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.




     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.

 Isaac of York is thrown into the dungeon-vault of the castle and threatened with slow torture by fire unless he delivers to Front-de-Beouf a thousand pounds of silver. Isaac asks that his daughter be sent to York under safe conduct to procure the money, only to learn that she has been made the special property of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. The sound of the bugle breaks off the preparations for the torture. In another part of the castle, Lady Rowena is approached by De Bracy with a proposal of marriage. She learns for the first time that the wounded Ivanhoe is also a prisoner in the castle and that if she refuses De Bracy, Wilfred and Cedric will be the price of her refusal. She uses her only weapon, tears, and both she and De Bracy are relieved by the bugle summons.

