Chapter: So! now 'tis ended, like an old wife's story.
     Webster

When the first moments of surprise were over, Wilfred of Ivanhoe
demanded of the Grand Master, as judge of the field, if he had manfully
and rightfully done his duty in the combat? "Manfully and rightfully hath
it been done," said the Grand Master. "I pronounce the maiden free and
guiltless--The arms and the body of the deceased knight are at the will
of the victor."

"I will not despoil him of his weapons," said the Knight of Ivanhoe,
"nor condemn his corpse to shame--he hath fought for Christendom--God's
arm, no human hand, hath this day struck him down. But let his
obsequies be private, as becomes those of a man who died in an unjust
quarrel.--And for the maiden--"

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses' feet, advancing in such
numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake the ground before them; and the
Black Knight galloped into the lists. He was followed by a numerous band
of men-at-arms, and several knights in complete armour.

"I am too late," he said, looking around him. "I had doomed
Bois-Guilbert for mine own property.--Ivanhoe, was this well, to take on
thee such a venture, and thou scarce able to keep thy saddle?"

"Heaven, my Liege," answered Ivanhoe, "hath taken this proud man for its
victim. He was not to be honoured in dying as your will had designed."

"Peace be with him," said Richard, looking steadfastly on the corpse,
"if it may be so--he was a gallant knight, and has died in his steel
harness full knightly. But we must waste no time--Bohun, do thine
office!"

A Knight stepped forward from the King's attendants, and, laying his
hand on the shoulder of Albert de Malvoisin, said, "I arrest thee of
High Treason."

The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished at the appearance of so
many warriors.--He now spoke.

"Who dares to arrest a Knight of the Temple of Zion, within the girth
of his own Preceptory, and in the presence of the Grand Master? and by
whose authority is this bold outrage offered?"

"I make the arrest," replied the Knight--"I, Henry Bohun, Earl of Essex,
Lord High Constable of England."

"And he arrests Malvoisin," said the King, raising his visor, "by the
order of Richard Plantagenet, here present.--Conrade Mont-Fitchet, it
is well for thee thou art born no subject of mine.--But for thee,
Malvoisin, thou diest with thy brother Philip, ere the world be a week
older."

"I will resist thy doom," said the Grand Master.

"Proud Templar," said the King, "thou canst not--look up, and behold the
Royal Standard of England floats over thy towers instead of thy Temple
banner!--Be wise, Beaumanoir, and make no bootless opposition--Thy hand
is in the lion's mouth."

"I will appeal to Rome against thee," said the Grand Master, "for
usurpation on the immunities and privileges of our Order."

"Be it so," said the King; "but for thine own sake tax me not with
usurpation now. Dissolve thy Chapter, and depart with thy followers to
thy next Preceptory, (if thou canst find one), which has not been made
the scene of treasonable conspiracy against the King of England--Or, if
thou wilt, remain, to share our hospitality, and behold our justice."

"To be a guest in the house where I should command?" said the
Templar; "never!--Chaplains, raise the Psalm, 'Quare fremuerunt
Gentes?'--Knights, squires, and followers of the Holy Temple, prepare to
follow the banner of 'Beau-seant!'"

The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which confronted even that of
England's king himself, and inspired courage into his surprised and
dismayed followers. They gathered around him like the sheep around the
watch-dog, when they hear the baying of the wolf. But they evinced not
the timidity of the scared flock--there were dark brows of defiance, and
looks which menaced the hostility they dared not to proffer in words.
They drew together in a dark line of spears, from which the white cloaks
of the knights were visible among the dusky garments of their retainers,
like the lighter-coloured edges of a sable cloud. The multitude, who had
raised a clamorous shout of reprobation, paused and gazed in silence
on the formidable and experienced body to which they had unwarily bade
defiance, and shrunk back from their front.

The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in their assembled force,
dashed the rowels into his charger's sides, and galloped backwards and
forwards to array his followers, in opposition to a band so formidable.
Richard alone, as if he loved the danger his presence had provoked,
rode slowly along the front of the Templars, calling aloud, "What, sirs!
Among so many gallant knights, will none dare splinter a spear with
Richard?--Sirs of the Temple! your ladies are but sun-burned, if they
are not worth the shiver of a broken lance?"

"The Brethren of the Temple," said the Grand Master, riding forward in
advance of their body, "fight not on such idle and profane quarrel--and
not with thee, Richard of England, shall a Templar cross lance in my
presence. The Pope and Princes of Europe shall judge our quarrel, and
whether a Christian prince has done well in bucklering the cause which
thou hast to-day adopted. If unassailed, we depart assailing no one. To
thine honour we refer the armour and household goods of the Order which
we leave behind us, and on thy conscience we lay the scandal and offence
thou hast this day given to Christendom."

With these words, and without waiting a reply, the Grand Master gave the
signal of departure. Their trumpets sounded a wild march, of an Oriental
character, which formed the usual signal for the Templars to advance.
They changed their array from a line to a column of march, and moved off
as slowly as their horses could step, as if to show it was only the will
of their Grand Master, and no fear of the opposing and superior force,
which compelled them to withdraw.

"By the splendour of Our Lady's brow!" said King Richard, "it is pity
of their lives that these Templars are not so trusty as they are
disciplined and valiant."

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to bark till the object of
its challenge has turned his back, raised a feeble shout as the rear of
the squadron left the ground.

During the tumult which attended the retreat of the Templars, Rebecca
saw and heard nothing--she was locked in the arms of her aged father,
giddy, and almost senseless, with the rapid change of circumstances
around her. But one word from Isaac at length recalled her scattered
feelings.

"Let us go," he said, "my dear daughter, my recovered treasure--let us
go to throw ourselves at the feet of the good youth."

"Not so," said Rebecca, "O no--no--no--I must not at this moment dare
to speak to him--Alas! I should say more than--No, my father, let us
instantly leave this evil place."

"But, my daughter," said Isaac, "to leave him who hath come forth like a
strong man with his spear and shield, holding his life as nothing, so
he might redeem thy captivity; and thou, too, the daughter of a
people strange unto him and his--this is service to be thankfully
acknowledged."

"It is--it is--most thankfully--most devoutly acknowledged," said
Rebecca--"it shall be still more so--but not now--for the sake of thy
beloved Rachel, father, grant my request--not now!"

"Nay, but," said Isaac, insisting, "they will deem us more thankless
than mere dogs!"

"But thou seest, my dear father, that King Richard is in presence, and
that---"

"True, my best--my wisest Rebecca!--Let us hence--let us hence!--Money
he will lack, for he has just returned from Palestine, and, as they say,
from prison--and pretext for exacting it, should he need any, may arise
out of my simple traffic with his brother John. Away, away, let us
hence!"

And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conducted her from the lists,
and by means of conveyance which he had provided, transported her safely
to the house of the Rabbi Nathan.

The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principal interest of the
day, having now retired unobserved, the attention of the populace was
transferred to the Black Knight. They now filled the air with "Long life
to Richard with the Lion's Heart, and down with the usurping Templars!"

"Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty," said Ivanhoe to the Earl of
Essex, "it was well the King took the precaution to bring thee with him,
noble Earl, and so many of thy trusty followers."

The Earl smiled and shook his head.

"Gallant Ivanhoe," said Essex, "dost thou know our Master so well, and
yet suspect him of taking so wise a precaution! I was drawing towards
York having heard that Prince John was making head there, when I met
King Richard, like a true knight-errant, galloping hither to achieve in
his own person this adventure of the Templar and the Jewess, with
his own single arm. I accompanied him with my band, almost maugre his
consent."

"And what news from York, brave Earl?" said Ivanhoe; "will the rebels
bide us there?"

"No more than December's snow will bide July's sun," said the Earl;
"they are dispersing; and who should come posting to bring us the news,
but John himself!"

"The traitor! the ungrateful insolent traitor!" said Ivanhoe; "did not
Richard order him into confinement?"

"O! he received him," answered the Earl, "as if they had met after a
hunting party; and, pointing to me and our men-at-arms, said, 'Thou
seest, brother, I have some angry men with me--thou wert best go to our
mother, carry her my duteous affection, and abide with her until men's
minds are pacified.'"

"And this was all he said?" enquired Ivanhoe; "would not any one say
that this Prince invites men to treason by his clemency?"

"Just," replied the Earl, "as the man may be said to invite death, who
undertakes to fight a combat, having a dangerous wound unhealed."

"I forgive thee the jest, Lord Earl," said Ivanhoe; "but, remember, I
hazarded but my own life--Richard, the welfare of his kingdom."

"Those," replied Essex, "who are specially careless of their own
welfare, are seldom remarkably attentive to that of others--But let
us haste to the castle, for Richard meditates punishing some of the
subordinate members of the conspiracy, though he has pardoned their
principal."

From the judicial investigations which followed on this occasion, and
which are given at length in the Wardour Manuscript, it appears that
Maurice de Bracy escaped beyond seas, and went into the service of
Philip of France; while Philip de Malvoisin, and his brother Albert, the
Preceptor of Templestowe, were executed, although Waldemar Fitzurse, the
soul of the conspiracy, escaped with banishment; and Prince John,
for whose behoof it was undertaken, was not even censured by his
good-natured brother. No one, however, pitied the fate of the two
Malvoisins, who only suffered the death which they had both well
deserved, by many acts of falsehood, cruelty, and oppression.

Briefly after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxon was summoned to the
court of Richard, which, for the purpose of quieting the counties that
had been disturbed by the ambition of his brother, was then held at
York. Cedric tushed and pshawed more than once at the message--but he
refused not obedience. In fact, the return of Richard had quenched every
hope that he had entertained of restoring a Saxon dynasty in England;
for, whatever head the Saxons might have made in the event of a civil
war, it was plain that nothing could be done under the undisputed
dominion of Richard, popular as he was by his personal good qualities
and military fame, although his administration was wilfully careless,
now too indulgent, and now allied to despotism.

But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric's reluctant observation,
that his project for an absolute union among the Saxons, by the marriage
of Rowena and Athelstane, was now completely at an end, by the mutual
dissent of both parties concerned. This was, indeed, an event which, in
his ardour for the Saxon cause, he could not have anticipated, and even
when the disinclination of both was broadly and plainly manifested, he
could scarce bring himself to believe that two Saxons of royal descent
should scruple, on personal grounds, at an alliance so necessary for the
public weal of the nation. But it was not the less certain: Rowena had
always expressed her repugnance to Athelstane, and now Athelstane was
no less plain and positive in proclaiming his resolution never to pursue
his addresses to the Lady Rowena. Even the natural obstinacy of Cedric
sunk beneath these obstacles, where he, remaining on the point of
junction, had the task of dragging a reluctant pair up to it, one with
each hand. He made, however, a last vigorous attack on Athelstane, and
he found that resuscitated sprout of Saxon royalty engaged, like country
squires of our own day, in a furious war with the clergy.

It seems that, after all his deadly menaces against the Abbot of Saint
Edmund's, Athelstane's spirit of revenge, what between the natural
indolent kindness of his own disposition, what through the prayers of
his mother Edith, attached, like most ladies, (of the period,) to the
clerical order, had terminated in his keeping the Abbot and his monks in
the dungeons of Coningsburgh for three days on a meagre diet. For this
atrocity the Abbot menaced him with excommunication, and made out a
dreadful list of complaints in the bowels and stomach, suffered by
himself and his monks, in consequence of the tyrannical and unjust
imprisonment they had sustained. With this controversy, and with the
means he had adopted to counteract this clerical persecution, Cedric
found the mind of his friend Athelstane so fully occupied, that it had
no room for another idea. And when Rowena's name was mentioned the noble
Athelstane prayed leave to quaff a full goblet to her health, and that
she might soon be the bride of his kinsman Wilfred. It was a desperate
case therefore. There was obviously no more to be made of Athelstane;
or, as Wamba expressed it, in a phrase which has descended from Saxon
times to ours, he was a cock that would not fight.

There remained betwixt Cedric and the determination which the lovers
desired to come to, only two obstacles--his own obstinacy, and his
dislike of the Norman dynasty. The former feeling gradually gave way
before the endearments of his ward, and the pride which he could not
help nourishing in the fame of his son. Besides, he was not insensible
to the honour of allying his own line to that of Alfred, when the
superior claims of the descendant of Edward the Confessor were abandoned
for ever. Cedric's aversion to the Norman race of kings was also much
undermined,--first, by consideration of the impossibility of ridding
England of the new dynasty, a feeling which goes far to create loyalty
in the subject to the king "de facto"; and, secondly, by the personal
attention of King Richard, who delighted in the blunt humour of Cedric,
and, to use the language of the Wardour Manuscript, so dealt with the
noble Saxon, that, ere he had been a guest at court for seven days, he
had given his consent to the marriage of his ward Rowena and his son
Wilfred of Ivanhoe.

The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approved by his father, were
celebrated in the most august of temples, the noble Minster of York.
The King himself attended, and from the countenance which he afforded on
this and other occasions to the distressed and hitherto degraded Saxons,
gave them a safer and more certain prospect of attaining their just
rights, than they could reasonably hope from the precarious chance of
a civil war. The Church gave her full solemnities, graced with all
the splendour which she of Rome knows how to apply with such brilliant
effect.

Gurth, gallantly apparelled, attended as esquire upon his young master
whom he had served so faithfully, and the magnanimous Wamba, decorated
with a new cap and a most gorgeous set of silver bells. Sharers of
Wilfred's dangers and adversity, they remained, as they had a right to
expect, the partakers of his more prosperous career.

But besides this domestic retinue, these distinguished nuptials were
celebrated by the attendance of the high-born Normans, as well as
Saxons, joined with the universal jubilee of the lower orders, that
marked the marriage of two individuals as a pledge of the future peace
and harmony betwixt two races, which, since that period, have been so
completely mingled, that the distinction has become wholly invisible.
Cedric lived to see this union approximate towards its completion; for
as the two nations mixed in society and formed intermarriages with each
other, the Normans abated their scorn, and the Saxons were refined from
their rusticity. But it was not until the reign of Edward the Third
that the mixed language, now termed English, was spoken at the court
of London, and that the hostile distinction of Norman and Saxon seems
entirely to have disappeared.

It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal, that the Lady
Rowena was made acquainted by her handmaid Elgitha, that a damsel
desired admission to her presence, and solicited that their parley might
be without witness. Rowena wondered, hesitated, became curious, and
ended by commanding the damsel to be admitted, and her attendants to
withdraw.

She entered--a noble and commanding figure, the long white veil,
in which she was shrouded, overshadowing rather than concealing the
elegance and majesty of her shape. Her demeanour was that of respect,
unmingled by the least shade either of fear, or of a wish to propitiate
favour. Rowena was ever ready to acknowledge the claims, and attend to
the feelings, of others. She arose, and would have conducted her
lovely visitor to a seat; but the stranger looked at Elgitha, and again
intimated a wish to discourse with the Lady Rowena alone. Elgitha had no
sooner retired with unwilling steps, than, to the surprise of the Lady
of Ivanhoe, her fair visitant kneeled on one knee, pressed her hands to
her forehead, and bending her head to the ground, in spite of Rowena's
resistance, kissed the embroidered hem of her tunic.

"What means this, lady?" said the surprised bride; "or why do you offer
to me a deference so unusual?"

"Because to you, Lady of Ivanhoe," said Rebecca, rising up and resuming
the usual quiet dignity of her manner, "I may lawfully, and without
rebuke, pay the debt of gratitude which I owe to Wilfred of Ivanhoe.
I am--forgive the boldness which has offered to you the homage of my
country--I am the unhappy Jewess, for whom your husband hazarded his
life against such fearful odds in the tiltyard of Templestowe."

"Damsel," said Rowena, "Wilfred of Ivanhoe on that day rendered back but
in slight measure your unceasing charity towards him in his wounds and
misfortunes. Speak, is there aught remains in which he or I can serve
thee?"

"Nothing," said Rebecca, calmly, "unless you will transmit to him my
grateful farewell."

"You leave England then?" said Rowena, scarce recovering the surprise of
this extraordinary visit.

"I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My father had a brother
high in favour with Mohammed Boabdil, King of Grenada--thither we go,
secure of peace and protection, for the payment of such ransom as the
Moslem exact from our people."

"And are you not then as well protected in England?" said Rowena.
"My husband has favour with the King--the King himself is just and
generous."

"Lady," said Rebecca, "I doubt it not--but the people of England are a
fierce race, quarrelling ever with their neighbours or among themselves,
and ready to plunge the sword into the bowels of each other. Such is
no safe abode for the children of my people. Ephraim is an heartless
dove--Issachar an over-laboured drudge, which stoops between two
burdens. Not in a land of war and blood, surrounded by hostile
neighbours, and distracted by internal factions, can Israel hope to rest
during her wanderings."

"But you, maiden," said Rowena--"you surely can have nothing to fear.
She who nursed the sick-bed of Ivanhoe," she continued, rising with
enthusiasm--"she can have nothing to fear in England, where Saxon and
Norman will contend who shall most do her honour."

"Thy speech is fair, lady," said Rebecca, "and thy purpose fairer; but
it may not be--there is a gulf betwixt us. Our breeding, our faith,
alike forbid either to pass over it. Farewell--yet, ere I go indulge me
one request. The bridal-veil hangs over thy face; deign to raise it, and
let me see the features of which fame speaks so highly."

"They are scarce worthy of being looked upon," said Rowena; "but,
expecting the same from my visitant, I remove the veil."

She took it off accordingly; and, partly from the consciousness of
beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed so intensely, that cheek,
brow, neck, and bosom, were suffused with crimson. Rebecca blushed also,
but it was a momentary feeling; and, mastered by higher emotions, past
slowly from her features like the crimson cloud, which changes colour
when the sun sinks beneath the horizon.

"Lady," she said, "the countenance you have deigned to show me will long
dwell in my remembrance. There reigns in it gentleness and goodness; and
if a tinge of the world's pride or vanities may mix with an expression
so lovely, how should we chide that which is of earth for bearing some
colour of its original? Long, long will I remember your features, and
bless God that I leave my noble deliverer united with--"

She stopped short--her eyes filled with tears. She hastily wiped them,
and answered to the anxious enquiries of Rowena--"I am well, lady--well.
But my heart swells when I think of Torquilstone and the lists of
Templestowe.--Farewell. One, the most trifling part of my duty, remains
undischarged. Accept this casket--startle not at its contents."

Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and perceived a carcanet,
or neck lace, with ear-jewels, of diamonds, which were obviously of
immense value.

"It is impossible," she said, tendering back the casket. "I dare not
accept a gift of such consequence."

"Yet keep it, lady," returned Rebecca.--"You have power, rank, command,
influence; we have wealth, the source both of our strength and weakness;
the value of these toys, ten times multiplied, would not influence half
so much as your slightest wish. To you, therefore, the gift is of little
value,--and to me, what I part with is of much less. Let me not think
you deem so wretchedly ill of my nation as your commons believe. Think
ye that I prize these sparkling fragments of stone above my liberty?
or that my father values them in comparison to the honour of his only
child? Accept them, lady--to me they are valueless. I will never wear
jewels more."

"You are then unhappy!" said Rowena, struck with the manner in which
Rebecca uttered the last words. "O, remain with us--the counsel of holy
men will wean you from your erring law, and I will be a sister to you."

"No, lady," answered Rebecca, the same calm melancholy reigning in her
soft voice and beautiful features--"that--may not be. I may not change
the faith of my fathers like a garment unsuited to the climate in
which I seek to dwell, and unhappy, lady, I will not be. He, to whom I
dedicate my future life, will be my comforter, if I do His will."

"Have you then convents, to one of which you mean to retire?" asked
Rowena.

"No, lady," said the Jewess; "but among our people, since the time of
Abraham downwards, have been women who have devoted their thoughts to
Heaven, and their actions to works of kindness to men, tending the
sick, feeding the hungry, and relieving the distressed. Among these will
Rebecca be numbered. Say this to thy lord, should he chance to enquire
after the fate of her whose life he saved."

There was an involuntary tremour on Rebecca's voice, and a tenderness
of accent, which perhaps betrayed more than she would willingly have
expressed. She hastened to bid Rowena adieu.

"Farewell," she said. "May He, who made both Jew and Christian, shower
down on you his choicest blessings! The bark that waits us hence will be
under weigh ere we can reach the port."

She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena surprised as if a vision
had passed before her. The fair Saxon related the singular conference to
her husband, on whose mind it made a deep impression. He lived long and
happily with Rowena, for they were attached to each other by the
bonds of early affection, and they loved each other the more, from the
recollection of the obstacles which had impeded their union. Yet it
would be enquiring too curiously to ask, whether the recollection
of Rebecca's beauty and magnanimity did not recur to his mind more
frequently than the fair descendant of Alfred might altogether have
approved.

Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of Richard, and was graced
with farther marks of the royal favour. He might have risen still
higher, but for the premature death of the heroic Coeur-de-Lion, before
the Castle of Chaluz, near Limoges. With the life of a generous, but
rash and romantic monarch, perished all the projects which his ambition
and his generosity had formed; to whom may be applied, with a slight
alteration, the lines composed by Johnson for Charles of Sweden--

     His fate was destined to a foreign strand,
     A petty fortress and an "humble" hand;
     He left the name at which the world grew pale,
     To point a moral, or adorn a TALE.






NOTE TO CHAPTER I.

Note A.--The Ranger or the Forest, that cuts the foreclaws off our dogs.

A most sensible grievance of those aggrieved times were the Forest Laws.
These oppressive enactments were the produce of the Norman Conquest,
for the Saxon laws of the chase were mild and humane; while those of
William, enthusiastically attached to the exercise and its rights, were
to the last degree tyrannical. The formation of the New Forest, bears
evidence to his passion for hunting, where he reduced many a happy
village to the condition of that one commemorated by my friend, Mr
William Stewart Rose:

     "Amongst the ruins of the church
     The midnight raven found a perch,
     A melancholy place;
     The ruthless Conqueror cast down,
     Woe worth the deed, that little town,
     To lengthen out his chase."

The disabling dogs, which might be necessary for keeping flocks and
herds, from running at the deer, was called "lawing", and was in general
use. The Charter of the Forest designed to lessen those evils, declares
that inquisition, or view, for lawing dogs, shall be made every third
year, and shall be then done by the view and testimony of lawful men,
not otherwise; and they whose dogs shall be then found unlawed, shall
give three shillings for mercy, and for the future no man's ox shall be
taken for lawing. Such lawing also shall be done by the assize commonly
used, and which is, that three claws shall be cut off without the ball
of the right foot. See on this subject the Historical Essay on the Magna
Charta of King John, (a most beautiful volume), by Richard Thomson.




NOTE TO CHAPTER II.

Note B.--Negro Slaves.

The severe accuracy of some critics has objected to the complexion of
the slaves of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as being totally out of costume
and propriety. I remember the same objection being made to a set of
sable functionaries, whom my friend, Mat Lewis, introduced as the
guards and mischief-doing satellites of the wicked Baron, in his Castle
Spectre. Mat treated the objection with great contempt, and averred
in reply, that he made the slaves black in order to obtain a striking
effect of contrast, and that, could he have derived a similar advantage
from making his heroine blue, blue she should have been.

I do not pretend to plead the immunities of my order so highly as this;
but neither will I allow that the author of a modern antique romance
is obliged to confine himself to the introduction of those manners
only which can be proved to have absolutely existed in the times he
is depicting, so that he restrain himself to such as are plausible and
natural, and contain no obvious anachronism. In this point of view,
what can be more natural, than that the Templars, who, we know, copied
closely the luxuries of the Asiatic warriors with whom they fought,
should use the service of the enslaved Africans, whom the fate of war
transferred to new masters? I am sure, if there are no precise proofs
of their having done so, there is nothing, on the other hand, that can
entitle us positively to conclude that they never did. Besides, there is
an instance in romance.

John of Rampayne, an excellent juggler and minstrel, undertook to effect
the escape of one Audulf de Bracy, by presenting himself in disguise
at the court of the king, where he was confined. For this purpose, "he
stained his hair and his whole body entirely as black as jet, so that
nothing was white but his teeth," and succeeded in imposing himself
on the king, as an Ethiopian minstrel. He effected, by stratagem, the
escape of the prisoner. Negroes, therefore, must have been known in
England in the dark ages. [60]




NOTE TO CHAPTER XVII.

Note C.--Minstrelsy.

The realm of France, it is well known, was divided betwixt the Norman
and Teutonic race, who spoke the language in which the word Yes is
pronounced as "oui", and the inhabitants of the southern regions, whose
speech bearing some affinity to the Italian, pronounced the same word
"oc". The poets of the former race were called "Minstrels", and their
poems "Lays": those of the latter were termed "Troubadours", and their
compositions called "sirventes", and other names. Richard, a professed
admirer of the joyous science in all its branches, could imitate either
the minstrel or troubadour. It is less likely that he should have been
able to compose or sing an English ballad; yet so much do we wish to
assimilate Him of the Lion Heart to the band of warriors whom he led,
that the anachronism, if there be one may readily be forgiven.




NOTE TO CHAPTER XXI.

Note D.--Battle of Stamford.

A great topographical blunder occurred here in former editions. The
bloody battle alluded to in the text, fought and won by King Harold,
over his brother the rebellious Tosti, and an auxiliary force of Danes
or Norsemen, was said, in the text, and a corresponding note, to have
taken place at Stamford, in Leicestershire, and upon the river Welland.
This is a mistake, into which the author has been led by trusting to his
memory, and so confounding two places of the same name. The Stamford,
Strangford, or Staneford, at which the battle really was fought, is a
ford upon the river Derwent, at the distance of about seven miles from
York, and situated in that large and opulent county. A long wooden
bridge over the Derwent, the site of which, with one remaining buttress,
is still shown to the curious traveller, was furiously contested. One
Norwegian long defended it by his single arm, and was at length pierced
with a spear thrust through the planks of the bridge from a boat
beneath.

The neighbourhood of Stamford, on the Derwent, contains some memorials
of the battle. Horseshoes, swords, and the heads of halberds, or bills,
are often found there; one place is called the "Danes' well," another
the "Battle flats." From a tradition that the weapon with which the
Norwegian champion was slain, resembled a pear, or, as others say, that
the trough or boat in which the soldier floated under the bridge to
strike the blow, had such a shape, the country people usually begin a
great market, which is held at Stamford, with an entertainment called
the Pear-pie feast, which after all may be a corruption of the Spear-pie
feast. For more particulars, Drake's History of York may be referred
to. The author's mistake was pointed out to him, in the most obliging
manner, by Robert Belt, Esq. of Bossal House. The battle was fought in

 We've reached the last epigraph! This one is by 17th century playwright John Webster, in Act IV, Scene 1 of his play The White Devil. The speaker announces that it's the end of his story. Beaumanoir pronounces Rebecca innocent of all charges. Bois-Guilbert's weapons and body belong to Ivanhoe. Just then King Richard arrives with a band of armed men. He's bummed that he didn't get a shot at Bois-Guilbert. King Richard commands one of his followers, the Earl of Essex, to arrest Albert de Malvoisin. Philip, his brother, has already been arrested. They're both going to be executed for high treason against the King. And Richard also commands Beaumanoir to take his Knights Templar and leave England. Beaumanoir is outraged at this treatment. He promises to take King Richard's bad behavior straight to the Pope. The Templars march off slowly. During all this activity, Isaac approaches Rebecca. She wants to slip away from the tournament ground without speaking to Ivanhoe. Isaac thinks they should stop and thank him, but for some reason Rebecca is really reluctant to talk to her hero. Isaac remembers that he has had business with Prince John. He doesn't want to get into any trouble with King Richard as a result. So they leave. The Earl of Essex confirms to Ivanhoe that the rebels are dispersing. It's none other than Prince John who brought King Richard the news. Rather than calling out Prince John on his rebellion, King Richard just sends his brother to their mother's house. So the only people who are being executed for this whole thing are Albert and Philip Malvoisin. De Bracy has escaped to the court of Philip II, King of France. And Fitzurse has, of course, been exiled . King Richard's return means the end to all of Cedric's hopes for a Saxon line of kings in England. Cedric also realizes that Athelstane and Rowena don't want to marry each other. Athelstane takes revenge on the monks of St. Edmund's by keeping them in his basement and feeding them only bread and water for three days. The abbot, the leader of the monks, tries to kick Athelstane out of the Christian church as a result. So Athelstane is too busy with these troubles to think about Rowena. Cedric is happy to see Ivanhoe so famous. He is also happy to think of uniting his own family to a woman who is a descendant of King Alfred the Great. So finally Cedric gives up on Athelstane as the next King of England and agrees to let Ivanhoe marry Rowena. King Richard does his best to soften Cedric's opinion of the Normans. He attends Ivanhoe's wedding, which makes the Saxons like him better. In fact, Cedric lives to see Saxons and Normans marrying each other and generally relaxing. Still, it's not for another 150 years that they will really begin to speak the mixed language that we now call English in the royal court. The second day after Rowena's wedding, she receives a visit from a lovely young lady. It's none other than Rebecca. Rebecca wants Rowena to tell Ivanhoe goodbye for her. Rowena realizes that Rebecca is the Jewish woman Ivanhoe defended against the Templars. She asks why Rebecca has to leave. She could stay under the protection of King Richard I. But Rebecca no longer feels comfortable among the English. She plans to go to Spain with her father, where they have family. Rowena is wearing a veil. The last favor Rebecca asks is that Rowena remove her veil. Rebecca wants to see her face. Rowena's beauty and her kind expression impress Rebecca. She seems content with leaving her beloved Ivanhoe with Rowena. Rebecca hands Rowena a small case filled with jewels. Rowena tries to refuse such a generous gift, but Rebecca insists: her family has lots of money, and Ivanhoe risked a lot to save Rebecca's honor and life. Rowena asks Rebecca what she'll do. Rebecca is going to dedicate herself to healing and medicine. Still, she looks tearful. Rebecca gives Rowena her blessing and slips away. Rowena tells Ivanhoe about this strange visit. Ivanhoe truly loves Rowena, and they live happily ever after, but he does think of Rebecca often. Ivanhoe does well in King Richard's service. The only thing that stops his rise to fame and greatness is King Richard's premature death, in 1199. Scott ends with another quotation, this one from poet and critic Samuel Johnson. Johnson's lines are about King Charles of Sweden, but he reworks them for King Richard I. The lines remind us that Richard's fame continues to echo through the ages.

