Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45

It was not until evening was nearly closed that
Ivanhoe was restored to consciousness of his situation.
He awoke from a broken slumber, under the
confused impressions which are naturally attendant
on the recovery from a state of insensibility. He
was unable for some time to recall exactly to memory
the circumstances which had preceded his fall
in the lists, or to make out any connected chain of
the events in which he had been engaged upon the
yesterday. A sense of wounds and injury, joined
to great weakness and exhaustion, was mingled
with the recollection of blows dealt and received,
of steeds rushing upon each other, overthrowing
and overthrown---of shouts and clashing of arms,
and all the heady tumult of a confused fight. An
effort to draw aside the curtain of his conch was in
some degree successful, although rendered difficult
by the pain of his wound.

To his great surprise he found himself in a room
magnificently furnished, but having cushions instead
of chairs to rest upon, and in other respects
partaking so much of Oriental costume, that he
began to doubt whether he had not, during his
sleep, been transported back again to the land of
Palestine. The impression was increased, when,
the tapestry being drawn aside, a female form,
dressed in a rich habit, which partook more of the
Eastern taste than that of Europe, glided through
the door which it concealed, and was followed by
a swarthy domestic.

As the wounded knight was about to address
this fair apparition, she imposed silence by placing
her slender finger upon her ruby lips, while the
attendant, approaching him, proceeded to uncover
Ivanhoe's side, and the lovely Jewess satisfied herself
that the bandage was in its place, and the
wound doing well. She performed her task with
a graceful and dignified simplicity and modesty,
which might, even in more civilized days, have
served to redeem it from whatever might seem repugnant
to female delicacy. The idea of so young
and beautiful a person engaged in attendance on a
sick-bed, or in dressing the wound of one of a different
sex, was melted away and lost in that of a
beneficent being contributing her effectual aid to
relieve pain, and to avert the stroke of death. Rebecca's
few and brief directions were given in the
Hebrew language to the old domestic; and he, who
had been frequently her assistant in similar cases,
obeyed them without reply.

The accents of an unknown tongue, however
harsh they might have sounded when uttered by
another, had, coming from the beautiful Rebecca,
the romantic and pleasing effect which fancy ascribes
to the charms pronounced by some beneficent
fairy, unintelligible, indeed, to the ear, but, from
the sweetness of utterance, and benignity of aspect,
which accompanied them, touching and affecting to
the heart. Without making an attempt at further
question, Ivanhoe suffered them in silence to take
the measures they thought most proper for his recovery;
and it was not until those were completed,
and this kind physician about to retire. that his curiosity
could no longer be suppressed.---``Gentle
maiden,'' be began in the Arabian tongue, with
which his Eastern travels had rendered him familiar,
and which he thought most likely to be understood
by the turban'd and caftan'd damsel who stood before
him---``I pray you, gentle maiden, of your
courtesy------''

But here he was interrupted by his fair physician,
a smile which she could scarce suppress dimpling
for an instant a face, whose general expression
was that of contemplative melancholy. ``I am of
England, Sir Knight, and speak the English tongue,
although my dress and my lineage belong to another
climate.''

``Noble damsel,''---again the Knight of Ivanhoe
began; and again Rebecca hastened to interrupt
him.

``Bestow not on me, Sir Knight,'' she said, ``the
epithet of noble. It is well you should speedily
know that your handmaiden is a poor Jewess, the
daughter of that Isaac of York, to whom you were
so lately a good and kind lord. It well becomes
him, and those of his household, to render to you
such careful tendance as your present state necessarily
demands.''

I know not whether the fair Rowena would have
been altogether satisfied with the species of emotion
with which her devoted knight had hitherto
gazed on the beautiful features, and fair form, and
lustrous eyes, of the lovely Rebecca; eyes whose
brilliancy was shaded, and, as it were, mellowed, by
the fringe of her long silken eyelashes, and which
a minstrel would have compared to the evening
star darting its rays through a bower of jessamine.
But Ivanhoe was too good a Catholic to retain the
same class of feelings towards a Jewess. This
Rebecca had foreseen, and for this very purpose she
had hastened to mention her father's name and lineage;
yet---for the fair and wise daughter of Isaac
was not without a touch of female weakness---she
could not but sigh internally when the glance of
respectful admiration, not altogether unmixed with
tenderness, with which Ivanhoe had hitherto regarded
his unknown benefactress, was exchanged
at once for a manner cold, composed, and collected,
and fraught with no deeper feeling than that which
expressed a grateful sense of courtesy received from
an unexpected quarter, and from one of an inferior
race. It was not that Ivanhoe's former carriage expressed
more than that general devotional homage
which youth always pays to beauty; yet it was
mortifying that one word should operate as a spell
to remove poor Rebecca, who could not be supposed
altogether ignorant of her title to such homage,
into a degraded class, to whom it could not be honourably
rendered.

But the gentleness and candour of Rebecca's
nature imputed no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing in
the universal prejudices of his age and religion. On
the contrary the fair Jewess, though sensible her
patient now regarded her as one of a race of reprobation,
with whom it was disgraceful to hold any
beyond the most necessary intercourse, ceased not
to pay the same patient and devoted attention to
his safety and convalescence. She informed him of
the necessity they were under of removing to York,
and of her father's resolution to transport him thither,
and tend him in his own house until his health
should be restored. Ivanhoe expressed great repugnance
to this plan, which he grounded on unwillingness
to give farther trouble to his benefactors.

``Was there not,'' he said, ``in Ashby, or near
it, some Saxon franklin, or even some wealthy peasant,
who would endure the burden of a wounded
countryman's residence with him until he should
be again able to bear his armour?---Was there no
convent of Saxon endowment, where he could be
received?---Or could he not be transported as far as
Burton, where he was sure to find hospitality with
Waltheoff, the Abbot of St Withold's, to whom
he was related?''

``Any, the worst of these harbourages,'' said
Rebecca, with a melancholy smile, ``would unquestionably
be more fitting for your residence than the
abode of a despised Jew; yet, Sir Knight, unless
you would dismiss your physician, you cannot
change your lodging. Our nation, as you well
know, can cure wounds, though we deal not in inflicting
them; and in our own family, in particular,
are secrets which have been handed down since the
days of Solomon, and of which you have already
experienced the advantages. No Nazarene---I
crave your forgiveness, Sir Knight---no Christian
leech, within the four seas of Britain, could enable
you to bear your corslet within a month.''

``And how soon wilt thou enable me to brook
it?'' said Ivanhoe, impatiently.

``Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and
conformable to my directions,'' replied Rebecca.

``By Our Blessed Lady,'' said Wilfred, ``if it
be not a sin to name her here, it is no time for me
or any true knight to be bedridden; and if thou
accomplish thy promise, maiden, I will pay thee
with my casque full of crowns, come by them as I
may.''

``I will accomplish my promise,'' said Rebecca,
and thou shalt bear thine armour on the eighth
day from hence, if thou will grant me but one boon
in the stead of the silver thou dost promise me.''

`If it be within my power, and such as a true
Christian knight may yield to one of thy people,''
replied Ivanhoe, ``I will grant thy boon blithely
and thankfully.''

``Nay,'' answered Rebecca, ``I will but pray of
thee to believe henceforward that a Jew may do
good service to a Christian, without desiring other
guerdon than the blessing of the Great Father who
made both Jew and Gentile.''

``It were sin to doubt it, maiden,'' replied Ivanhoe;
``and I repose myself on thy skill without
further scruple or question, well trusting you will
enable me to bear my corslet on the eighth day.
And now, my kind leech, let me enquire of the news
abroad. What of the noble Saxon Cedric and his
household?---what of the lovely Lady---'' He
stopt, as if unwilling to speak Rowena's name in
the house of a Jew---``Of her, I mean, who was
named Queen of the tournament?''

``And who was selected by you, Sir Knight, to
hold that dignity, with judgment which was admired
as much as your valour,'' replied Rebecca.

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent
a flush from crossing his cheek, feeling that
he had incautiously betrayed a deep interest in
Rowena by the awkward attempt he had made to
conceal it.''

``It was less of her I would speak,'' said he,
``than of Prince John; and I would fain know
somewhat of a faithful squire, and why he now attends
me not?''

``Let me use my authority as a leech,'' answered
Rebecca, ``and enjoin you to keep silence, and
avoid agitating reflections, whilst I apprize you of
what you desire to know. Prince John hath broken
off the tournament, and set forward in all haste towards
York, with the nobles, knights, and churchmen
of his party, after collecting such sums as they
could wring, by fair means or foul, from those who
are esteemed the wealthy of the land. It is said be
designs to assume his brother's crown.''

``Not without a blow struck in its defence,''
said Ivanhoe, raising himself upon the couch, ``if
there were but one true subject in England I will
fight for Richard's title with the best of them---
ay, one or two, in his just quarrel!''

``But that you may be able to do so,'' said Rebecca
touching his shoulder with her hand, ``you
must now observe my directions, and remain quiet.''

``True, maiden,'' said Ivanhoe, ``as quiet as
these disquieted times will permit---And of Cedric
and his household?''

``His steward came but brief while since,'' said
the Jewess, ``panting with haste, to ask my father
for certain monies, the price of wool the growth of
Cedric's flocks, and from him I learned that Cedric
and Athelstane of Coningsburgh had left Prince
John's lodging in high displeasure, and were about
to set forth on their return homeward.''

``Went any lady with them to the banquet?''
said Wilfred.

``The Lady Rowena,'' said Rebecca, answering
the question with more precision than it had been
asked---``The Lady Rowena went not to the
Prince's feast, and, as the steward reported to us,
she is now on her journey back to Rotherwood,
with her guardian Cedric. And touching your
faithful squire Gurth------''

``Ha!'' exclaimed the knight, ``knowest thou
his name?---But thou dost,'' he immediately added,
``and well thou mayst, for it was from thy
hand, and, as I am now convinced, from thine own
generosity of spirit, that he received but yesterday
a hundred zecchins.''

``Speak not of that,'' said Rebecca, blushing
deeply; ``I see how easy it is for the tongue to
betray what the heart would gladly conceal.''

``But this sum of gold,'' said Ivanhoe, gravely,
``my honour is concerned in repaying it to your
father.''

``Let it be as thou wilt,'' said Rebecca, ``when
eight days have passed away; but think not, and
speak not now, of aught that may retard thy recovery.''

``Be it so, kind maiden,'' said Ivanhoe; ``I were
most ungrateful to dispute thy commands. But
one word of the fate of poor Gurth, and I have done
with questioning thee.''

``I grieve to tell thee, Sir Knight,'' answered
the Jewess, `` that he is in custody by the order of
Cedric.''---And then observing the distress which
her communication gave to Wilfred, she instantly
added, ``But the steward Oswald said, that if nothing
occurred to renew his master's displeasure
against him, he was sure that Cedric would pardon
Gurth, a faithful serf, and one who stood high
in favour, and who had but committed this error
out of the love which he bore to Cedric's son. And
he said, moreover, that he and his comrades, and
especially Wamba the Jester, were resolved to
warn Gurth to make his escape by the way, in case
Cedric's ire against him could not be mitigated.''

``Would to God they may keep their purpose!''
said Ivanhoe; ``but it seems as if I were destined
to bring ruin on whomsoever hath shown kindness
to me. My king, by whom I was honoured and
distinguished, thou seest that the brother most
indebted to him is raising his arms to grasp his
crown;---my regard hath brought restraint and
trouble on the fairest of her sex;---and now my
father in his mood may slay this poor bondsman
but for his love and loyal service to me!---Thou
seest, maiden, what an ill-fated wretch thou dost
labour to assist; be wise, and let me go, ere the
misfortunes which track my footsteps like slot-hounds,
shall involve thee also in their pursuit.''

``Nay,'' said Rebecca, ``thy weakness and thy
grief, Sir Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposes
of Heaven. Thou hast been restored to thy
country when it most needed the assistance of a
strong hand and a true heart, and thou hast humbled
the pride of thine enemies and those of thy
king, when their horn was most highly exalted .
and for the evil which thou hast sustained, seest
thou not that Heaven has raised thee a helper and
a physician, even among the most despised of the
land?---Therefore, be of good courage, and trust
that thou art preserved for some marvel which thine
arm shall work before this people. Adieu---and
having taken the medicine which I shall send thee
by the hand of Reuben, compose thyself again to
rest, that thou mayest be the more able to endure
the journey on the succeeding day.''

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and
obeyed the directions, of Rebecca. The drought
which Reuben administered was of a sedative and
narcotic quality, and secured the patient sound and
undisturbed slumbers. In the morning his kind
physician found him entirely free from feverish
symptoms, and fit to undergo the fatigue of a
journey.

He was deposited in the horse-litter which had
brought him from the lists, and every precaution
taken for his travelling with ease. In one circumstance
only even the entreaties of Rebecca were
unable to secure sufficient attention to the accommodation
of the wounded knight. Isaac, like the
enriched traveller of Juvenal's tenth satire, had
ever the fear of robbery before his eyes, conscious
that he would be alike accounted fair game by the
marauding Norman noble, and by the Saxon outlaw.
He therefore journeyed at a great rate, and
made short halts, and shorter repasts, so that he
passed by Cedric and Athelstane who had several
hours the start of him, but who had been delayed
by their protracted feasting at the convent of Saint
Withold's. Yet such was the virtue of Miriam's
balsam, or such the strength of Ivanhoe's constitution,
that he did not sustain from the hurried journey
that inconvenience which his kind physician
had apprehended.

In another point of view, however, the Jew's
haste proved somewhat more than good speed. The
rapidity with which he insisted on travelling, bred
several disputes between him and the party whom
he had hired to attend him as a guard. These men
were Saxons, and not free by any means from the
national love of ease and good living which the
Normans stigmatized as laziness and gluttony. Reversing
Shylock's position, they had accepted the
employment in hopes of feeding upon the wealthy
Jew, and were very much displeased when they
found themselves disappointed, by the rapidity with
which he insisted on their proceeding. They remonstrated
also upon the risk of damage to their
horses by these forced marches. Finally, there arose
betwixt Isaac and his satellites a deadly feud, concerning
the quantity of wine and ale to be allowed
for consumption at each meal. And thus it happened,
that when the alarm of danger approached,
and that which Isaac feared was likely to come upon
him, he was deserted by the discontented mercenaries
on whose protection he had relied, without
using the means necessary to secure their attachment.

In this deplorable condition the Jew, with his
daughter and her wounded patient, were found by
Cedric, as has already been noticed, and soon afterwards
fell into the power of De Bracy and his confederates.
Little notice was at first taken of the
horse-litter, and it might have remained behind but
for the curiosity of De Bracy, who looked into it
under the impression that it might contain the object
of his enterprise, for Rowena had not unveiled
herself. But De Bracy's astonishment was considerable,
when he discovered that the litter contained
a wounded man, who, conceiving himself to have
fallen into the power of Saxon outlaws, with whom
his name might be a protection for himself and his
friends, frankly avowed himself to be Wilfred of
Ivanhoe.

The ideas of chivalrous honour, which, amidst his
wildness and levity, never utterly abandoned De
Bracy, prohibited him from doing the knight any
injury in his defenceless condition, and equally interdicted
his betraying him to Front-de-Buf, who
would have had no scruples to put to death, under
any circumstances, the rival claimant of the fief of
Ivanhoe. On the other hand, to liberate a suitor
preferred by the Lady Rowena, as the events of the
tournament, and indeed Wilfred's previous banishment
from his father's house, had made matter of
notoriety, was a pitch far above the flight of De
Bracy's generosity. A middle course betwixt good
and evil was all which he found himself capable of
adopting, and he commanded two of his own squires
to keep close by the litter, and to suffer no one to
approach it. If questioned, they were directed by
their master to say, that the empty litter of the
Lady Rowena was employed to transport one of
their comrades who had been wounded in the scuffle.
On arriving at Torquilstone, while the Knight Templar
and the lord of that castle were each intent
upon their own schemes, the one on the Jew's treasure,
and the other on his daughter, De Bracy's
squires conveyed Ivanhoe, still under the name of
a wounded comrade, to a distant apartment. This
explanation was accordingly returned by these men
to Front-de-Buf, when he questioned them why
they did not make for the battlements upon the
alarm.

``A wounded companion!'' he replied in great
wrath and astonishment. ``No wonder that churls
and yeomen wax so presumptuous as even to lay
leaguer before castles, and that clowns and swineherds
send defiances to nobles, since men-at-arms
have turned sick men's nurses, and Free Companions
are grown keepers of dying folk's curtains,
when the castle is about to be assailed.---To the
battlements, ye loitering villains!'' he exclaimed,
raising his stentorian voice till the arches around
rung again, ``to the battlements, or I will splinter
your bones with this truncheon!''

The men sulkily replied, ``that they desired
nothing better than to go to the battlements, providing
Front-de-Buf would bear them out with
their master, who had commanded them to tend
the dying man.''

``The dying man, knaves!'' rejoined the Baron;
``I promise thee we shall all be dying men an we
stand not to it the more stoutly. But I will relieve
the guard upon this caitiff companion of yours.---
Here, Urfried---hag---fiend of a Saxon witch---
hearest me not?---tend me this bedridden fellow
since he must needs be tended, whilst these knaves
use their weapons.---Here be two arblasts, comrades,
with windlaces and quarrells*---to the barbican with

* The arblast was a cross-bow, the windlace the machine
* used in bending that weapon, and the quarrell, so called from
* its square or diamond-shaped head, was the bolt adapted to it.

you, and see you drive each bolt through a Saxon
brain.''

The men, who, like most of their description,
were fond of enterprise and detested inaction, went
joyfully to the scene of danger as they were commanded,
and thus the charge of Ivanhoe was transferred
to Urfried, or Ulrica. But she, whose brain
was burning with remembrance of injuries and with
hopes of vengeance, was readily induced to devolve
upon Rebecca the care of her patient.

CHAPTER XXIX

Ascend the watch-tower yonder, valiant soldier,
Look on the field, and say how goes the battle.
Schiller's _Maid of Orleans_.

A moment of peril is often also a moment of open-hearted
kindness and affection. We are thrown
off our guard by the general agitation of our feelings,
and betray the intensity of those, which, at
more tranquil periods, our prudence at least conceals,
if it cannot altogether suppress them. In
finding herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe,
Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensation of
pleasure which she experienced, even at a time
when all around them both was danger, if not despair.
As she felt his pulse, and enquired after his
health, there was a softness in her touch and in her
accents implying a kinder interest than she would
herself have been pleased to have voluntarily expressed.
Her voice faltered and her hand trembled,
and it was only the cold question of Ivanhoe, ``Is
it you, gentle maiden?'' which recalled her to herself,
and reminded her the sensations which she felt
were not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped,
but it was scarce audible; and the questions which
she asked the knight concerning his state of health
were put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe
answered her hastily that he was, in point of health,
as well, and better than he could have expected---
``Thanks,'' he said, ``dear Rebecca, to thy helpful
skill.''

``He calls me _dear_ Rebecca,'' said the maiden
to herself, ``but it is in the cold and careless tone
which ill suits the word. His war-horse---his hunting
hound, are dearer to him than the despised
Jewess!''

``My mind, gentle maiden,'' continued Ivanhoe,
``is more disturbed by anxiety, than my body with
pain. From the speeches of those men who were
my warders just now, I learn that I am a prisoner,
and, if I judge aright of the loud hoarse voice which
even now dispatched them hence on some military
duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Buf---If so,
how will this end, or how can I protect Rowena
and my father?''

``He names not the Jew or Jewess,'' said Rebecca
internally; ``yet what is our portion in him,
and how justly am I punished by Heaven for letting
my thoughts dwell upon him!'' She hastened
after this brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what
information she could; but it amounted only to
this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert, and the Baron
Front-de-Buf, were commanders within the
castle; that it was beleaguered from without, but
by whom she knew not. She added, that there was
a Christian priest within the castle who might be
possessed of more information.

``A Christian priest!'' said the knight, joyfully;
``fetch him hither, Rebecca, if thou canst---say a
sick man desires his ghostly counsel---say what thou
wilt, but bring him---something I must do or attempt,
but how can I determine until I know how
matters stand without?''

Rebecca in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe,
made that attempt to bring Cedric into the
wounded Knight's chamber, which was defeated as
we have already seen by the interference of Urfried,
who had also been on the watch to intercept the
supposed monk. Rebecca retired to communicate
to Ivanhoe the result of her errand.

They had not much leisure to regret the failure
of this source of intelligence, or to contrive by what
means it might be supplied; for the noise within
the castle, occasioned by the defensive preparations
which had been considerable for some time, now
increased into tenfold bustle and clamour. The
heavy, yet hasty step of the men-at-arms, traversed
the battlements or resounded on the narrow and
winding passages and stairs which led to the various
bartisans and points of defence. The voices of the
knights were heard, animating their followers, or
directing means of defence, while their commands
were often drowned in the clashing of armour, or
the clamorous shouts of those whom they addressed.
Tremendous as these sounds were, and yet more
terrible from the awful event which they presaged,
there was a sublimity mixed with them, which
Rebecca's high-toned mind could feel even in that
moment of terror. Her eye kindled, although the
blood fled from her cheeks; and there was a strong
mixture of fear, and of a thrilling sense of the sublime,
as she repeated, half whispering to herself,
half speaking to her companion, the sacred text,---
``The quiver rattleth---the glittering spear and the
shield---the noise of the captains and the shouting!''