Ivanhoe

Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart,

And often took leave,—but seemed loath to depart! 1

—Prior.

INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE.

The Author of the Waverley Novels had hitherto proceeded in an unabated

course of popularity, and might, in his peculiar district of

literature, have been termed _L’Enfant Gâté_ of success. It was plain,

however, that frequent publication must finally 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 Parnell’s Tale:

“‘Reverse the spell,’ he cries,

‘And let it fairly now suffice.

The gambol has been shown.’”

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

disinclination, 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 censures usually passed by vulgar criticism upon

actors or artists who venture to change the character 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 preeminent degree the external qualities

necessary to give effect to comedy, may be deprived of the right to

aspire to tragic excellence; and in painting or literary composition,

an artist or poet may be master exclusively of modes of thought, and

powers of expression, which confine him to a single course of subjects.

But much more frequently the same capacity which carries a man to

popularity in one department will obtain for him success in another,

and that must be more particularly the case in literary composition,

than either in acting or painting, because the adventurer in that

department is not impeded in his exertions by any peculiarity of

features, or conformation of person, proper for particular parts, or,

by any peculiar mechanical habits of using the pencil, limited to a

particular class of subjects.

Whether this reasoning be correct or otherwise, the present author

felt, that, in confining himself to subjects purely Scottish, he was

not only likely to weary out the indulgence of his readers, but also

greatly to limit his own power of affording them pleasure. In a highly

polished country, where so much genius is monthly employed in catering

for public amusement, a fresh topic, such as he had himself had the

happiness to light upon, is the untasted spring of the desert;—

“Men bless their stars and call it luxury.”

But when men and horses, cattle, camels, and dromedaries, have poached

the spring into mud, it becomes loathsome to those who at first drank

of it with rapture; and he who had the merit of discovering it, if he

would preserve his reputation with the tribe, must display his talent

by a fresh discovery of untasted fountains.

If the author, who finds himself limited to a particular class of

impatient for copy, when the whole of my narrative has been imposed.

Adieu, my dear friend; I have said enough to explain, if not to

vindicate, the attempt which I have made, and which, in spite of your

doubts, and my own incapacity, I am still willing to believe has not

been altogether made in vain.

I hope you are now well recovered from your spring fit of the gout, and

shall be happy if the advice of your learned physician should recommend

a tour to these parts. Several curiosities have been lately dug up near

the wall, as well as at the ancient station of Habitancum. Talking of

the latter, I suppose you have long since heard the news, that a sulky

churlish boor has destroyed the ancient statue, or rather bas-relief,

popularly called Robin of Redesdale. It seems Robin’s fame attracted

more visitants than was consistent with the growth of the heather, upon

a moor worth a shilling an acre. Reverend as you write yourself, be

revengeful for once, and pray with me that he may be visited with such

a fit of the stone, as if he had all the fragments of poor Robin in

that region of his viscera where the disease holds its seat. Tell this

not in Gath, lest the Scots rejoice that they have at length found a

parallel instance among their neighbours, to that barbarous deed which

demolished Arthur’s Oven. But there is no end to lamentation, when we

betake ourselves to such subjects. My respectful compliments attend

Miss Dryasdust; I endeavoured to match the spectacles agreeable to her

commission, during my late journey to London, and hope she has received

them safe, and found them satisfactory. I send this by the blind

carrier, so that probably it may be some time upon its journey. 6

The last news which I hear from Edinburgh is, that the gentleman who

fills the situation of Secretary to the Society of Antiquaries of

Scotland, 7 is the best amateur draftsman in that kingdom, and that

much is expected from his skill and zeal in delineating those specimens

of national antiquity, which are either mouldering under the slow touch

of time, or swept away by modern taste, with the same besom of

destruction which John Knox used at the Reformation. Once more adieu;

“vale tandem, non immemor mei”. Believe me to be,

Reverend, and very dear Sir,

Your most faithful humble Servant.

Laurence Templeton.

Toppingwold, near Egremont, Cumberland, Nov. 17, 1817.

IVANHOE.

Thus communed these; while to their lowly dome,

The full-fed swine return’d with evening home;

Compell’d, reluctant, to the several sties,

With din obstreperous, and ungrateful cries.

POPE’S ODYSSEY

In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered by the

river Don, there extended in ancient times a large forest, covering the

greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between

Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster. The remains of this

extensive wood are still to be seen at the noble seats of Wentworth, of

Warncliffe Park, and around Rotherham. Here haunted of yore the

fabulous Dragon of Wantley; here were fought many of the most desperate

battles during the Civil Wars of the Roses; and here also flourished in

ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws, whose deeds have been

rendered so popular in English song.

Such being our chief scene, the date of our story refers to a period

towards the end of the reign of Richard I., when his return from his

long captivity had become an event rather wished than hoped for by his

despairing subjects, who were in the meantime subjected to every

species of subordinate oppression. The nobles, whose power had become

exorbitant during the reign of Stephen, and whom the prudence of Henry

the Second had scarce reduced to some degree of subjection to the

crown, had now resumed their ancient license in its utmost extent;

despising the feeble interference of the English Council of State,

fortifying their castles, increasing the number of their dependants,

reducing all around them to a state of vassalage, and striving by every

means in their power, to place themselves each at the head of such

forces as might enable him to make a figure in the national convulsions

which appeared to be impending.

The situation of the inferior gentry, or Franklins, as they were

called, who, by the law and spirit of the English constitution, were

entitled to hold themselves independent of feudal tyranny, became now

unusually precarious. If, as was most generally the case, they placed

themselves under the protection of any of the petty kings in their

vicinity, accepted of feudal offices in his household, or bound

themselves by mutual treaties of alliance and protection, to support

him in his enterprises, they might indeed purchase temporary repose;

but it must be with the sacrifice of that independence which was so

dear to every English bosom, and at the certain hazard of being

involved as a party in whatever rash expedition the ambition of their

protector might lead him to undertake. On the other hand, such and so

multiplied were the means of vexation and oppression possessed by the

great Barons, that they never wanted the pretext, and seldom the will,

to harass and pursue, even to the very edge of destruction, any of

their less powerful neighbours, who attempted to separate themselves

from their authority, and to trust for their protection, during the

dangers of the times, to their own inoffensive conduct, and to the laws

of the land.

A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the tyranny of the

nobility, and the sufferings of the inferior classes, arose from the

consequences of the Conquest by Duke William of Normandy. Four

generations had not sufficed to blend the hostile blood of the Normans

and Anglo-Saxons, or to unite, by common language and mutual interests,

two hostile races, one of which still felt the elation of triumph,

while the other groaned under all the consequences of defeat. The power

had been completely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility, by the

event of the battle of Hastings, and it had been used, as our histories

assure us, with no moderate hand. The whole race of Saxon princes and

nobles had been extirpated or disinherited, with few or no exceptions;

nor were the numbers great who possessed land in the country of their