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Edward Gibbon - "The History of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire"

Elbert Hubbard - "John Jacob Astor"

Louise de la Ramee - "Findelkind"

Fernando de Rojas - "LA CELESTINA [In Spanish]"

Ivanhoe

W >> Walter Scott >> Ivanhoe




"I will not yield," replied De Bracy faintly, "to an unknown
conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy pleasure on me---it
shall never be said that Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to a
nameless churl."

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of the
vanquished.

"I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue," answered
the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and determined obstinacy
for one of deep though sullen submission.

"Go to the barbican," said the victor, in a tone of authority,
"and there wait my further orders."

"Yet first, let me say," said De Bracy, "what it imports thee to
know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and will
perish in the burning castle without present help."

"Wilfred of Ivanhoe!" exclaimed the Black Knight---"prisoner, and
perish!---The life of every man in the castle shall answer it if
a hair of his head be singed---Show me his chamber!"

"Ascend yonder winding stair," said De Bracy; "it leads to his
apartment---Wilt thou not accept my guidance?" he added, in a
submissive voice.

"No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. I trust thee
not, De Bracy."

During this combat and the brief conversation which ensued,
Cedric, at the head of a body of men, among whom the Friar was
conspicuous, had pushed across the bridge as soon as they saw the
postern open, and drove back the dispirited and despairing
followers of De Bracy, of whom some asked quarter, some offered
vain resistance, and the greater part fled towards the
court-yard. De Bracy himself arose from the ground, and cast a
sorrowful glance after his conqueror. "He trusts me not!" he
repeated; "but have I deserved his trust?" He then lifted his
sword from the floor, took off his helmet in token of submission,
and, going to the barbican, gave up his sword to Locksley, whom
he met by the way.

As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon apparent in the
chamber, where Ivanhoe was watched and tended by the Jewess
Rebecca. He had been awakened from his brief slumber by the
noise of the battle; and his attendant, who had, at his anxious
desire, again placed herself at the window to watch and report to
him the fate of the attack, was for some time prevented from
observing either, by the increase of the smouldering and stifling
vapour. At length the volumes of smoke which rolled into the
apartment---the cries for water, which were heard even above the
din of the battle made them sensible of the progress of this new
danger.

"The castle burns," said Rebecca; "it burns!---What can we do to
save ourselves?"

"Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life," said Ivanhoe, "for no
human aid can avail me."

"I will not fly," answered Rebecca; "we will be saved or perish
together---And yet, great God!---my father, my father---what will
be his fate!"

At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, and the
Templar presented himself,---a ghastly figure, for his gilded
armour was broken and bloody, and the plume was partly shorn
away, partly burnt from his casque. "I have found thee," said he
to Rebecca; "thou shalt prove I will keep my word to share weal
and woe with thee---There is but one path to safety, I have cut
my way through fifty dangers to point it to thee---up, and
instantly follow me!"*

* The author has some idea that this passage is imitated
* from the appearance of Philidaspes, before the divine
* Mandane, when the city of Babylon is on fire, and he
* proposes to carry her from the flames. But the theft,
* if there be one, would be rather too severely punished
* by the penance of searching for the original passage
* through the interminable volumes of the Grand Cyrus.

"Alone," answered Rebecca, "I will not follow thee. If thou wert
born of woman---if thou hast but a touch of human charity in thee
---if thy heart be not hard as thy breastplate---save my aged
father---save this wounded knight!"

"A knight," answered the Templar, with his characteristic
calmness, "a knight, Rebecca, must encounter his fate, whether it
meet him in the shape of sword or flame---and who recks how or
where a Jew meets with his?"

"Savage warrior," said Rebecca, "rather will I perish in the
flames than accept safety from thee!"

"Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca---once didst thou foil me, but
never mortal did so twice."

So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who filled the air
with her shrieks, and bore her out of the room in his arms in
spite of her cries, and without regarding the menaces and
defiance which Ivanhoe thundered against him. "Hound of the
Temple---stain to thine Order---set free the damsel! Traitor of
Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe commands thee!---Villain, I will
have thy heart's blood!"

"I had not found thee, Wilfred," said the Black Knight, who at
that instant entered the apartment, "but for thy shouts."

"If thou best true knight," said Wilfred, "think not of me
---pursue yon ravisher---save the Lady Rowena---look to the noble
Cedric!"

"In their turn," answered he of the Fetterlock, "but thine is
first."

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as much ease as
the Templar had carried off Rebecca, rushed with him to the
postern, and having there delivered his burden to the care of two
yeomen, he again entered the castle to assist in the rescue of
the other prisoners.

One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out furiously
from window and shot-hole. But in other parts, the great
thickness of the walls and the vaulted roofs of the apartments,
resisted the progress of the flames, and there the rage of man
still triumphed, as the scarce more dreadful element held mastery
elsewhere; for the besiegers pursued the defenders of the castle
from chamber to chamber, and satiated in their blood the
vengeance which had long animated them against the soldiers of
the tyrant Front-de-Boeuf. Most of the garrison resisted to the
uttermost---few of them asked quarter---none received it. The
air was filled with groans and clashing of arms---the floors were
slippery with the blood of despairing and expiring wretches.

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed in quest of
Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, following him closely through
the "melee", neglected his own safety while he strove to avert
the blows that were aimed at his master. The noble Saxon was so
fortunate as to reach his ward's apartment just as she had
abandoned all hope of safety, and, with a crucifix clasped in
agony to her bosom, sat in expectation of instant death. He
committed her to the charge of Gurth, to be conducted in safety
to the barbican, the road to which was now cleared of the enemy,
and not yet interrupted by the flames. This accomplished, the
loyal Cedric hastened in quest of his friend Athelstane,
determined, at every risk to himself, to save that last scion of
Saxon royalty. But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the old hall
in which he had himself been a prisoner, the inventive genius of
Wamba had procured liberation for himself and his companion in
adversity.

When the noise of the conflict announced that it was at the
hottest, the Jester began to shout, with the utmost power of his
lungs, "Saint George and the dragon!---Bonny Saint George for
merry England!---The castle is won!" And these sounds he rendered
yet more fearful, by banging against each other two or three
pieces of rusty armour which lay scattered around the hall.

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer, or anteroom, and
whose spirits were already in a state of alarm, took fright at
Wamba's clamour, and, leaving the door open behind them, ran to
tell the Templar that foemen had entered the old hall. Meantime
the prisoners found no difficulty in making their escape into the
anteroom, and from thence into the court of the castle, which was
now the last scene of contest. Here sat the fierce Templar,
mounted on horseback, surrounded by several of the garrison both
on horse and foot, who had united their strength to that of this
renowned leader, in order to secure the last chance of safety and
retreat which remained to them. The drawbridge had been lowered
by his orders, but the passage was beset; for the archers, who
had hitherto only annoyed the castle on that side by their
missiles, no sooner saw the flames breaking out, and the bridge
lowered, than they thronged to the entrance, as well to prevent
the escape of the garrison, as to secure their own share of booty
ere the castle should be burnt down. On the other hand, a party
of the besiegers who had entered by the postern were now issuing
out into the court-yard, and attacking with fury the remnant of
the defenders who were thus assaulted on both sides at once.

Animated, however, by despair, and supported by the example of
their indomitable leader, the remaining soldiers of the castle
fought with the utmost valour; and, being well-armed, succeeded
more than once in driving back the assailants, though much
inferior in numbers. Rebecca, placed on horseback before one of
the Templar's Saracen slaves, was in the midst of the little
party; and Bois-Guilbert, notwithstanding the confusion of the
bloody fray, showed every attention to her safety. Repeatedly he
was by her side, and, neglecting his own defence, held before her
the fence of his triangular steel-plated shield; and anon
starting from his position by her, he cried his war-cry, dashed
forward, struck to earth the most forward of the assailants, and
was on the same instant once more at her bridle rein.

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, but not
cowardly, beheld the female form whom the Templar protected thus
sedulously, and doubted not that it was Rowena whom the knight
was carrying off, in despite of all resistance which could be
offered.

"By the soul of Saint Edward," he said, "I will rescue her from
yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die by my hand!"

"Think what you do!" cried Wamba; "hasty hand catches frog for
fish---by my bauble, yonder is none of my Lady Rowena---see but
her long dark locks!---Nay, an ye will not know black from white,
ye may be leader, but I will be no follower---no bones of mine
shall be broken unless I know for whom.---And you without armour
too!---Bethink you, silk bonnet never kept out steel blade.
---Nay, then, if wilful will to water, wilful must drench.
---'Deus vobiscum', most doughty Athelstane!"---he concluded,
loosening the hold which he had hitherto kept upon the Saxon's
tunic.

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay beside one
whose dying grasp had just relinquished it---to rush on the
Templar's band, and to strike in quick succession to the right
and left, levelling a warrior at each blow, was, for Athelstane's
great strength, now animated with unusual fury, but the work of a
single moment; he was soon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert,
whom he defied in his loudest tone.

"Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom thou art unworthy
to touch---turn, limb of a hand of murdering and hypocritical
robbers!"

"Dog!" said the Templar, grinding his teeth, "I will teach thee
to blaspheme the holy Order of the Temple of Zion;" and with
these words, half-wheeling his steed, he made a demi-courbette
towards the Saxon, and rising in the stirrups, so as to take full
advantage of the descent of the horse, he discharged a fearful
blow upon the head of Athelstane.

Well said Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps out no steel blade. So
trenchant was the Templar's weapon, that it shore asunder, as it
had been a willow twig, the tough and plaited handle of the mace,
which the ill-fated Saxon reared to parry the blow, and,
descending on his head, levelled him with the earth.

"'Ha! Beau-seant!'" exclaimed Bois-Guilbert, "thus be it to the
maligners of the Temple-knights!" Taking advantage of the dismay
which was spread by the fall of Athelstane, and calling aloud,
"Those who would save themselves, follow me!" he pushed across
the drawbridge, dispersing the archers who would have intercepted
them. He was followed by his Saracens, and some five or six
men-at-arms, who had mounted their horses. The Templar's retreat
was rendered perilous by the numbers of arrows shot off at him
and his party; but this did not prevent him from galloping round
to the barbican, of which, according to his previous plan, he
supposed it possible De Bracy might have been in possession.

"De Bracy! De Bracy!" he shouted, "art thou there?"

"I am here," replied De Bracy, "but I am a prisoner."

"Can I rescue thee?" cried Bois-Guilbert.

"No," replied De Bracy; "I have rendered me, rescue or no rescue.
I will be true prisoner. Save thyself---there are hawks abroad
---put the seas betwixt you and England---I dare not say more."

"Well," answered the Templar, "an thou wilt tarry there, remember
I have redeemed word and glove. Be the hawks where they will,
methinks the walls of the Preceptory of Templestowe will be cover
sufficient, and thither will I, like heron to her haunt."

Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers.

Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse, still continued
to fight desperately with the besiegers, after the departure of
the Templar, but rather in despair of quarter than that they
entertained any hope of escape. The fire was spreading rapidly
through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica, who had first
kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of one of the
ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, such as was of yore
raised on the field of battle by the scalds of the yet heathen
Saxons. Her long dishevelled grey hair flew back from her
uncovered head; the inebriating delight of gratified vengeance
contended in her eyes with the fire of insanity; and she
brandished the distaff which she held in her hand, as if she had
been one of the Fatal Sisters, who spin and abridge the thread of
human life. Tradition has preserved some wild strophes of the
barbarous hymn which she chanted wildly amid that scene of fire
and of slaughter:---

1.
Whet the bright steel,
Sons of the White Dragon!
Kindle the torch,
Daughter of Hengist!
The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet,
It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed;
The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber,
It steams and glitters blue with sulphur.
Whet the steel, the raven croaks!
Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling!
Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon!
Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist!

2.
The black cloud is low over the thane's castle
The eagle screams--he rides on its bosom.
Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud,
Thy banquet is prepared!
The maidens of Valhalla look forth,
The race of Hengist will send them guests.
Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla!
And strike your loud timbrels for joy!
Many a haughty step bends to your halls,
Many a helmed head.

3.
Dark sits the evening upon the thanes castle,
The black clouds gather round;
Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant!
The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against
them.
He, the bright consumer of palaces,
Broad waves he his blazing banner,
Red, wide and dusky,
Over the strife of the valiant:
His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers;
He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the
wound!

4.
All must perish!
The sword cleaveth the helmet;
The strong armour is pierced by the lance;
Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes,
Engines break down the fences of the battle.
All must perish!
The race of Hengist is gone---
The name of Horsa is no more!
Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword!
Let your blades drink blood like wine;
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter,
By the light of the blazing halls!
Strong be your swords while your blood is warm,
And spare neither for pity nor fear,
For vengeance hath but an hour;
Strong hate itself shall expire
I also must perish! *

* Note G. Ulrica's Death Song

The towering flames had now surmounted every obstruction, and
rose to the evening skies one huge and burning beacon, seen far
and wide through the adjacent country. Tower after tower crashed
down, with blazing roof and rafter; and the combatants were
driven from the court-yard. The vanquished, of whom very few
remained, scattered and escaped into the neighbouring wood. The
victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with wonder, not
unmixed with fear, upon the flames, in which their own ranks and
arms glanced dusky red. The maniac figure of the Saxon Ulrica
was for a long time visible on the lofty stand she had chosen,
tossing her arms abroad with wild exultation, as if she reined
empress of the conflagration which she had raised. At length,
with a terrific crash, the whole turret gave way, and she
perished in the flames which had consumed her tyrant. An awful
pause of horror silenced each murmur of the armed spectators,
who, for the space of several minutes, stirred not a finger, save
to sign the cross. The voice of Locksley was then heard, "Shout,
yeomen!---the den of tyrants is no more! Let each bring his
spoil to our chosen place of rendezvous at the Trysting-tree in
the Harthill-walk; for there at break of day will we make just
partition among our own bands, together with our worthy allies in
this great deed of vengeance."




CHAPTER XXXII.


Trust me each state must have its policies:
Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters;
Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk,
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline;
For not since Adam wore his verdant apron,
Hath man with man in social union dwelt,
But laws were made to draw that union closer.
Old Play


The daylight had dawned upon the glades of the oak forest. The
green boughs glittered with all their pearls of dew. The hind
led her fawn from the covert of high fern to the more open walks
of the greenwood, and no huntsman was there to watch or intercept
the stately hart, as he paced at the head of the antler'd herd.

The outlaws were all assembled around the Trysting-tree in the
Harthill-walk, where they had spent the night in refreshing
themselves after the fatigues of the siege, some with wine, some
with slumber, many with hearing and recounting the events of the
day, and computing the heaps of plunder which their success had
placed at the disposal of their Chief.

The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwithstanding that much
was consumed, a great deal of plate, rich armour, and splendid
clothing, had been secured by the exertions of the dauntless
outlaws, who could be appalled by no danger when such rewards
were in view. Yet so strict were the laws of their society, that
no one ventured to appropriate any part of the booty, which was
brought into one common mass, to be at the disposal of their
leader.

The place of rendezvous was an aged oak; not however the same to
which Locksley had conducted Gurth and Wamba in the earlier part
of the story, but one which was the centre of a silvan
amphitheatre, within half a mile of the demolished castle of
Torquilstone. Here Locksley assumed his seat---a throne of turf
erected under the twisted branches of the huge oak, and the
silvan followers were gathered around him. He assigned to the
Black Knight a seat at his right hand, and to Cedric a place upon
his left.

"Pardon my freedom, noble sirs," he said, "but in these glades I
am monarch---they are my kingdom; and these my wild subjects
would reck but little of my power, were I, within my own
dominions, to yield place to mortal man.---Now, sirs, who hath
seen our chaplain? where is our curtal Friar? A mass amongst
Christian men best begins a busy morning."---No one had seen the
Clerk of Copmanhurst. "Over gods forbode!" said the outlaw
chief, "I trust the jolly priest hath but abidden by the wine-pot
a thought too late. Who saw him since the castle was ta'en?"

"I," quoth the Miller, "marked him busy about the door of a
cellar, swearing by each saint in the calendar he would taste the
smack of Front-de-Boeuf's Gascoigne wine."

"Now, the saints, as many as there be of them," said the Captain,
"forefend, lest he has drunk too deep of the wine-butts, and
perished by the fall of the castle!---Away, Miller!---take with
you enow of men, seek the place where you last saw him---throw
water from the moat on the scorching ruins ---I will have them
removed stone by stone ere I lose my curtal Friar."

The numbers who hastened to execute this duty, considering that
an interesting division of spoil was about to take place, showed
how much the troop had at heart the safety of their spiritual
father.

"Meanwhile, let us proceed," said Locksley; "for when this bold
deed shall be sounded abroad, the bands of De Bracy, of
Malvoisin, and other allies of Front-de-Boeuf, will be in motion
against us, and it were well for our safety that we retreat from
the vicinity.---Noble Cedric," he said, turning to the Saxon,
"that spoil is divided into two portions; do thou make choice of
that which best suits thee, to recompense thy people who were
partakers with us in this adventure."

"Good yeoman," said Cedric, "my heart is oppressed with sadness.
The noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh is no more---the last
sprout of the sainted Confessor! Hopes have perished with him
which can never return!---A sparkle hath been quenched by his
blood, which no human breath can again rekindle! My people, save
the few who are now with me, do but tarry my presence to
transport his honoured remains to their last mansion. The Lady
Rowena is desirous to return to Rotherwood, and must be escorted
by a sufficient force. I should, therefore, ere now, have left
this place; and I waited---not to share the booty, for, so help
me God and Saint Withold! as neither I nor any of mine will touch
the value of a liard,---I waited but to render my thanks to thee
and to thy bold yeomen, for the life and honour ye have saved."

"Nay, but," said the chief Outlaw, "we did but half the work at
most---take of the spoil what may reward your own neighbours and
followers."

"I am rich enough to reward them from mine own wealth," answered
Cedric.

"And some," said Wamba, "have been wise enough to reward
themselves; they do not march off empty-handed altogether. We do
not all wear motley."

"They are welcome," said Locksley; "our laws bind none but
ourselves."

"But, thou, my poor knave," said Cedric, turning about and
embracing his Jester, "how shall I reward thee, who feared not to
give thy body to chains and death instead of mine!---All forsook
me, when the poor fool was faithful!"

A tear stood in the eye of the rough Thane as he spoke---a mark
of feeling which even the death of Athelstane had not extracted;
but there was something in the half-instinctive attachment of his
clown, that waked his nature more keenly than even grief itself.

"Nay," said the Jester, extricating himself from master's
caress, "if you pay my service with the water of your eye, the
Jester must weep for company, and then what becomes of his
vocation?---But, uncle, if you would indeed pleasure me, I pray
you to pardon my playfellow Gurth, who stole a week from your
service to bestow it on your son."

"Pardon him!" exclaimed Cedric; "I will both pardon and reward
him.---Kneel down, Gurth."---The swineherd was in an instant at
his master's feet---"THEOW and ESNE*

* Thrall and bondsman.

art thou no longer," said Cedric touching him with a wand;
"FOLKFREE and SACLESS*

* A lawful freeman.

art thou in town and from town, in the forest as in the field.
A hide of land I give to thee in my steads of Walbrugham, from me
and mine to thee and thine aye and for ever; and God's malison on
his head who this gainsays!"

No longer a serf, but a freeman and a landholder, Gurth sprung
upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft to almost his own height
from the ground. "A smith and a file," he cried, "to do away the
collar from the neck of a freeman!---Noble master! doubled is my
strength by your gift, and doubly will I fight for you!---There
is a free spirit in my breast---I am a man changed to myself and
all around.---Ha, Fangs!" he continued,---for that faithful cur,
seeing his master thus transported, began to jump upon him, to
express his sympathy,---"knowest thou thy master still?"

"Ay," said Wamba, "Fangs and I still know thee, Gurth, though we
must needs abide by the collar; it is only thou art likely to
forget both us and thyself."

"I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true comrade,"
said Gurth; "and were freedom fit for thee, Wamba, the master
would not let thee want it."

"Nay," said Wamba, "never think I envy thee, brother Gurth; the
serf sits by the hall-fire when the freeman must forth to the
field of battle---And what saith Oldhelm of Malmsbury---Better a
fool at a feast than a wise man at a fray."

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