prompt:
Chapter: Alas, how many hours and years have past,
     Since human forms have round this table sate,
     Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleam'd!
     Methinks, I hear the sound of time long pass'd
     Still murmuring o'er us, in the lofty void
     Of these dark arches, like the ling'ring voices
     Of those who long within their graves have slept.
     Orra, a Tragedy

While these measures were taking in behalf of Cedric and his companions,
the armed men by whom the latter had been seized, hurried their captives
along towards the place of security, where they intended to imprison
them. But darkness came on fast, and the paths of the wood seemed but
imperfectly known to the marauders. They were compelled to make several
long halts, and once or twice to return on their road to resume the
direction which they wished to pursue. The summer morn had dawned upon
them ere they could travel in full assurance that they held the right
path. But confidence returned with light, and the cavalcade now moved
rapidly forward. Meanwhile, the following dialogue took place between
the two leaders of the banditti.

"It is time thou shouldst leave us, Sir Maurice," said the Templar to
De Bracy, "in order to prepare the second part of thy mystery. Thou art
next, thou knowest, to act the Knight Deliverer."

"I have thought better of it," said De Bracy; "I will not leave thee
till the prize is fairly deposited in Front-de-Boeuf's castle. There
will I appear before the Lady Rowena in mine own shape, and trust that
she will set down to the vehemence of my passion the violence of which I
have been guilty."

"And what has made thee change thy plan, De Bracy?" replied the Knight
Templar.

"That concerns thee nothing," answered his companion.

"I would hope, however, Sir Knight," said the Templar, "that this
alteration of measures arises from no suspicion of my honourable
meaning, such as Fitzurse endeavoured to instil into thee?"

"My thoughts are my own," answered De Bracy; "the fiend laughs, they
say, when one thief robs another; and we know, that were he to spit fire
and brimstone instead, it would never prevent a Templar from following
his bent."

"Or the leader of a Free Company," answered the Templar, "from dreading
at the hands of a comrade and friend, the injustice he does to all
mankind."

"This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination," answered De Bracy;
"suffice it to say, I know the morals of the Temple-Order, and I will
not give thee the power of cheating me out of the fair prey for which I
have run such risks."

"Psha," replied the Templar, "what hast thou to fear?--Thou knowest the
vows of our order."

"Right well," said De Bracy, "and also how they are kept. Come,
Sir Templar, the laws of gallantry have a liberal interpretation in
Palestine, and this is a case in which I will trust nothing to your
conscience."

"Hear the truth, then," said the Templar; "I care not for your blue-eyed
beauty. There is in that train one who will make me a better mate."

"What! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting damsel?" said De Bracy.

"No, Sir Knight," said the Templar, haughtily. "To the waiting-woman
will I not stoop. I have a prize among the captives as lovely as thine
own."

"By the mass, thou meanest the fair Jewess!" said De Bracy.

"And if I do," said Bois-Guilbert, "who shall gainsay me?"

"No one that I know," said De Bracy, "unless it be your vow of celibacy,
or a check of conscience for an intrigue with a Jewess."

"For my vow," said the Templar, "our Grand Master hath granted me a
dispensation. And for my conscience, a man that has slain three hundred
Saracens, need not reckon up every little failing, like a village girl
at her first confession upon Good Friday eve."

"Thou knowest best thine own privileges," said De Bracy. "Yet, I would
have sworn thy thought had been more on the old usurer's money bags,
than on the black eyes of the daughter."

"I can admire both," answered the Templar; "besides, the old Jew is but
half-prize. I must share his spoils with Front-de-Boeuf, who will not
lend us the use of his castle for nothing. I must have something that I
can term exclusively my own by this foray of ours, and I have fixed on
the lovely Jewess as my peculiar prize. But, now thou knowest my drift,
thou wilt resume thine own original plan, wilt thou not?--Thou hast
nothing, thou seest, to fear from my interference."

"No," replied De Bracy, "I will remain beside my prize. What thou
sayst is passing true, but I like not the privileges acquired by
the dispensation of the Grand Master, and the merit acquired by the
slaughter of three hundred Saracens. You have too good a right to a free
pardon, to render you very scrupulous about peccadilloes."

While this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric was endeavouring to wring out
of those who guarded him an avowal of their character and purpose. "You
should be Englishmen," said he; "and yet, sacred Heaven! you prey
upon your countrymen as if you were very Normans. You should be my
neighbours, and, if so, my friends; for which of my English neighbours
have reason to be otherwise? I tell ye, yeomen, that even those among ye
who have been branded with outlawry have had from me protection; for I
have pitied their miseries, and curst the oppression of their tyrannic
nobles. What, then, would you have of me? or in what can this violence
serve ye?--Ye are worse than brute beasts in your actions, and will you
imitate them in their very dumbness?"

It was in vain that Cedric expostulated with his guards, who had too
many good reasons for their silence to be induced to break it either
by his wrath or his expostulations. They continued to hurry him along,
travelling at a very rapid rate, until, at the end of an avenue of huge
trees, arose Torquilstone, now the hoary and ancient castle of Reginald
Front-de-Boeuf. It was a fortress of no great size, consisting of a
donjon, or large and high square tower, surrounded by buildings of
inferior height, which were encircled by an inner court-yard. Around the
exterior wall was a deep moat, supplied with water from a neighbouring
rivulet. Front-de-Boeuf, whose character placed him often at feud with
his enemies, had made considerable additions to the strength of his
castle, by building towers upon the outward wall, so as to flank it at
every angle. The access, as usual in castles of the period, lay through
an arched barbican, or outwork, which was terminated and defended by a
small turret at each corner.

Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-Boeuf's castle raise their
grey and moss-grown battlements, glimmering in the morning sun above the
wood by which they were surrounded, than he instantly augured more truly
concerning the cause of his misfortune.

"I did injustice," he said, "to the thieves and outlaws of these woods,
when I supposed such banditti to belong to their bands; I might as
justly have confounded the foxes of these brakes with the ravening
wolves of France. Tell me, dogs--is it my life or my wealth that your
master aims at? Is it too much that two Saxons, myself and the noble
Athelstane, should hold land in the country which was once the patrimony
of our race?--Put us then to death, and complete your tyranny by taking
our lives, as you began with our liberties. If the Saxon Cedric cannot
rescue England, he is willing to die for her. Tell your tyrannical
master, I do only beseech him to dismiss the Lady Rowena in honour and
safety. She is a woman, and he need not dread her; and with us will die
all who dare fight in her cause."

The attendants remained as mute to this address as to the former, and
they now stood before the gate of the castle. De Bracy winded his horn
three times, and the archers and cross-bow men, who had manned the wall
upon seeing their approach, hastened to lower the drawbridge, and admit
them. The prisoners were compelled by their guards to alight, and were
conducted to an apartment where a hasty repast was offered them, of
which none but Athelstane felt any inclination to partake. Neither had
the descendant of the Confessor much time to do justice to the good
cheer placed before them, for their guards gave him and Cedric to
understand that they were to be imprisoned in a chamber apart from
Rowena. Resistance was vain; and they were compelled to follow to a
large room, which, rising on clumsy Saxon pillars, resembled those
refectories and chapter-houses which may be still seen in the most
ancient parts of our most ancient monasteries.

The Lady Rowena was next separated from her train, and conducted, with
courtesy, indeed, but still without consulting her inclination, to
a distant apartment. The same alarming distinction was conferred on
Rebecca, in spite of her father's entreaties, who offered even money,
in this extremity of distress, that she might be permitted to abide with
him. "Base unbeliever," answered one of his guards, "when thou hast seen
thy lair, thou wilt not wish thy daughter to partake it." And, without
farther discussion, the old Jew was forcibly dragged off in a different
direction from the other prisoners. The domestics, after being carefully
searched and disarmed, were confined in another part of the castle;
and Rowena was refused even the comfort she might have derived from the
attendance of her handmaiden Elgitha.

The apartment in which the Saxon chiefs were confined, for to them
we turn our first attention, although at present used as a sort of
guard-room, had formerly been the great hall of the castle. It was now
abandoned to meaner purposes, because the present lord, among other
additions to the convenience, security, and beauty of his baronial
residence, had erected a new and noble hall, whose vaulted roof was
supported by lighter and more elegant pillars, and fitted up with that
higher degree of ornament, which the Normans had already introduced into
architecture.

Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignant reflections on the
past and on the present, while the apathy of his companion served,
instead of patience and philosophy, to defend him against every thing
save the inconvenience of the present moment; and so little did he feel
even this last, that he was only from time to time roused to a reply by
Cedric's animated and impassioned appeal to him.

"Yes," said Cedric, half speaking to himself, and half addressing
himself to Athelstane, "it was in this very hall that my father feasted
with Torquil Wolfganger, when he entertained the valiant and unfortunate
Harold, then advancing against the Norwegians, who had united themselves
to the rebel Tosti. It was in this hall that Harold returned the
magnanimous answer to the ambassador of his rebel brother. Oft have
I heard my father kindle as he told the tale. The envoy of Tosti was
admitted, when this ample room could scarce contain the crowd of
noble Saxon leaders, who were quaffing the blood-red wine around their
monarch."

"I hope," said Athelstane, somewhat moved by this part of his friend's
discourse, "they will not forget to send us some wine and refactions at
noon--we had scarce a breathing-space allowed to break our fast, and
I never have the benefit of my food when I eat immediately after
dismounting from horseback, though the leeches recommend that practice."

Cedric went on with his story without noticing this interjectional
observation of his friend.

"The envoy of Tosti," he said, "moved up the hall, undismayed by the
frowning countenances of all around him, until he made his obeisance
before the throne of King Harold.

"'What terms,' he said, 'Lord King, hath thy brother Tosti to hope, if
he should lay down his arms, and crave peace at thy hands?'

"'A brother's love,' cried the generous Harold, 'and the fair earldom of
Northumberland.'

"'But should Tosti accept these terms,' continued the envoy, 'what lands
shall be assigned to his faithful ally, Hardrada, King of Norway?'

"'Seven feet of English ground,' answered Harold, fiercely, 'or, as
Hardrada is said to be a giant, perhaps we may allow him twelve inches
more.'

"The hall rung with acclamations, and cup and horn was filled to
the Norwegian, who should be speedily in possession of his English
territory."

"I could have pledged him with all my soul," said Athelstane, "for my
tongue cleaves to my palate."

"The baffled envoy," continued Cedric, pursuing with animation his tale,
though it interested not the listener, "retreated, to carry to Tosti and
his ally the ominous answer of his injured brother. It was then that
the distant towers of York, and the bloody streams of the Derwent,
[26] beheld that direful conflict, in which, after displaying the most
undaunted valour, the King of Norway, and Tosti, both fell, with ten
thousand of their bravest followers. Who would have thought that upon
the proud day when this battle was won, the very gale which waved the
Saxon banners in triumph, was filling the Norman sails, and impelling
them to the fatal shores of Sussex?--Who would have thought that Harold,
within a few brief days, would himself possess no more of his kingdom,
than the share which he allotted in his wrath to the Norwegian
invader?--Who would have thought that you, noble Athelstane--that you,
descended of Harold's blood, and that I, whose father was not the worst
defender of the Saxon crown, should be prisoners to a vile Norman, in
the very hall in which our ancestors held such high festival?"

"It is sad enough," replied Athelstane; "but I trust they will hold us
to a moderate ransom--At any rate it cannot be their purpose to starve
us outright; and yet, although it is high noon, I see no preparations
for serving dinner. Look up at the window, noble Cedric, and judge by
the sunbeams if it is not on the verge of noon."

"It may be so," answered Cedric; "but I cannot look on that stained
lattice without its awakening other reflections than those which concern
the passing moment, or its privations. When that window was wrought, my
noble friend, our hardy fathers knew not the art of making glass, or
of staining it--The pride of Wolfganger's father brought an artist from
Normandy to adorn his hall with this new species of emblazonment, that
breaks the golden light of God's blessed day into so many fantastic
hues. The foreigner came here poor, beggarly, cringing, and subservient,
ready to doff his cap to the meanest native of the household. He
returned pampered and proud, to tell his rapacious countrymen of the
wealth and the simplicity of the Saxon nobles--a folly, oh, Athelstane,
foreboded of old, as well as foreseen, by those descendants of Hengist
and his hardy tribes, who retained the simplicity of their manners. We
made these strangers our bosom friends, our confidential servants;
we borrowed their artists and their arts, and despised the honest
simplicity and hardihood with which our brave ancestors supported
themselves, and we became enervated by Norman arts long ere we fell
under Norman arms. Far better was our homely diet, eaten in peace and
liberty, than the luxurious dainties, the love of which hath delivered
us as bondsmen to the foreign conqueror!"

"I should," replied Athelstane, "hold very humble diet a luxury at
present; and it astonishes me, noble Cedric, that you can bear so truly
in mind the memory of past deeds, when it appeareth you forget the very
hour of dinner."

"It is time lost," muttered Cedric apart and impatiently, "to speak
to him of aught else but that which concerns his appetite! The soul of
Hardicanute hath taken possession of him, and he hath no pleasure save
to fill, to swill, and to call for more.--Alas!" said he, looking at
Athelstane with compassion, "that so dull a spirit should be lodged in
so goodly a form! Alas! that such an enterprise as the regeneration of
England should turn on a hinge so imperfect! Wedded to Rowena, indeed,
her nobler and more generous soul may yet awake the better nature which
is torpid within him. Yet how should this be, while Rowena, Athelstane,
and I myself, remain the prisoners of this brutal marauder and have
been made so perhaps from a sense of the dangers which our liberty might
bring to the usurped power of his nation?"

While the Saxon was plunged in these painful reflections, the door of
their prison opened, and gave entrance to a sewer, holding his white rod
of office. This important person advanced into the chamber with a grave
pace, followed by four attendants, bearing in a table covered
with dishes, the sight and smell of which seemed to be an instant
compensation to Athelstane for all the inconvenience he had undergone.
The persons who attended on the feast were masked and cloaked.

"What mummery is this?" said Cedric; "think you that we are ignorant
whose prisoners we are, when we are in the castle of your master?
Tell him," he continued, willing to use this opportunity to open
a negotiation for his freedom,--"Tell your master, Reginald
Front-de-Boeuf, that we know no reason he can have for withholding our
liberty, excepting his unlawful desire to enrich himself at our expense.
Tell him that we yield to his rapacity, as in similar circumstances we
should do to that of a literal robber. Let him name the ransom at which
he rates our liberty, and it shall be paid, providing the exaction is
suited to our means." The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head.

"And tell Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf," said Athelstane, "that I send
him my mortal defiance, and challenge him to combat with me, on foot or
horseback, at any secure place, within eight days after our liberation;
which, if he be a true knight, he will not, under these circumstances,
venture to refuse or to delay."

"I shall deliver to the knight your defiance," answered the sewer;
"meanwhile I leave you to your food."

The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with no good grace; for a
large mouthful, which required the exercise of both jaws at once, added
to a natural hesitation, considerably damped the effect of the bold
defiance it contained. Still, however, his speech was hailed by Cedric
as an incontestible token of reviving spirit in his companion, whose
previous indifference had begun, notwithstanding his respect for
Athelstane's descent, to wear out his patience. But he now cordially
shook hands with him in token of his approbation, and was somewhat
grieved when Athelstane observed, "that he would fight a dozen such men
as Front-de-Boeuf, if, by so doing, he could hasten his departure from
a dungeon where they put so much garlic into their pottage."
Notwithstanding this intimation of a relapse into the apathy of
sensuality, Cedric placed himself opposite to Athelstane, and soon
showed, that if the distresses of his country could banish the
recollection of food while the table was uncovered, yet no sooner were
the victuals put there, than he proved that the appetite of his Saxon
ancestors had descended to him along with their other qualities.

The captives had not long enjoyed their refreshment, however, ere their
attention was disturbed even from this most serious occupation by the
blast of a horn winded before the gate. It was repeated three times,
with as much violence as if it had been blown before an enchanted castle
by the destined knight, at whose summons halls and towers, barbican and
battlement, were to roll off like a morning vapour. The Saxons started
from the table, and hastened to the window. But their curiosity was
disappointed; for these outlets only looked upon the court of the
castle, and the sound came from beyond its precincts. The summons,
however, seemed of importance, for a considerable degree of bustle
instantly took place in the castle.

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

completion: We have another passage from Joanna Baillie, this one from Act III, Scene I1 of Orra: A Tragedy . Orra, the speaker of the passage, is mourning the past and people long dead. Hmm. Sounds like we're in for some memories of the past from Cedric. While the outlaws are organizing the rescue of Cedric and Rowena, the Normans are lost in the forest. Bois-Guilbert tells De Bracy it's time for him to leave. It's now De Bracy's job to pretend to rescue Cedric and Rowena. De Bracy won't leave Bois-Guilbert until his captives are safely at Torquilstone Castle with Reginald Front-de-Boeuf. De Bracy doesn't trust Bois-Guilbert - he thinks he's double-cross him. But Bois-Guilbert doesn't care about Rowena. He has his eyes set on Rebecca. De Bracy asks whether it's Rebecca or her father's money that Bois-Guilbert finds so attractive. Bois-Guilbert likes both, but he has to share Isaac's money with Reginald Front-de-Boeuf. He wants Rebecca all to himself . Cedric yells at the guards: they are English, he is English, how can they be fighting against each other? When Cedric sees that they've arrived at Torquilstone Castle, he's shocked to realize that he has fallen into Norman hands. Cedric offers the guards Athelstane's and his own life if they can save the honor of Rowena. None of the "outlaws" answer him. At the castle, Rowena and Rebecca are taken into separate rooms. Isaac and the Saxon servants get taken off to other parts of the castle. Cedric and Athelstane wind up together. Cedric starts getting sentimental about the old days of England. He recalls that it was in this very hall of Torquilstone that King Harold II met with messengers from his rebel brother, Tosti. King Harold II was the last King of England before the Normans invaded Britain in 1066. Just before the Norman invasion, Tosti rebelled against his brother, King Harold, with the help of the Norwegian King Hardrada. Messengers from Tosti asked what King Harold would give his brother if Tosti surrendered. King Harold promised to give him the Earldom of Northumberland . But for Hardrada, King Harold promised "seven feet of English ground" , or maybe a bit more, since he is supposed to be very tall. In other words, King Harold offered Hardrada enough land for an English grave. When Tosti, Hardrada, and King Harold fought it out, Tosti and Hardrada were both killed, along with their bravest men. Little did the English know, fresh from their victory over the Norwegians, that the Normans were about to invade from France. Throughout all of Cedric's ranting about the past, Athelstane keeps wondering if and when they are going to eat. The longer Cedric spends in Athelstane's company, the more tired he gets of his laziness and obsession with food. Wearing masks to cover their faces, several Norman servants come in with food for Cedric and Athelstane. The Saxons hear three horn blasts coming from the gate. There is bustle in the halls: something is happening!


prompt:
Chapter: My daughter--O my ducats--O my daughter!
     ------O my Christian ducats!
     Justice--the Law--my ducats, and my daughter!
     --Merchant of Venice

Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquet as soon as their
ungratified curiosity should permit them to attend to the calls of their
half-satiated appetite, we have to look in upon the yet more severe
imprisonment of Isaac of York. The poor Jew had been hastily thrust into
a dungeon-vault of the castle, the floor of which was deep beneath
the level of the ground, and very damp, being lower than even the moat
itself. The only light was received through one or two loop-holes far
above the reach of the captive's hand. These apertures admitted, even
at mid-day, only a dim and uncertain light, which was changed for utter
darkness long before the rest of the castle had lost the blessing of
day. Chains and shackles, which had been the portion of former captives,
from whom active exertions to escape had been apprehended, hung rusted
and empty on the walls of the prison, and in the rings of one of those
sets of fetters there remained two mouldering bones, which seemed to
have been once those of the human leg, as if some prisoner had been left
not only to perish there, but to be consumed to a skeleton.

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large fire-grate, over the
top of which were stretched some transverse iron bars, half devoured
with rust.

The whole appearance of the dungeon might have appalled a stouter heart
than that of Isaac, who, nevertheless, was more composed under the
imminent pressure of danger, than he had seemed to be while affected by
terrors, of which the cause was as yet remote and contingent. The lovers
of the chase say that the hare feels more agony during the pursuit of
the greyhounds, than when she is struggling in their fangs. [27]

And thus it is probable, that the Jews, by the very frequency of their
fear on all occasions, had their minds in some degree prepared for
every effort of tyranny which could be practised upon them; so that no
aggression, when it had taken place, could bring with it that surprise
which is the most disabling quality of terror. Neither was it the first
time that Isaac had been placed in circumstances so dangerous. He had
therefore experience to guide him, as well as hope, that he might again,
as formerly, be delivered as a prey from the fowler. Above all, he had
upon his side the unyielding obstinacy of his nation, and that unbending
resolution, with which Israelites have been frequently known to submit
to the uttermost evils which power and violence can inflict upon them,
rather than gratify their oppressors by granting their demands.

In this humour of passive resistance, and with his garment collected
beneath him to keep his limbs from the wet pavement, Isaac sat in a
corner of his dungeon, where his folded hands, his dishevelled hair and
beard, his furred cloak and high cap, seen by the wiry and broken light,
would have afforded a study for Rembrandt, had that celebrated painter
existed at the period. The Jew remained, without altering his position,
for nearly three hours, at the expiry of which steps were heard on the
dungeon stair. The bolts screamed as they were withdrawn--the hinges
creaked as the wicket opened, and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, followed by
the two Saracen slaves of the Templar, entered the prison.

Front-de-Boeuf, a tall and strong man, whose life had been spent in
public war or in private feuds and broils, and who had hesitated at no
means of extending his feudal power, had features corresponding to his
character, and which strongly expressed the fiercer and more malignant
passions of the mind. The scars with which his visage was seamed,
would, on features of a different cast, have excited the sympathy and
veneration due to the marks of honourable valour; but, in the peculiar
case of Front-de-Boeuf, they only added to the ferocity of his
countenance, and to the dread which his presence inspired. This
formidable baron was clad in a leathern doublet, fitted close to his
body, which was frayed and soiled with the stains of his armour. He
had no weapon, excepting a poniard at his belt, which served to
counterbalance the weight of the bunch of rusty keys that hung at his
right side.

The black slaves who attended Front-de-Boeuf were stripped of their
gorgeous apparel, and attired in jerkins and trowsers of coarse linen,
their sleeves being tucked up above the elbow, like those of butchers
when about to exercise their function in the slaughter-house. Each had
in his hand a small pannier; and, when they entered the dungeon, they
stopt at the door until Front-de-Boeuf himself carefully locked and
double-locked it. Having taken this precaution, he advanced slowly up
the apartment towards the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye fixed, as if
he wished to paralyze him with his glance, as some animals are said to
fascinate their prey. It seemed indeed as if the sullen and malignant
eye of Front-de-Boeuf possessed some portion of that supposed power over
his unfortunate prisoner. The Jew sat with his mouth agape, and his
eyes fixed on the savage baron with such earnestness of terror, that his
frame seemed literally to shrink together, and to diminish in size while
encountering the fierce Norman's fixed and baleful gaze. The unhappy
Isaac was deprived not only of the power of rising to make the obeisance
which his terror dictated, but he could not even doff his cap, or utter
any word of supplication; so strongly was he agitated by the conviction
that tortures and death were impending over him.

On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman appeared to dilate
in magnitude, like that of the eagle, which ruffles up its plumage when
about to pounce on its defenceless prey. He paused within three steps
of the corner in which the unfortunate Jew had now, as it were, coiled
himself up into the smallest possible space, and made a sign for one of
the slaves to approach. The black satellite came forward accordingly,
and, producing from his basket a large pair of scales and several
weights, he laid them at the feet of Front-de-Boeuf, and again retired
to the respectful distance, at which his companion had already taken his
station.

The motions of these men were slow and solemn, as if there impended over
their souls some preconception of horror and of cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf
himself opened the scene by thus addressing his ill-fated captive.

"Most accursed dog of an accursed race," he said, awaking with his deep
and sullen voice the sullen echoes of his dungeon vault, "seest thou
these scales?"

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative.

"In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out," said the relentless
Baron, "a thousand silver pounds, after the just measure and weight of
the Tower of London."

"Holy Abraham!" returned the Jew, finding voice through the very
extremity of his danger, "heard man ever such a demand?--Who ever
heard, even in a minstrel's tale, of such a sum as a thousand pounds
of silver?--What human sight was ever blessed with the vision of such
a mass of treasure?--Not within the walls of York, ransack my house
and that of all my tribe, wilt thou find the tithe of that huge sum of
silver that thou speakest of."

"I am reasonable," answered Front-de-Boeuf, "and if silver be scant, I
refuse not gold. At the rate of a mark of gold for each six pounds of
silver, thou shalt free thy unbelieving carcass from such punishment as
thy heart has never even conceived."

"Have mercy on me, noble knight!" exclaimed Isaac; "I am old, and poor,
and helpless. It were unworthy to triumph over me--It is a poor deed to
crush a worm."

"Old thou mayst be," replied the knight; "more shame to their folly who
have suffered thee to grow grey in usury and knavery--Feeble thou mayst
be, for when had a Jew either heart or hand--But rich it is well known
thou art."

"I swear to you, noble knight," said the Jew "by all which I believe,
and by all which we believe in common---"

"Perjure not thyself," said the Norman, interrupting him, "and let not
thine obstinacy seal thy doom, until thou hast seen and well considered
the fate that awaits thee. Think not I speak to thee only to excite thy
terror, and practise on the base cowardice thou hast derived from thy
tribe. I swear to thee by that which thou dost NOT believe, by the
gospel which our church teaches, and by the keys which are given her to
bind and to loose, that my purpose is deep and peremptory. This
dungeon is no place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand times more
distinguished than thou have died within these walls, and their fate
hath never been known! But for thee is reserved a long and lingering
death, to which theirs were luxury."

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach, and spoke to them
apart, in their own language; for he also had been in Palestine, where
perhaps, he had learnt his lesson of cruelty. The Saracens produced from
their baskets a quantity of charcoal, a pair of bellows, and a flask
of oil. While the one struck a light with a flint and steel, the other
disposed the charcoal in the large rusty grate which we have already
mentioned, and exercised the bellows until the fuel came to a red glow.

"Seest thou, Isaac," said Front-de-Boeuf, "the range of iron bars above
the glowing charcoal?-- [28] on that warm couch thou shalt lie, stripped
of thy clothes as if thou wert to rest on a bed of down. One of these
slaves shall maintain the fire beneath thee, while the other shall
anoint thy wretched limbs with oil, lest the roast should burn.--Now,
choose betwixt such a scorching bed and the payment of a thousand pounds
of silver; for, by the head of my father, thou hast no other option."

"It is impossible," exclaimed the miserable Jew--"it is impossible that
your purpose can be real! The good God of nature never made a heart
capable of exercising such cruelty!"

"Trust not to that, Isaac," said Front-de-Boeuf, "it were a fatal error.
Dost thou think that I, who have seen a town sacked, in which thousands
of my Christian countrymen perished by sword, by flood, and by fire,
will blench from my purpose for the outcries or screams of one single
wretched Jew?--or thinkest thou that these swarthy slaves, who have
neither law, country, nor conscience, but their master's will--who use
the poison, or the stake, or the poniard, or the cord, at his slightest
wink--thinkest thou that THEY will have mercy, who do not even
understand the language in which it is asked?--Be wise, old man;
discharge thyself of a portion of thy superfluous wealth; repay to the
hands of a Christian a part of what thou hast acquired by the usury thou
hast practised on those of his religion. Thy cunning may soon swell
out once more thy shrivelled purse, but neither leech nor medicine can
restore thy scorched hide and flesh wert thou once stretched on these
bars. Tell down thy ransom, I say, and rejoice that at such rate thou
canst redeem thee from a dungeon, the secrets of which few have returned
to tell. I waste no more words with thee--choose between thy dross and
thy flesh and blood, and as thou choosest, so shall it be."

"So may Abraham, Jacob, and all the fathers of our people assist me,"
said Isaac, "I cannot make the choice, because I have not the means of
satisfying your exorbitant demand!"

"Seize him and strip him, slaves," said the knight, "and let the fathers
of his race assist him if they can."

The assistants, taking their directions more from the Baron's eye and
his hand than his tongue, once more stepped forward, laid hands on the
unfortunate Isaac, plucked him up from the ground, and, holding him
between them, waited the hard-hearted Baron's farther signal. The
unhappy Jew eyed their countenances and that of Front-de-Boeuf, in
hope of discovering some symptoms of relenting; but that of the Baron
exhibited the same cold, half-sullen, half-sarcastic smile which had
been the prelude to his cruelty; and the savage eyes of the Saracens,
rolling gloomily under their dark brows, acquiring a yet more sinister
expression by the whiteness of the circle which surrounds the pupil,
evinced rather the secret pleasure which they expected from the
approaching scene, than any reluctance to be its directors or agents.
The Jew then looked at the glowing furnace, over which he was presently
to be stretched, and seeing no chance of his tormentor's relenting, his
resolution gave way.

"I will pay," he said, "the thousand pounds of silver--That is," he
added, after a moment's pause, "I will pay it with the help of my
brethren; for I must beg as a mendicant at the door of our synagogue ere
I make up so unheard-of a sum.--When and where must it be delivered?"

"Here," replied Front-de-Boeuf, "here it must be delivered--weighed it
must be--weighed and told down on this very dungeon floor.--Thinkest
thou I will part with thee until thy ransom is secure?"

"And what is to be my surety," said the Jew, "that I shall be at liberty
after this ransom is paid?"

"The word of a Norman noble, thou pawn-broking slave," answered
Front-de-Boeuf; "the faith of a Norman nobleman, more pure than the gold
and silver of thee and all thy tribe."

"I crave pardon, noble lord," said Isaac timidly, "but wherefore should
I rely wholly on the word of one who will trust nothing to mine?"

"Because thou canst not help it, Jew," said the knight, sternly. "Wert
thou now in thy treasure-chamber at York, and were I craving a loan of
thy shekels, it would be thine to dictate the time of payment, and the
pledge of security. This is MY treasure-chamber. Here I have thee at
advantage, nor will I again deign to repeat the terms on which I grant
thee liberty."

The Jew groaned deeply.--"Grant me," he said, "at least with my own
liberty, that of the companions with whom I travel. They scorned me as
a Jew, yet they pitied my desolation, and because they tarried to aid me
by the way, a share of my evil hath come upon them; moreover, they may
contribute in some sort to my ransom."

"If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls," said Front-de-Boeuf, "their
ransom will depend upon other terms than thine. Mind thine own concerns,
Jew, I warn thee, and meddle not with those of others."

"I am, then," said Isaac, "only to be set at liberty, together with mine
wounded friend?"

"Shall I twice recommend it," said Front-de-Boeuf, "to a son of Israel,
to meddle with his own concerns, and leave those of others alone?--Since
thou hast made thy choice, it remains but that thou payest down thy
ransom, and that at a short day."

"Yet hear me," said the Jew--"for the sake of that very wealth which
thou wouldst obtain at the expense of thy---" Here he stopt short,
afraid of irritating the savage Norman. But Front-de-Boeuf only laughed,
and himself filled up the blank at which the Jew had hesitated.

"At the expense of my conscience, thou wouldst say, Isaac; speak it
out--I tell thee, I am reasonable. I can bear the reproaches of a loser,
even when that loser is a Jew. Thou wert not so patient, Isaac, when
thou didst invoke justice against Jacques Fitzdotterel, for calling thee
a usurious blood-sucker, when thy exactions had devoured his patrimony."

"I swear by the Talmud," said the Jew, "that your valour has been
misled in that matter. Fitzdotterel drew his poniard upon me in mine own
chamber, because I craved him for mine own silver. The term of payment
was due at the Passover."

"I care not what he did," said Front-de-Boeuf; "the question is, when
shall I have mine own?--when shall I have the shekels, Isaac?"

"Let my daughter Rebecca go forth to York," answered Isaac, "with your
safe conduct, noble knight, and so soon as man and horse can return, the
treasure---" Here he groaned deeply, but added, after the pause of a few
seconds,--"The treasure shall be told down on this very floor."

"Thy daughter!" said Front-de-Boeuf, as if surprised,--"By heavens,
Isaac, I would I had known of this. I deemed that yonder black-browed
girl had been thy concubine, and I gave her to be a handmaiden to Sir
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, after the fashion of patriarchs and heroes of
the days of old, who set us in these matters a wholesome example."

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling communication made the
very vault to ring, and astounded the two Saracens so much that they let
go their hold of the Jew. He availed himself of his enlargement to throw
himself on the pavement, and clasp the knees of Front-de-Boeuf.

"Take all that you have asked," said he, "Sir Knight--take ten times
more--reduce me to ruin and to beggary, if thou wilt,--nay, pierce
me with thy poniard, broil me on that furnace, but spare my daughter,
deliver her in safety and honour!--As thou art born of woman, spare the
honour of a helpless maiden--She is the image of my deceased Rachel,
she is the last of six pledges of her love--Will you deprive a widowed
husband of his sole remaining comfort?--Will you reduce a father to wish
that his only living child were laid beside her dead mother, in the tomb
of our fathers?"

"I would," said the Norman, somewhat relenting, "that I had known
of this before. I thought your race had loved nothing save their
moneybags."

"Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be," said Isaac, eager to
improve the moment of apparent sympathy; "the hunted fox, the tortured
wildcat loves its young--the despised and persecuted race of Abraham
love their children!"

"Be it so," said Front-de-Boeuf; "I will believe it in future, Isaac,
for thy very sake--but it aids us not now, I cannot help what has
happened, or what is to follow; my word is passed to my comrade in arms,
nor would I break it for ten Jews and Jewesses to boot. Besides, why
shouldst thou think evil is to come to the girl, even if she became
Bois-Guilbert's booty?"

"There will, there must!" exclaimed Isaac, wringing his hands in agony;
"when did Templars breathe aught but cruelty to men, and dishonour to
women!"

"Dog of an infidel," said Front-de-Boeuf, with sparkling eyes, and not
sorry, perhaps, to seize a pretext for working himself into a passion,
"blaspheme not the Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, but take thought
instead to pay me the ransom thou hast promised, or woe betide thy
Jewish throat!"

"Robber and villain!" said the Jew, retorting the insults of his
oppressor with passion, which, however impotent, he now found it
impossible to bridle, "I will pay thee nothing--not one silver penny
will I pay thee, unless my daughter is delivered to me in safety and
honour!"

"Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?" said the Norman, sternly--"has thy
flesh and blood a charm against heated iron and scalding oil?"

"I care not!" said the Jew, rendered desperate by paternal affection;
"do thy worst. My daughter is my flesh and blood, dearer to me a
thousand times than those limbs which thy cruelty threatens. No silver
will I give thee, unless I were to pour it molten down thy avaricious
throat--no, not a silver penny will I give thee, Nazarene, were it to
save thee from the deep damnation thy whole life has merited! Take my
life if thou wilt, and say, the Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to
disappoint the Christian."

"We shall see that," said Front-de-Boeuf; "for by the blessed rood,
which is the abomination of thy accursed tribe, thou shalt feel the
extremities of fire and steel!--Strip him, slaves, and chain him down
upon the bars."

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the Saracens had
already torn from him his upper garment, and were proceeding totally to
disrobe him, when the sound of a bugle, twice winded without the castle,
penetrated even to the recesses of the dungeon, and immediately
after loud voices were heard calling for Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf.
Unwilling to be found engaged in his hellish occupation, the savage
Baron gave the slaves a signal to restore Isaac's garment, and, quitting
the dungeon with his attendants, he left the Jew to thank God for
his own deliverance, or to lament over his daughter's captivity,
and probable fate, as his personal or parental feelings might prove
strongest.

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

completion: This chapter starts with a famous quote from Act II of Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice . In this passage Shylock, the Jew, cries out because his daughter Jessica has eloped with a Christian and stolen his money. These lines are from a Jewish character who has lost both his daughter and his cash - which implies that Isaac and Rebecca are going to feature in this chapter. We switch focus to Isaac of York, who has been stuck in the castle dungeons. Reginald Front-de-Boeuf and Bois-Guilbert's two Muslim servants enter Isaac's cell. Front-de-Boeuf demands a thousand pounds of silver from Isaac. Isaac has no hope of coming up with that much money; all the Jews of the city of York put together don't have that much. Front-de-Boeuf is willing to accept gold instead of silver if necessary. Front-de-Boeuf threatens Isaac with horrible torture if he doesn't pay up. He promises that he's capable of torture, which he's done plenty of during the Crusades in the Holy Land. Under the threat of torture, Isaac agrees to pay the thousand pounds of silver. Front-de-Boeuf won't let Isaac go free until the silver is paid. Isaac asks if he can ransom his fellow prisoners with that same thousand pounds. Front-de-Boeuf tells Isaac not to worry about the Saxons; they are here for different reasons. Isaac asks if his daughter, Rebecca, can go to York to gather the treasure. Front-de-Boeuf sneers that he's already sent Rebecca to Bois-Guilbert. Isaac is heartbroken. He refuses to pay a penny to Front-de-Boeuf, no matter what tortures he has to suffer. Isaac won't help the man who took his daughter away. Front-de-Boeuf starts preparing to torture Isaac, but he is interrupted by the horn blasts from the castle gate.


prompt:
Chapter: Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
     Can no way change you to a milder form,
     I'll woo you, like a soldier, at arms' end,
     And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you.
     --Two Gentlemen of Verona

The apartment to which the Lady Rowena had been introduced was fitted
up with some rude attempts at ornament and magnificence, and her being
placed there might be considered as a peculiar mark of respect not
offered to the other prisoners. But the wife of Front-de-Boeuf, for whom
it had been originally furnished, was long dead, and decay and neglect
had impaired the few ornaments with which her taste had adorned it.
The tapestry hung down from the walls in many places, and in others
was tarnished and faded under the effects of the sun, or tattered and
decayed by age. Desolate, however, as it was, this was the apartment of
the castle which had been judged most fitting for the accommodation
of the Saxon heiress; and here she was left to meditate upon her fate,
until the actors in this nefarious drama had arranged the several parts
which each of them was to perform. This had been settled in a council
held by Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and the Templar, in which, after
a long and warm debate concerning the several advantages which each
insisted upon deriving from his peculiar share in this audacious
enterprise, they had at length determined the fate of their unhappy
prisoners.

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when De Bracy, for whose
advantage the expedition had been first planned, appeared to prosecute
his views upon the hand and possessions of the Lady Rowena.

The interval had not entirely been bestowed in holding council with his
confederates, for De Bracy had found leisure to decorate his person
with all the foppery of the times. His green cassock and vizard were
now flung aside. His long luxuriant hair was trained to flow in quaint
tresses down his richly furred cloak. His beard was closely shaved, his
doublet reached to the middle of his leg, and the girdle which secured
it, and at the same time supported his ponderous sword, was embroidered
and embossed with gold work. We have already noticed the extravagant
fashion of the shoes at this period, and the points of Maurice de
Bracy's might have challenged the prize of extravagance with the gayest,
being turned up and twisted like the horns of a ram. Such was the dress
of a gallant of the period; and, in the present instance, that effect
was aided by the handsome person and good demeanour of the wearer, whose
manners partook alike of the grace of a courtier, and the frankness of a
soldier.

He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, garnished with a golden
broach, representing St Michael trampling down the Prince of Evil. With
this, he gently motioned the lady to a seat; and, as she still retained
her standing posture, the knight ungloved his right hand, and motioned
to conduct her thither. But Rowena declined, by her gesture, the
proffered compliment, and replied, "If I be in the presence of
my jailor, Sir Knight--nor will circumstances allow me to think
otherwise--it best becomes his prisoner to remain standing till she
learns her doom."

"Alas! fair Rowena," returned De Bracy, "you are in presence of your
captive, not your jailor; and it is from your fair eyes that De Bracy
must receive that doom which you fondly expect from him."

"I know you not, sir," said the lady, drawing herself up with all the
pride of offended rank and beauty; "I know you not--and the insolent
familiarity with which you apply to me the jargon of a troubadour, forms
no apology for the violence of a robber."

"To thyself, fair maid," answered De Bracy, in his former tone--"to
thine own charms be ascribed whate'er I have done which passed the
respect due to her, whom I have chosen queen of my heart, and lodestar
of my eyes."

"I repeat to you, Sir Knight, that I know you not, and that no man
wearing chain and spurs ought thus to intrude himself upon the presence
of an unprotected lady."

"That I am unknown to you," said De Bracy, "is indeed my misfortune;
yet let me hope that De Bracy's name has not been always unspoken, when
minstrels or heralds have praised deeds of chivalry, whether in the
lists or in the battle-field."

"To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy praise, Sir Knight,"
replied Rowena, "more suiting for their mouths than for thine own; and
tell me which of them shall record in song, or in book of tourney, the
memorable conquest of this night, a conquest obtained over an old man,
followed by a few timid hinds; and its booty, an unfortunate maiden,
transported against her will to the castle of a robber?"

"You are unjust, Lady Rowena," said the knight, biting his lips in
some confusion, and speaking in a tone more natural to him than that of
affected gallantry, which he had at first adopted; "yourself free from
passion, you can allow no excuse for the frenzy of another, although
caused by your own beauty."

"I pray you, Sir Knight," said Rowena, "to cease a language so commonly
used by strolling minstrels, that it becomes not the mouth of knights or
nobles. Certes, you constrain me to sit down, since you enter upon such
commonplace terms, of which each vile crowder hath a stock that might
last from hence to Christmas."

"Proud damsel," said De Bracy, incensed at finding his gallant style
procured him nothing but contempt--"proud damsel, thou shalt be as
proudly encountered. Know then, that I have supported my pretensions to
your hand in the way that best suited thy character. It is meeter for
thy humour to be wooed with bow and bill, than in set terms, and in
courtly language."

"Courtesy of tongue," said Rowena, "when it is used to veil churlishness
of deed, is but a knight's girdle around the breast of a base clown. I
wonder not that the restraint appears to gall you--more it were for your
honour to have retained the dress and language of an outlaw, than
to veil the deeds of one under an affectation of gentle language and
demeanour."

"You counsel well, lady," said the Norman; "and in the bold language
which best justifies bold action I tell thee, thou shalt never leave
this castle, or thou shalt leave it as Maurice de Bracy's wife. I am
not wont to be baffled in my enterprises, nor needs a Norman noble
scrupulously to vindicate his conduct to the Saxon maiden whom he
distinguishes by the offer of his hand. Thou art proud, Rowena, and thou
art the fitter to be my wife. By what other means couldst thou be raised
to high honour and to princely place, saving by my alliance? How else
wouldst thou escape from the mean precincts of a country grange, where
Saxons herd with the swine which form their wealth, to take thy seat,
honoured as thou shouldst be, and shalt be, amid all in England that is
distinguished by beauty, or dignified by power?"

"Sir Knight," replied Rowena, "the grange which you contemn hath been
my shelter from infancy; and, trust me, when I leave it--should that
day ever arrive--it shall be with one who has not learnt to despise the
dwelling and manners in which I have been brought up."

"I guess your meaning, lady," said De Bracy, "though you may think it
lies too obscure for my apprehension. But dream not, that Richard Coeur
de Lion will ever resume his throne, far less that Wilfred of Ivanhoe,
his minion, will ever lead thee to his footstool, to be there welcomed
as the bride of a favourite. Another suitor might feel jealousy while he
touched this string; but my firm purpose cannot be changed by a passion
so childish and so hopeless. Know, lady, that this rival is in my power,
and that it rests but with me to betray the secret of his being within
the castle to Front-de-Boeuf, whose jealousy will be more fatal than
mine."

"Wilfred here?" said Rowena, in disdain; "that is as true as that
Front-de-Boeuf is his rival."

De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant.

"Wert thou really ignorant of this?" said he; "didst thou not know
that Wilfred of Ivanhoe travelled in the litter of the Jew?--a meet
conveyance for the crusader, whose doughty arm was to reconquer the Holy
Sepulchre!" And he laughed scornfully.

"And if he is here," said Rowena, compelling herself to a tone of
indifference, though trembling with an agony of apprehension which she
could not suppress, "in what is he the rival of Front-de-Boeuf? or what
has he to fear beyond a short imprisonment, and an honourable ransom,
according to the use of chivalry?"

"Rowena," said De Bracy, "art thou, too, deceived by the common error of
thy sex, who think there can be no rivalry but that respecting their own
charms? Knowest thou not there is a jealousy of ambition and of wealth,
as well as of love; and that this our host, Front-de-Boeuf, will push
from his road him who opposes his claim to the fair barony of Ivanhoe,
as readily, eagerly, and unscrupulously, as if he were preferred to him
by some blue-eyed damsel? But smile on my suit, lady, and the wounded
champion shall have nothing to fear from Front-de-Boeuf, whom else thou
mayst mourn for, as in the hands of one who has never shown compassion."

"Save him, for the love of Heaven!" said Rowena, her firmness giving way
under terror for her lover's impending fate.

"I can--I will--it is my purpose," said De Bracy; "for, when Rowena
consents to be the bride of De Bracy, who is it shall dare to put forth
a violent hand upon her kinsman--the son of her guardian--the companion
of her youth? But it is thy love must buy his protection. I am not
romantic fool enough to further the fortune, or avert the fate, of one
who is likely to be a successful obstacle between me and my wishes. Use
thine influence with me in his behalf, and he is safe,--refuse to employ
it, Wilfred dies, and thou thyself art not the nearer to freedom."

"Thy language," answered Rowena, "hath in its indifferent bluntness
something which cannot be reconciled with the horrors it seems to
express. I believe not that thy purpose is so wicked, or thy power so
great."

"Flatter thyself, then, with that belief," said De Bracy, "until
time shall prove it false. Thy lover lies wounded in this castle--thy
preferred lover. He is a bar betwixt Front-de-Boeuf and that which
Front-de-Boeuf loves better than either ambition or beauty. What will
it cost beyond the blow of a poniard, or the thrust of a javelin, to
silence his opposition for ever? Nay, were Front-de-Boeuf afraid to
justify a deed so open, let the leech but give his patient a wrong
draught--let the chamberlain, or the nurse who tends him, but pluck
the pillow from his head, and Wilfred in his present condition, is sped
without the effusion of blood. Cedric also--"

"And Cedric also," said Rowena, repeating his words; "my noble--my
generous guardian! I deserved the evil I have encountered, for
forgetting his fate even in that of his son!"

"Cedric's fate also depends upon thy determination," said De Bracy; "and
I leave thee to form it."

Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part in this trying scene with
undismayed courage, but it was because she had not considered the
danger as serious and imminent. Her disposition was naturally that which
physiognomists consider as proper to fair complexions, mild, timid,
and gentle; but it had been tempered, and, as it were, hardened, by the
circumstances of her education. Accustomed to see the will of all, even
of Cedric himself, (sufficiently arbitrary with others,) give way before
her wishes, she had acquired that sort of courage and self-confidence
which arises from the habitual and constant deference of the circle in
which we move. She could scarce conceive the possibility of her will
being opposed, far less that of its being treated with total disregard.

Her haughtiness and habit of domination was, therefore, a fictitious
character, induced over that which was natural to her, and it deserted
her when her eyes were opened to the extent of her own danger, as well
as that of her lover and her guardian; and when she found her will, the
slightest expression of which was wont to command respect and attention,
now placed in opposition to that of a man of a strong, fierce, and
determined mind, who possessed the advantage over her, and was resolved
to use it, she quailed before him.

After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the aid which was
nowhere to be found, and after a few broken interjections, she raised
her hands to heaven, and burst into a passion of uncontrolled vexation
and sorrow. It was impossible to see so beautiful a creature in such
extremity without feeling for her, and De Bracy was not unmoved, though
he was yet more embarrassed than touched. He had, in truth, gone too
far to recede; and yet, in Rowena's present condition, she could not be
acted on either by argument or threats. He paced the apartment to and
fro, now vainly exhorting the terrified maiden to compose herself, now
hesitating concerning his own line of conduct.

If, thought he, I should be moved by the tears and sorrow of this
disconsolate damsel, what should I reap but the loss of these fair hopes
for which I have encountered so much risk, and the ridicule of Prince
John and his jovial comrades? "And yet," he said to himself, "I feel
myself ill framed for the part which I am playing. I cannot look on so
fair a face while it is disturbed with agony, or on those eyes when they
are drowned in tears. I would she had retained her original haughtiness
of disposition, or that I had a larger share of Front-de-Boeuf's
thrice-tempered hardness of heart!"

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the unfortunate Rowena be
comforted, and assure her, that as yet she had no reason for the
excess of despair to which she was now giving way. But in this task of
consolation De Bracy was interrupted by the horn, "hoarse-winded blowing
far and keen," which had at the same time alarmed the other inmates
of the castle, and interrupted their several plans of avarice and
of license. Of them all, perhaps, De Bracy least regretted the
interruption; for his conference with the Lady Rowena had arrived at a
point, where he found it equally difficult to prosecute or to resign his
enterprise.

And here we cannot but think it necessary to offer some better proof
than the incidents of an idle tale, to vindicate the melancholy
representation of manners which has been just laid before the reader. It
is grievous to think that those valiant barons, to whose stand against
the crown the liberties of England were indebted for their existence,
should themselves have been such dreadful oppressors, and capable of
excesses contrary not only to the laws of England, but to those of
nature and humanity. But, alas! we have only to extract from the
industrious Henry one of those numerous passages which he has collected
from contemporary historians, to prove that fiction itself can hardly
reach the dark reality of the horrors of the period.

The description given by the author of the Saxon Chronicle of the
cruelties exercised in the reign of King Stephen by the great barons and
lords of castles, who were all Normans, affords a strong proof of the
excesses of which they were capable when their passions were inflamed.
"They grievously oppressed the poor people by building castles; and when
they were built, they filled them with wicked men, or rather devils, who
seized both men and women who they imagined had any money, threw them
into prison, and put them to more cruel tortures than the martyrs ever
endured. They suffocated some in mud, and suspended others by the feet,
or the head, or the thumbs, kindling fires below them. They squeezed the
heads of some with knotted cords till they pierced their brains, while
they threw others into dungeons swarming with serpents, snakes, and
toads." But it would be cruel to put the reader to the pain of perusing
the remainder of this description. [29]

As another instance of these bitter fruits of conquest, and perhaps the
strongest that can be quoted, we may mention, that the Princess Matilda,
though a daughter of the King of Scotland, and afterwards both Queen of
England, niece to Edgar Atheling, and mother to the Empress of Germany,
the daughter, the wife, and the mother of monarchs, was obliged, during
her early residence for education in England, to assume the veil of a
nun, as the only means of escaping the licentious pursuit of the Norman
nobles. This excuse she stated before a great council of the clergy of
England, as the sole reason for her having taken the religious habit.
The assembled clergy admitted the validity of the plea, and the
notoriety of the circumstances upon which it was founded; giving thus
an indubitable and most remarkable testimony to the existence of that
disgraceful license by which that age was stained. It was a matter of
public knowledge, they said, that after the conquest of King William,
his Norman followers, elated by so great a victory, acknowledged no
law but their own wicked pleasure, and not only despoiled the conquered
Saxons of their lands and their goods, but invaded the honour of their
wives and of their daughters with the most unbridled license; and hence
it was then common for matrons and maidens of noble families to assume
the veil, and take shelter in convents, not as called thither by the
vocation of God, but solely to preserve their honour from the unbridled
wickedness of man.

Such and so licentious were the times, as announced by the public
declaration of the assembled clergy, recorded by Eadmer; and we need add
nothing more to vindicate the probability of the scenes which we have
detailed, and are about to detail, upon the more apocryphal authority of
the Wardour MS.

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

completion: This chapter's quote is from Shakespeare's Two Gentlemen of Verona, which Scott also uses at the beginning of Chapter 11. These lines are from Act V, Scene 4, when Proteus threatens the female lead, Silvia, with rape.At around noon the following day, De Bracy appears in Rowena's rooms.He has taken the time to get all dressed up to impress her.De Bracy tries to woo Rowena, but she isn't having it. He has taken her and her father captive, after all.De Bracy loses his temper. He tells Rowena that she will either leave Torquilstone as his wife or not at all. De Bracy has no idea how she can refuse him - to his mind he's a Norman and rich, while she's a just a lowly Saxon.De Bracy assures her that Wilfred of Ivanhoe will always be penniless because his friend King Richard will never come back to England. If Rowena will marry De Bracy, he'll make sure that Front-de-Boeuf doesn't kill Ivanhoe.After all, Ivanhoe is Front-de-Boeuf's competitor for the castle of Torquilstone, so Front-de-Boeuf has good reason to assassinate him.If Rowena does what De Bracy tells her, then De Bracy will rescue both Ivanhoe and Cedric. How can she refuse? Rowena starts to cry. De Bracy feels embarrassed. He can't go back on his plan now, but he can't talk to her while she's crying.As De Bracy tries to calm Rowena down, he hears the three horn blasts at the gate.De Bracy is relieved to have an excuse to leave the room.The narrator jumps in to say that it's weird that the same people who went on to help protect English liberty started out so oppressive.He lists many other examples of the cruelties of the Normans. Basically, the 11th and 12th centuries were not a great time in English history.