prompt:
Chapter: 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 hall 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." [14]

"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 he 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 scrip."

"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 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." [15]

The Templar smiled sourly as he replied, "Beshrew thee for a
false-hearted liar!" and passing onward, as if disdaining farther
conference, he communed with his Moslem slaves in a language unknown to
the bystanders. The poor Israelite seemed so staggered by the address
of the military monk, that the Templar had passed on to the extremity
of the hall ere he raised his head from the humble posture which he had
assumed, so far as to be sensible of his departure. And when he did
look around, it was with the astonished air of one at whose feet a
thunderbolt has just burst, and who hears still the astounding report
ringing in his ears.

The Templar and Prior were shortly after marshalled to their sleeping
apartments by the steward and the cupbearer, each attended by two
torchbearers and two servants carrying refreshments, while servants of
inferior condition indicated to their retinue and to the other guests
their respective places of repose.

     To buy his favour I extend this friendship:
     If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
     And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.
     --Merchant of Venice

As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, passed through the
intricate combination of apartments of this large and irregular mansion,
the cupbearer coming behind him whispered in his ear, that if he had
no objection to a cup of good mead in his apartment, there were many
domestics in that family who would gladly hear the news he had brought
from the Holy Land, and particularly that which concerned the Knight of
Ivanhoe. Wamba presently appeared to urge the same request, observing
that a cup after midnight was worth three after curfew. Without
disputing a maxim urged by such grave authority, the Palmer thanked them
for their courtesy, but observed that he had included in his religious
vow, an obligation never to speak in the kitchen on matters which were
prohibited in the hall. "That vow," said Wamba to the cupbearer, "would
scarce suit a serving-man."

The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeasure. "I thought to
have lodged him in the solere chamber," said he; "but since he is so
unsocial to Christians, e'en let him take the next stall to Isaac the
Jew's.--Anwold," said he to the torchbearer, "carry the Pilgrim to the
southern cell.--I give you good-night," he added, "Sir Palmer, with
small thanks for short courtesy."

"Good-night, and Our Lady's benison," said the Palmer, with composure;
and his guide moved forward.

In a small antechamber, into which several doors opened, and which was
lighted by a small iron lamp, they met a second interruption from the
waiting-maid of Rowena, who, saying in a tone of authority, that her
mistress desired to speak with the Palmer, took the torch from the hand
of Anwold, and, bidding him await her return, made a sign to the
Palmer to follow. Apparently he did not think it proper to decline this
invitation as he had done the former; for, though his gesture
indicated some surprise at the summons, he obeyed it without answer or
remonstrance.

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each of which was
composed of a solid beam of oak, led him to the apartment of the Lady
Rowena, the rude magnificence of which corresponded to the respect which
was paid to her by the lord of the mansion. The walls were covered with
embroidered hangings, on which different-coloured silks, interwoven with
gold and silver threads, had been employed with all the art of which the
age was capable, to represent the sports of hunting and hawking. The bed
was adorned with the same rich tapestry, and surrounded with curtains
dyed with purple. The seats had also their stained coverings, and one,
which was higher than the rest, was accommodated with a footstool of
ivory, curiously carved.

No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding great waxen torches,
served to illuminate this apartment. Yet let not modern beauty envy the
magnificence of a Saxon princess. The walls of the apartment were so ill
finished and so full of crevices, that the rich hangings shook in the
night blast, and, in despite of a sort of screen intended to protect
them from the wind, the flame of the torches streamed sideways into the
air, like the unfurled pennon of a chieftain. Magnificence there was,
with some rude attempt at taste; but of comfort there was little, and,
being unknown, it was unmissed.

The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants standing at her back, and
arranging her hair ere she lay down to rest, was seated in the sort of
throne already mentioned, and looked as if born to exact general homage.
The Pilgrim acknowledged her claim to it by a low genuflection.

"Rise, Palmer," said she graciously. "The defender of the absent has
a right to favourable reception from all who value truth, and honour
manhood." She then said to her train, "Retire, excepting only Elgitha; I
would speak with this holy Pilgrim."

The maidens, without leaving the apartment, retired to its further
extremity, and sat down on a small bench against the wall, where they
remained mute as statues, though at such a distance that their whispers
could not have interrupted the conversation of their mistress.

"Pilgrim," said the lady, after a moment's pause, during which she
seemed uncertain how to address him, "you this night mentioned a name--I
mean," she said, with a degree of effort, "the name of Ivanhoe, in
the halls where by nature and kindred it should have sounded most
acceptably; and yet, such is the perverse course of fate, that of many
whose hearts must have throbbed at the sound, I, only, dare ask you
where, and in what condition, you left him of whom you spoke?--We heard,
that, having remained in Palestine, on account of his impaired health,
after the departure of the English army, he had experienced the
persecution of the French faction, to whom the Templars are known to be
attached."

"I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe," answered the Palmer, with
a troubled voice. "I would I knew him better, since you, lady, are
interested in his fate. He hath, I believe, surmounted the persecution
of his enemies in Palestine, and is on the eve of returning to England,
where you, lady, must know better than I, what is his chance of
happiness."

The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and asked more particularly when the
Knight of Ivanhoe might be expected in his native country, and whether
he would not be exposed to great dangers by the road. On the first
point, the Palmer professed ignorance; on the second, he said that the
voyage might be safely made by the way of Venice and Genoa, and from
thence through France to England. "Ivanhoe," he said, "was so well
acquainted with the language and manners of the French, that there was
no fear of his incurring any hazard during that part of his travels."

"Would to God," said the Lady Rowena, "he were here safely arrived, and
able to bear arms in the approaching tourney, in which the chivalry
of this land are expected to display their address and valour. Should
Athelstane of Coningsburgh obtain the prize, Ivanhoe is like to hear
evil tidings when he reaches England.--How looked he, stranger, when
you last saw him? Had disease laid her hand heavy upon his strength and
comeliness?"

"He was darker," said the Palmer, "and thinner, than when he came from
Cyprus in the train of Coeur-de-Lion, and care seemed to sit heavy on
his brow; but I approached not his presence, because he is unknown to
me."

"He will," said the lady, "I fear, find little in his native land to
clear those clouds from his countenance. Thanks, good Pilgrim, for your
information concerning the companion of my childhood.--Maidens," she
said, "draw near--offer the sleeping cup to this holy man, whom I will
no longer detain from repose."

One of the maidens presented a silver cup, containing a rich mixture of
wine and spice, which Rowena barely put to her lips. It was then offered
to the Palmer, who, after a low obeisance, tasted a few drops.

"Accept this alms, friend," continued the lady, offering a piece of
gold, "in acknowledgment of thy painful travail, and of the shrines thou
hast visited."

The Palmer received the boon with another low reverence, and followed
Edwina out of the apartment.

In the anteroom he found his attendant Anwold, who, taking the torch
from the hand of the waiting-maid, conducted him with more haste than
ceremony to an exterior and ignoble part of the building, where a number
of small apartments, or rather cells, served for sleeping places to the
lower order of domestics, and to strangers of mean degree.

"In which of these sleeps the Jew?" said the Pilgrim.

"The unbelieving dog," answered Anwold, "kennels in the cell next your
holiness.--St Dunstan, how it must be scraped and cleansed ere it be
again fit for a Christian!"

"And where sleeps Gurth the swineherd?" said the stranger.

"Gurth," replied the bondsman, "sleeps in the cell on your right, as the
Jew on that to your left; you serve to keep the child of circumcision
separate from the abomination of his tribe. You might have occupied a
more honourable place had you accepted of Oswald's invitation."

"It is as well as it is," said the Palmer; "the company, even of a Jew,
can hardly spread contamination through an oaken partition."

So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him, and taking the torch
from the domestic's hand, thanked him, and wished him good-night. Having
shut the door of his cell, he placed the torch in a candlestick made of
wood, and looked around his sleeping apartment, the furniture of which
was of the most simple kind. It consisted of a rude wooden stool,
and still ruder hutch or bed-frame, stuffed with clean straw, and
accommodated with two or three sheepskins by way of bed-clothes.

The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threw himself, without taking
off any part of his clothes, on this rude couch, and slept, or at least
retained his recumbent posture, till the earliest sunbeams found their
way through the little grated window, which served at once to admit both
air and light to his uncomfortable cell. He then started up, and after
repeating his matins, and adjusting his dress, he left it, and entered
that of Isaac the Jew, lifting the latch as gently as he could.

The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upon a couch similar to that on
which the Palmer himself had passed the night. Such parts of his dress
as the Jew had laid aside on the preceding evening, were disposed
carefully around his person, as if to prevent the hazard of their
being carried off during his slumbers. There was a trouble on his brow
amounting almost to agony. His hands and arms moved convulsively, as
if struggling with the nightmare; and besides several ejaculations in
Hebrew, the following were distinctly heard in the Norman-English, or
mixed language of the country: "For the sake of the God of Abraham,
spare an unhappy old man! I am poor, I am penniless--should your irons
wrench my limbs asunder, I could not gratify you!"

The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew's vision, but stirred him with
his pilgrim's staff. The touch probably associated, as is usual, with
some of the apprehensions excited by his dream; for the old man started
up, his grey hair standing almost erect upon his head, and huddling some
part of his garments about him, while he held the detached pieces with
the tenacious grasp of a falcon, he fixed upon the Palmer his keen black
eyes, expressive of wild surprise and of bodily apprehension.

"Fear nothing from me, Isaac," said the Palmer, "I come as your friend."

"The God of Israel requite you," said the Jew, greatly relieved; "I
dreamed--But Father Abraham be praised, it was but a dream." Then,
collecting himself, he added in his usual tone, "And what may it be your
pleasure to want at so early an hour with the poor Jew?"

"It is to tell you," said the Palmer, "that if you leave not this
mansion instantly, and travel not with some haste, your journey may
prove a dangerous one."

"Holy father!" said the Jew, "whom could it interest to endanger so poor
a wretch as I am?"

"The purpose you can best guess," said the Pilgrim; "but rely on this,
that when the Templar crossed the hall yesternight, he spoke to his
Mussulman slaves in the Saracen language, which I well understand, and
charged them this morning to watch the journey of the Jew, to seize upon
him when at a convenient distance from the mansion, and to conduct
him to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin, or to that of Reginald
Front-de-Boeuf."

It is impossible to describe the extremity of terror which seized upon
the Jew at this information, and seemed at once to overpower his whole
faculties. His arms fell down to his sides, and his head drooped on his
breast, his knees bent under his weight, every nerve and muscle of his
frame seemed to collapse and lose its energy, and he sunk at the foot of
the Palmer, not in the fashion of one who intentionally stoops, kneels,
or prostrates himself to excite compassion, but like a man borne down on
all sides by the pressure of some invisible force, which crushes him to
the earth without the power of resistance.

"Holy God of Abraham!" was his first exclamation, folding and elevating
his wrinkled hands, but without raising his grey head from the pavement;
"Oh, holy Moses! O, blessed Aaron! the dream is not dreamed for nought,
and the vision cometh not in vain! I feel their irons already tear my
sinews! I feel the rack pass over my body like the saws, and harrows,
and axes of iron over the men of Rabbah, and of the cities of the
children of Ammon!"

"Stand up, Isaac, and hearken to me," said the Palmer, who viewed
the extremity of his distress with a compassion in which contempt was
largely mingled; "you have cause for your terror, considering how your
brethren have been used, in order to extort from them their hoards, both
by princes and nobles; but stand up, I say, and I will point out to you
the means of escape. Leave this mansion instantly, while its inmates
sleep sound after the last night's revel. I will guide you by the secret
paths of the forest, known as well to me as to any forester that ranges
it, and I will not leave you till you are under safe conduct of some
chief or baron going to the tournament, whose good-will you have
probably the means of securing."

As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape which this speech
intimated, he began gradually, and inch by inch, as it were, to raise
himself up from the ground, until he fairly rested upon his knees,
throwing back his long grey hair and beard, and fixing his keen black
eyes upon the Palmer's face, with a look expressive at once of hope and
fear, not unmingled with suspicion. But when he heard the concluding
part of the sentence, his original terror appeared to revive in full
force, and he dropt once more on his face, exclaiming, "'I' possess the
means of securing good-will! alas! there is but one road to the favour
of a Christian, and how can the poor Jew find it, whom extortions have
already reduced to the misery of Lazarus?" Then, as if suspicion had
overpowered his other feelings, he suddenly exclaimed, "For the love of
God, young man, betray me not--for the sake of the Great Father who
made us all, Jew as well as Gentile, Israelite and Ishmaelite--do me no
treason! I have not means to secure the good-will of a Christian beggar,
were he rating it at a single penny." As he spoke these last words, he
raised himself, and grasped the Palmer's mantle with a look of the
most earnest entreaty. The pilgrim extricated himself, as if there were
contamination in the touch.

"Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy tribe," he said, "what
interest have I to injure thee?--In this dress I am vowed to poverty,
nor do I change it for aught save a horse and a coat of mail. Yet think
not that I care for thy company, or propose myself advantage by it;
remain here if thou wilt--Cedric the Saxon may protect thee."

"Alas!" said the Jew, "he will not let me travel in his train--Saxon or
Norman will be equally ashamed of the poor Israelite; and to travel
by myself through the domains of Philip de Malvoisin and Reginald
Front-de-Boeuf--Good youth, I will go with you!--Let us haste--let
us gird up our loins--let us flee!--Here is thy staff, why wilt thou
tarry?"

"I tarry not," said the Pilgrim, giving way to the urgency of his
companion; "but I must secure the means of leaving this place--follow
me."

He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as the reader is apprised,
was occupied by Gurth the swineherd.--"Arise, Gurth," said the Pilgrim,
"arise quickly. Undo the postern gate, and let out the Jew and me."

Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so mean, gave him as much
consequence in Saxon England as that of Eumaeus in Ithaca, was offended
at the familiar and commanding tone assumed by the Palmer. "The Jew
leaving Rotherwood," said he, raising himself on his elbow, and looking
superciliously at him without quitting his pallet, "and travelling in
company with the Palmer to boot--"

"I should as soon have dreamt," said Wamba, who entered the apartment at
the instant, "of his stealing away with a gammon of bacon."

"Nevertheless," said Gurth, again laying down his head on the wooden log
which served him for a pillow, "both Jew and Gentile must be content to
abide the opening of the great gate--we suffer no visitors to depart by
stealth at these unseasonable hours."

"Nevertheless," said the Pilgrim, in a commanding tone, "you will not, I
think, refuse me that favour."

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent swineherd, and
whispered something in his ear in Saxon. Gurth started up as if
electrified. The Pilgrim, raising his finger in an attitude as if to
express caution, added, "Gurth, beware--thou are wont to be prudent. I
say, undo the postern--thou shalt know more anon."

With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while Wamba and the Jew followed,
both wondering at the sudden change in the swineherd's demeanour. "My
mule, my mule!" said the Jew, as soon as they stood without the postern.

"Fetch him his mule," said the Pilgrim; "and, hearest thou,--let me have
another, that I may bear him company till he is beyond these parts--I
will return it safely to some of Cedric's train at Ashby. And do
thou"--he whispered the rest in Gurth's ear.

"Willingly, most willingly shall it be done," said Gurth, and instantly
departed to execute the commission.

"I wish I knew," said Wamba, when his comrade's back was turned, "what
you Palmers learn in the Holy Land."

"To say our orisons, fool," answered the Pilgrim, "to repent our sins,
and to mortify ourselves with fastings, vigils, and long prayers."

"Something more potent than that," answered the Jester; "for when would
repentance or prayer make Gurth do a courtesy, or fasting or vigil
persuade him to lend you a mule?--I trow you might as well have told his
favourite black boar of thy vigils and penance, and wouldst have gotten
as civil an answer."

"Go to," said the Pilgrim, "thou art but a Saxon fool."

"Thou sayst well," said the Jester; "had I been born a Norman, as I
think thou art, I would have had luck on my side, and been next door to
a wise man."

At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite side of the moat with the
mules. The travellers crossed the ditch upon a drawbridge of only two
planks breadth, the narrowness of which was matched with the straitness
of the postern, and with a little wicket in the exterior palisade, which
gave access to the forest. No sooner had they reached the mules, than
the Jew, with hasty and trembling hands, secured behind the saddle
a small bag of blue buckram, which he took from under his cloak,
containing, as he muttered, "a change of raiment--only a change of
raiment." Then getting upon the animal with more alacrity and haste
than could have been anticipated from his years, he lost no time in so
disposing of the skirts of his gabardine as to conceal completely from
observation the burden which he had thus deposited "en croupe".

The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation, reaching, as he departed,
his hand to Gurth, who kissed it with the utmost possible veneration.
The swineherd stood gazing after the travellers until they were lost
under the boughs of the forest path, when he was disturbed from his
reverie by the voice of Wamba.

"Knowest thou," said the Jester, "my good friend Gurth, that thou art
strangely courteous and most unwontedly pious on this summer morning? I
would I were a black Prior or a barefoot Palmer, to avail myself of thy
unwonted zeal and courtesy--certes, I would make more out of it than a
kiss of the hand."

"Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba," answered Gurth, "though thou arguest
from appearances, and the wisest of us can do no more--But it is time to
look after my charge."

So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attended by the Jester.

Meanwhile the travellers continued to press on their journey with a
dispatch which argued the extremity of the Jew's fears, since persons at
his age are seldom fond of rapid motion. The Palmer, to whom every path
and outlet in the wood appeared to be familiar, led the way through the
most devious paths, and more than once excited anew the suspicion of
the Israelite, that he intended to betray him into some ambuscade of his
enemies.

His doubts might have been indeed pardoned; for, except perhaps the
flying fish, there was no race existing on the earth, in the air, or
the waters, who were the object of such an unintermitting, general, and
relentless persecution as the Jews of this period. Upon the slightest
and most unreasonable pretences, as well as upon accusations the most
absurd and groundless, their persons and property were exposed to every
turn of popular fury; for Norman, Saxon, Dane, and Briton, however
adverse these races were to each other, contended which should look with
greatest detestation upon a people, whom it was accounted a point of
religion to hate, to revile, to despise, to plunder, and to persecute.
The kings of the Norman race, and the independent nobles, who followed
their example in all acts of tyranny, maintained against this devoted
people a persecution of a more regular, calculated, and self-interested
kind. It is a well-known story of King John, that he confined a wealthy
Jew in one of the royal castles, and daily caused one of his teeth to
be torn out, until, when the jaw of the unhappy Israelite was half
disfurnished, he consented to pay a large sum, which it was the tyrant's
object to extort from him. The little ready money which was in the
country was chiefly in possession of this persecuted people, and the
nobility hesitated not to follow the example of their sovereign, in
wringing it from them by every species of oppression, and even personal
torture. Yet the passive courage inspired by the love of gain, induced
the Jews to dare the various evils to which they were subjected, in
consideration of the immense profits which they were enabled to realize
in a country naturally so wealthy as England. In spite of every kind
of discouragement, and even of the special court of taxations already
mentioned, called the Jews' Exchequer, erected for the very purpose of
despoiling and distressing them, the Jews increased, multiplied, and
accumulated huge sums, which they transferred from one hand to another
by means of bills of exchange--an invention for which commerce is said
to be indebted to them, and which enabled them to transfer their wealth
from land to land, that when threatened with oppression in one country,
their treasure might be secured in another.

The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thus in a measure placed
in opposition to the fanaticism that tyranny of those under whom they
lived, seemed to increase in proportion to the persecution with which
they were visited; and the immense wealth they usually acquired in
commerce, while it frequently placed them in danger, was at other times
used to extend their influence, and to secure to them a certain
degree of protection. On these terms they lived; and their character,
influenced accordingly, was watchful, suspicious, and timid--yet
obstinate, uncomplying, and skilful in evading the dangers to which they
were exposed.

When the travellers had pushed on at a rapid rate through many devious
paths, the Palmer at length broke silence.

"That large decayed oak," he said, "marks the boundaries over which
Front-de-Boeuf claims authority--we are long since far from those of
Malvoisin. There is now no fear of pursuit."

"May the wheels of their chariots be taken off," said the Jew, "like
those of the host of Pharaoh, that they may drive heavily!--But leave me
not, good Pilgrim--Think but of that fierce and savage Templar, with
his Saracen slaves--they will regard neither territory, nor manor, nor
lordship."

"Our road," said the Palmer, "should here separate; for it beseems not
men of my character and thine to travel together longer than needs must
be. Besides, what succour couldst thou have from me, a peaceful Pilgrim,
against two armed heathens?"

"O good youth," answered the Jew, "thou canst defend me, and I know thou
wouldst. Poor as I am, I will requite it--not with money, for money, so
help me my Father Abraham, I have none--but---"

"Money and recompense," said the Palmer, interrupting him, "I have
already said I require not of thee. Guide thee I can; and, it may be,
even in some sort defend thee; since to protect a Jew against a Saracen,
can scarce be accounted unworthy of a Christian. Therefore, Jew, I will
see thee safe under some fitting escort. We are now not far from the
town of Sheffield, where thou mayest easily find many of thy tribe with
whom to take refuge."

"The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, good youth!" said the Jew; "in
Sheffield I can harbour with my kinsman Zareth, and find some means of
travelling forth with safety."

"Be it so," said the Palmer; "at Sheffield then we part, and
half-an-hour's riding will bring us in sight of that town."

The half hour was spent in perfect silence on both parts; the Pilgrim
perhaps disdaining to address the Jew, except in case of absolute
necessity, and the Jew not presuming to force a conversation with a
person whose journey to the Holy Sepulchre gave a sort of sanctity to
his character. They paused on the top of a gently rising bank, and the
Pilgrim, pointing to the town of Sheffield, which lay beneath them,
repeated the words, "Here, then, we part."

"Not till you have had the poor Jew's thanks," said Isaac; "for I
presume not to ask you to go with me to my kinsman Zareth's, who might
aid me with some means of repaying your good offices."

"I have already said," answered the Pilgrim, "that I desire no
recompense. If among the huge list of thy debtors, thou wilt, for my
sake, spare the gyves and the dungeon to some unhappy Christian who
stands in thy danger, I shall hold this morning's service to thee well
bestowed."

"Stay, stay," said the Jew, laying hold of his garment; "something
would I do more than this, something for thyself.--God knows the Jew
is poor--yes, Isaac is the beggar of his tribe--but forgive me should I
guess what thou most lackest at this moment."

"If thou wert to guess truly," said the Palmer, "it is what thou canst
not supply, wert thou as wealthy as thou sayst thou art poor."

"As I say?" echoed the Jew; "O! believe it, I say but the truth; I am
a plundered, indebted, distressed man. Hard hands have wrung from me my
goods, my money, my ships, and all that I possessed--Yet I can tell thee
what thou lackest, and, it may be, supply it too. Thy wish even now is
for a horse and armour."

The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards the Jew:--"What fiend
prompted that guess?" said he, hastily.

"No matter," said the Jew, smiling, "so that it be a true one--and, as I
can guess thy want, so I can supply it."

"But consider," said the Palmer, "my character, my dress, my vow."

"I know you Christians," replied the Jew, "and that the noblest of you
will take the staff and sandal in superstitious penance, and walk afoot
to visit the graves of dead men."

"Blaspheme not, Jew," said the Pilgrim, sternly.

"Forgive me," said the Jew; "I spoke rashly. But there dropt words from
you last night and this morning, that, like sparks from flint, showed
the metal within; and in the bosom of that Palmer's gown, is hidden a
knight's chain and spurs of gold. They glanced as you stooped over my
bed in the morning."

The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. "Were thy garments searched by as
curious an eye, Isaac," said he, "what discoveries might not be made?"

"No more of that," said the Jew, changing colour; and drawing forth his
writing materials in haste, as if to stop the conversation, he began to
write upon a piece of paper which he supported on the top of his
yellow cap, without dismounting from his mule. When he had finished, he
delivered the scroll, which was in the Hebrew character, to the Pilgrim,
saying, "In the town of Leicester all men know the rich Jew, Kirjath
Jairam of Lombardy; give him this scroll--he hath on sale six Milan
harnesses, the worst would suit a crowned head--ten goodly steeds, the
worst might mount a king, were he to do battle for his throne. Of these
he will give thee thy choice, with every thing else that can furnish
thee forth for the tournament: when it is over, thou wilt return them
safely--unless thou shouldst have wherewith to pay their value to the
owner."

"But, Isaac," said the Pilgrim, smiling, "dost thou know that in these
sports, the arms and steed of the knight who is unhorsed are forfeit to
his victor? Now I may be unfortunate, and so lose what I cannot replace
or repay."

The Jew looked somewhat astounded at this possibility; but collecting
his courage, he replied hastily. "No--no--no--It is impossible--I will
not think so. The blessing of Our Father will be upon thee. Thy lance
will be powerful as the rod of Moses."

So saying, he was turning his mule's head away, when the Palmer, in his
turn, took hold of his gaberdine. "Nay, but Isaac, thou knowest not all
the risk. The steed may be slain, the armour injured--for I will spare
neither horse nor man. Besides, those of thy tribe give nothing for
nothing; something there must be paid for their use."

The Jew twisted himself in the saddle, like a man in a fit of the colic;
but his better feelings predominated over those which were most familiar
to him. "I care not," he said, "I care not--let me go. If there is
damage, it will cost you nothing--if there is usage money, Kirjath
Jairam will forgive it for the sake of his kinsman Isaac. Fare thee
well!--Yet hark thee, good youth," said he, turning about, "thrust
thyself not too forward into this vain hurly-burly--I speak not for
endangering the steed, and coat of armour, but for the sake of thine own
life and limbs."

"Gramercy for thy caution," said the Palmer, again smiling; "I will use
thy courtesy frankly, and it will go hard with me but I will requite
it."

They parted, and took different roads for the town of Sheffield.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Isaac of York is introduced in these chapters. His dealings with the Palmer herald further meetings of the two. In conversation, Cedric learns of Ivanhoe's prowess in the Crusades and the Palmer pledges a meeting between Ivanhoe and Brian de Bois-Guilbert. By his knowledge of the language of the Saracen slaves the Palmer uncovers a plot by the Templar to rob Isaac. When the Palmer helps Isaac escape, Isaac rewards him with a loan of horse and armor for the coming tournament at Ashby-de-la-Zouche.