Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

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But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime
passage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity,
and with his ardent desire to mingle in the
affray of which these sounds were the introduction.
``If I could but drag myself,'' he said, ``to yonder
window, that I might see how this brave game is
like to go---If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or
battle-axe to strike were it but a single blow for our
deliverance!---It is in vain---it is in vain---I am
alike nerveless and weaponless!''

``Fret not thyself, noble knight,'' answered Rebecca,
``the sounds have ceased of a sudden---it may
be they join not battle.''

``Thou knowest nought of it,'' said Wilfred,
impatiently; ``this dead pause only shows that the
men are at their posts on the walls, and expecting
an instant attack; what we have heard was but
the instant muttering of the storm---it will burst
anon in all its fury.---Could I but reach yonder
window!''

``Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt,
noble knight,'' replied his attendant. Observing
his extreme solicitude, she firmly added, ``I myself
will stand at the lattice, and describe to you as I
can what passes without.''

``You must not---you shall not!'' exclaimed
Ivanhoe; ``each lattice, each aperture, will be soon
a mark for the archers; some random shaft---''

``It shall be welcome!'' murmured Rebecca, as
with firm pace she ascended two or three steps,
which led to the window of which they spoke.

``Rebecca, dear Rebecca!'' exclaimed Ivanhoe,
``this is no maiden's pastime---do not expose thyself
to wounds and death, and render me for ever
miserable for having given the occasion; at least,
cover thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and show
as little of your person at the lattice as may be.''

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions
of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection
of the large ancient shield, which she placed
against the lower part of the window, Rebecca,
with tolerable security to herself, could witness part
of what was passing without the castle, and report
to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants
were making for the storm. Indeed the situation
which she thus obtained was peculiarly favourable
for this purpose, because, being placed on an angle
of the main building, Rebecca could not only see
what passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but
also commanded a view of the outwork likely to
be the first object of the meditated assault. It
was an exterior fortification of no great height or
strength, intended to protect the postern-gate,
through which Cedric had been recently dismissed
by Front-de-Buf. The castle moat divided this
species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so
that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to cut
off the communication with the main building, by
withdrawing the temporary bridge. In the outwork
was a sallyport corresponding to the postern
of the castle, and the whole was surrounded by a
strong palisade. Rebecca could observe, from the
number of men placed for the defence of this post,
that the besieged entertained apprehensions for its
safety; and from the mustering of the assailants in
a direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemed
no less plain that it had been selected as a vulnerable
point of attack.

These appearances she hastily communicated to
Ivanhoe, and added, ``The skirts of the wood seem
lined with archers, although only a few are advanced
from its dark shadow.''

``Under what banner?'' asked Ivanhoe.

``Under no ensign of war which I can observe,''
answered Rebecca.

``A singular novelty,'' muttered the knight, ``to
advance to storm such a castle without pennon or
banner displayed!---Seest thou who they be that
act as leaders?''

``A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most
conspicuous,'' said the Jewess; ``he alone is armed
from head to heel, and seems to assume the direction
of all around him.''

``What device does he bear on his shield?'' replied
Ivanhoe.

``Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock
painted blue on the black shield.''*

* The author has been here upbraided with false heraldry, as
* having charged metal upon metal. It should be remembered,
* however, that heraldry had only its first rude origin during the
* crusades, and that all the minuti of its fantastic science were
* the work of time, and introduced at a much later period. Those
* who think otherwise must suppose that the Goddess of _Armoirers_,
* like the Goddess of Arms, sprung into the world completely
* equipped in all the gaudy trappings of the department she
* presides over.

``A fetterlock and shacklebolt azure,'' said Ivanhoe;
``I know not who may bear the device, but
well I ween it might now be mine own. Canst thou
not see the motto?''

``Scarce the device itself at this distance,'' replied
Rebecca; ``but when the sun glances fair upon his
shield, it shows as I tell you.''

``Seem there no other leaders?'' exclaimed the
anxious enquirer.

``None of mark and distinction that I can behold
from this station,'' said Rebecca; ``but, doubtless,
the other side of the castle is also assailed. They
appear even now preparing to advance---God of
Zion, protect us!---What a dreadful sight!---Those
who advance first bear huge shields and defences
made of plank; the others follow, bending their
bows as they come on.---They raise their bows!---
God of Moses, forgive the creatures thou hast
made!''

Her description was here suddenly interrupted
by the signal for assault, which was given by the
blast of a shrill bugle, and at once answered by a
flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements,
which, mingled with the deep and hollow
clang of the nakers, (a species of kettle-drum,) retorted
in notes of defiance the challenge of the enemy.
The shouts of both parties augmented the
fearful din, the assailants crying, ``Saint George
for merry England!'' and the Normans answering
them with loud cries of ``_En avant De Bracy!
---Beau-seant! Beau-seant!---Front-de-Buf la
rescousse!'' according to the war-cries of their different
commanders.

It was not, however, by clamour that the contest
was to be decided, and the desperate efforts of the
assailants were met by an equally vigorous defence
on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained
by their woodland pastimes to the most effective
use of the long-bow, shot, to use the appropriate
phrase of the time, so ``wholly together,'' that no
point at which a defender could show the least part
of his person, escaped their cloth-yard shafts. By
this heavy discharge, which continued as thick and
sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every arrow
had its individual aim, and flew by scores together
against each embrasure and opening in the parapets,
as well as at every window where a defender either
occasionally had post, or might be suspected to be
stationed,---by this sustained discharge, two or three
of the garrison were slain, and several others wounded.
But, confident in their armour of proof, and in
the cover which their situation afforded, the followers
of Front-de-Buf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy
in defence proportioned to the fury of the
attack and replied with the discharge of their large
cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings,
and other missile weapons, to the close and continued
shower of arrows; and, as the assailants were
necessarily but indifferently protected, did considerably
more damage than they received at their hand.
The whizzing of shafts and of missiles, on both
sides, was only interrupted by the shouts which
arose when either side inflicted or sustained some
notable loss.

``And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,''
exclaimed Ivanhoe, ``while the game that gives me
freedom or death is played out by the hand of
others!---Look from the window once again, kind
maiden, but beware that you are not marked by
the archers beneath---Look out once more, and tell
me if they yet advance to the storm.''

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval
which she had employed in mental devotion,
Rebecca again took post at the lattice, sheltering
herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath.

``What dost thou see, Rebecca?'' again demanded
the wounded knight.

``Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick
as to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen
who shoot them.''

``That cannot endure,'' said Ivanhoe; ``if they
press not right on to carry the castle by pure force
of arms, the archery may avail but little against
stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight
of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he
bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers
be.''

``I see him not,'' said Rebecca.

``Foul craven!'' exclaimed Ivanhoe; ``does he
blench from the helm when the wind blows highest?''

``He blenches not! he blenches not!'' said Rebecca,
``I see him now; he leads a body of men
close under the outer barrier of the barbican.*---

* Every Gothic castle and city had, beyond the outer-walls,
* a fortification composed of palisades, called the barriers, which
* were often the scene of severe skirmishes, as these must necessarily
* be carried before the walls themselves could be approached.
* Many of those valiant feats of arms which adorn the chivalrous
* pages of Froissart took place at the barriers of besieged
* places.

They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew
down the barriers with axes.---His high black plume
floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the
field of the slain.---They have made a breach in the
barriers---they rush in---they are thrust back!---
Front-de-Buf heads the defenders; I see his gigantic
form above the press. They throng again to
the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand,
and man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meeting
of two fierce tides---the conflict of two oceans moved
by adverse winds!''

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable
longer to endure a sight so terrible.

``Look forth again, Rebecca,'' said Ivanhoe,
mistaking the cause of her retiring; ``the archery
must in some degree have ceased, since they are
now fighting hand to hand.---Look again, there is
now less danger.''

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately
exclaimed, ``Holy prophets of the law!
Front-de-Buf and the Black Knight fight hand to
hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers,
who watch the progress of the strife---Heaven
strike with the cause of the oppressed and of the
captive!'' She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed,
``He is down!---he is down!''

``Who is down?'' cried Ivanhoe; ``for our dear
Lady's sake, tell me which has fallen?''

``The Black Knight,'' answered Rebecca, faintly;
then instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness---
``But no---but no!---the name of the Lord
of Hosts be blessed!---he is on foot again, and
fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his
single arm---His sword is broken---he snatches an
axe from a yeoman---he presses Front-de-Buf
with blow on blow---The giant stoops and totters
like an oak under the steel of the woodman---he
falls---he falls!''

``Front-de-Buf?'' exclaimed Ivanhoe.

``Front-de-Buf!'' answered the Jewess; ``his
men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty
Templar---their united force compels the champion
to pause---They drag Front-de-Buf within the
walls.''

``The assailants have won the barriers, have they
not?'' said Ivanhoe.

``They have---they have!'' exclaimed Rebecca---
``and they press the besieged hard upon the outer
wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees,
and endeavour to ascend upon the shoulders of each
other---down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees
upon their heads, and as fast as they bear the
wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places
in the assault---Great God! hast thou given men
thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced
by the hands of their brethren!''

``Think not of that,'' said Ivanhoe; ``this is no
time for such thoughts---Who yield?---who push
their way?''

``The ladders are thrown down,'' replied Rebecca,
shuddering; ``the soldiers lie grovelling under
them like crushed reptiles---The besieged have the
better.''

``Saint George strike for us!'' exclaimed the
knight; ``do the false yeomen give way?''

``No!'' exclaimed Rebecca, ``they bear themselves
right yeomanly---the Black Knight approaches
the postern with his huge axe---the thundering
blows which he deals, you may hear them
above all the din and shouts of the battle---Stones
and beams are hailed down on the bold champion---
he regards them no more than if they were thistle-down
or feathers!''

``By Saint John of Acre,'' said Ivanhoe, raising
himself joyfully on his couch, ``methought there
was but one man in England that might do such a
deed!''

``The postern gate shakes,'' continued Rebecca;
``it crashes---it is splintered by his blows---they
rush in---the outwork is won---Oh, God!---they
hurl the defenders from the battlements---they
throw them into the moat---O men, if ye be indeed
men, spare them that can resist no longer!''

``The bridge---the bridge which communicates
with the castle---have they won that pass?'' exclaimed
Ivanhoe.

``No,'' replied Rebecca, ``The Templar has destroyed
the plank on which they crossed---few of
the defenders escaped with him into the castle---
the shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate
of the others---Alas!---I see it is still more difficult
to look upon victory than upon battle.''

``What do they now, maiden?'' said Ivanhoe;
``look forth yet again---this is no time to faint at
bloodshed.''

``It is over for the time,'' answered Rebecca; ``our
friends strengthen themselves within the outwork
which they have mastered, and it affords them so
good a shelter from the foemen's shot, that the garrison
only bestow a few bolts on it from interval to
interval, as if rather to disquiet than effectually to
injure them.''

``Our friends,'' said Wilfred, ``will surely not
abandon an enterprise so gloriously begun and so
happily attained.---O no! I will put my faith in the
good knight whose axe hath rent heart-of-oak and
bars of iron.---Singular,'' he again muttered to himself,
``if there be two who can do a deed of such
_derring-do!_*---a fetterlock, and a shacklebolt on

* _Derring-do_---desperate courage.

a field sable---what may that mean?---seest thou
nought else, Rebecca, by which the Black Knight
may be distinguished?''

``Nothing,'' said the Jewess; ``all about him is
black as the wing of the night raven. Nothing can
I spy that can mark him further---but having once
seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks
I could know him again among a thousand warriors.
He rushes to the fray as if he were summoned to
a banquet. There is more than mere strength,
there seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the
champion were given to every blow which he deals
upon his enemies. God assoilzie him of the sin of
bloodshed!---it is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold
bow the arm and heart of one man can triumph
over hundreds.''

``Rebecca,'' said Ivanhoe, ``thou hast painted a
hero; surely they rest but to refresh their force, or
to provide the means of crossing the moat---Under
such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be,
there are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays,
no yielding up a gallant emprize; since the difficulties
which render it arduous render it also glorious.
I swear by the honour of my house---I vow by the
name of my bright lady-love, I would endure ten
years' captivity to fight one day by that good
knight's side in such a quarrel as this!''

``Alas,'' said Rebecca, leaving her station at the
window, and approaching the couch of the wounded
knight, ``this impatient yearning after action---
this struggling with and repining at your present
weakness, will not fail to injure your returning
health---How couldst thou hope to inflict wounds
on others, ere that be healed which thou thyself
hast received?''

``Rebecca,'' he replied, ``thou knowest not how
impossible it is for one trained to actions of chivalry
to remain passive as a priest, or a woman,
when they are acting deeds of honour around him.
The love of battle is the food upon which we live
---the dust of the _mle_ is the breath of our nostrils!
We live not---we wish not to live---longer
than while we are victorious and renowned---Such,
maiden, are the laws of chivalry to which we are
sworn, and to which we offer all that we hold dear.''

``Alas!'' said the fair Jewess, ``and what is it,
valiant knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon
of vain glory, and a passing through the fire
to Moloch?---What remains to you as the prize of
all the blood you have spilled---of all the travail
and pain you have endured---of all the tears which
your deeds have caused, when death hath broken
the strong man's spear, and overtaken the speed of
his war-horse?''

``What remains?'' cried Ivanhoe; ``Glory,
maiden, glory! which gilds our sepulchre and embalms
our name.''

``Glory?'' continued Rebecca; ``alas, is the
rusted mail which hangs as a hatchment over the
champion's dim and mouldering tomb---is the defaced
sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant
monk can hardly read to the enquiring pilgrim
---are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice of
every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably
that ye may make others miserable? Or is there
such virtue in the rude rhymes of a wandering bard,
that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and happiness,
are so wildly bartered, to become the hero
of those ballads which vagabond minstrels sing to
drunken churls over their evening ale?''

``By the soul of Hereward?'' replied the knight
impatiently, ``thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowest
not what. Thou wouldst quench the pure light
of chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noble
from the base, the gentle knight from the churl and
the savage; which rates our life far, far beneath
the pitch of our honour; raises us victorious over
pain, toil, and suffering, and teaches us to fear no,
evil but disgrace. Thou art no Christian, Rebecca;
and to thee are unknown those high feelings which
swell the bosom of a noble maiden when her lover
hath done some deed of emprize which sanctions
his flame. Chivalry!---why, maiden, she is the nurse
of pure and high affection---the stay of the oppressed,
the redresser of grievances, the curb of the
power of the tyrant---Nobility were but an empty
name without her, and liberty finds the best protection
in her lance and her sword.''

``I am, indeed,'' said Rebecca, ``sprung from a
race whose courage was distinguished in the defence
of their own land, but who warred not, even while
yet a nation, save at the command of the Deity, or
in defending their country from oppression. The
sound of the trumpet wakes Judah no longer, and
her despised children are now but the unresisting
victims of hostile and military oppression. Well
hast thou spoken, Sir Knight,---until the God of
Jacob shall raise up for his chosen people a second
Gideon, or a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth the
Jewish damsel to speak of battle or of war.''

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument
in a tone of sorrow, which deeply expressed
her sense of the degradation of her people, embittered
perhaps by the idea that Ivanhoe considered
her as one not entitled to interfere in a case of
honour, and incapable of entertaining or expressing
sentiments of honour and generosity.

``How little he knows this bosom,'' she said, ``to
imagine that cowardice or meanness of soul must
needs be its guests, because I have censured the
fantastic chivalry of the Nazarenes! Would to
heaven that the shedding of mine own blood, drop
by drop, could redeem the captivity of Judah! Nay,
would to God it could avail to set free my father,
and this his benefactor, from the chains of the oppressor!
The proud Christian should then see whether
the daughter of God's chosen people dared not
to die as bravely as the vainest Nazarene maiden,
that boasts her descent from some petty chieftain
of the rude and frozen north!''

She then looked towards the couch of the wounded
knight.

``He sleeps,'' she said; ``nature exhausted by
sufferance and the waste of spirits, his wearied
frame embraces the first moment of temporary relaxation
to sink into slumber. Alas! is it a crime
that I should look upon him, when it may be for
the last time?---When yet but a short space, and
those fair features will be no longer animated by
the bold and buoyant spirit which forsakes them not
even in sleep!---When the nostril shall be distended,
the mouth agape, the eyes fixed and bloodshot;
and when the proud and noble knight may be trodden
on by the lowest caitiff of this accursed castle,
yet stir not when the heel is lifted up against him!
---And my father!---oh, my father! evil is it with
his daughter, when his grey hairs are not remembered
because of the golden locks of youth!---
What know I but that these evils are the messengers
of Jehovah's wrath to the unnatural child, who
thinks of a stranger's captivity before a parent's?
who forgets the desolation of Judah, and looks upon
the comeliness of a Gentile and a stranger?---
But I will tear this folly from my heart, though
every fibre bleed as I rend it away!''

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat
down at a distance from the couch of the wounded
knight, with her back turned towards it, fortifying,
or endeavouring to fortify her mind, not only against
the impending evils from without, but also against
those treacherous feelings which assailed her from
within.

Addition to Note attached to page **.

In corroboration of what is above stated in Note at page **, it
may be observed, that the arms, which were assumed by Godfrey
of Boulogne himself, after the conquest of Jerusalem, was
a cross counter patent cantoned with four little crosses or, upon
a field azure, displaying thus metal upon metal. The heralds
have tried to explain this undeniable fact in different modes---
but Ferne gallantly contends, that a prince of Godfrey's qualities
should not be bound by the ordinary rules. The Scottish
Nisbet, and the same Ferne, insist that the chiefs of the Crusade
must have assigned to Godfrey this extraordinary and unwonted
coat-of-arms, in order to induce those who should behold them
to make enquiries; and hence give them the name of _arma inquirenda_.
But with reverence to these grave authorities, it
seems unlikely that the assembled princes of Europe should
have adjudged to Godfrey a coat armorial so much contrary to
the general rule, if such rule had then existed; at any rate, it
proves that metal upon metal, now accounted a solecism in heraldry,
was admitted in other cases similar to that in the text.
See Ferne's _Blazon of Gentrie_, p. 238. Edition 1586. Nisbet's
_Heraldry_, vol. i. p. 113. Second Edition.

CHAPTER XXX

Approach the chamber, look upon his bed.
His is the passing of no peaceful ghost,
Which, as the lark arises to the sky,
'Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest dew,
Is wing'd to heaven by good men's sighs and tears!---
Anselm parts otherwise.
_Old Play._

During the interval of quiet which followed the
first success of the besiegers, while the one party
was preparing to pursue their advantage, and the
other to strengthen their means of defence, the
Templar and De Bracy held brief council together
in the hall of the castle.

``Where is Front-de-Buf?'' said the latter,
who had superintended the defence of the fortress
on the other side; ``men say he hath been slain.''

``He lives,'' said the Templar, coolly, ``lives as
yet; but had he worn the bull's head of which he
bears the name, and ten plates of iron to fence it
withal, he must have gone down before yonder fatal
axe. Yet a few hours, and Front-de-Buf is with
his fathers---a powerful limb lopped off Prince
John's enterprise.''

``And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,''
said De Bracy; ``this comes of reviling saints and
angels, and ordering images of holy things and holy
men to be flung down on the heads of these rascaille
yeomen.''

``Go to---thou art a fool,'' said the Templar;
``thy superstition is upon a level with Front-de-Buf's
want of faith; neither of you can render a
reason for your belief or unbelief.''

``Benedicite, Sir Templar,'' replied De Bracy,
``pray you to keep better rule with your tongue
when I am the theme of it. By the Mother of
Heaven, I am a better Christian man than thou and
thy fellowship; for the _bruit_ goeth shrewdly out,
that the most holy Order of the Temple of Zion
nurseth not a few heretics within its bosom, and
that Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is of the number.''

``Care not thou for such reports,'' said the Templar;
``but let us think of making good the castle.
---How fought these villain yeomen on thy side?''

``Like fiends incarnate,'' said De Bracy. ``They
swanned close up to the walls, headed, as I think,
by the knave who won the prize at the archery, for
I knew his horn and baldric. And this is old
Fitzurse's boasted policy, encouraging these malapert
knaves to rebel against us! Had I not been
armed in proof, the villain had marked me down
seven times with as little remorse as if I had been
a buck in season. He told every rivet on my armour
with a cloth-yard shaft, that rapped against
my ribs with as little compunction as if my bones
had been of iron---But that I wore a shirt of Spanish
mail under my plate-coat, I had been fairly
sped.''