking at Athelstane with compassion,
``that so dull a spirit should be lodged in
so goodly a form! Alas! that such an enterprise
as the regeneration of England should turn on a
hinge so imperfect! Wedded to Rowena, indeed,
her nobler and more generous soul may yet awake
the better nature which is torpid within him. Yet
how should this be, while Rowena, Athelstane, and
I myself, remain the prisoners of this brutal marauder
and have been made so perhaps from a sense
of the dangers which our liberty might bring to the
usurped power of his nation?''

While the Saxon was plunged in these painful
reflections, the door of their prison opened, and gave
entrance to a sewer, holding his white rod of office.
This important person advanced into the chamber
with a grave pace, followed by four attendants,
bearing in a table covered with dishes, the sight
and smell of which seemed to be an instant compensation
to Athelstane for all the inconvenience
he had undergone. The persons who attended on
the feast were masked and cloaked.

``What mummery is this?'' said Cedric; ``think
you that we are ignorant whose prisoners we are,
when we are in the castle of your master? Tell
him,'' he continued, willing to use this opportunity
to open a negotiation for his freedom,---``Tell your
master, Reginald Front-de-Buf, that we know
no reason he can have for withholding our liberty,
excepting his unlawful desire to enrich himself at
our expense. Tell him that we yield to his rapacity,
as in similar circumstances we should do to
that of a literal robber. Let him name the ransom
at which he rates our liberty, and it shall be paid,
providing the exaction is suited to our means.''
The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head.

``And tell Sir Reginald Front-de-Buf,'' said
Athelstane, ``that I send him my mortal defiance,
and challenge him to combat with me, on foot or
horseback, at any secure place, within eight days
after our liberation; which, if he be a true knight,
he will not, under these circumstances, venture to
refuse or to delay.''

``I shall deliver to the knight your defiance,''
answered the sewer; ``meanwhile I leave you to
your food.''

The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with
no good grace; for a large mouthful, which required
the exercise of both jaws at once, added to
a natural hesitation, considerably damped the effect
of the bold defiance it contained. Still, however,
his speech was hailed by Cedric as an incontestible
token of reviving spirit in his companion,
whose previous indifference had begun, notwithstanding
his respect for Athelstane's descent, to
wear out his patience. But he now cordially shook
hands with him in token of his approbation, and
was somewhat grieved when Athelstane observed,
``that he would fight a dozen such men as Front-de-Buf,
if, by so doing, he could hasten his departure
from a dungeon where they put so much
garlic into their pottage.'' Notwithstanding this
intimation of a relapse into the apathy of sensuality,
Cedric placed himself opposite to Athelstane, and
soon showed, that if the distresses of his country
could banish the recollection of food while the table
was uncovered, yet no sooner were the victuals put
there, than he proved that the appetite of his Saxon
ancestors had descended to him along with their
other qualities.

The captives had not long enjoyed their refreshment,
however, ere their attention was disturbed
even from this most serious occupation by the blast
of a horn winded before the gate. It was repeated
three times, with as much violence as if it had been
blown before an enchanted castle by the destined
knight, at whose summons halls and towers, barbican
and battlement, were to roll off like a morning
vapour. The Saxons started from the table, and
hastened to the window. But their curiosity was
disappointed; for these outlets only looked upon
the court of the castle, and the sound came from beyond
its precincts. The summons, however, seemed
of importance, for a considerable degree of bustle
instantly took place in the castle.

CHAPTER XXII

My daughter---O my ducats---O my daughter!
------------O my Christian ducats!
Justice---the Law---my ducats, and my daughter!
_Merchant of Venice._

Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquet
as soon as their ungratified curiosity should
permit them to attend to the calls of their half-satiated
appetite, we have to look in upon the yet
more severe imprisonment of Isaac of York. The
poor Jew had been hastily thrust into a dungeon-vault
of the castle, the floor of which was deep beneath
the level of the ground, and very damp, being
lower than even the moat itself. The only light
was received through one or two loop-holes far
above the reach of the captive's hand. These apertures
admitted, even at mid-day, only a dim and
uncertain light, which was changed for utter darkness
long before the rest of the castle had lost the
blessing of day. Chains and shackles, which had
been the portion of former captives, from whom
active exertions to escape had been apprehended,
hung rusted and empty on the walls of the prison,
and in the rings of one of those sets of fetters there
remained two mouldering bones, which seemed to
have been once those of the human leg, as if some
prisoner had been left not only to perish there, but
to be consumed to a skeleton.

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large
fire-grate, over the top of which were stretched
some transverse iron bars, half devoured with rust.

The whole appearance of the dungeon might
have appalled a stouter heart than that of Isaac,
who, nevertheless, was more composed under the
imminent pressure of danger, than he had seemed
to be while affected by terrors, of which the cause
was as yet remote and contingent. The lovers of the
chase say that the hare feels more agony during the
pursuit of the greyhounds, than when she is struggling
in their fangs.* And thus it is probable, that

* _Nota Bene._---We by no means warrant the accuracy of this
* piece of natural history, which we give on the authority of the
* Wardour MS. L. T.

the Jews, by the very frequency of their fear on all
occasions, had their minds in some degree prepared
for every effort of tyranny which could be practised
upon them; so that no aggression, when it had taken
place, could bring with it that surprise which
is the most disabling quality of terror. Neither was
it the first time that Isaac had been placed in circumstances
so dangerous. He had therefore experience
to guide him, as well as hope, that he might
again, as formerly, be delivered as a prey from the
fowler. Above all, he had upon his side the unyielding
obstinacy of his nation, and that unbending
resolution, with which Israelites have been
frequently known to submit to the uttermost evils
which power and violence can inflict upon them,
rather than gratify their oppressors by granting
their demands.

In this humour of passive resistance, and with
his garment collected beneath him to keep his limbs
from the wet pavement, Isaac sat in a corner of his
dungeon, where his folded hands, his dishevelled
hair and beard, his furred cloak and high cap, seen
by the wiry and broken light, would have afforded
a study for Rembrandt, had that celebrated painter
existed at the period. The Jew remained, without
altering his position, for nearly three hours, at the
expiry of which steps were heard on the dungeon
stair. The bolts screamed as they were withdrawn
---the hinges creaked as the wicket opened, and
Reginald Front-de-Buf, followed by the two Saracen
slaves of the Templar, entered the prison.

Front-de-Buf, a tall and strong man, whose
life had been spent in public war or in private feuds
and broils, and who had hesitated at no means of
extending his feudal power, had features corresponding
to his character, and which strongly expressed
the fiercer and more malignant passions of
the mind. The scars with which his visage was
seamed, would, on features of a different cast, have
excited the sympathy and veneration due to the
marks of honourable valour; but, in the peculiar
case of Front-de-Buf, they only added to the ferocity
of his countenance, and to the dread which
his presence inspired. This formidable baron was
clad in a leathern doublet, fitted close to his body,
which was frayed and soiled with the stains of his
armour. He had no weapon, excepting a poniard
at his belt, which served to counterbalance the
weight of the bunch of rusty keys that hung at his
right side.

The black slaves who attended Front-de-Buf
were stripped of their gorgeous apparel, and attired
in jerkins and trowsers of coarse linen, their sleeves
being tucked up above the elbow, like those of
butchers when about to exercise their function in
the slaughter-house. Each had in his hand a small
pannier; and, when they entered the dungeon, they
stopt at the door until Front-de-Buf himself carefully
locked and double-locked it. Having taken
this precaution, he advanced slowly up the apartment
towards the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye
fixed, as if he wished to paralyze him with his
glance, as some animals are said to fascinate their
prey. It seemed indeed as if the sullen and malignant
eye of Front-de-Buf possessed some portion
of that supposed power over his unfortunate prisoner.
The Jew sate with his mouth a-gape, and
his eyes fixed on the savage baron with such earnestness
of terror, that his frame seemed literally
to shrink together, and to diminish in size while
encountering the fierce Norman's fixed and baleful
gaze. The unhappy Isaac was deprived not only
of the power of rising to make the obeisance which
his terror dictated, but he could not even doff his
cap, or utter any word of supplication; so strongly
was he agitated by the conviction that tortures and
death were impending over him.

On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman
appeared to dilate in magnitude, like that of
the eagle, which ruffles up its plumage when about
to pounce on its defenceless prey. He paused within
three steps of the corner in which the unfortunate
Jew had now, as it were, coiled himself up into
the smallest possible space, and made a sign for one
of the slaves to approach. The black satellite came
forward accordingly, and, producing from his basket
a large pair of scales and several weights, he
laid them at the feet of Front-de-Buf, and again
retired to the respectful distance, at which his companion
had already taken his station.

The motions of these men were slow and solemn,
as if there impended over their souls some preconception
of horror and of cruelty. Front-de-Buf
himself opened the scene by thus addressing his ill-fated
captive.

``Most accursed dog of an accursed race,'' he
said, awaking with his deep and sullen voice the
sullen echoes of his dungeon vault, ``seest thou
these scales?''

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative.

``In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,''
said the relentless Baron, ``a thousand silver pounds,
after the just measure and weight of the Tower of
London.''

``Holy Abraham!'' returned the Jew, finding
voice through the very extremity of his danger,
``heard man ever such a demand?---Who ever
heard, even in a minstrel's tale, of such a sum as a
thousand pounds of silver?---What human sight was
ever blessed with the vision of such a mass of treasure?
---Not within the walls of York, ransack my
house and that of all my tribe, wilt thou find the
tithe of that huge sum of silver that thou speakest
of.''

``I am reasonable,'' answered Front-de-Buf,
``and if silver be scant, I refuse not gold. At the
rate of a mark of gold for each six pounds of silver,
thou shalt free thy unbelieving carcass from such
punishment as thy heart has never even conceived.''

``Have mercy on me, noble knight!'' exclaimed
Isaac; ``I am old, and poor, and helpless. It were
unworthy to triumph over me---It is a poor deed
to crush a worm.''

``Old thou mayst be,'' replied the knight; ``more
shame to their folly who have suffered thee to grow
grey in usury and knavery---Feeble thou mayst be,
for when had a Jew either heart or hand---But rich
it is well known thou art.''

``I swear to you, noble knight,'' said the Jew
``by all which I believe, and by all which we believe
in common------''

``Perjure not thyself,'' said the Norman, interrupting
him, ``and let not thine obstinacy seal thy
doom, until thou hast seen and well considered the
fate that awaits thee. Think not I speak to thee
only to excite thy terror, and practise on the base
cowardice thou hast derived from thy tribe. I swear
to thee by that which thou dost =not= believe, by the
gospel which our church teaches, and by the keys
which are given her to bind and to loose, that my
purpose is deep and peremptory. This dungeon is
no place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand times
more distinguished than thou have died within these
walls, and their fate hath never been known! But
for thee is reserved a long and lingering death, to
which theirs were luxury.''

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach,
and spoke to them apart, in their own language;
for he also had been in Palestine, where perhaps,
he had learnt his lesson of cruelty. The Saracens
produced from their baskets a quantity of charcoal,
a pair of bellows, and a flask of oil. While the one
struck a light with a flint and steel, the other disposed
the charcoal in the large rusty grate which
we have already mentioned, and exercised the bellows
until the fuel came to a red glow.

``Seest thou, Isaac,'' said Front-de-Buf, ``the
range of iron bars above the glowing charcoal?*---

* Note E. The range of iron bars above that glowing
* charcoal.

on that warm couch thou shalt lie, stripped of thy
clothes as if thou wert to rest on a bed of down.
One of these slaves shall maintain the fire beneath
thee, while the other shall anoint thy wretched
limbs with oil, lest the roast should burn.---Now,
choose betwixt such a scorching bed and the payment
of a thousand pounds of silver; for, by the
head of my father, thou hast no other option.''

``It is impossible,'' exclaimed the miserable Jew
---``it is impossible that your purpose can be real!
The good God of nature never made a heart capable
of exercising such cruelty!''

``Trust not to that, Isaac,'' said Front-de-Buf,
``it were a fatal error. Dost thou think that I, who
have seen a town sacked, in which thousands of my
Christian countrymen perished by sword, by flood,
and by fire, will blench from my purpose for the
outcries or screams of one single wretched Jew?---
or thinkest thou that these swarthy slaves, who
have neither law, country, nor conscience, but their
master's will---who use the poison, or the stake, or
the poniard, or the cord, at his slightest wink---
thinkest thou that _they_ will have mercy, who do
not even understand the language in which it is
asked?---Be wise, old man; discharge thyself of a
portion of thy superfluous wealth; repay to the
hands of a Christian a part of what thou hast acquired
by the usury thou hast practised on those
of his religion. Thy cunning may soon swell out
once more thy shrivelled purse, but neither leech
nor medicine can restore thy scorched hide and flesh
wert thou once stretched on these bars. Tell down
thy ransom, I say, and rejoice that at such rate thou
canst redeem thee from a dungeon, the secrets of
which few have returned to tell. I waste no more
words with thee---choose between thy dross and
thy flesh and blood, and as thou choosest, so shall
it be.''

``So may Abraham, Jacob, and all the fathers
of our people assist me,'' said Isaac, ``I cannot make
the choice, because I have not the means of satisfying
your exorbitant demand!''

``Seize him and strip him, slaves,'' said the
knight, ``and let the fathers of his race assist him
if they can.''

The assistants, taking their directions more from
the Baron's eye and his hand than his tongue, once
more stepped forward, laid hands on the unfortunate
Isaac, plucked him up from the ground, and,
holding him between them, waited the hard-hearted
Baron's farther signal. The unhappy Jew eyed
their countenances and that of Front-de-Buf, in
hope of discovering some symptoms of relenting;
but that of the Baron exhibited the same cold, half-sullen,
half-sarcastic smile which had been the prelude
to his cruelty; and the savage eyes of the Saracens,
rolling gloomily under their dark brows, acquiring
a yet more sinister expression by the whiteness
of the circle which surrounds the pupil, evinced
rather the secret pleasure which they expected from
the approaching scene, than any reluctance to be its
directors or agents. The Jew then looked at the
glowing furnace, over which he was presently to be
stretched, and seeing no chance of his tormentor's
relenting, his resolution gave way.

``I will pay,'' he said, ``the thousand pounds of
silver---That is,'' he added, after a moment's pause,
``I will pay it with the help of my brethren; for
I must beg as a mendicant at the door of our synagogue
ere I make up so unheard-of a sum.---When
and where must it be delivered?''

``Here,'' replied Front-de-Buf, ``here it must
be delivered---weighed it must be---weighed and
told down on this very dungeon floor.---Thinkest
thou I will part with thee until thy ransom is secure?''

``And what is to be my surety,'' said the Jew,
``that I shall be at liberty after this ransom is
paid?''

``The word of a Norman noble, thou pawn-broking
slave,'' answered Front-de-Buf; ``the faith
of a Norman nobleman, more pure than the gold
and silver of thee and all thy tribe.''

``I crave pardon, noble lord,'' said Isaac timidly,
``but wherefore should I rely wholly on the
word of one who will trust nothing to mine?''

``Because thou canst not help it, Jew,'' said the
knight, sternly. ``Wert thou now in thy treasure-chamber
at York, and were I craving a loan of thy
shekels, it would be thine to dictate the time of
payment, and the pledge of security. This is _my_
treasure-chamber. Here I have thee at advantage,
nor will I again deign to repeat the terms on which
I grant thee liberty.''

The Jew groaned deeply.---``Grant me,'' he said,
``at least with my own liberty, that of the companions
with whom I travel. They scorned me as a
Jew, yet they pitied my desolation, and because
they tarried to aid me by the way, a share of my
evil hath come upon them; moreover, they may
contribute in some sort to my ransom.''

``If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls,'' said
Front-de-Buf, ``their ransom will depend upon
other terms than thine. Mind thine own concerns,
Jew, I warn thee, and meddle not with those of
others.''

``I am, then,'' said Isaac, ``only to be set at liberty,
together with mine wounded friend?''

``Shall I twice recommend it,'' said Front-de-Buf,
``to a son of Israel, to meddle with his own
concerns, and leave those of others alone?---Since
thou hast made thy choice, it remains but that
thou payest down thy ransom, and that at a short
day.''

``Yet hear me,'' said the Jew---``for the sake
of that very wealth which thou wouldst obtain at
the expense of thy------'' Here he stopt short, afraid
of irritating the savage Norman. But Front-de-Buf
only laughed, and himself filled up the blank
at which the Jew had hesitated. ``At the expense
of my conscience, thou wouldst say, Isaac; speak it
out---I tell thee, I am reasonable. I can bear the
reproaches of a loser, even when that loser is a Jew.
Thou wert not so patient, Isaac, when thou didst
invoke justice against Jacques Fitzdotterel, for
calling thee a usurious blood-sucker, when thy exactions
had devoured his patrimony.''

``I swear by the Talmud,'' said the Jew, ``that
your valour has been misled in that matter. Fitzdotterel
drew his poniard upon me in mine own
chamber, because I craved him for mine own silver.
The term of payment was due at the Passover.''

``I care not what he did,'' said Front-de-Buf;
``the question is, when shall I have mine own?---
when shall I have the shekels, Isaac?''

``Let my daughter Rebecca go forth to York,''
answered Isaac, ``with your safe conduct, noble
knight, and so soon as man and horse can return,
the treasure------'' Here he groaned deeply, but added,
after the pause of a few seconds,---``The treasure
shall be told down on this very floor.''

``Thy daughter!'' said Front-de-Buf, as if
surprised,---``By heavens, Isaac, I would I had
known of this. I deemed that yonder black-browed
girl had been thy concubine, and I gave her to
be a handmaiden to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
after the fashion of patriarchs and heroes of the
days of old, who set us in these matters a wholesome
example.''

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling
communication made the very vault to ring, and
astounded the two Saracens so much that they let
go their hold of the Jew. He availed himself of
his enlargement to throw himself on the pavement,
and clasp the knees of Front-de-Buf.

``Take all that you have asked,'' said he, ``Sir
Knight---take ten times more---reduce me to ruin
and to beggary, if thou wilt,---nay, pierce me with
thy poniard, broil me on that furnace, but spare
my daughter, deliver her in safety and honour!---
As thou art born of woman, spare the honour of a
helpless maiden---She is the image of my deceased
Rachel, she is the last of six pledges of her love
---Will you deprive a widowed husband of his sole
remaining comfort?---Will you reduce a father to
wish that his only living child were laid beside her
dead mother, in the tomb of our fathers?''

``I would,'' said the Norman, somewhat relenting,
``that I had known of this before. I thought
your race had loved nothing save their moneybags.''

``Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be,''
said Isaac, eager to improve the moment of apparent
sympathy; ``the hunted fox, the tortured wildcat
loves its young---the despised and persecuted
race of Abraham love their children!''

``Be it so,'' said Front-de-Buf; ``I will believe
it in future, Isaac, for thy very sake---but it
aids us not now, I cannot help what has happened,
or what is to follow; my word is passed to my comrade
in arms, nor would I break it for ten Jews and
Jewesses to boot. Besides, why shouldst thou think
evil is to come to the girl, even if she became Bois-Guilbert's
booty?''

``There will, there must!'' exclaimed Isaac,
wringing his hands in agony; ``when did Templars
breathe aught but cruelty to men, and dishonour
to women!''

``Dog of an infidel,'' said Front-de-Buf, with
sparkling eyes, and not sorry, perhaps, to seize a
pretext for working himself into a passion, ``blaspheme
not the Holy Order of the Temple of Zion,
but take thought instead to pay me the ransom thou
hast promised, or woe betide thy Jewish throat!''