About : standard furniture essex bed
Title : standard furniture essex bed
standard furniture essex bed
ivanhoe by sir walter scott chapter xliii be mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,that they may break his foaming courser's back,and throw the rider headlong in the lists, a caitiff recreant!—richard ii our scene now returns to the exterior of thecastle, or preceptory, of templestowe, about the hour when the bloodydie was to be cast for the life or death of rebecca. it was a scene ofbustle and life, as if the
whole vicinity had poured forth its inhabitantsto a village wake, or rural feast. but the earnest desire to lookon blood and death, is not peculiar to those dark ages; though in thegladiatorial exercise of single combat and general tourney, they werehabituated to the bloody spectacle of brave men falling by each other'shands. even in our own days, when morals are better understood, anexecution, a bruising match, a riot, or a meeting of radical reformers,collects, at considerable hazard to themselves, immense crowds of spectators,otherwise little interested, except to see how matters areto be conducted, or whether
the heroes of the day are, in the heroic languageof insurgent tailors, flints or dunghills. the eyes, therefore, of a very considerablemultitude, were bent on the gate of the preceptory of templestowe, withthe purpose of witnessing the procession; while still greater numbershad already surrounded the tiltyard belonging to that establishment.this enclosure was formed on a piece of level ground adjoining to the preceptory,which had been levelled with care, for the exercise of militaryand chivalrous sports. it occupied the brow of a soft and gentleeminence, was carefully
palisaded around, and, as the templars willinglyinvited spectators to be witnesses of their skill in feats of chivalry,was amply supplied with galleries and benches for their use. on the present occasion, a throne was erectedfor the grand master at the east end, surrounded with seats of distinctionfor the preceptors and knights of the order. over these floatedthe sacred standard, called "le beau-seant", which was the ensign, asits name was the battle-cry, of the templars. at the opposite end of the lists was a pileof faggots, so arranged
around a stake, deeply fixed in the ground,as to leave a space for the victim whom they were destined to consume,to enter within the fatal circle, in order to be chained to the stakeby the fetters which hung ready for that purpose. beside this deadlyapparatus stood four black slaves, whose colour and african features,then so little known in england, appalled the multitude, who gazedon them as on demons employed about their own diabolical exercises. thesemen stirred not, excepting now and then, under the direction of one whoseemed their chief, to shift and replace the ready fuel. they lookednot on the multitude. in
fact, they seemed insensible of their presence,and of every thing save the discharge of their own horrible duty. and when, in speech with each other, theyexpanded their blubber lips, and showed their white fangs, as if they grinnedat the thoughts of the expected tragedy, the startled commons couldscarcely help believing that they were actually the familiar spiritswith whom the witch had communed, and who, her time being out, stoodready to assist in her dreadful punishment. they whispered to eachother, and communicated all the feats which satan had performed duringthat busy and unhappy period,
not failing, of course, to give the devilrather more than his due. "have you not heard, father dennet," quothone boor to another advanced in years, "that the devil has carried awaybodily the great saxon thane, athelstane of coningsburgh?" "ay, but he brought him back though, by theblessing of god and saint dunstan." "how's that?" said a brisk young fellow, dressedin a green cassock embroidered with gold, and having at his heelsa stout lad bearing a harp upon his back, which betrayed his vocation.the minstrel seemed
of no vulgar rank; for, besides the splendourof his gaily braidered doublet, he wore around his neck a silverchain, by which hung the "wrest", or key, with which he tuned his harp.on his right arm was a silver plate, which, instead of bearing, asusual, the cognizance or badge of the baron to whose family he belonged,had barely the word sherwood engraved upon it.—"how mean youby that?" said the gay minstrel, mingling in the conversation ofthe peasants; "i came to seek one subject for my rhyme, and, by'r lady,i were glad to find two." "it is well avouched," said the elder peasant,"that after athelstane of
coningsburgh had been dead four weeks—" "that is impossible," said the minstrel; "isaw him in life at the passage of arms at ashby-de-la-zouche." "dead, however, he was, or else translated,"said the younger peasant; "for i heard the monks of saint edmund's singingthe death's hymn for him; and, moreover, there was a rich death-mealand dole at the castle of coningsburgh, as right was; and thitherhad i gone, but for mabel parkins, who—" "ay, dead was athelstane," said the old man,shaking his head, "and the
more pity it was, for the old saxon blood—" "but, your story, my masters—your story,"said the minstrel, somewhat impatiently. "ay, ay—construe us the story," said a burlyfriar, who stood beside them, leaning on a pole that exhibited anappearance between a pilgrim's staff and a quarter-staff, and probably actedas either when occasion served,—"your story," said the stalwartchurchman; "burn not daylight about it—we have short time to spare." "an please your reverence," said dennet, "adrunken priest came to visit
the sacristan at saint edmund's—-" "it does not please my reverence," answeredthe churchman, "that there should be such an animal as a drunken priest,or, if there were, that a layman should so speak him. be mannerly,my friend, and conclude the holy man only wrapt in meditation, which makesthe head dizzy and foot unsteady, as if the stomach were filled withnew wine—i have felt it myself." "well, then," answered father dennet, "a holybrother came to visit the sacristan at saint edmund's—a sort of hedge-priestis the visitor,
and kills half the deer that are stolen inthe forest, who loves the tinkling of a pint-pot better than the sacring-bell,and deems a flitch of bacon worth ten of his breviary; for therest, a good fellow and a merry, who will flourish a quarter-staff,draw a bow, and dance a cheshire round, with e'er a man in yorkshire." "that last part of thy speech, dennet," saidthe minstrel, "has saved thee a rib or twain." "tush, man, i fear him not," said dennet;"i am somewhat old and stiff, but when i fought for the bell and ram atdoncaster—"
"but the story—the story, my friend," againsaid the minstrel. "why, the tale is but this—athelstane ofconingsburgh was buried at saint edmund's." "that's a lie, and a loud one," said the friar,"for i saw him borne to his own castle of coningsburgh." "nay, then, e'en tell the story yourself,my masters," said dennet, turning sulky at these repeated contradictions;and it was with some difficulty that the boor could be prevailedon, by the request of his comrade and the minstrel, to renew histale.—"these two 'sober'
friars," said he at length, "since this reverendman will needs have them such, had continued drinking good ale,and wine, and what not, for the best part for a summer's day, whenthey were aroused by a deep groan, and a clanking of chains, andthe figure of the deceased athelstane entered the apartment, saying,'ye evil shep-herds!—'" "it is false," said the friar, hastily, "henever spoke a word." "so ho! friar tuck," said the minstrel, drawinghim apart from the rustics; "we have started a new hare, i find." "i tell thee, allan-a-dale," said the hermit,"i saw athelstane of
coningsburgh as much as bodily eyes ever sawa living man. he had his shroud on, and all about him smelt of thesepulchre—a butt of sack will not wash it out of my memory." "pshaw!" answered the minstrel; "thou dostbut jest with me!" "never believe me," said the friar, "an ifetched not a knock at him with my quarter-staff that would have felledan ox, and it glided through his body as it might through a pillarof smoke!" "by saint hubert," said the minstrel, "butit is a wondrous tale, and fit to be put in metre to the ancient tune,'sorrow came to the old
friar.'" "laugh, if ye list," said friar tuck; "butan ye catch me singing on such a theme, may the next ghost or devilcarry me off with him headlong! no, no—i instantly formed thepurpose of assisting at some good work, such as the burning of a witch,a judicial combat, or the like matter of godly service, and therefoream i here." as they thus conversed, the heavy bell ofthe church of saint michael of templestowe, a venerable building, situatedin a hamlet at some distance from the preceptory, broke short their argument.one by one the sullen
sounds fell successively on the ear, leavingbut sufficient space for each to die away in distant echo, erethe air was again filled by repetition of the iron knell. these sounds,the signal of the approaching ceremony, chilled with awe thehearts of the assembled multitude, whose eyes were now turned to thepreceptory, expecting the approach of the grand master, the champion,and the criminal. at length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened,and a knight, bearing the great standard of the order, sallied fromthe castle, preceded by six trumpets, and followed by the knightspreceptors, two and two, the
grand master coming last, mounted on a statelyhorse, whose furniture was of the simplest kind. behind him camebrian de bois-guilbert, armed cap-a-pie in bright armour, but without hislance, shield, and sword, which were borne by his two esquires behindhim. his face, though partly hidden by a long plume which floated downfrom his barrel-cap, bore a strong and mingled expression of passion,in which pride seemed to contend with irresolution. he looked ghastlypale, as if he had not slept for several nights, yet reined his pawingwar-horse with the habitual ease and grace proper to the bestlance of the order of the
temple. his general appearance was grand andcommanding; but, looking at him with attention, men read that in his darkfeatures, from which they willingly withdrew their eyes. on either side rode conrade of mont-fitchet,and albert de malvoisin, who acted as godfathers to the champion. theywere in their robes of peace, the white dress of the order. behindthem followed other companions of the temple, with a long trainof esquires and pages clad in black, aspirants to the honour of beingone day knights of the order. after these neophytes came a guard of warderson foot, in the same
sable livery, amidst whose partisans mightbe seen the pale form of the accused, moving with a slow but undismayedstep towards the scene of her fate. she was stript of all her ornaments,lest perchance there should be among them some of those amulets whichsatan was supposed to bestow upon his victims, to deprive them of the powerof confession even when under the torture. a coarse white dress, ofthe simplest form, had been substituted for her oriental garments; yetthere was such an exquisite mixture of courage and resignation in herlook, that even in this garb, and with no other ornament than her long blacktresses, each eye wept
that looked upon her, and the most hardenedbigot regretted the fate that had converted a creature so goodly intoa vessel of wrath, and a waged slave of the devil. a crowd of inferior personages belonging tothe preceptory followed the victim, all moving with the utmost order,with arms folded, and looks bent upon the ground. this slow procession moved up the gentle eminence,on the summit of which was the tiltyard, and, entering thelists, marched once around them from right to left, and when they hadcompleted the circle, made a
halt. there was then a momentary bustle, whilethe grand master and all his attendants, excepting the champion andhis godfathers, dismounted from their horses, which were immediatelyremoved out of the lists by the esquires, who were in attendance for thatpurpose. the unfortunate rebecca was conducted to theblack chair placed near the pile. on her first glance at the terriblespot where preparations were making for a death alike dismaying to themind and painful to the body, she was observed to shudder and shuther eyes, praying internally doubtless, for her lips moved though no speechwas heard. in the space
of a minute she opened her eyes, looked fixedlyon the pile as if to familiarize her mind with the object, andthen slowly and naturally turned away her head. meanwhile, the grand master had assumed hisseat; and when the chivalry of his order was placed around and behindhim, each in his due rank, a loud and long flourish of the trumpets announcedthat the court were seated for judgment. malvoisin, then,acting as godfather of the champion, stepped forward, and laid the gloveof the jewess, which was the pledge of battle, at the feet of the grandmaster.
"valorous lord, and reverend father," saidhe, "here standeth the good knight, brian de bois-guilbert, knight preceptorof the order of the temple, who, by accepting the pledge of battlewhich i now lay at your reverence's feet, hath become bound to dohis devoir in combat this day, to maintain that this jewish maiden,by name rebecca, hath justly deserved the doom passed upon her in a chapterof this most holy order of the temple of zion, condemning her to dieas a sorceress;—here, i say, he standeth, such battle to do, knightlyand honourable, if such be your noble and sanctified pleasure."
"hath he made oath," said the grand master,"that his quarrel is just and honourable? bring forward the crucifixand the 'te igitur'." "sir, and most reverend father," answeredmalvoisin, readily, "our brother here present hath already sworn tothe truth of his accusation in the hand of the good knight conrade demont-fitchet; and otherwise he ought not to be sworn, seeing that his adversaryis an unbeliever, and may take no oath." this explanation was satisfactory, to albert'sgreat joy; for the wily knight had foreseen the great difficulty,or rather impossibility, of
prevailing upon brian de bois-guilbert totake such an oath before the assembly, and had invented this excuse toescape the necessity of his doing so. the grand master, having allowed the apologyof albert malvoisin, commanded the herald to stand forth and dohis devoir. the trumpets then again flourished, and a herald, steppingforward, proclaimed aloud,—"oyez, oyez, oyez.—here standeththe good knight, sir brian de bois-guilbert, ready to do battle withany knight of free blood, who will sustain the quarrel allowed and allottedto the jewess rebecca, to
try by champion, in respect of lawful essoineof her own body; and to such champion the reverend and valorous grandmaster here present allows a fair field, and equal partition of sun andwind, and whatever else appertains to a fair combat." the trumpetsagain sounded, and there was a dead pause of many minutes. "no champion appears for the appellant," saidthe grand master. "go, herald, and ask her whether she expects anyone to do battle for her in this her cause." the herald went to thechair in which rebecca was seated, and bois-guilbert suddenly turninghis horse's head toward that
end of the lists, in spite of hints on eitherside from malvoisin and mont-fitchet, was by the side of rebecca'schair as soon as the herald. "is this regular, and according to the lawof combat?" said malvoisin, looking to the grand master. "albert de malvoisin, it is," answered beaumanoir;"for in this appeal to the judgment of god, we may not prohibitparties from having that communication with each other, which may besttend to bring forth the truth of the quarrel." in the meantime, the herald spoke to rebeccain these terms:—"damsel,
the honourable and reverend the grand masterdemands of thee, if thou art prepared with a champion to do battlethis day in thy behalf, or if thou dost yield thee as one justly condemnedto a deserved doom?" "say to the grand master," replied rebecca,"that i maintain my innocence, and do not yield me as justly condemned,lest i become guilty of mine own blood. say to him, that i challengesuch delay as his forms will permit, to see if god, whose opportunityis in man's extremity, will raise me up a deliverer; and when suchuttermost space is passed, may his holy will be done!" the herald retiredto carry this answer to
the grand master. "god forbid," said lucas beaumanoir, "thatjew or pagan should impeach us of injustice!—until the shadows be castfrom the west to the eastward, will we wait to see if a championshall appear for this unfortunate woman. when the day is so farpassed, let her prepare for death." the herald communicated the words of the grandmaster to rebecca, who bowed her head submissively, folded her arms,and, looking up towards heaven, seemed to expect that aid from abovewhich she could scarce
promise herself from man. during this awfulpause, the voice of bois-guilbert broke upon her ear—it wasbut a whisper, yet it startled her more than the summons of the herald hadappeared to do. "rebecca," said the templar, "dost thou hearme?" "i have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-heartedman," said the unfortunate maiden. "ay, but dost thou understand my words?" saidthe templar; "for the sound of my voice is frightful in mine ownears. i scarce know on what ground we stand, or for what purpose theyhave brought us hither.—this
listed space—that chair—these faggots—iknow their purpose, and yet it appears to me like something unreal—thefearful picture of a vision, which appals my sense with hideous fantasies,but convinces not my reason." "my mind and senses keep touch and time,"answered rebecca, "and tell me alike that these faggots are destined toconsume my earthly body, and open a painful but a brief passage to a betterworld." "dreams, rebecca,—dreams," answered thetemplar; "idle visions, rejected by the wisdom of your own wiser sadducees.hear me, rebecca,"
he said, proceeding with animation; "a betterchance hast thou for life and liberty than yonder knaves and dotarddream of. mount thee behind me on my steed—on zamor, the gallant horsethat never failed his rider. i won him in single fight from the soldanof trebizond—mount, i say, behind me—in one short hour is pursuit andenquiry far behind—a new world of pleasure opens to thee—to me anew career of fame. let them speak the doom which i despise, and erasethe name of bois-guilbert from their list of monastic slaves! i will washout with blood whatever blot they may dare to cast on my scutcheon."
"tempter," said rebecca, "begone!—not inthis last extremity canst thou move me one hair's-breadth from my restingplace—surrounded as i am by foes, i hold thee as my worst and most deadlyenemy—avoid thee, in the name of god!" albert malvoisin, alarmed and impatient atthe duration of their conference, now advanced to interrupt it. "hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt?"he demanded of bois-guilbert; "or is she resolute in her denial?" "she is indeed resolute," said bois-guilbert.
"then," said malvoisin, "must thou, noblebrother, resume thy place to attend the issue—the shades are changingon the circle of the dial—come, brave bois-guilbert—come, thouhope of our holy order, and soon to be its head." as he spoke in this soothing tone, he laidhis hand on the knight's bridle, as if to lead him back to his station. "false villain! what meanest thou by thy handon my rein?" said sir brian, angrily. and shaking off his companion'sgrasp, he rode back to the upper end of the lists.
"there is yet spirit in him," said malvoisinapart to mont-fitchet, "were it well directed—but, like the greekfire, it burns whatever approaches it." the judges had now been two hours in the lists,awaiting in vain the appearance of a champion. "and reason good," said friar tuck, "seeingshe is a jewess—and yet, by mine order, it is hard that so young andbeautiful a creature should perish without one blow being struck in herbehalf! were she ten times a witch, provided she were but the least bitof a christian, my
quarter-staff should ring noon on the steelcap of yonder fierce templar, ere he carried the matter off thus." it was, however, the general belief that noone could or would appear for a jewess, accused of sorcery; and theknights, instigated by malvoisin, whispered to each other, that itwas time to declare the pledge of rebecca forfeited. at this instanta knight, urging his horse to speed, appeared on the plain advancingtowards the lists. a hundred voices exclaimed, "a champion! a champion!"and despite the prepossessions and prejudices of the multitude,they shouted unanimously
as the knight rode into the tiltyard, thesecond glance, however, served to destroy the hope that his timely arrivalhad excited. his horse, urged for many miles to its utmost speed,appeared to reel from fatigue, and the rider, however undauntedly he presentedhimself in the lists, either from weakness, weariness, or both,seemed scarce able to support himself in the saddle. to the summons of the herald, who demandedhis rank, his name, and purpose, the stranger knight answered readilyand boldly, "i am a good knight and noble, come hither to sustain withlance and sword the just
and lawful quarrel of this damsel, rebecca,daughter of isaac of york; to uphold the doom pronounced against herto be false and truthless, and to defy sir brian de bois-guilbert, as a traitor,murderer, and liar; as i will prove in this field with my body againsthis, by the aid of god, of our lady, and of monseigneur saint george,the good knight." "the stranger must first show," said malvoisin,"that he is good knight, and of honourable lineage. the temple sendethnot forth her champions against nameless men." "my name," said the knight, raising his helmet,"is better known, my
lineage more pure, malvoisin, than thine own.i am wilfred of ivanhoe." "i will not fight with thee at present," saidthe templar, in a changed and hollow voice. "get thy wounds healed,purvey thee a better horse, and it may be i will hold it worth my whileto scourge out of thee this boyish spirit of bravado." "ha! proud templar," said ivanhoe, "hast thouforgotten that twice didst thou fall before this lance? remember thelists at acre—remember the passage of arms at ashby—remember thy proudvaunt in the halls of rotherwood, and the gage of your gold chainagainst my reliquary, that
thou wouldst do battle with wilfred of ivanhoe,and recover the honour thou hadst lost! by that reliquary and theholy relic it contains, i will proclaim thee, templar, a coward in everycourt in europe—in every preceptory of thine order—unless thou dobattle without farther delay." bois-guilbert turned his countenance irresolutelytowards rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at ivanhoe,"dog of a saxon! take thy lance, and prepare for the death thou hastdrawn upon thee!" "does the grand master allow me the combat?"said ivanhoe. "i may not deny what thou hast challenged,"said the grand master,
"provided the maiden accepts thee as her champion.yet i would thou wert in better plight to do battle. an enemyof our order hast thou ever been, yet would i have thee honourably metwith." "thus—thus as i am, and not otherwise,"said ivanhoe; "it is the judgment of god—to his keeping i commendmyself.—rebecca," said he, riding up to the fatal chair, "dost thou acceptof me for thy champion?" "i do," she said—"i do," fluttered by anemotion which the fear of death had been unable to produce, "i do acceptthee as the champion whom heaven hath sent me. yet, no—no—thy woundsare uncured—meet not that
proud man—why shouldst thou perish also?" but ivanhoe was already at his post, and hadclosed his visor, and assumed his lance. bois-guilbert did the same;and his esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, that his face, whichhad, notwithstanding the variety of emotions by which he had been agitated,continued during the whole morning of an ashy paleness, was nowbecome suddenly very much flushed. the herald, then, seeing each champion inhis place, uplifted his voice, repeating thrice—"faites vos devoirs, preuxchevaliers!" after the
third cry, he withdrew to one side of thelists, and again proclaimed, that none, on peril of instant death, shoulddare, by word, cry, or action, to interfere with or disturb thisfair field of combat. the grand master, who held in his hand the gageof battle, rebecca's glove, now threw it into the lists, and pronouncedthe fatal signal words, "laissez aller". the trumpets sounded, and the knights chargedeach other in full career. the wearied horse of ivanhoe, and its no lessexhausted rider, went down, as all had expected, before the well-aimedlance and vigorous
steed of the templar. this issue of the combatall had foreseen; but although the spear of ivanhoe did but, incomparison, touch the shield of bois-guilbert, that champion, to the astonishmentof all who beheld it reeled in his saddle, lost his stirrups,and fell in the lists. ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallenhorse, was soon on foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword;but his antagonist arose not. wilfred, placing his foot on his breast,and the sword's point to his throat, commanded him to yield him,or die on the spot. bois-guilbert returned no answer.
"slay him not, sir knight," cried the grandmaster, "unshriven and unabsolved—kill not body and soul! we allowhim vanquished." he descended into the lists, and commandedthem to unhelm the conquered champion. his eyes were closed—the darkred flush was still on his brow. as they looked on him in astonishment,the eyes opened—but they were fixed and glazed. the flush passed fromhis brow, and gave way to the pallid hue of death. unscathed by thelance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the violence of his own contendingpassions. "this is indeed the judgment of god," saidthe grand master, looking
upwards—"'fiat voluntas tua!'" chapter xliv so! now 'tis ended, like an old wife's story.webster when the first moments of surprise were over,wilfred of ivanhoe demanded of the grand master, as judge ofthe field, if he had manfully and rightfully done his duty in the combat?"manfully and rightfully hath it been done," said the grand master. "i pronouncethe maiden free and guiltless—the arms and the body of the deceasedknight are at the will of the victor."
"i will not despoil him of his weapons," saidthe knight of ivanhoe, "nor condemn his corpse to shame—he hathfought for christendom—god's arm, no human hand, hath this day struck himdown. but let his obsequies be private, as becomes those ofa man who died in an unjust quarrel.—and for the maiden—" he was interrupted by a clattering of horses'feet, advancing in such numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake the groundbefore them; and the black knight galloped into the lists. he wasfollowed by a numerous band of men-at-arms, and several knights in completearmour.
"i am too late," he said, looking around him."i had doomed bois-guilbert for mine own property.—ivanhoe,was this well, to take on thee such a venture, and thou scarce ableto keep thy saddle?" "heaven, my liege," answered ivanhoe, "hathtaken this proud man for its victim. he was not to be honoured in dyingas your will had designed." "peace be with him," said richard, lookingsteadfastly on the corpse, "if it may be so—he was a gallant knight,and has died in his steel harness full knightly. but we must waste notime—bohun, do thine office!"
a knight stepped forward from the king's attendants,and, laying his hand on the shoulder of albert de malvoisin,said, "i arrest thee of high treason." the grand master had hitherto stood astonishedat the appearance of so many warriors.—he now spoke. "who dares to arrest a knight of the templeof zion, within the girth of his own preceptory, and in the presenceof the grand master? and by whose authority is this bold outrage offered?" "i make the arrest," replied the knight—"i,henry bohun, earl of essex,
lord high constable of england." "and he arrests malvoisin," said the king,raising his visor, "by the order of richard plantagenet, here present.—conrademont-fitchet, it is well for thee thou art born no subjectof mine.—but for thee, malvoisin, thou diest with thy brother philip,ere the world be a week older." "i will resist thy doom," said the grand master. "proud templar," said the king, "thou canstnot—look up, and behold the royal standard of england floats over thytowers instead of thy temple
banner!—be wise, beaumanoir, and make nobootless opposition—thy hand is in the lion's mouth." "i will appeal to rome against thee," saidthe grand master, "for usurpation on the immunities and privilegesof our order." "be it so," said the king; "but for thineown sake tax me not with usurpation now. dissolve thy chapter, anddepart with thy followers to thy next preceptory, (if thou canst find one),which has not been made the scene of treasonable conspiracy againstthe king of england—or, if thou wilt, remain, to share our hospitality,and behold our justice."
"to be a guest in the house where i shouldcommand?" said the templar; "never!—chaplains, raise the psalm,'quare fremuerunt gentes?'—knights, squires, and followersof the holy temple, prepare to follow the banner of 'beau-seant!'" the grand master spoke with a dignity whichconfronted even that of england's king himself, and inspired courageinto his surprised and dismayed followers. they gathered around himlike the sheep around the watch-dog, when they hear the baying of thewolf. but they evinced not the timidity of the scared flock—there weredark brows of defiance, and
looks which menaced the hostility they darednot to proffer in words. they drew together in a dark line of spears,from which the white cloaks of the knights were visible among the duskygarments of their retainers, like the lighter-coloured edges of a sablecloud. the multitude, who had raised a clamorous shout of reprobation, pausedand gazed in silence on the formidable and experienced body towhich they had unwarily bade defiance, and shrunk back from their front. the earl of essex, when he beheld them pausein their assembled force, dashed the rowels into his charger's sides,and galloped backwards and
forwards to array his followers, in oppositionto a band so formidable. richard alone, as if he loved the danger hispresence had provoked, rode slowly along the front of the templars,calling aloud, "what, sirs! among so many gallant knights, will none daresplinter a spear with richard?—sirs of the temple! your ladiesare but sun-burned, if they are not worth the shiver of a broken lance?" "the brethren of the temple," said the grandmaster, riding forward in advance of their body, "fight not on suchidle and profane quarrel—and not with thee, richard of england, shall atemplar cross lance in my
presence. the pope and princes of europe shalljudge our quarrel, and whether a christian prince has done well inbucklering the cause which thou hast to-day adopted. if unassailed, wedepart assailing no one. to thine honour we refer the armour and householdgoods of the order which we leave behind us, and on thy consciencewe lay the scandal and offence thou hast this day given to christendom." with these words, and without waiting a reply,the grand master gave the signal of departure. their trumpets soundeda wild march, of an oriental character, which formed the usual signal forthe templars to advance.
they changed their array from a line to acolumn of march, and moved off as slowly as their horses could step, as ifto show it was only the will of their grand master, and no fear of theopposing and superior force, which compelled them to withdraw. "by the splendour of our lady's brow!" saidking richard, "it is pity of their lives that these templars are notso trusty as they are disciplined and valiant." the multitude, like a timid cur which waitsto bark till the object of its challenge has turned his back, raiseda feeble shout as the rear of
the squadron left the ground. during the tumult which attended the retreatof the templars, rebecca saw and heard nothing—she was locked inthe arms of her aged father, giddy, and almost senseless, with the rapidchange of circumstances around her. but one word from isaac at lengthrecalled her scattered feelings. "let us go," he said, "my dear daughter, myrecovered treasure—let us go to throw ourselves at the feet of the goodyouth." "not so," said rebecca, "o no—no—no—imust not at this moment dare
to speak to him—alas! i should say morethan—no, my father, let us instantly leave this evil place." "but, my daughter," said isaac, "to leavehim who hath come forth like a strong man with his spear and shield, holdinghis life as nothing, so he might redeem thy captivity; and thou, too,the daughter of a people strange unto him and his—this isservice to be thankfully acknowledged." "it is—it is—most thankfully—most devoutlyacknowledged," said rebecca—"it shall be still more so—butnot now—for the sake of thy
beloved rachel, father, grant my request—notnow!" "nay, but," said isaac, insisting, "they willdeem us more thankless than mere dogs!" "but thou seest, my dear father, that kingrichard is in presence, and that—-" "true, my best—my wisest rebecca!—letus hence—let us hence!—money he will lack, for he has just returned frompalestine, and, as they say, from prison—and pretext for exacting it,should he need any, may arise out of my simple traffic with his brotherjohn. away, away, let us
hence!" and hurrying his daughter in his turn, heconducted her from the lists, and by means of conveyance which he had provided,transported her safely to the house of the rabbi nathan. the jewess, whose fortunes had formed theprincipal interest of the day, having now retired unobserved, the attentionof the populace was transferred to the black knight. they nowfilled the air with "long life to richard with the lion's heart, and downwith the usurping templars!" "notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty," saidivanhoe to the earl of
essex, "it was well the king took the precautionto bring thee with him, noble earl, and so many of thy trusty followers." the earl smiled and shook his head. "gallant ivanhoe," said essex, "dost thouknow our master so well, and yet suspect him of taking so wise a precaution!i was drawing towards york having heard that prince john was makinghead there, when i met king richard, like a true knight-errant, gallopinghither to achieve in his own person this adventure of the templarand the jewess, with his own single arm. i accompanied him withmy band, almost maugre his
consent." "and what news from york, brave earl?" saidivanhoe; "will the rebels bide us there?" "no more than december's snow will bide july'ssun," said the earl; "they are dispersing; and who should comeposting to bring us the news, but john himself!" "the traitor! the ungrateful insolent traitor!"said ivanhoe; "did not richard order him into confinement?" "o! he received him," answered the earl, "asif they had met after a
hunting party; and, pointing to me and ourmen-at-arms, said, 'thou seest, brother, i have some angry men withme—thou wert best go to our mother, carry her my duteous affection, andabide with her until men's minds are pacified.'" "and this was all he said?" enquired ivanhoe;"would not any one say that this prince invites men to treason byhis clemency?" "just," replied the earl, "as the man maybe said to invite death, who undertakes to fight a combat, having a dangerouswound unhealed." "i forgive thee the jest, lord earl," saidivanhoe; "but, remember, i
hazarded but my own life—richard, the welfareof his kingdom." "those," replied essex, "who are speciallycareless of their own welfare, are seldom remarkably attentive tothat of others—but let us haste to the castle, for richard meditatespunishing some of the subordinate members of the conspiracy, thoughhe has pardoned their principal." from the judicial investigations which followedon this occasion, and which are given at length in the wardour manuscript,it appears that maurice de bracy escaped beyond seas, andwent into the service of
philip of france; while philip de malvoisin,and his brother albert, the preceptor of templestowe, were executed, althoughwaldemar fitzurse, the soul of the conspiracy, escaped with banishment;and prince john, for whose behoof it was undertaken, was noteven censured by his good-natured brother. no one, however, pitiedthe fate of the two malvoisins, who only suffered the death whichthey had both well deserved, by many acts of falsehood, cruelty,and oppression. briefly after the judicial combat, cedricthe saxon was summoned to the court of richard, which, for the purpose ofquieting the counties that
had been disturbed by the ambition of hisbrother, was then held at york. cedric tushed and pshawed more thanonce at the message—but he refused not obedience. in fact, the returnof richard had quenched every hope that he had entertained of restoringa saxon dynasty in england; for, whatever head the saxons might have madein the event of a civil war, it was plain that nothing could be doneunder the undisputed dominion of richard, popular as he was byhis personal good qualities and military fame, although his administrationwas wilfully careless, now too indulgent, and now allied to despotism.
but, moreover, it could not escape even cedric'sreluctant observation, that his project for an absolute union amongthe saxons, by the marriage of rowena and athelstane, was now completelyat an end, by the mutual dissent of both parties concerned. this was,indeed, an event which, in his ardour for the saxon cause, he could nothave anticipated, and even when the disinclination of both was broadlyand plainly manifested, he could scarce bring himself to believe thattwo saxons of royal descent should scruple, on personal grounds, at analliance so necessary for the public weal of the nation. but it was notthe less certain: rowena had
always expressed her repugnance to athelstane,and now athelstane was no less plain and positive in proclaiminghis resolution never to pursue his addresses to the lady rowena. even thenatural obstinacy of cedric sunk beneath these obstacles, where he, remainingon the point of junction, had the task of dragging a reluctantpair up to it, one with each hand. he made, however, a last vigorousattack on athelstane, and he found that resuscitated sprout of saxonroyalty engaged, like country squires of our own day, in a furious war withthe clergy. it seems that, after all his deadly menacesagainst the abbot of saint
edmund's, athelstane's spirit of revenge,what between the natural indolent kindness of his own disposition,what through the prayers of his mother edith, attached, like most ladies,(of the period,) to the clerical order, had terminated in his keepingthe abbot and his monks in the dungeons of coningsburgh for three dayson a meagre diet. for this atrocity the abbot menaced him with excommunication,and made out a dreadful list of complaints in the bowelsand stomach, suffered by himself and his monks, in consequence of thetyrannical and unjust imprisonment they had sustained. with thiscontroversy, and with the
means he had adopted to counteract this clericalpersecution, cedric found the mind of his friend athelstane sofully occupied, that it had no room for another idea. and when rowena'sname was mentioned the noble athelstane prayed leave to quaff a full gobletto her health, and that she might soon be the bride of his kinsmanwilfred. it was a desperate case therefore. there was obviously no moreto be made of athelstane; or, as wamba expressed it, in a phrase whichhas descended from saxon times to ours, he was a cock that would notfight. there remained betwixt cedric and the determinationwhich the lovers
desired to come to, only two obstacles—hisown obstinacy, and his dislike of the norman dynasty. the formerfeeling gradually gave way before the endearments of his ward, and thepride which he could not help nourishing in the fame of his son. besides,he was not insensible to the honour of allying his own line to thatof alfred, when the superior claims of the descendant of edwardthe confessor were abandoned for ever. cedric's aversion to the normanrace of kings was also much undermined,—first, by consideration of theimpossibility of ridding england of the new dynasty, a feeling whichgoes far to create loyalty
in the subject to the king "de facto"; and,secondly, by the personal attention of king richard, who delighted inthe blunt humour of cedric, and, to use the language of the wardour manuscript,so dealt with the noble saxon, that, ere he had been a guestat court for seven days, he had given his consent to the marriage of hisward rowena and his son wilfred of ivanhoe. the nuptials of our hero, thus formally approvedby his father, were celebrated in the most august of temples,the noble minster of york. the king himself attended, and from the countenancewhich he afforded on
this and other occasions to the distressedand hitherto degraded saxons, gave them a safer and more certain prospectof attaining their just rights, than they could reasonably hope fromthe precarious chance of a civil war. the church gave her full solemnities,graced with all the splendour which she of rome knows howto apply with such brilliant effect. gurth, gallantly apparelled, attended as esquireupon his young master whom he had served so faithfully, and themagnanimous wamba, decorated with a new cap and a most gorgeous set ofsilver bells. sharers of
wilfred's dangers and adversity, they remained,as they had a right to expect, the partakers of his more prosperouscareer. but besides this domestic retinue, these distinguishednuptials were celebrated by the attendance of the high-bornnormans, as well as saxons, joined with the universal jubileeof the lower orders, that marked the marriage of two individuals asa pledge of the future peace and harmony betwixt two races, which, sincethat period, have been so completely mingled, that the distinction hasbecome wholly invisible. cedric lived to see this union approximatetowards its completion; for
as the two nations mixed in society and formedintermarriages with each other, the normans abated their scorn, andthe saxons were refined from their rusticity. but it was not until thereign of edward the third that the mixed language, now termed english,was spoken at the court of london, and that the hostile distinctionof norman and saxon seems entirely to have disappeared. it was upon the second morning after thishappy bridal, that the lady rowena was made acquainted by her handmaidelgitha, that a damsel desired admission to her presence, and solicitedthat their parley might
be without witness. rowena wondered, hesitated,became curious, and ended by commanding the damsel to be admitted,and her attendants to withdraw. she entered—a noble and commanding figure,the long white veil, in which she was shrouded, overshadowing ratherthan concealing the elegance and majesty of her shape. her demeanourwas that of respect, unmingled by the least shade either of fear,or of a wish to propitiate favour. rowena was ever ready to acknowledgethe claims, and attend to the feelings, of others. she arose, and wouldhave conducted her
lovely visitor to a seat; but the strangerlooked at elgitha, and again intimated a wish to discourse with the ladyrowena alone. elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling steps, than,to the surprise of the lady of ivanhoe, her fair visitant kneeled on oneknee, pressed her hands to her forehead, and bending her head to theground, in spite of rowena's resistance, kissed the embroidered hem ofher tunic. "what means this, lady?" said the surprisedbride; "or why do you offer to me a deference so unusual?" "because to you, lady of ivanhoe," said rebecca,rising up and resuming
the usual quiet dignity of her manner, "imay lawfully, and without rebuke, pay the debt of gratitude which iowe to wilfred of ivanhoe. i am—forgive the boldness which has offeredto you the homage of my country—i am the unhappy jewess, for whomyour husband hazarded his life against such fearful odds in the tiltyardof templestowe." "damsel," said rowena, "wilfred of ivanhoeon that day rendered back but in slight measure your unceasing charity towardshim in his wounds and misfortunes. speak, is there aught remainsin which he or i can serve thee?"
"nothing," said rebecca, calmly, "unless youwill transmit to him my grateful farewell." "you leave england then?" said rowena, scarcerecovering the surprise of this extraordinary visit. "i leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes.my father had a brother high in favour with mohammed boabdil, kingof grenada—thither we go, secure of peace and protection, for the paymentof such ransom as the moslem exact from our people." "and are you not then as well protected inengland?" said rowena.
"my husband has favour with the king—theking himself is just and generous." "lady," said rebecca, "i doubt it not—butthe people of england are a fierce race, quarrelling ever with their neighboursor among themselves, and ready to plunge the sword into the bowelsof each other. such is no safe abode for the children of my people.ephraim is an heartless dove—issachar an over-laboured drudge, whichstoops between two burdens. not in a land of war and blood, surroundedby hostile neighbours, and distracted by internal factions,can israel hope to rest
during her wanderings." "but you, maiden," said rowena—"you surelycan have nothing to fear. she who nursed the sick-bed of ivanhoe," shecontinued, rising with enthusiasm—"she can have nothing to fearin england, where saxon and norman will contend who shall most do herhonour." "thy speech is fair, lady," said rebecca,"and thy purpose fairer; but it may not be—there is a gulf betwixt us.our breeding, our faith, alike forbid either to pass over it. farewell—yet,ere i go indulge me one request. the bridal-veil hangs over thyface; deign to raise it, and
let me see the features of which fame speaksso highly." "they are scarce worthy of being looked upon,"said rowena; "but, expecting the same from my visitant, i removethe veil." she took it off accordingly; and, partly fromthe consciousness of beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushedso intensely, that cheek, brow, neck, and bosom, were suffused withcrimson. rebecca blushed also, but it was a momentary feeling; and, masteredby higher emotions, past slowly from her features like the crimsoncloud, which changes colour when the sun sinks beneath the horizon.
"lady," she said, "the countenance you havedeigned to show me will long dwell in my remembrance. there reigns in itgentleness and goodness; and if a tinge of the world's pride or vanitiesmay mix with an expression so lovely, how should we chide that whichis of earth for bearing some colour of its original? long, long will iremember your features, and bless god that i leave my noble delivererunited with—" she stopped short—her eyes filled with tears.she hastily wiped them, and answered to the anxious enquiries of rowena—"iam well, lady—well. but my heart swells when i think of torquilstoneand the lists of
templestowe.—farewell. one, the most triflingpart of my duty, remains undischarged. accept this casket—startlenot at its contents." rowena opened the small silver-chased casket,and perceived a carcanet, or neck lace, with ear-jewels, of diamonds,which were obviously of immense value. "it is impossible," she said, tendering backthe casket. "i dare not accept a gift of such consequence." "yet keep it, lady," returned rebecca.—"youhave power, rank, command, influence; we have wealth, the source bothof our strength and weakness;
the value of these toys, ten times multiplied,would not influence half so much as your slightest wish. to you, therefore,the gift is of little value,—and to me, what i part with is ofmuch less. let me not think you deem so wretchedly ill of my nation asyour commons believe. think ye that i prize these sparkling fragmentsof stone above my liberty? or that my father values them in comparisonto the honour of his only child? accept them, lady—to me they arevalueless. i will never wear jewels more." "you are then unhappy!" said rowena, struckwith the manner in which
rebecca uttered the last words. "o, remainwith us—the counsel of holy men will wean you from your erring law, andi will be a sister to you." "no, lady," answered rebecca, the same calmmelancholy reigning in her soft voice and beautiful features—"that—maynot be. i may not change the faith of my fathers like a garment unsuitedto the climate in which i seek to dwell, and unhappy, lady,i will not be. he, to whom i dedicate my future life, will be my comforter,if i do his will." "have you then convents, to one of which youmean to retire?" asked rowena.
"no, lady," said the jewess; "but among ourpeople, since the time of abraham downwards, have been women who havedevoted their thoughts to heaven, and their actions to works of kindnessto men, tending the sick, feeding the hungry, and relieving thedistressed. among these will rebecca be numbered. say this to thy lord,should he chance to enquire after the fate of her whose life he saved." there was an involuntary tremour on rebecca'svoice, and a tenderness of accent, which perhaps betrayed more thanshe would willingly have expressed. she hastened to bid rowena adieu.
"farewell," she said. "may he, who made bothjew and christian, shower down on you his choicest blessings! the barkthat waits us hence will be under weigh ere we can reach the port." she glided from the apartment, leaving rowenasurprised as if a vision had passed before her. the fair saxon relatedthe singular conference to her husband, on whose mind it made a deepimpression. he lived long and happily with rowena, for they were attachedto each other by the bonds of early affection, and they loved eachother the more, from the recollection of the obstacles which had impededtheir union. yet it
would be enquiring too curiously to ask, whetherthe recollection of rebecca's beauty and magnanimity did notrecur to his mind more frequently than the fair descendant of alfredmight altogether have approved. ivanhoe distinguished himself in the serviceof richard, and was graced with farther marks of the royal favour. hemight have risen still higher, but for the premature death of theheroic coeur-de-lion, before the castle of chaluz, near limoges. with thelife of a generous, but rash and romantic monarch, perished all theprojects which his ambition
and his generosity had formed; to whom maybe applied, with a slight alteration, the lines composed by johnsonfor charles of sweden— his fate was destined to a foreign strand,a petty fortress and an "humble" hand; he left the name at which the world grew pale,to point a moral, or adorn a tale. end of chapter xliv end of ivanhoeby sir walter scott �