Ivanhoe: A Romance
of the most earnest entreaty. The pilgrim extricated himself, as if
there were contamination in the touch.
“Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy tribe,” he said, “what
interest have I to injure thee?—In this dress I am vowed to poverty,
nor do I change it for aught save a horse and a coat of mail. Yet think
not that I care for thy company, or propose myself advantage by it;
remain here if thou wilt—Cedric the Saxon may protect thee.”
“Alas!” said the Jew, “he will not let me travel in his train—Saxon or
Norman will be equally ashamed of the poor Israelite; and to travel by
myself through the domains of Philip de Malvoisin and Reginald
Front-de-Bœuf—Good youth, I will go with you!—Let us haste—let us gird
up our loins—let us flee!—Here is thy staff, why wilt thou tarry?”
“I tarry not,” said the Pilgrim, giving way to the urgency of his
companion; “but I must secure the means of leaving this place—follow
me.”
He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as the reader is apprised,
was occupied by Gurth the swineherd.—“Arise, Gurth,” said the Pilgrim,
“arise quickly. Undo the postern gate, and let out the Jew and me.”
Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so mean, gave him as much
consequence in Saxon England as that of Eumaeus in Ithaca, was offended
at the familiar and commanding tone assumed by the Palmer. “The Jew
leaving Rotherwood,” said he, raising himself on his elbow, and looking
superciliously at him without quitting his pallet, “and travelling in
company with the Palmer to boot—”
“I should as soon have dreamt,” said Wamba, who entered the apartment
at the instant, “of his stealing away with a gammon of bacon.”
“Nevertheless,” said Gurth, again laying down his head on the wooden
log which served him for a pillow, “both Jew and Gentile must be
content to abide the opening of the great gate—we suffer no visitors to
depart by stealth at these unseasonable hours.”
“Nevertheless,” said the Pilgrim, in a commanding tone, “you will not,
I think, refuse me that favour.”
So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent swineherd, and
whispered something in his ear in Saxon. Gurth started up as if
electrified. The Pilgrim, raising his finger in an attitude as if to
express caution, added, “Gurth, beware—thou are wont to be prudent. I
say, undo the postern—thou shalt know more anon.”
With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while Wamba and the Jew followed,
both wondering at the sudden change in the swineherd’s demeanour. “My
mule, my mule!” said the Jew, as soon as they stood without the
postern.
“Fetch him his mule,” said the Pilgrim; “and, hearest thou,—let me have
another, that I may bear him company till he is beyond these parts—I
will return it safely to some of Cedric’s train at Ashby. And do
thou”—he whispered the rest in Gurth’s ear.
“Willingly, most willingly shall it be done,” said Gurth, and instantly
departed to execute the commission.
“I wish I knew,” said Wamba, when his comrade’s back was turned, “what
you Palmers learn in the Holy Land.”
“To say our orisons, fool,” answered the Pilgrim, “to repent our sins,
and to mortify ourselves with fastings, vigils, and long prayers.”
“Something more potent than that,” answered the Jester; “for when would
repentance or prayer make Gurth do a courtesy, or fasting or vigil
persuade him to lend you a mule?—I trow you might as well have told his
favourite black boar of thy vigils and penance, and wouldst have gotten
as civil an answer.”
“Go to,” said the Pilgrim, “thou art but a Saxon fool.”
“Thou sayst well,” said the Jester; “had I been born a Norman, as I
think thou art, I would have had luck on my side, and been next door to
a wise man.”
At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite side of the moat with the
mules. The travellers crossed the ditch upon a drawbridge of only two
planks breadth, the narrowness of which was matched with the straitness
of the postern, and with a little wicket in the exterior palisade,
which gave access to the forest. No sooner had they reached the mules,
than the Jew, with hasty and trembling hands, secured behind the saddle
a small bag of blue buckram, which he took from under his cloak,
containing, as he muttered, “a change of raiment—only a change of
raiment.” Then getting upon the animal with more alacrity and haste
than could have been anticipated from his years, he lost no time in so
disposing of the skirts of his gabardine as to conceal completely from
observation the burden which he had thus deposited “en croupe”.
The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation, reaching, as he departed,
his hand to Gurth, who kissed it with the utmost possible veneration.
The swineherd stood gazing after the travellers until they were lost
under the boughs of the forest path, when he was disturbed from his
reverie by the voice of Wamba.
“Knowest thou,” said the Jester, “my good friend Gurth, that thou art
strangely courteous and most unwontedly pious on this summer morning? I
would I were a black Prior or a barefoot Palmer, to avail myself of thy
unwonted zeal and courtesy—certes, I would make more out of it than a
kiss of the hand.”
“Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba,” answered Gurth, “though thou
arguest from appearances, and the wisest of us can do no more—But it is
time to look after my charge.”
So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attended by the Jester.
Meanwhile the travellers continued to press on their journey with a
dispatch which argued the extremity of the Jew’s fears, since persons
at his age are seldom fond of rapid motion. The Palmer, to whom every
path and outlet in the wood appeared to be familiar, led the way
through the most devious paths, and more than once excited anew the
suspicion of the Israelite, that he intended to betray him into some
ambuscade of his enemies.
His doubts might have been indeed pardoned; for, except perhaps the
flying fish, there was no race existing on the earth, in the air, or
the waters, who were the object of such an unintermitting, general, and
relentless persecution as the Jews of this period. Upon the slightest
and most unreasonable pretences, as well as upon accusations the most
absurd and groundless, their persons and property were exposed to every
turn of popular fury; for Norman, Saxon, Dane, and Briton, however
adverse these races were to each other, contended which should look
with greatest detestation upon a people, whom it was accounted a point
of religion to hate, to revile, to despise, to plunder, and to
persecute. The kings of the Norman race, and the independent nobles,
who followed their example in all acts of tyranny, maintained against
this devoted people a persecution of a more regular, calculated, and
self-interested kind. It is a well-known story of King John, that he
confined a wealthy Jew in one of the royal castles, and daily caused
one of his teeth to be torn out, until, when the jaw of the unhappy
Israelite was half disfurnished, he consented to pay a large sum, which
it was the tyrant’s object to extort from him. The little ready money
which was in the country was chiefly in possession of this persecuted
people, and the nobility hesitated not to follow the example of their
sovereign, in wringing it from them by every species of oppression, and
even personal torture. Yet the passive courage inspired by the love of
gain, induced the Jews to dare the various evils to which they were
subjected, in consideration of the immense profits which they were
enabled to realize in a country naturally so wealthy as England. In
spite of every kind of discouragement, and even of the special court of
taxations already mentioned, called the Jews’ Exchequer, erected for
the very purpose of despoiling and distressing them, the Jews
increased, multiplied, and accumulated huge sums, which they
transferred from one hand to another by means of bills of exchange—an
invention for which commerce is said to be indebted to them, and which
enabled them to transfer their wealth from land to land, that when
threatened with oppression in one country, their treasure might be
secured in another.
The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thus in a measure placed in
opposition to the fanaticism that tyranny of those under whom they
lived, seemed to increase in proportion to the persecution with which
they were visited; and the immense wealth they usually acquired in
commerce, while it frequently placed them in danger, was at other times
used to extend their influence, and to secure to them a certain degree
of protection. On these terms they lived; and their character,
influenced accordingly, was watchful, suspicious, and timid—yet
obstinate, uncomplying, and skilful in evading the dangers to which
they were exposed.
When the travellers had pushed on at a rapid rate through many devious
paths, the Palmer at length broke silence.
“That large decayed oak,” he said, “marks the boundaries over which
Front-de-Bœuf claims authority—we are long since far from those of
Malvoisin. There is now no fear of pursuit.”
“May the wheels of their chariots be taken off,” said the Jew, “like
those of the host of Pharaoh, that they may drive heavily!—But leave me
not, good Pilgrim—Think but of that fierce and savage Templar, with his
Saracen slaves—they will regard neither territory, nor manor, nor
lordship.”
“Our road,” said the Palmer, “should here separate; for it beseems not
men of my character and thine to travel together longer than needs must
be. Besides, what succour couldst thou have from me, a peaceful
Pilgrim, against two armed heathens?”
“O good youth,” answered the Jew, “thou canst defend me, and I know
thou wouldst. Poor as I am, I will requite it—not with money, for
money, so help me my Father Abraham, I have none—but—-”
“Money and recompense,” said the Palmer, interrupting him, “I have
already said I require not of thee. Guide thee I can; and, it may be,
even in some sort defend thee; since to protect a Jew against a
Saracen, can scarce be accounted unworthy of a Christian. Therefore,
Jew, I will see thee safe under some fitting escort. We are now not far
from the town of Sheffield, where thou mayest easily find many of thy
tribe with whom to take refuge.”
“The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, good youth!” said the Jew; “in
Sheffield I can harbour with my kinsman Zareth, and find some means of
travelling forth with safety.”
“Be it so,” said the Palmer; “at Sheffield then we part, and
half-an-hour’s riding will bring us in sight of that town.”
The half hour was spent in perfect silence on both parts; the Pilgrim
perhaps disdaining to address the Jew, except in case of absolute
necessity, and the Jew not presuming to force a conversation with a
person whose journey to the Holy Sepulchre gave a sort of sanctity to
his character. They paused on the top of a gently rising bank, and the
Pilgrim, pointing to the town of Sheffield, which lay beneath them,
repeated the words, “Here, then, we part.”
“Not till you have had the poor Jew’s thanks,” said Isaac; “for I
presume not to ask you to go with me to my kinsman Zareth’s, who might
aid me with some means of repaying your good offices.”
“I have already said,” answered the Pilgrim, “that I desire no
recompense. If among the huge list of thy debtors, thou wilt, for my
sake, spare the gyves and the dungeon to some unhappy Christian who
stands in thy danger, I shall hold this morning’s service to thee well
bestowed.”
“Stay, stay,” said the Jew, laying hold of his garment; “something
would I do more than this, something for thyself.—God knows the Jew is
poor—yes, Isaac is the beggar of his tribe—but forgive me should I
guess what thou most lackest at this moment.”
“If thou wert to guess truly,” said the Palmer, “it is what thou canst