Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

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When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar's
eyes bent on her with an ardour, that, compared
with the dark caverns under which they moved,
gave them the effect of lighted charcoal, she drew
with dignity the veil around her face, as an intimation
that the determined freedom of his glance
was disagreeable. Cedric saw the motion and its
cause. ``Sir Templar,'' said he, ``the cheeks of
our Saxon maidens have seen too little of the sun
to enable them to bear the fixed glance of a crusader.''

``If I have offended,'' replied Sir Brian, ``I crave
your pardon,---that is, I crave the Lady Rowena's
pardon,---for my humility will carry me no lower.''

``The Lady Rowena,'' said the Prior, ``has
punished us all, in chastising the boldness of my
friend. Let me hope she will be less cruel to the
splendid train which are to meet at the tournament.''

``Our going thither,'' said Cedric, ``is uncertain.
I love not these vanities, which were unknown to
my fathers when England was free.''

``Let us hope, nevertheless,'' said the Prior, ``our
company may determine you to travel thitherward;
when the roads are so unsafe, the escort of Sir
Brian de Bois-Guilbert is not to be despised.''

``Sir Prior,'' answered the Saxon, ``wheresoever
I have travelled in this land, I have hitherto found
myself, with the assistance of my good sword and
faithful followers, in no respect needful of other
aid. At present, if we indeed journey to Ashby-de-la-Zouche,
we do so with my noble neighbour
and countryman Athelstane of Coningsburgh, and
with such a train as would set outlaws and feudal
enemies at defiance.---I drink to you, Sir Prior,
in this cup of wine, which I trust your taste will
approve, and I thank you for your courtesy. Should
you be so rigid in adhering to monastic rule,'' he
added, ``as to prefer your acid preparation of milk,
I hope you will not strain courtesy to do me reason.''

``Nay,'' said the Priest, laughing, ``it is only in
our abbey that we confine ourselves to the _lac dulce_
or the _lac acidum_ either. Conversing with, the
world, we use the world's fashions, and therefore
I answer your pledge in this honest wine, and leave
the weaker liquor to my lay-brother.''

``And I,'' said the Templar, filling his goblet,
``drink wassail to the fair Rowena; for since her
namesake introduced the word into England, has
never been one more worthy of such a tribute. By
my faith, I could pardon the unhappy Vortigern,
had he half the cause that we now witness, for
making shipwreck of his honour and his kingdom.''

``I will spare your courtesy, Sir Knight,'' said
Rowena with dignity, and without unveiling herself;
``or rather I will tax it so far as to require
of you the latest news from Palestine, a theme
more agreeable to our English ears than the compliments
which your French breeding teaches.''

``I have little of importance to say, lady,'' answered
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ``excepting the
confirmed tidings of a truce with Saladin.''

He was interrupted by Wamba, who had taken
his appropriated seat upon a chair, the back of
which was decorated with two ass's ears, and which
was placed about two steps behind that of his master,
who, from time to time, supplied him with victuals
from his own trencher; a favour, however,
which the Jester shared with the favourite dogs,
of whom, as we have already noticed, there were
several in attendance. Here sat Wamba, with a
small table before him, his heels tucked up against
the bar of the chair, his cheeks sucked up so as to
make his jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers, and
his eyes half-shut, yet watching with alertness every
opportunity to exercise his licensed foolery.

``These truces with the infidels,'' he exclaimed,
without caring how suddenly he interrupted the
stately Templar, ``make an old man of me!''

``Go to, knave, how so?'' said Cedric, his features
prepared to receive favourably the expected
jest.

``Because,'' answered Wamba, ``I remember
three of them in my day, each of which was to endure
for the course of fifty years; so that, by computation,
I must be at least a hundred and fifty
years old.''

``I will warrant you against dying of old age,
however,'' said the Templar, who now recognised
his friend of the forest; ``I will assure you from
all deaths but a violent one, if you give such directions
to wayfarers, as you did this night to the
Prior and me.''

``How, sirrah!'' said Cedric, ``misdirect travellers?
We must have you whipt; you are at least
as much rogue as fool.''

``I pray thee, uncle,'' answered the Jester, ``let
my folly, for once, protect my roguery. I did but
make a mistake between my right hand and my
left; and he might have pardoned a greater, who
took a fool for his counsellor and guide.''

Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance
of the porter's page, who announced that
there was a stranger at the gate, imploring admittance
and hospitality,

``Admit him,'' said Cedric, ``be he who or what
he may;---a night like that which roars without,
compels even wild animals to herd with tame,
and to seek the protection of man, their mortal foe,
rather than perish by the elements. Let his wants
be ministered to with all care---look to it, Oswald.''

And the steward left the banqueting hall to see
the commands of his patron obeyed.

CHAPTER V

Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs,
dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with
the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject
to the same diseases, healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer,
as a Christian is?
_Merchant of Venice_.

Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear of
his master, ``It is a Jew, who calls himself Isaac
of York; is it fit I should marshall him into the
hall?''
``Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,'' said Wamba
with his usual effrontery; ``the swineherd will
be a fit usher to the Jew.''

``St Mary,'' said the Abbot, crossing himself,
``an unbelieving Jew, and admitted into this presence!''

``A dog Jew,'' echoed the Templar, ``to approach
a defender of the Holy Sepulchre?''

``By my faith,'' said Wamba, ``it would seem
the Templars love the Jews' inheritance better than
they do their company.''

``Peace, my worthy guests,'' said Cedric; ``my
hospitality must not be bounded by your dislikes.
If Heaven bore with the whole nation of stiff-necked
unbelievers for more years than a layman can number,
we may endure the presence of one Jew for a
few hours. But I constrain no man to converse or
to feed with him.---Let him have a board and a
morsel apart,---unless,'' he said smiling, ``these
turban'd strangers will admit his society.''

``Sir Franklin,'' answered the Templar, ``my
Saracen slaves are true Moslems, and scorn as much
as any Christian to hold intercourse with a Jew.''

``Now, in faith,'' said Wamba, ``I cannot see
that the worshippers of Mahound and Termagaunt
have so greatly the advantage over the people once
chosen of Heaven.''

``He shall sit with thee, Wamba,'' said Cedric;
``the fool and the knave will be well met.''

``The fool,'' answered Wamba, raising the relics
of a gammon of bacon, ``will take care to erect a
bulwark against the knave.''

``Hush,'' said Cedric, ``for here he comes.''

Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing
with fear and hesitation, and many a bow of deep
humility, a tall thin old man, who, however, had
lost by the habit of stooping much of his actual
height, approached the lower end of the board. His
features, keen and regular, with an aquiline nose,
and piercing black eyes; his high and wrinkled
forehead, and long grey hair and beard, would have
been considered as handsome, had they not been the
marks of a physiognomy peculiar to a race, which,
during those dark ages, was alike detested by the
credulous and prejudiced vulgar, and persecuted by
the greedy and rapacious nobility, and who, perhaps,
owing to that very hatred and persecution,
had adopted a national character, in which there
was much, to say the least, mean and unamiable.

The Jew's dress, which appeared to have suffered
considerably from the storm, was a plain russet
cloak of many folds, covering a dark purple tunic.
He had large boots lined with fur, and a belt around
his waist, which sustained a small knife, together
with a case for writing materials, but no weapon.
He wore a high square yellow cap of a peculiar
fashion, assigned to his nation to distinguish them
from Christians, and which he doffed with great
humility at the door of the hall.

The reception of this person in the ball of Cedric
the Saxon, was such as might have satisfied
the most prejudiced enemy of the tribes of Israel.
Cedric himself coldly nodded in answer to the Jew's
repeated salutations, and signed to him to take
place at the lower end of the table, where, however,
no one offered to make room for him. On the contrary,
as he passed along the file, casting a timid
supplicating glance, and turning towards each of
those who occupied the lower end of the board, the
Saxon domestics squared their shoulders, and continued
to devour their supper with great perseverance,
paying not the least attention to the wants
of the new guest. The attendants of the Abbot
crossed themselves, with looks of pious horror, and
the very heathen Saracens, as Isaac drew near them,
curled up their whiskers with indignation, and laid
their hands on their poniards, as if ready to rid
themselves by the most desperate means from the
apprehended contamination of his nearer approach.

Probably the same motives which induced Cedric
to open his hall to this son of a rejected people,
would have made him insist on his attendants
receiving Isaac with more courtesy. But the Abbot
had, at this moment, engaged him in a most
interesting discussion on the breed and character
of his favourite hounds, which he would not have
interrupted for matters of much greater importance
than that of a Jew going to bed supperless. While
Isaac thus stood an outcast in the present society,
like his people among the nations, looking in vain
for welcome or resting place, the pilgrim who sat
by the chimney took compassion upon him, and resigned
his seat, saying briefly, ``Old man, my garments
are dried, my hunger is appeased, thou art
both wet and fasting.'' So saying, he gathered together,
and brought to a flame, the decaying brands
which lay scattered on the ample hearth; took from
the larger board a mess of pottage and seethed kid,
placed it upon the small table at which he had himself
supped, and, without waiting the Jew's thanks,
went to the other side of the hall;---whether from
unwillingness to hold more close communication
with the object of his benevolence, or from a wish
to draw near to the upper end of the table, seemed
uncertain.

Had there been painters in those days capable
to execute such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his
withered form, and expanded his chilled and trembling
hands over the fire, would have formed no
bad emblematical personification of the Winter season.
Having dispelled the cold, he turned eagerly
to the smoking mess which was placed before him,
and ate with a haste and an apparent relish, that
seemed to betoken long abstinence from food.

Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued their
discourse upon hunting; the Lady Rowena seemed
engaged in conversation with one of her attendant
females; and the haughty Templar, whose eye
wandered from the Jew to the Saxon beauty, revolved
in his mind thoughts which appeared deeply
to interest him.

``I marvel, worthy Cedric,'' said the Abbot, as
their discourse proceeded, ``that, great as your predilection
is for your own manly language, you do
not receive the Norman-French into your favour,
so far at least as the mystery of wood-craft and
hunting is concerned. Surely no tongue is so rich
in the various phrases which the field-sports demand,
or furnishes means to the experienced woodman
so well to express his jovial art.''

`Good Father Aymer,'' said the Saxon, ``be it
known to you, I care not for those over-sea refinements,
without which I can well enough take my
pleasure in the woods. I can wind my horn, though
I call not the blast either a _recheate_ or a _morte_---I
can cheer my dogs on the prey, and I can flay and
quarter the animal when it is brought down, without
using the newfangled jargon of _curee, arbor,
nombles_, and all the babble of the fabulous Sir Tristrem.''*

* There was no language which the Normans more formally
* separated from that of common life than the terms of the chase.
* The objects of their pursuit, whether bird or animal, changed
* their name each year, and there were a hundred conventional
* terms, to be ignorant of which was to be without one of the distinguishing
* marks of a gentleman. The reader may consult Dame
* Juliana Berners' book on the subject. The origin of this science
* was imputed to the celebrated Sir Tristrem, famous for his tragic
* intrigue with the beautiful Ysolte. As the Normans reserved
* the amusement of hunting strictly to themselves, the terms
* of this formal jargon were all taken from the French language.
``The French,'' said the Templar, raising his
voice with the presumptuous and authoritative tone
which he used upon all occasions, ``is not only the
natural language of the chase, but that of love and
of war, in which ladies should be won and enemies
defied.''

``Pledge me in a cup of wine, Sir Templar,''
said Cedric, ``and fill another to the Abbot, while
I look back some thirty years to tell you another
tale. As Cedric the Saxon then was, his plain English
tale needed no garnish from French troubadours,
when it was told in the ear of beauty; and
the field of Northallerton, upon the day of the Holy
Standard, could tell whether the Saxon war-cry was
not heard as far within the ranks of the Scottish host
as the _cri de guerre_ of the boldest Norman baron.
To the memory of the brave who fought there!---
Pledge me, my guests.'' He drank deep, and went
on with increasing warmth. ``Ay, that was a day
of cleaving of shields, when a hundred banners were
bent forwards over the heads of the valiant, and
blood flowed round like water, and death was held
better than flight. A Saxon bard had called it a
feast of the swords---a gathering of the eagles to
the prey---the clashing of bills upon shield and helmet,
the shouting of battle more joyful than the
clamour of a bridal. But our bards are no more,''
he said; ``our deeds are lost in those of another
race---our language---our very name---is hastening
to decay, and none mourns for it save one solitary
old man---Cupbearer! knave, fill the goblets---To
the strong in arms, Sir Templar, be their race or
language what it will, who now bear them best in
Palestine among the champions of the Cross!''

``It becomes not one wearing this badge to answer,''
said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert; ``yet to
whom, besides the sworn Champions of the Holy
Sepulchre, can the palm be assigned among the
champions of the Cross?''

``To the Knights Hospitallers,'' said the Abbot;
``I have a brother of their order.''

``I impeach not their fame,'' said the Templar;
``nevertheless------''

``I think, friend Cedric,'' said Wamba, interfering,
``that had Richard of the Lion's Heart
been wise enough to have taken a fool's advice, he
might have staid at home with his merry Englishmen,
and left the recovery of Jerusalem to those
same Knights who had most to do with the loss of
it.''
``Were there, then, none in the English army,''
said the Lady Rowena, ``whose names are worthy
to be mentioned with the Knights of the Temple,
and of St John?''

`` Forgive me, lady,'' replied De Bois-Guilbert;
``the English monarch did, indeed, bring to Palestine
a host of gallant warriors, second only to those
whose breasts have been the unceasing bulwark of
that blessed land.''

``Second to =none=,'' said the Pilgrim, who had
stood near enough to hear, and had listened to this
conversation with marked impatience. All turned
toward the spot from whence this unexpected asseveration
was heard. ``I say,'' repeated the Pilgrim
in a firm and strong voice, ``that the English
chivalry were second to =none= who ever drew sword
in defence of the Holy Land. I say besides, for I
saw it, that King Richard himself, and five of his
knights, held a tournament after the taking of St
John-de-Acre, as challengers against all comers. I
say that, on that day, each knight ran three courses,
and cast to the ground three antagonists. I add,
that seven of these assailants were Knights of the
Temple---and Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert well
knows the truth of what I tell you.''

It is impossible for language to describe the
bitter scowl of rage which rendered yet darker the
swarthy countenance of the Templar. In the extremity
of his resentment and confusion, his quivering
fingers griped towards the handle of his
sword, and perhaps only withdrew, from the consciousness
that no act of violence could be safely
executed in that place and presence. Cedric, whose
feelings were all of a right onward and simple kind,
and were seldom occupied by more than one object
at once, omitted, in the joyous glee with which be
heard of the glory of his countrymen, to remark the
angry confusion of his guest; ``I would give thee
this golden bracelet, Pilgrim,'' he said, ``couldst thou
tell me the names of those knights who upheld so
gallantly the renown of merry England.''

``That will I do blithely,'' replied the Pilgrim,
``and without guerdon; my oath, for a time, prohibits
me from touching gold.''

``I will wear the bracelet for you, if you will,
friend Palmer,'' said Wamba.

``The first in honour as in arms, in renown as
in place,'' said the Pilgrim, ``was the brave Richard,
King of England.''
``I forgive him,'' said Cedric; ``I forgive him
his descent from the tyrant Duke William.''

``The Earl of Leicester was the second,'' continued
the Pilgrim; ``Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland
was the third.''

``Of Saxon descent, he at least,'' said Cedric,
with exultation.

``Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,'' proceeded the
Pilgrim.

``Saxon also, at least by the mother's side,'' continued
Cedric, who listened with the utmost eagerness,
and forgot, in part at least, his hatred to the
Normans, in the common triumph of the King of
England and his islanders. ``And who was the
fifth?'' he demanded.

``The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham.''

``Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist!''
shouted Cedric---``And the sixth?'' he continued
with eagerness---``how name you the sixth?''

``The sixth,'' said the Palmer, after a pause, in
which he seemed to recollect himself, ``was a young
knight of lesser renown and lower rank, assumed
into that honourable company, less to aid their enterprise
than to make up their number---his name
dwells not in my memory.''

``Sir Palmer,'' said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert
scornfully, ``this assumed forgetfulness, after so
much has been remembered, comes too late to serve
your purpose. I will myself tell the name of the
knight before whose lance fortune and my horse's
fault occasioned my falling---it was the Knight of
Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six that, for his
years, had more renown in arms.---Yet this will I
say, and loudly---that were he in England, and
durst repeat, in this week's tournament, the challenge
of St John-de-Acre, I, mounted and armed as
I now am, would give him every advantage of weapons,
and abide the result.''

``Your challenge would soon be answered,'' replied
the Palmer, ``were your antagonist near you.
As the matter is, disturb not the peaceful hall with
vaunts of the issue of the conflict, which you well
know cannot take place. If Ivanhoe ever returns
from Palestine, I will be his surety that he meets
you.''

``A goodly security!'' said the Knight Templar;
``and what do you proffer as a pledge?''

``This reliquary,'' said the Palmer, taking a small
ivory box from his bosom, and crossing himself,
``containing a portion of the true cross, brought
from the Monastery of Mount Carmel.''

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated
a pater noster, in which all devoutly joined,
excepting the Jew, the Mahomedans, and the Templar;
the latter of whom, without vailing his bonnet,
or testifying any reverence for the alleged sanctity
of the relic, took from his neck a gold chain,
which he flung on the board, saying---``Let Prior
Aymer hold my pledge and that of this nameless
vagrant, in token that when the Knight of Ivanhoe
comes within the four seas of Britain, he underlies
the challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if
he answer not, I will proclaim him as a coward on
the walls of every Temple Court in Europe.''

``It will not need,'' said the Lady Rowena, breaking
silence; ``My voice shall be heard, if no other
in this hall is raised in behalf of the absent Ivanhoe.
I affirm he will meet fairly every honourable challenge.
Could my weak warrant add security to the
inestimable pledge of this holy pilgrim, I would
pledge name and fame that Ivanhoe gives this proud
knight the meeting he desires.''

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have
occupied Cedric, and kept him silent during this
discussion. Gratified pride, resentment, embarrassment,
chased each other over his broad and open
brow, like the shadow of clouds drifting over a harvest-field;
while his attendants, on whom the name
of the sixth knight seemed to produce an effect
almost electrical, hung in suspense upon their master's
looks. But when Rowena spoke, the sound of
her voice seemed to startle him from his silence.

``Lady,'' said Cedric, ``this beseems not; were
further pledge necessary, I myself, offended, and
justly offended, as I am, would yet gage my honour
for the honour of Ivanhoe. But the wager of battle
is complete, even according to the fantastic fashions
of Norman chivalry---Is it not, Father Aymer?''

``It is,'' replied the Prior; ``and the blessed
relic and rich chain will I bestow safely in the
treasury of our convent, until the decision of this,
warlike challenge.''

Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and
again, and after many genuflections and muttered
prayers, he delivered the reliquary to Brother Ambrose,
his attendant monk, while he himself swept
up with less ceremony, but perhaps with no less
internal satisfaction, the golden chain, and bestowed
it in a pouch lined with perfumed leather, which
opened under his arm. ``And now, Sir Cedric,'' he
said, ``my ears are chiming vespers with the strength
of your good wine---permit us another pledge to
the welfare of the Lady Rowena, and indulge us
with liberty to pass to our repose.''

``By the rood of Bromholme,'' said the Saxon,
``you do but small credit to your fame, Sir Prior!
Report speaks you a bonny monk, that would hear
the matin chime ere he quitted his bowl; and, old
as I am, I feared to have shame in encountering
you. But, by my faith, a Saxon boy of twelve, in
my time, would not so soon have relinquished his
goblet.''

The Prior had his own reasons, however, for persevering
in the course of temperance which he had
adopted. He was not only a professional peacemaker,
but from practice a hater of all feuds and
brawls. It was not altogether from a love to his
neighbour, or to himself, or from a mixture of both.
On the present occasion, he had an instinctive apprehension
of the fiery temper of the Saxon, and
saw the danger that the reckless and presumptuous
spirit, of which his companion had already given
so many proofs, might at length produce some disagreeable
explosion. He therefore gently insinuated
the incapacity of the native of any other country
to engage in the genial conflict of the bowl with the
hardy and strong-headed Saxons; something he
mentioned, but slightly, about his own holy character,
and ended by pressing his proposal to depart
to repose.

The grace-cup was accordingly served round, and
the guests, after making deep obeisance to their
landlord and to the Lady Rowena, arose and mingled
in the hall, while the heads of the family, by
separate doors, retired with their attendants.

``Unbelieving dog,'' said the Templar to Isaac
the Jew, as he passed him in the throng, ``dost
thou bend thy course to the tournament?''

``I do so propose,'' replied Isaac, bowing in all
humility, ``if it please your reverend valour.''

``Ay,'' said the Knight, ``to gnaw the bowels of
our nobles with usury, and to gull women and boys
with gauds and toys---I warrant thee store of shekels
in thy Jewish scrap.''
``Not a shekel, not a silver penny, not a halfling---
so help me the God of Abraham!'' said the
Jew, clasping his hands; ``I go but to seek the
assistance of some brethren of my tribe to aid me
to pay the fine which the Exchequer of the Jews*

* In those days the Jews were subjected to an Exchequer,
* specially dedicated to that purpose, and which laid them under
* the most exorbitant impositions.---L. T.

have imposed upon me---Father Jacob be my speed!
I am an impoverished wretch---the very gaberdine
I wear is borrowed from Reuben of Tadcaster.''