Ivanhoe ... By Sir W. Scott, Bart. With all his illustrations and notes, etc

Front matter

I V A N H 0 E g Sfilnmaitrf, ni- SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. Rv^ WITH ALL HIS ILLUSTRATIONS AND NOTES. Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart, And often took leave — but seem'd loath to depart ! — Prior. EDINBURGH: ROBERT CADELL, ST. ANDREW SQUARE. MDCCCXLIII. $ li a n iy o t ; A ROMANCE. Kow fitted the halter, now traversed the cart, And often took leave — but seem 'd loath to depart ! ' Prior. INTRODUCTION— (1830.) The Author of the Waverley Novels had hitherto proceeded in an unabated course of popularity, and might, iu his peculiar district of literature, have been termed L' Enfant Gate of success. It was plain, however, that frequent publication mustfinally wear out the public favour, unless some mode could be devised to give an appearance of novelty to subsequent productions. Scottish manners, Scottish dialect, and Scottish characters of note being those with which the author was most intimately and familiarly acquainted, were the groundwork upon which he had hitherto relied for giving effect to his narrative.

It was, however, obvious, that this kind of interest must in the end occasion a degree of sameness and repetition, if exclusively resorted to, and that the reader was likely at length to adopt the language of Edwin, in Psarnell's Tale : — '* ' Reverse the spell,* he cries, - And let it fairly now suffice, The gambol has been shewn.' " Nothing can be more dangerous for the fame of a professor of the fine arts than to permit (if he can possibly prevent it) the character of a mannerist to be attached to him, or that he should be supposed capable of success only in a particular and limited style. The public are, in general, very ready to adopt the opinion, that he who has pleased them in one peculiar mode of composition, is, by means of that very talent, rendered incapable of venturing upon other subjects.

The effect of this disinclina tion, on the part of the public, towards the artificers of their pleasures, when they attempt to enlarge their means of amusing, may be seen in the cen sures usually passed by vulgar criticism upon actors or artists who venture to change the cha racter of their efforts, that, in so doing, they may enlarge the scale of their art. There is some justice in this opinion, as there always is in such as attain general currency. It may often happen on the stage, that an actor, by possessing in a pre-eminent degree the external qualities necessary to give effect to comedy, may be deprived of the right to aspire to tragic excel lence ; and in painting or literary composition, an artist or poet may be master exclusively of modes of thought, and powers of expression, which confine lum to a single course of subjects.

Introduction

TO IVANHOE. the monarch's outward appearance, and his real character. The Eastern tale-teller has for his theme the disguised expeditions of Haroun Alraschid with his faithful attendants, Mesrour and Giafar, through the midnight streets of Bagdad ; and Scottish tradition dwells upon the similar exploits of James V., distinguished during such excursions by the travelling name of the Goodman of Ballen geigh, as the Commander of the Faithful, when lie desired to be incognito, was known by that of II Bondocani. The French minstrels are not silent on so popular a theme. There must have been a Norman original of the Scottish metrical romance of ftauf Colziar, in which Charlemagne is intro duced as the unknown guest of a charcoalman.1 It seems to have been the original of other poems of the kind.

In merry England there is no end of popular ballads on this theme. The poem of John the Reeve, or Steward, mentioned by Bishop Percy, in the Reliques of English Poetry,2 is said to have turned on such an incident ; and we have besides, the King and the Tanner of Tamworth, the King aud the Mdler of Mansfield, and others on the same topic. But the peculiar tale of this nature to which the author of Ivanhoe has to acknowledge an obligation, is more ancient by two centuries than any of these last mentioned. It was first communicated to the public in that curious record of ancient literature, which has been accumulated by the combined exertions of Sir Egerton Brydges and Mr Hazlewood, in the periodical work entitled the British Bibliographer. From thence it has been transferred by the Reve rend Charles Henry Hartshorne, M. A., editor of a very curious volume, entitled " Ancient Metrical Tales, printed chiefly from origiual sources, 1829."

Mr Hartshorne gives no other authority for the present fragment, except the article in the Biblio grapher, where it is entitled the Kyng and the Hermite. A short abstract of its contents will shew its similarity to the meeting of King Richard and Friar Tuck. King Edward (we are not told which among the monarchs of that name, but, from his temper and habits, we may suppose Edward IV.) sets forth with his court to a gallant hunting-match in Sher wood Forest, in which, as is not unusual for princes in romance, he fall9 in with a deer of extraordinary size and swiftness, and pursues it closely, tdl he has outstripped his whole retinue, tired out hounds and horse, and finds himself alone under the gloom of an extensive forest, upon which night is descending. Under the apprehensions natural to a situation so uncomfortable, the king recollects that he has heard how poor men, when ' This very cui-ious poem, long a desideratum in Scottish literature, and given up as irrecoverably lost, was lately brought to light by the researches of Dr Irvine of the Advocates' Library, and has been reprinted by Mr David Laing, Edinburgh. 8 Vol. ii. p. 107. 465 apprehensive of a bad night's lodging, pray to Saint Julian, who, in the Romish calendar, stands Quarter-Master-General to all forlorn travellers that render him due homage.

Edward puts up his orisons accordingly, and by the guidance, doubtless, of the good Saint, reaches a small path, conducting him to a chapel in the forest, having a hermit's cell in its close vicinity. The King hears the reverend man, with a companion of his solitude, telling his beads within, and meekly requests of him quar ters for the night. " I have no accommodation for such a lord as ye be," said the Hermit. " I live here in the wilderness upon roots and rinds, and m.ay not receive into my dwelling even the poorest wretch that lives, unless it were to save his life." The King inquires the way to the next town, and, understanding it is by a road which he cannot find without difficulty, even if he had daylight to be friend him, he declares, that with or without the Hermit's consent, he was determined to be his guest that night.

He is admitted accordingly, not without a hint from the Recluse, that were he him self out of his priestly weeds, he would care little for his threats of using violence, and that he gives way to him not out of intimidation, but simply to avoid scandal. The King is admitted into the cell — two bundles of straw are shaken down for his accommodation, and he comforts himself that he is now under shelter, and that '* A night will Boon be gone." Other wants, however, arise. The guest beoomes clamorous for supper, observing, " For certainly, as I you say, I ne had never so sorry a day, That I ne had a merry night." But this indication of his taste for good cheer, joined to the annunciation of his being a fodower of the Court, who had lost himself at the great hunting-match, cannot induce the niggard Hermit to produce better fare than bread and cheese, for which his guest shewed little appetite ; and " thin drink," which was even less acceptable.

At length the King presses his host on a point to which he had more than once aduded, without obtaining a satisfactory reply : " Then said the King, * by Godys grace, Thou wert in a merry place, To shoot should thou lere ; When the foresters go to rest, Sometyme thou might have of the best. All of the wild deer ; I wold hold it for no scathe. Though thou hadst bow and arrows baith, Althoff thou best a Frere.' " The Hermit, in return, expresses his apprehension that his guest means to drag him into some confession of offence against the forest laws, which, being betrayed to the King, might cost him his life. Edward answers by fresh assurances of secrecy, and again urges on him the necessity of procuring some venison. The Hermit replies, by once more insisting on the duties incumbent upon him as a churchman, and continues to affirm himself free from all such breaches of order : — " ' Many day I have here been, And flesh-meat I eat never.

But milk nf the kyej Warm thee well, and go to sleep, And I will lap thee with my cope, Softly tol} e."' It would seem that the manuscript is here im perfect, for we do not find the reasons which filially induce the curtal Friar to amend the King's cheer. But acknowledging his guest to be such a "good fellow" as has seldom graced his board, the holy man at length produces the best his cell affords. Two candles are placed on a table, white bread and baked pasties are displayed by the fight, besides choice of venison, both salt and fresh, from which they select collops. " I might have eaten my bread dry," said the King, " had I not pressed thee on the score of archery, but now have I dined like a prince — if we had but drink enow." This too is afforded by the hospitable anchorite, who despatches an assistant to fetch a pot of four gallons from a secret corner near his bed, and the whole three set in to serious drinking.

This amusement is superintended by the Friar, according to the recurrence of certain fustian words, to be repeated by every compotator in turn before he drank — a species of High Jinks, as it were, by which they regulated their potations, as toasts were given in latter times. The one toper says fusty bandias, to which the other is obliged to reply, strike pantnere, and the Friar passes many jests on the King's want of memory, who sometimes forgets the words of action. The night is spent in this jolly pastime. Before his departure in the morning, the King invites his reverend host to Court, promises, at least, to requite his hospitality, and expresses himself much pleased with his enter tainment. The jolly Hermit at length agrees to venture thither, and to inquire for Jack Fletcher, which is the name assumed by the King.

After the Hermit has shewn Edward some feats of archery, the joyous pair separate. The King rides home, and rejoins his retinue. As the romance is imper fect, we are not acquainted how the discovery takes place ; but it is probably much in the same manner as in other narratives turning on the same subject, where the host, apprehensive of death for having trespassed on the respect due to his Sovereign, while incognito, is agreeably surprised by receiving honours and reward. In Mr Hartshorne's collection, there is a romance on the same foundation, called King Edward and the Shepherd,1 which, considered as illustrating 1 Like the Hermit, the Shepherd makes liavock amongst the King's game; but by means of a sling, not ofa bow ; like the Hermit, too, he has his peculiar phrases of compotation, the Bign and countersign being Passelodion and Berafriend.

One 46G manners, is still more curious than the King and the Hermit ; but it is foreign to the present pur pose. The reader has here the original legend from which the incident in the romance is derived; and the identifying the irregular Eremite with the Friar Tuck of Robin Hood's story, was an obvious expedient. The name of Ivanhoe was suggested by an old rhyme. All novelists have had occasion at some time or other to wish with Falstaff, that they knew where a commodity of good names was to be had. On such an occasion the author chanced to call to memory a rhyme recording three names of the manors forfeited by the ancestor of the celebrated Hampden, for striking the Black Prince a blow with his racket, when they quarreUed at tennis ; — ■ " Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe, For striking of a blow, Hampden did forego, And glad he could escape so."

The word suited the author's purpose in two material respects, — for, first, it had an ancient English sound ; and, secondly, it conveyed no indi cation whatever of the nature of the story. He presumes to hold this last quality to be of no small importance. What is called a taking title, serves the direct interest of the bookseller or publisher, who by this means sometimes sells an edition while it is yet passing the press. But if the author permits an over degree of attention to be drawn to his work ere it has appeared, he places himself in the embarrassing condition of having excited a degree of expectation which, if he proves unable to satisfy, is an error fatal to his literary reputation. Besides, when we meet such a title as the Gun powder Plot, or any other connected with general history, each reader, before he has seen the book, has formed to himself some particular idea of the sort of manner in which the story is to be con ducted, and the nature of the amusement which he is to derive from it.

In this he is probably disappointed, and in that case may be naturally disposed to visit upon the author or the work, the unpleasant feelings thus excited. In such a case the literary adventurer is censured, not for having missed the mark at which he himself aimed, but for not having shot off his shaft in a direction he never thought of. On the sooting of unreserved communication whicli the Author has established with the reader, he may here add the trifling circumstance, that a roll of Norman warriors, occurring in the Auch inleck Manusrcipt, gave him the formidable name of Front-de-Bœuf. Ivanhoe was highly successful upon its appea rance, and may be said to have procured for its author the freedom of the Rules, since he has ever can scarce conceive what humour our ancestors found in tlila species of gibberish ; but " I warrant H proves! an excuse for the glass."

DEDICATORY EPISTLE. since been permitted to exercise his powers of fictitious composition in England, as well as Scotland. The character of the fair Jewess found so much favour in the eyes of some fair readers, that the writer was censured, because, when arranging the fates of tho characters of the drama, he had not assigned the hand of Wilfred to Rebecca, rather than the less interesting Rowena. But, not to mention that the prejudices of the age rendered such an union almost impossible, the author may, in passing, observe, that he thinks a character of a highly virtuous and lofty stamp, is degraded rather than exalted by an attempt to reward virtue with temporal prosperity. Such is not the recompense which Providence has deemed worthy of suffering merit, and it is a dangerous and fatal doctrine to teach young persons, the most common readers of are either naturally allied with, or adequately rewarded by, the gratification of our passions, or attainment of our wishes.

In a word, if a virtuous and self-denied character is dismissed with temporal wealth, greatness, rank, or the indulgence of such a rashly formed or ill assorted passion as that of Rebecca for Ivanhoe, the reader will be apt to say, verily Virtue has had its reward. But a glance on the great picture of life will shew, that the duties of self-denial, and the sacrifice of passion to principle, are seldom thus remunerated ; and that the internal consciousness of their high-minded discharge of duty, produces on their own reflections a more adequate recompense, in the form of that peace which the world cannot give or take away. romance, that rectitude of conduct and of principle I ij* September, 11130. j DEDICATORY EPISTLE TO THE REV. DR DRYASDUST, F.A.S. Residing in the Castle-Gate, York. Much esteemed ind dear Sir, It is scarcely necessary to mention the various and concurring reasons which induce me to place your name at the head of the following work.

Yet the chief of these reasons may perhaps be refuted by the imperfections of the performance. Could I have hoped to render it worthy of your patronage, the public would at once have seen the propriety of inscribing a work designed to illustrate the domestic antiquities of England, and particularly of our Saxon forefathers, to the learned author of the Essays upon the Horn of King Ulphus, and on the Lands bestowed by him upon the patrimony of St Peter. I am conscious, however, that the slight, unsatisfactory, and trivial manner, in which the result of my antiquarian researches has been recorded in the following pages, takes the work from under that class which bears the proud motto, LDetur dignimi. On the contrary, I fear I shali incur the censure of presumption in placing the venerable name of Dr Jonas Dryasdust at the head of a publication, which the more grave antiquary will perhaps class with the idle novels and romances of the day.

I am anxious to vindicate myself from such a charge ; for although I might trust to your friendship for an apology in your eyes, yet I would not willingly stand convicted in those of the public 467 of so grave a crime, as my fears lead me to anticipate my being charged with. I must therefore remind you, that when we first talked over together that class of productions, in one of whicli the private and family affairs of your learned northern friend, Mr Oldbuck of Monk barns, were so unjustifiably exposed to the public, some discussion occurred between us concerning the cause of the popularity these works have attained in this idle age, which, whatever other merit they possess, must be admitted to be hastily written, and in violation of every rule assigned to the epopeia. It seemed then to be your opinion, that the charm lay entirely in the art with which the unknown author had availed himself, like a second M'Pherson, of the antiquarian stores which lay scattered around' him, supplying his own indolence or poverty of invention, by the incidents which had actually taken place in his country at no distant period, by introducing real characters, and scarcely suppressing real names.

It was not above sixty or seventy years, you observed, since the whole north of Scotland was under a state of government nearly as simple and as patriarchal as those of our good allies the Mohawks and Iroquois. Admitting that the author cannot himself be supposed to have witnessed those times, he must have lived, you observed, among persons who had acted and suffered in them ; and even within these thirty years, such an infinite change has taken place in the manners of Scotland, that men look back upon the habits of society proper to their immediate ancestors, as we do on those of the reign of Queen Anne, or even the period of tlie Revolution. Having thus materials of every kind lying strewed around him, there was little, you observed, to embarrass the author, but the difficulty of choice.

It was no wonder, therefore, that, having begun to work a mine so plentiful, he should have derived from his works fully more credit and profit than the facility of his labours merited. Admitting (as I could not deny) the general truth of these conclusions, I cannot but think it strange that no attempt has been made to excite an interest for the traditions and manners of Old England, similar to that which has been obtained in behalf of those of our poorer and less celebrated neigh bours. The Kendal green, though its date is more ancient, ought surely to be as dear to our feelings, as the variegated tartans of the north. The name of Robin Hood, if duly conjured with, should raise a spirit as soou as that of Rob Roy ; and the patriots of England deserve no less their renown in our modern circles, than the Bruces and Wallaces of Caledonia.

If the scenery of the south be less romantic and sublime than that of the northern mountains, it must be allowed to possess in the same proportion superior softness and beauty ; and upon the whole, we feel ourselves entitled to exclaim with the patriotic Syrian — " Are not Pharpar and Abana, rivers of Damascus, better than all the rivers of Israel ?" Your objections to such an attempt, my dear Doctor, were, you may remember, two-fold. You insisted upon the advantages which the Scotsman possessed, from the very recent existence of that state of society in which his scene w.is to be laid. Many now alive, you remarked, well remembered persons who had not only seen the celebrated Roy M'Gregor, but had feasted, and even fought with him. All those minute circumstances belonging to private life and domestic character, all that gives verisimditude to a narrative, and individuality to the persons introduced, is still known and remembered in Scotland ; whereas in England, civilization has been so long complete, that our ideas of our ancestors are only to be gleaned from musty records and chronicles, the authors of which seem perversely to liave conspired to suppress in their narratives all interesting details, in order to find room for flowers of monkish eloquence, or trite reflections upon morals.

To match an English and a Scottish author in the rival task of embodying and reviving the traditions of their respective countries, woidd be, you alleged, in the highest degree unequal and unjust. The Scottish magician, you said, was, like Lucan's witch, at liberty to walk over the recent field of battle, and to select for the subject of resuscitation by his sorceries, a body whose limbs had recently quivered with existence, and whose throat had but just uttered the last note of agony. Such a subject even the powerful Erictho was compelled to select, as alone capable of being reanimated even by her potent magic — gelida-s leto senitata medullas, Pulmonis rigidi stantes sine vulnere libras Invenits et vocem defuncto in corpore quserit 468 The English author, on the other hand, without supposing him less of a conjuror than the Northern Warlock, can, you observed, only have the liberty of selecting his subject amidst the dust of antiquity, where nothing was to be found but dry, sapless, mouldering, and disjointed bones, such as those which filled the valley of Jehoshaphat.

You expressed, besides, your apprehension, that the unpatriotic prejudices of my countrymen would not allow fair play to such a work as that of which I endeavoured to demonstrate the probable success. And this, you said, was not entirely owing to the more general prejudice in favour of that which is foreign, but that it rested partly upon improba bilities, arising out of the circumstances in which the English reader is placed. If you describe to him a set of wild manners, and a 6tate of primitive society existing in the Highlands of Scotland, he is much disposed to acquiesce in the truth of what is asserted. And reason good. If he be of the ordinary class of readers, he has either never seen those remote districts at all, or he has wandered through those desolate regions in the course of a summer tour, eating bad dinners, sleeping on truckle beds, stalking from desolation to desolation, and fully prepared to believe the strangest things that could be told him of a people, wild and extravagant enough to be attached to scenery so extraordinary.

But the same worthy person, when placed in his own snug parlour, and surrounded by all the com forts of an Englishman's fireside, is not half so much disposed to believe that his own ancestors led a very different life from himself ; that the shattered tower, which nowforms a vista from his window, once held a baron who would have hung him up at his own door without any form of trial ; that the hinds, by whom his little pet-farm is managed, a few centuries ago would have been his slaves ; and that the complete influence of feudal tyranny once extended over the neighbouring village, where the attorney is now a man of more importance than the lord of the manor. While I own the force of these objections, I must confess, at the same time, that they do not appear to me to be altogeher insurmountable.

The scantiness of materials is indeed a formidable diffi culty ; but no one knows better than Dr Dryasdust, that to those deeply read in antiquity, hints con cerning the private life of our ancestors lie scattered through the pages of our various historians, bearing, indeed, a slender proportion to the other matters of which they treat, but still, when collected together, sufficient to throw considerable light upon the xie privie of our forefathers ; indeed, I am convinced, that however I myself may fail in the ensuing attempt, yet, with more labour in collecting, or more skill iu using, the materials within his reach, illustrated as they have been by the labours of Dr Henry, of the late Mr Strutt, and, above all, of Mr Sharon Turner, an abler hand would have been successful ; and therefore I protest, beforehand, against any argument which may be founded on tlie failure of the present experiment.

On the other hand, I have already said, that if any thing like a true picture of old English man ners could be drawn, I would trust to the good nature and good sense of my countrymen for insur ing its favourable reception. Having thus replied, to the best of my power, to the first class of your objections, or at least having i DEDICATORY EPISTLE. shewn my resolution to overleap the barriers which your prudence has raised, I will be brief in noticing that which is more peculiar to myself. It seemed to be your opinion, that the very office of an antiquary, employed in grave, and, as the vulgar will sometimes allege, in toilsome and minute research, must be considered as incapacitating him from successfully compounding a tale of this sort. But permit me to say, my dear Doctor, that this objection is rather formal than substantial.

It is true that such slight compositions might not suit the severer genius of our friend Mr Oldbuck. Yet Horace Walpole wrote a goblin tale which has thrilled through many a bosom ; and George Ellis could transfer all the playful fascination of a humour, as delightful as it was uncommon, into his Abridgement of the Ancient Metrical Romances. So that, however I may have occasion to rue my present audacity, I have at least the most respectable precedents in my favour. Still the severer antiquary may think, that, by thus intermingling fiction with truth, I am polluting the well of history with modern inventions, and impressing upon the rising generation false ideas of the age which I describe. I cannot but in some sense admit the force of this reasoning, which I yet hope to traverse by the following considera tions.

It is true, that I neither can, nor do pretend, to the observation of complete accuracy, even in matters of outward costume, much less in the more important points of language and manners. But the same motive whicli prevents my writing the dialogue of the piece in Anglo-Saxon or in Norman- French, and which prohibits my sending forth to the public this essay printed with the types of Cax ton or Wynken de Worde, prevents my attempting to confine myself within the limits of the period in which my story is laid. It is necessary, for exciting interest of any kind, that the subject assumed should be, as it were, translated into the manners, as well as the language, of the age we live in. No fascination has ever been attached to Oriental literature, equal to that produced by Mr Galland's first translation of the Arabian Tales ; in which, retaining on the one hand the splendour of Eastern costume, and on the other the wildness of Eastern fiction, he mixed these with just so much ordinary feeling and expression, as rendered them interesting and intelligible, while he abridged the long-winded narratives, curtailed the monotonous reflections, and rejected the endless repetitions of the Arabian original.

The tales, therefore, though less purely Oriental than in their first concoction, were eminently better fitted for the European market, and obtained an unrivalled degree of public favour, which they certainly would never have gained had not the manners and style been in some degree familiarized to the feelings and habits of the Western reader. In point of justice, therefore, to the multitudes who will, I trust, devour this book with avidity, I have so far explained our ancient manners in modern language, and so far detailed the characters and sentiments of my persons, that the modern reader will not find himself, I should hope, much trammelled by the repulsive dryness of mere antiquity. In this, T respectfully contend, I have in no respect exceeded the fair licence due to the author *of a fictitious composition.

The late ingenious 4G9 Mr Strutt, in his romance of Queen-Hoo-Hall,1 acted upon another principle ; and in distinguish ing between what was ancient and modern, forgot, as it appears to me, that extensive neutral ground, the large proportion, that is, of manners and senti ments which are common to us and to our ances tors, having been handed down unaltered from them to us, or which, arising out of the principles of our common nature, must have existed alike in either state of society. In this manner a man of talent, and of great antiquarian erudition, limited the popularity of his work, by excluding from it every thing which was not sufficiently obsolete to be altogether forgotten and unintelligible. Tlie licence whicli I would here vindicate, is so necessary to the execution of my plan, that I will crave your patience while I illustrate my argument a little farther.