by Walter Scott 27 страница

⇐ ПредыдущаяСтр 27 из 47Следующая ⇒

creatures thou hast made! "

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal for assault,

which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and at once answered by

a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements, which,

mingled with the deep and hollow clang of the nakers, (a species of

kettle-drum, ) retorted in notes of defiance the challenge of the enemy.

The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful din, the assailants

crying, " Saint George for merry England! " and the Normans answering

them with loud cries of " En avant De Bracy! --Beau-seant!

Beau-seant! --Front-de-Boeuf a la rescousse! " according to the war-cries

of their different commanders.

It was not, however, by clamour that the contest was to be decided, and

the desperate efforts of the assailants were met by an equally vigorous

defence on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their

woodland pastimes to the most effective use of the long-bow, shot, to

use the appropriate phrase of the time, so " wholly together, " that

no point at which a defender could show the least part of his person,

escaped their cloth-yard shafts. By this heavy discharge, which

continued as thick and sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every

arrow had its individual aim, and flew by scores together against each

embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well as at every window where

a defender either occasionally had post, or might be suspected to be

stationed, --by this sustained discharge, two or three of the garrison

were slain, and several others wounded. But, confident in their armour

of proof, and in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers

of Front-de-Boeuf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy in defence

proportioned to the fury of the attack and replied with the discharge

of their large cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings, and

other missile weapons, to the close and continued shower of arrows;

and, as the assailants were necessarily but indifferently protected, did

considerably more damage than they received at their hand. The whizzing

of shafts and of missiles, on both sides, was only interrupted by the

shouts which arose when either side inflicted or sustained some notable

loss.

" And I must lie here like a bedridden monk, " exclaimed Ivanhoe, " while

the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hand of

others! --Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that

you are not marked by the archers beneath--Look out once more, and tell

me if they yet advance to the storm. "

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had

employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice,

sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath.

" What dost thou see, Rebecca? " again demanded the wounded knight.

" Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes,

and to hide the bowmen who shoot them. "

" That cannot endure, " said Ivanhoe; " if they press not right on to

carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little

against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock,

fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so

will his followers be. "

" I see him not, " said Rebecca.

" Foul craven! " exclaimed Ivanhoe; " does he blench from the helm when the

wind blows highest? "

" He blenches not! he blenches not! " said Rebecca, " I see him now; he

leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. [36]

--They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers

with axes. --His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like

a raven over the field of the slain. --They have made a breach in the

barriers--they rush in--they are thrust back! --Front-de-Boeuf heads the

defenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to

the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. God

of Jacob! it is the meeting of two fierce tides--the conflict of two

oceans moved by adverse winds! "

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a

sight so terrible.

" Look forth again, Rebecca, " said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her

retiring; " the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are

now fighting hand to hand. --Look again, there is now less danger. "

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, " Holy

prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand

to hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the

progress of the strife--Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed

and of the captive! " She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, " He

is down! --he is down! "

" Who is down? " cried Ivanhoe; " for our dear Lady's sake, tell me which

has fallen? "

" The Black Knight, " answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again

shouted with joyful eagerness--" But no--but no! --the name of the Lord

of Hosts be blessed! --he is on foot again, and fights as if there

were twenty men's strength in his single arm--His sword is broken--he

snatches an axe from a yeoman--he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on

blow--The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the

woodman--he falls--he falls! "

" Front-de-Boeuf? " exclaimed Ivanhoe.

" Front-de-Boeuf! " answered the Jewess; " his men rush to the rescue,

headed by the haughty Templar--their united force compels the champion

to pause--They drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls. "

" The assailants have won the barriers, have they not? " said Ivanhoe.

" They have--they have! " exclaimed Rebecca--" and they press the besieged

hard upon the outer wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and

endeavour to ascend upon the shoulders of each other--down go stones,

beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they

bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the

assault--Great God! hast thou given men thine own image, that it should

be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren! "

" Think not of that, " said Ivanhoe; " this is no time for such

thoughts--Who yield? --who push their way? "

" The ladders are thrown down, " replied Rebecca, shuddering; " the

soldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed reptiles--The besieged

have the better. "

" Saint George strike for us! " exclaimed the knight; " do the false yeomen

give way? "

" No! " exclaimed Rebecca, " they bear themselves right yeomanly--the Black

Knight approaches the postern with his huge axe--the thundering blows

which he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts of

the battle--Stones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion--he

regards them no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers! "

" By Saint John of Acre, " said Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his

couch, " methought there was but one man in England that might do such a

deed! "

" The postern gate shakes, " continued Rebecca; " it crashes--it is

splintered by his blows--they rush in--the outwork is won--Oh,

God! --they hurl the defenders from the battlements--they throw them

into the moat--O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no

longer! "

" The bridge--the bridge which communicates with the castle--have they

won that pass? " exclaimed Ivanhoe.

" No, " replied Rebecca, " The Templar has destroyed the plank on which

they crossed--few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle--the

shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate of the others--Alas! --I

see it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle. "

" What do they now, maiden? " said Ivanhoe; " look forth yet again--this is

no time to faint at bloodshed. "

" It is over for the time, " answered Rebecca; " our friends strengthen

themselves within the outwork which they have mastered, and it affords

them so good a shelter from the foemen's shot, that the garrison only

bestow a few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if rather to

disquiet than effectually to injure them. "

" Our friends, " said Wilfred, " will surely not abandon an enterprise so

gloriously begun and so happily attained. --O no! I will put my faith

in the good knight whose axe hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of

iron. --Singular, " he again muttered to himself, " if there be two who can

do a deed of such derring-do! [37]--a fetterlock, and a shacklebolt on

a field sable--what may that mean? --seest thou nought else, Rebecca, by

which the Black Knight may be distinguished? "

" Nothing, " said the Jewess; " all about him is black as the wing of the

night raven. Nothing can I spy that can mark him further--but having

once seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know

him again among a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if he were

summoned to a banquet. There is more than mere strength, there seems as

if the whole soul and spirit of the champion were given to every

blow which he deals upon his enemies. God assoilize him of the sin of

bloodshed! --it is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and

heart of one man can triumph over hundreds. "

" Rebecca, " said Ivanhoe, " thou hast painted a hero; surely they rest

but to refresh their force, or to provide the means of crossing the

moat--Under such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be, there

are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant

emprize; since the difficulties which render it arduous render it also

glorious. I swear by the honour of my house--I vow by the name of my

bright lady-love, I would endure ten years' captivity to fight one day

by that good knight's side in such a quarrel as this! "

" Alas, " said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window, and approaching

the couch of the wounded knight, " this impatient yearning after

action--this struggling with and repining at your present weakness,

will not fail to injure your returning health--How couldst thou hope

to inflict wounds on others, ere that be healed which thou thyself hast

received? "

" Rebecca, " he replied, " thou knowest not how impossible it is for one

trained to actions of chivalry to remain passive as a priest, or a

woman, when they are acting deeds of honour around him. The love of

battle is the food upon which we live--the dust of the 'melee' is the

breath of our nostrils! We live not--we wish not to live--longer than

while we are victorious and renowned--Such, maiden, are the laws of

chivalry to which we are sworn, and to which we offer all that we hold

dear. "

" Alas! " said the fair Jewess, " and what is it, valiant knight, save an

offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory, and a passing through

the fire to Moloch? --What remains to you as the prize of all the blood

you have spilled--of all the travail and pain you have endured--of

all the tears which your deeds have caused, when death hath broken the

strong man's spear, and overtaken the speed of his war-horse? "

" What remains? " cried Ivanhoe; " Glory, maiden, glory! which gilds our

sepulchre and embalms our name. "

" Glory? " continued Rebecca; " alas, is the rusted mail which hangs as a

hatchment over the champion's dim and mouldering tomb--is the defaced

sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly read to

the enquiring pilgrim--are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice

of every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may

make others miserable? Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of

a wandering bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and

happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of those ballads

which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls over their evening ale? "

" By the soul of Hereward! " replied the knight impatiently, " thou

speakest, maiden, of thou knowest not what. Thou wouldst quench the pure

light of chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noble from the base,

the gentle knight from the churl and the savage; which rates our life

far, far beneath the pitch of our honour; raises us victorious over

pain, toil, and suffering, and teaches us to fear no evil but disgrace.

Thou art no Christian, Rebecca; and to thee are unknown those high

feelings which swell the bosom of a noble maiden when her lover hath

done some deed of emprize which sanctions his flame. Chivalry! --why,

maiden, she is the nurse of pure and high affection--the stay of the

oppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the power of the

tyrant--Nobility were but an empty name without her, and liberty finds

the best protection in her lance and her sword. "

" I am, indeed, " said Rebecca, " sprung from a race whose courage was

distinguished in the defence of their own land, but who warred not, even

while yet a nation, save at the command of the Deity, or in defending

their country from oppression. The sound of the trumpet wakes Judah no

longer, and her despised children are now but the unresisting victims

of hostile and military oppression. Well hast thou spoken, Sir

Knight, --until the God of Jacob shall raise up for his chosen people a

second Gideon, or a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth the Jewish damsel to

speak of battle or of war. "

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in a tone of sorrow, which

deeply expressed her sense of the degradation of her people, embittered

perhaps by the idea that Ivanhoe considered her as one not entitled

to interfere in a case of honour, and incapable of entertaining or

expressing sentiments of honour and generosity.

" How little he knows this bosom, " she said, " to imagine that cowardice

or meanness of soul must needs be its guests, because I have censured

the fantastic chivalry of the Nazarenes! Would to heaven that the

shedding of mine own blood, drop by drop, could redeem the captivity of

Judah! Nay, would to God it could avail to set free my father, and this

his benefactor, from the chains of the oppressor! The proud Christian

should then see whether the daughter of God's chosen people dared not to

die as bravely as the vainest Nazarene maiden, that boasts her descent

from some petty chieftain of the rude and frozen north! "

She then looked towards the couch of the wounded knight.

" He sleeps, " she said; " nature exhausted by sufferance and the waste

of spirits, his wearied frame embraces the first moment of temporary

relaxation to sink into slumber. Alas! is it a crime that I should look

upon him, when it may be for the last time? --When yet but a short space,

and those fair features will be no longer animated by the bold and

buoyant spirit which forsakes them not even in sleep! --When the nostril

shall be distended, the mouth agape, the eyes fixed and bloodshot; and

when the proud and noble knight may be trodden on by the lowest caitiff

of this accursed castle, yet stir not when the heel is lifted up against

him! --And my father! --oh, my father! evil is it with his daughter,

when his grey hairs are not remembered because of the golden locks of

youth! --What know I but that these evils are the messengers of Jehovah's

wrath to the unnatural child, who thinks of a stranger's captivity

before a parent's? who forgets the desolation of Judah, and looks upon

the comeliness of a Gentile and a stranger? --But I will tear this folly

from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away! "

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down at a distance

from the couch of the wounded knight, with her back turned towards it,

fortifying, or endeavouring to fortify her mind, not only against

the impending evils from without, but also against those treacherous

feelings which assailed her from within.

CHAPTER XXX

Approach the chamber, look upon his bed.

His is the passing of no peaceful ghost,

Which, as the lark arises to the sky,

'Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest dew,

Is wing'd to heaven by good men's sighs and tears! --

Anselm parts otherwise.

--Old Play

During the interval of quiet which followed the first success of the

besiegers, while the one party was preparing to pursue their advantage,

and the other to strengthen their means of defence, the Templar and De

Bracy held brief council together in the hall of the castle.

" Where is Front-de-Boeuf? " said the latter, who had superintended the

defence of the fortress on the other side; " men say he hath been slain. "

" He lives, " said the Templar, coolly, " lives as yet; but had he worn the

bull's head of which he bears the name, and ten plates of iron to fence

it withal, he must have gone down before yonder fatal axe. Yet a few

hours, and Front-de-Boeuf is with his fathers--a powerful limb lopped

off Prince John's enterprise. "

" And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan, " said De Bracy; " this

comes of reviling saints and angels, and ordering images of holy things

and holy men to be flung down on the heads of these rascaille yeomen. "

" Go to--thou art a fool, " said the Templar; " thy superstition is upon a

level with Front-de-Boeuf's want of faith; neither of you can render a

reason for your belief or unbelief. "

" Benedicite, Sir Templar, " replied De Bracy, " pray you to keep better

rule with your tongue when I am the theme of it. By the Mother of

Heaven, I am a better Christian man than thou and thy fellowship; for

the 'bruit' goeth shrewdly out, that the most holy Order of the Temple

of Zion nurseth not a few heretics within its bosom, and that Sir Brian

de Bois-Guilbert is of the number. "

" Care not thou for such reports, " said the Templar; " but let us think of

making good the castle. --How fought these villain yeomen on thy side? "

" Like fiends incarnate, " said De Bracy. " They swarmed close up to

the walls, headed, as I think, by the knave who won the prize at the

archery, for I knew his horn and baldric. And this is old Fitzurse's

boasted policy, encouraging these malapert knaves to rebel against us!

Had I not been armed in proof, the villain had marked me down seven

times with as little remorse as if I had been a buck in season. He told

every rivet on my armour with a cloth-yard shaft, that rapped against

my ribs with as little compunction as if my bones had been of iron--But

that I wore a shirt of Spanish mail under my plate-coat, I had been

fairly sped. "

" But you maintained your post? " said the Templar. " We lost the outwork

on our part. "

" That is a shrewd loss, " said De Bracy; " the knaves will find cover

there to assault the castle more closely, and may, if not well watched,

gain some unguarded corner of a tower, or some forgotten window, and

so break in upon us. Our numbers are too few for the defence of every

point, and the men complain that they can nowhere show themselves, but

they are the mark for as many arrows as a parish-butt on a holyday even.

Front-de-Boeuf is dying too, so we shall receive no more aid from his

bull's head and brutal strength. How think you, Sir Brian, were we

not better make a virtue of necessity, and compound with the rogues by

delivering up our prisoners? "

" How? " exclaimed the Templar; " deliver up our prisoners, and stand an

object alike of ridicule and execration, as the doughty warriors who

dared by a night-attack to possess themselves of the persons of a party

of defenceless travellers, yet could not make good a strong castle

against a vagabond troop of outlaws, led by swineherds, jesters, and the

very refuse of mankind? --Shame on thy counsel, Maurice de Bracy! --The

ruins of this castle shall bury both my body and my shame, ere I consent

to such base and dishonourable composition. "

" Let us to the walls, then, " said De Bracy, carelessly; " that man never

breathed, be he Turk or Templar, who held life at lighter rate than I

do. But I trust there is no dishonour in wishing I had here some two

scores of my gallant troop of Free Companions? --Oh, my brave lances! if

ye knew but how hard your captain were this day bested, how soon should

I see my banner at the head of your clump of spears! And how short while

would these rabble villains stand to endure your encounter! "

" Wish for whom thou wilt, " said the Templar, " but let us make

what defence we can with the soldiers who remain--They are chiefly

Front-de-Boeuf's followers, hated by the English for a thousand acts of

insolence and oppression. "

" The better, " said De Bracy; " the rugged slaves will defend themselves

to the last drop of their blood, ere they encounter the revenge of the

peasants without. Let us up and be doing, then, Brian de Bois-Guilbert;

and, live or die, thou shalt see Maurice de Bracy bear himself this day

as a gentleman of blood and lineage. "

" To the walls! " answered the Templar; and they both ascended the

battlements to do all that skill could dictate, and manhood accomplish,

in defence of the place. They readily agreed that the point of greatest

danger was that opposite to the outwork of which the assailants had

possessed themselves. The castle, indeed, was divided from that barbican

by the moat, and it was impossible that the besiegers could assail the

postern-door, with which the outwork corresponded, without surmounting

that obstacle; but it was the opinion both of the Templar and De Bracy,

that the besiegers, if governed by the same policy their leader had

already displayed, would endeavour, by a formidable assault, to draw

the chief part of the defenders' observation to this point, and take

measures to avail themselves of every negligence which might take place

in the defence elsewhere. To guard against such an evil, their numbers

only permitted the knights to place sentinels from space to space along

the walls in communication with each other, who might give the alarm

whenever danger was threatened. Meanwhile, they agreed that De Bracy

should command the defence at the postern, and the Templar should keep

with him a score of men or thereabouts as a body of reserve, ready to

hasten to any other point which might be suddenly threatened. The loss

of the barbican had also this unfortunate effect, that, notwithstanding

the superior height of the castle walls, the besieged could not see from

them, with the same precision as before, the operations of the enemy;

for some straggling underwood approached so near the sallyport of the

outwork, that the assailants might introduce into it whatever force they

thought proper, not only under cover, but even without the knowledge of

the defenders. Utterly uncertain, therefore, upon what point the storm

was to burst, De Bracy and his companion were under the necessity of

providing against every possible contingency, and their followers,

however brave, experienced the anxious dejection of mind incident to men

enclosed by enemies, who possessed the power of choosing their time and

mode of attack.

Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endangered castle lay upon

a bed of bodily pain and mental agony. He had not the usual resource of

bigots in that superstitious period, most of whom were wont to atone for

the crimes they were guilty of by liberality to the church, stupefying

by this means their terrors by the idea of atonement and forgiveness;

and although the refuge which success thus purchased, was no more like

to the peace of mind which follows on sincere repentance, than the

turbid stupefaction procured by opium resembles healthy and natural

slumbers, it was still a state of mind preferable to the agonies of

awakened remorse. But among the vices of Front-de-Boeuf, a hard and

griping man, avarice was predominant; and he preferred setting church

and churchmen at defiance, to purchasing from them pardon and absolution

at the price of treasure and of manors. Nor did the Templar, an infidel

of another stamp, justly characterise his associate, when he said

Front-de-Boeuf could assign no cause for his unbelief and contempt for

the established faith; for the Baron would have alleged that the Church

sold her wares too dear, that the spiritual freedom which she put up to

sale was only to be bought like that of the chief captain of Jerusalem,

" with a great sum, " and Front-de-Boeuf preferred denying the virtue of

the medicine, to paying the expense of the physician.

But the moment had now arrived when earth and all his treasures were

gliding from before his eyes, and when the savage Baron's heart, though

hard as a nether millstone, became appalled as he gazed forward into the

waste darkness of futurity. The fever of his body aided the impatience

and agony of his mind, and his death-bed exhibited a mixture of

the newly awakened feelings of horror, combating with the fixed and

inveterate obstinacy of his disposition; --a fearful state of mind, only

to be equalled in those tremendous regions, where there are complaints

without hope, remorse without repentance, a dreadful sense of present

agony, and a presentiment that it cannot cease or be diminished!

" Where be these dog-priests now, " growled the Baron, " who set such price

on their ghostly mummery? --where be all those unshod Carmelites, for

whom old Front-de-Boeuf founded the convent of St Anne, robbing his heir

of many a fair rood of meadow, and many a fat field and close--where be

the greedy hounds now? --Swilling, I warrant me, at the ale, or playing

their juggling tricks at the bedside of some miserly churl. --Me, the

⇐ Предыдущая 22 23 24 25 262728 29 30 31 Следующая ⇒