Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) was the first of the great
romantic writers of modern England. As a boy he showed an
extraordinary fondness for collecting and learning by heart
the legends and old-time ballads which were current in that
part of Scotland where he was born. Grown older, he found
equal pleasure in studying the records and traditions of
early English and Scottish history.
From childhood he had a remarkable gift for story-telling,
and would weave together strange and curious bits of antique
lore for the delight of his companions. Later, he became for
a while the most popular poet in Great Britain by publishing
a series of romantic poems, among which "Marmion," "The Lady
of the Lake," and "Rokeby" have endured the test of time.
In 1814 Scott turned from poetry to prose and published
anonymously the historical novel "Waverley," which took the
whole English reading world by storm. This triumph was
repeated in the splendid novels which followed in rapid
succession. Between 1815 and 1825 twelve of these so-called
Waverley novels came from his pen. They were translated into
all the languages of Europe and exercised a profound
influence upon the whole subsequent history of European
fiction.
The Waverley novels may be grouped under two heads--novels
of Scottish life, and novels based upon incidents of English
history. Of the former, the greatest are "Guy Mannering,"
"Rob Roy," "The Heart of Midlothian," and "Old Mortality."
Of the latter, the most famous are "Kenilworth," "Ivanhoe,"
and "The Talisman."
Scott may be said to have created the historical novel, and
to have quickened by means of it the national pride of his
countrymen. At the time of his death he was recognized as a
great public character, so that when in his last illness he
went abroad in search of health the British government
placed a man-of-war at his disposal.
The romance of "Ivanhoe," from which this selection has been
taken, is the most spirited and stirring picture of the age
of chivalry that English literature contains.
The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. The sloping galleries
were crowded with all that was noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful in the
northern and midland parts of England; and the contrast of the various
dresses of these dignified spectators rendered the view as gay as it was
rich, while the interior and lower space, filled with the substantial
burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, in their more plain attire,
a dark fringe, or border, around this circle of brilliant embroidery,
relieving, and at the same time setting off, its splendor.
The heralds finished their proclamation with the usual cry of "Largesse,
largesse, gallant knights!" and gold and silver pieces were showered on
them from the galleries, it being a high point of chivalry to exhibit
liberality toward those whom the age accounted at once the secretaries and
the historians of honor.
The bounty of the spectators was acknowledged by the customary shouts of
"Love of Ladies--Death of Champions--Honor to the Generous--Glory to the
Brave!"--to which the more humble spectators added their acclamations, and
a numerous band of trumpeters the flourish of their martial instruments.
When these sounds had ceased, the heralds withdrew from the lists in gay
and glittering procession, and none remained within them save the
marshals of the field, who, armed cap-a-pie, sat on horseback, motionless
as statues, at the opposite end of the lists.
Meantime, the enclosed space at the northern extremity of the lists, as it
was, was now completely crowded with knights desirous to prove their skill
against the challengers, and, when viewed from the galleries, presented
the appearance of a sea of waving plumage, intermixed with glistening
helmets, and tall lances, to the extremities of which were, in many cases,
attached small pennons of about a span's breadth, which, fluttering in the
air as the breeze caught them, joined with the restless motion of the
feathers to add liveliness to the scene.
At length the barriers were opened, and five knights, chosen by lot,
advanced slowly into the area; a single champion riding in front, and the
other four following in pairs. All were splendidly armed, and my Saxon
authority (in the Wardour Manuscript) records at great length their
devices, their colors, and the embroidery of their horse-trappings.
It is unnecessary to be particular on these subjects. To borrow lines from
a contemporary poet, who has written but too little--
The knights are dust
And their good swords are rust,
Their souls are with the saints, we trust.
Their escutcheons have long moldered from the walls of their castles. The
castles themselves are but green mounds and shattered ruins--the place
that once knew them knows them no more--nay, many a race since theirs has
died out and been forgotten in the very land which they occupied with all
the authority of feudal proprietors and feudal lords. What, then, would it
avail the reader to know their names, or the evanescent symbols of their
martial rank!
Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion which awaited their names
and feats, the champions advanced through the lists, restraining their
fiery steeds, and compelling them to move slowly, while, at the same time,
they exhibited their paces, together with the grace and dexterity of the
riders.
As the procession entered the lists the sound of a wild barbaric music
was heard from behind the tents of the challengers, where the performers
were concealed. It was of Eastern origin, having been brought from the
Holy Land; and the mixture of the cymbals and bells seemed to bid welcome
at once, and defiance, to the knights as they advanced.
With the eyes of an immense concourse of spectators fixed upon them, the
five knights advanced up the platform upon which the tents of the
challengers stood, and there separating themselves, each touched slightly,
and with the reverse of his lance, the shield of the antagonist to whom he
wished to oppose himself.
The lower orders of spectators in general--nay, many of the higher class,
and it is even said several of the ladies--were rather disappointed at the
champions choosing the arms of courtesy. For the same sort of persons who,
in the present day, applaud most highly the deepest tragedies were then
interested in a tournament exactly in proportion to the danger incurred by
the champions engaged.
Having intimated their more specific purpose, the champions retreated to
the extremity of the lists, where they remained drawn up in a line; while
the challengers, sallying each from his pavilion, mounted their horses,
and, headed by Brian de Bois-Guilbert, descended from the platform, and
opposed themselves individually to the knights who had touched their
respective shields.
At the flourish of clarions and trumpets they started out against each
other at full gallop; and such was the superior dexterity or good fortune
of the challengers that those opposed to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and
Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground.
The antagonist of Grantmesnil, instead of bearing his lance-point fair
against the crest or the shield of his enemy, swerved so much from the
direct line as to break the weapon athwart the person of his opponent--a
circumstance which was accounted more disgraceful than that of being
actually unhorsed; because the latter might happen from accident, whereas
the former evinced awkwardness and want of management of the weapon and of
the horse.
The fifth knight alone maintained the honor of his party, and parted
fairly with the knight of St. John, both splintering their lances without
advantage on either side.
The shouts of the multitude, together with the acclamations of the heralds
and the clangor of the trumpets, announced the triumph of the victors and
the defeat of the vanquished. The former retreated to their pavilions, and
the latter, gathering themselves up as they could, withdrew from the lists
in disgrace and dejection, to agree with their victors concerning the
redemption of their arms and their horses, which, according to the laws of
the tournament, they had forfeited.
The fifth of their number alone tarried in the lists long enough to be
greeted by the applause of the spectators, among whom he retreated, to the
aggravation, doubtless, of his companions' mortification.
A second and a third party of knights took the field; and although they
had various success, yet, upon the whole, the advantage decidedly remained
with the challengers, not one of whom lost his seat or swerved from his
charge--misfortunes which befell one or two of their antagonists in each
encounter. The spirits, therefore, of those opposed to them seemed to be
considerably damped by their continued success.
Three knights only appeared on the fourth entry who, avoiding the shields
of Bois-Guilbert and Front-de-Boeuf, contented themselves with touching
those of the three other knights who had not altogether manifested the
same strength and dexterity. This politic selection did not alter the
fortune of the field; the challengers were still successful. One of their
antagonists was overthrown, and both the others failed in the
_attaint_--that is, in striking the helmet and shield of their antagonist
firmly and strongly, with the lance held in a direct line, so that the
weapon might break unless the champion was overthrown.
After this fourth encounter there was a considerable pause; nor did it
appear that any one was very desirous of renewing the contest. The
spectators murmured among themselves; for, among the challengers,
Malvoisin and Front-de-Boeuf were unpopular from their characters, and
the others, except Grantmesnil, were disliked as strangers and foreigners.
But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfaction so keenly as Cedric
the Saxon, who saw in each adventure gained by the Norman challengers a
repeated triumph over the honor of England. His own education had taught
him no skill in the games of chivalry, although with the arms of his Saxon
ancestors he had manifested himself, on many occasions, a brave and
determined soldier.
He looked anxiously to Athelstane, who had learned the accomplishments of
the age, as if desiring that he should make some personal effort to
recover the victory which was passing into the hands of the Templar and
his associates. But, though both stout of heart and strong of person,
Athelstane had a disposition too inert to make the exertions which Cedric
seemed to expect from him.
"The day is against England, my lord," said Cedric in a marked tone; "are
you not tempted to take the lance?"
"I shall tilt to-morrow," answered Athelstane, "in the _melee_; it is not
worth while for me to arm myself to-day."
Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It contained the Norman word
_melee_ (to express the general conflict), and it evinced some
indifference to the honor of the country; but it was spoken by Athelstane,
whom he held in such profound respect that he would not trust himself to
canvass his motives or his foibles. Moreover, he had no time to make any
remark, for Wamba thrust in his word, observing, "It was better, though
scarce easier, to be the best man among a hundred than the best man of
two."
Athelstane took the observation as a serious compliment; but Cedric, who
better understood the Jester's meaning, darted at him a severe and
menacing look; and lucky it was for Wamba, perhaps, that the time and
place prevented his receiving, notwithstanding his place and service, more
sensible marks of his master's resentment.
The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted excepting by the
voices of the heralds exclaiming, "Love of ladies, splintering of lances!
stand forth, gallant knights, fair eyes look upon your deeds!"
The music also of the challengers breathed from time to time wild bursts
expressive of triumph or defiance, while the clowns grudged a holiday
which seemed to pass away in inactivity; and old knights and nobles
lamented in whispers the decay of martial spirit, spoke of the triumphs of
their younger days, but agreed that the land did not now supply dames of
such transcendent beauty as had animated the jousts of former times.
Prince John began to talk to his attendants about making ready the
banquet, and the necessity of adjudging the prize to Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, who had, with a single spear, overthrown two knights and
foiled a third.
At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers concluded one of
those long and high flourishes with which they had broken the silence of
the lists, it was answered by a solitary trumpet, which breathed a note of
defiance from the northern extremity. All eyes were turned to see the new
champion which these sounds announced, and no sooner were the barriers
opened than he paced into the lists.
As far as could be judged of a man sheathed in armor, the new adventurer
did not greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to be rather slender
than strongly made. His suit of armor was formed of steel, richly inlaid
with gold, and the device on his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by
the roots, with the Spanish word _Desdichado_, signifying Disinherited. He
was mounted on a gallant black horse, and as he passed through the lists
he gracefully saluted the prince and the ladies by lowering his lance.
The dexterity with which he managed his steed, and something of youthful
grace which he displayed in his manner, won him the favor of the
multitude, which some of the lower classes expressed by calling out:
"Touch Ralph de Vipont's shield--touch the Hospitaler's shield; he has the
least sure seat; he is your cheapest bargain."
The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant hints, ascended the
platform by the sloping alley which led to it from the lists, and, to the
astonishment of all present, riding straight up to the central pavilion,
struck with the sharp end of his spear the shield of Brian de
Bois-Guilbert until it rung again. All stood astonished at his
presumption, but none more than the redoubted knight whom he had thus
defied to mortal combat, and who, little expecting so rude a challenge,
was standing carelessly at the door of the pavilion.
"Have you confessed yourself, brother," said the Templar, "and have you
heard mass this morning, that you peril your life so frankly?"
"I am fitter to meet death than thou art," answered the Disinherited
Knight; for by this name the stranger had recorded himself in the books of
the tourney.
"Then take your place in the lists," said Bois-Guilbert, "and look your
last upon the sun, for this night thou shalt sleep in paradise."
"Gramercy for thy courtesy," replied the Disinherited Knight; "and to
requite it I advise thee to take a fresh horse and a new lance, for by my
honor you will need both."
Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined his horse backward
down the slope which he had ascended, and compelled him in the same manner
to move backward through the lists till he reached the northern extremity,
where he remained stationary in expectation of his antagonist. This feat
of horsemanship again attracted the applause of the multitude.
However incensed at his adversary for the precautions which he
recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert did not neglect his advice, for his
honor was too nearly concerned to permit his neglecting any means which
might insure victory over his presumptuous opponent. He changed his horse
for a proved and fresh one of great strength and spirit. He chose a new
and a tough spear, lest the wood of the former might have been strained in
the previous encounters he had sustained.
Lastly, he laid aside his shield, which had received some little damage,
and received another from his squires. His first had only borne the
general device of his rider, representing two knights riding upon one
horse, an emblem expressive of the original humility and poverty of the
Templars, qualities which they had since exchanged for the arrogance and
wealth that finally occasioned their suppression. Bois-Guilbert's new
shield bore a raven in full flight, holding in its claws a skull, and
bearing the motto, _Gare le Corbeau_.
When the two champions stood opposed to each other at the two extremities
of the lists, the public expectation was strained to the highest pitch.
Few augured the possibility that the encounter could terminate well for
the Disinherited Knight, yet his courage and gallantry secured the general
good wishes of the spectators.
The trumpets had no sooner given the signal than the champions vanished
from their posts with the speed of lightning, and closed in the center of
the lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. The lances burst into shivers
up to the very grasp, and it seemed at the moment that both knights had
fallen, for the shock had made each horse recoil backward upon its
haunches.
The address of the riders recovered their steeds by use of the bridle and
spur; and having glared at each other for an instant with eyes which
seemed to flash fire through the bars of their vizors, each made a
demivolte, and, retiring to the extremity of the lists, received a fresh
lance from the attendants.
A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and handkerchiefs, and
general acclamations attested the interest taken by the spectators in this
encounter; the most equal, as well as the best performed, which had graced
the day. But no sooner had the knights resumed their station than the
clamor of applause was hushed into a silence so deep and so dead that it
seemed the multitude were afraid even to breathe.
A few minutes' pause having been allowed, that the combatants and their
horses might recover breath, Prince John with his truncheon signed to the
trumpets to sound the onset. The champions a second time sprung from their
stations and closed in the center of the lists, with the same speed, the
same dexterity, the same violence, but not the same equal fortune as
before.
In this second encounter the Templar aimed at the center of his
antagonist's shield, and struck it so fair and forcibly that his spear
went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle. On the
other hand, that champion had, in the beginning of his career, directed
the point of his lance toward Bois-Guilbert's shield, but, changing his
aim almost in the moment of encounter, he addressed it to the helmet, a
mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered the shock
more irresistible.
Fair and true he hit the Norman on the vizor, where his lance's point kept
hold of the bars. Yet, even at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained
his high reputation, and had not the girths of his saddle burst he might
not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man
rolled on the ground.
To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed was to the Templar
scarce the work of a moment, and, stung with madness both at his disgrace
and at the acclamations with which it was hailed by the spectators, he
drew his sword and waved it in defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited
Knight sprung from his steed and also unsheathed his sword. The marshals
of the field, however, spurred their horses between them, and reminded
them that the laws of the tournament did not, on the present occasion,
permit this species of encounter.
"We shall meet again, I trust," said the Templar, casting a resentful
glance at his antagonist; "and where there are none to separate us."
"If we do not," said the Disinherited Knight, "the fault shall not be
mine. On foot or horseback, with ax, or with sword, I am alike ready to
encounter thee."
More and angrier words would have been exchanged, but the marshals,
crossing their lances between them, compelled them to separate. The
Disinherited Knight returned to his first station, and Bois-Guilbert to
his tent, where he remained for the rest of the day in an agony of
despair.
Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called for a bowl of
wine, and opening the beaver, or lower part of his helmet, announced that
he quaffed it "to all true English hearts, and to the confusion of foreign
tyrants." He then commanded his trumpet to sound a defiance to the
challengers, and desired a herald to announce to them that he should make
no election, but was willing to encounter them in the order in which they
pleased to advance against him.
The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf, armed in sable armor, was the first who took
the field. He bore on a white shield a black bull's head, half defaced by
the numerous encounters which he had undergone, and bearing the arrogant
motto, _Cave, adsum_. Over this champion the Disinherited Knight obtained
a slight but decisive advantage. Both knights broke their lances fairly,
but Front-de-Boeuf, who lost a stirrup in the encounter, was adjudged to
have the disadvantage.
In the stranger's third encounter with Sir Philip Malvoisin, he was
equally successful, striking that baron so forcibly on the casque that the
laces of the helmet broke, and Malvoisin, only saved from falling by
being unhelmeted, was declared vanquished like his companions.
In his fourth encounter, with De Grantmesnil, the Disinherited Knight
showed as much courtesy as he had hitherto evinced courage and dexterity.
De Grantmesnil's horse, which was young and violent, reared and plunged in
the course of the career so as to disturb the rider's aim, and the
stranger, declining to take the advantage which this accident afforded
him, raised his lance, and, passing his antagonist without touching him,
wheeled his horse and rode back again to his own end of the lists,
offering his antagonist, by a herald, the chance of a second encounter.
This De Grantmesnil declined, avowing himself vanquished as much by the
courtesy as by the address of his opponent.
Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the stranger's triumphs, being
hurled to the ground with such force that the blood gushed from his nose
and mouth, and he was borne senseless from the lists.
The acclamations of thousands applauded the award of the prince and
marshals, announcing that day's honors to the Disinherited Knight.