CHAPTER XXXIX
O maid, unrelenting and cold as thou art, My bosom is proud as thine own.
_Seward_.
It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it could be called such, had taken place, that a low knock was heard at the door of Rebecca's prison-chamber. It disturbed not the inmate, who was then engaged in the evening prayer recommended by her religion, and which concluded with a hymn we have ventured thus to translate into English.
When Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out of the land of bondage came, Her father's God before her moved, An awful guide, in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonish'd lands The cloudy pillar glided slow; By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands Return'd the fiery column's glow.
There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answer'd keen, And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice between. No portents now our foes amaze, Forsaken Israel wanders lone; Our fathers would not know =Thy= ways, And =Thou= hast left them to their own.
But, present still, though now unseen; When brightly shines the prosperous day, Be thoughts of =Thee= a cloudy screen To temper the deceitful ray. And oh, when stoops on Judah's path In shade and storm the frequent night, Be =Thou=, long-suffering, slow to wrath, A burning, and a shining light!
Our harps we left by Babel's streams, The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn; No censer round our altar beams, And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn. But =Thou= hast said, the blood of goat, The flesh of rams, I will not prize; A contrite heart, and humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice.
When the sounds of Rebecca's devotional hymn had died away in silence, the low knock at the door was again renewed. ``Enter,'' she said, ``if thou art a friend; and if a foe, I have not the means of refusing thy entrance.''
``I am,'' said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the apartment, ``friend or foe, Rebecca, as the event of this interview shall make me.''
Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious passion she considered as the root of her misfortunes, Rebecca drew backward with a cautious and alarmed, yet not a timorous demeanour, into the farthest corner of the apartment, as if determined to retreat as far as she could, but to stand her ground when retreat became no longer possible. She drew herself into an attitude not of defiance, but of resolution, as one that would avoid provoking assault, yet was resolute to repel it, being offered, to the utmost of her power.
``You have no reason to fear me, Rebecca,'' said the Templar; ``Or if I must so qualify my speech, you have at least _now_ no reason to fear me.''
``I fear you not, Sir Knight,'' replied Rebecca, although her short-drawn breath seemed to belie the heroism of her accents my trust is strong, and I fear thee not.''
``You have no cause,'' answered Bois-Guilbert, gravely; ``my former frantic attempts you have not now to dread. Within your call are guards, over whom I have no authority. They are designed to conduct you to death, Rebecca, yet would not suffer you to be insulted by any one, even by me, were my frenzy---for frenzy it is---to urge me so far.''
``May Heaven be praised!'' said the Jewess; ``death is the least of my apprehensions in this den of evil.''
``Ay,'' replied the Templar, ``the idea of death is easily received by the courageous mind, when the road to it is sudden and open. A thrust with a lance, a stroke with a sword, were to me little--- To you, a spring from a dizzy battlement, a stroke with a sharp poniard, has no terrors, compared with what either thinks disgrace. Mark me---I say this---perhaps mine own sentiments of honour are not less fantastic, Rebecca, than thine are; but we know alike how to die for them.''
``Unhappy man,'' said the Jewess; ``and art thou condemned to expose thy life for principles, of which thy sober judgment does not acknowledge the solidity? Surely this is a parting with your treasure for that which is not bread---but deem not so of me. Thy resolution may fluctuate on the wild and changeful billows of human opinion, but mine is anchored on the Rock of Ages.''
``Silence, maiden,'' answered the Templar; ``such discourse now avails but little. Thou art condemned to die not a sudden and easy death, such as misery chooses, and despair welcomes, but a slow, wretched, protracted course of torture, suited to what the diabolical bigotry of these men calls thy crime.''
``And to whom---if such my fate---to whom do I owe this?'' said Rebecca ``surely only to him, who, for a most selfish and brutal cause, dragged me hither, and who now, for some unknown purpose of his own, strives to exaggerate the wretched fate to which he exposed me.''
``Think not,'' said the Templar, ``that I have so exposed thee; I would have bucklered thee against such danger with my own bosom, as freely as ever I exposed it to the shafts which had otherwise reached thy life.''
``Had thy purpose been the honourable protection of the innocent,'' said Rebecca, ``I had thanked thee for thy care---as it is, thou hast claimed merit for it so often, that I tell thee life is worth nothing to me, preserved at the price which thou wouldst exact for it.''
``Truce with thine upbraidings, Rebecca,'' said the Templar; ``I have my own cause of grief, and brook not that thy reproaches should add to it.''
``What is thy purpose, then, Sir Knight?'' said the Jewess; ``speak it briefly.---If thou hast aught to do, save to witness the misery thou hast caused, let me know it; and then, if so it please you, leave me to myself---the step between time and eternity is short but terrible, and I have few moments to prepare for it.''
``I perceive, Rebecca,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``that thou dost continue to burden me with the charge of distresses, which most fain would I have prevented.''
``Sir Knight,'' said Rebecca, ``I would avoid reproaches---But what is more certain than that I owe my death to thine unbridled passion?''
``You err---you err,''---said the Templar, hastily, ``if you impute what I could neither foresee nor prevent to my purpose or agency.---Could I guess the unexpected arrival of yon dotard, whom some flashes of frantic valour, and the praises yielded by fools to the stupid self-torments of an ascetic, have raised for the present above his own merits, above common sense, above me, and above the hundreds of our Order, who think and feel as men free from such silly and fantastic prejudices as are the grounds of his opinions and actions?''
``Yet,'' said Rebecca, ``you sate a judge upon me, innocent---most innocent---as you knew me to be---you concurred in my condemnation, and, if I aright understood, are yourself to appear in arms to assert my guilt, and assure my punishment.''
``Thy patience, maiden,'' replied the Templar. ``No race knows so well as thine own tribes how to submit to the time, and so to trim their bark as to make advantage even of an adverse wind.''
``Lamented be the hour,'' said Rebecca, ``that has taught such art to the House of Israel! but adversity bends the heart as fire bends the stubborn steel, and those who are no longer their own governors, and the denizens of their own free independent state, must crouch before strangers. It is our curse, Sir Knight, deserved, doubtless, by our own misdeeds and those of our fathers; but you--- you who boast your freedom as your birthright, how much deeper is your disgrace when you stoop to soothe the prejudices of others, and that against your own conviction?''
``Your words are bitter, Rebecca,'' said Bois-Guilbert, pacing the apartment with impatience, ``but I came not hither to bandy reproaches with you.---Know that Bois-Guilbert yields not to created man, although circumstances may for a time induce him to alter his plan. His will is the mountain stream, which may indeed be turned for a little space aside by the rock, but fails not to find its course to the ocean. That scroll which warned thee to demand a champion, from whom couldst thou think it came, if not from Bois-Guilbert? In whom else couldst thou have excited such interest?''
``A brief respite from instant death,'' said Rebecca, ``which will little avail me---was this all thou couldst do for one, on whose head thou hast heaped sorrow, and whom thou hast brought near even to the verge of the tomb?''
``No maiden,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``this was _not_ all that I purposed. Had it not been for the accursed interference of yon fanatical dotard, and the fool of Goodalricke, who, being a Templar, affects to think and judge according to the ordinary rules of humanity, the office of the Champion Defender had devolved, not on a Preceptor, but on a Companion of the Order. Then I myself---such was my purpose---had, on the sounding of the trumpet, appeared in the lists as thy champion, disguised indeed in the fashion of a roving knight, who seeks adventures to prove his shield and spear; and then, let Beaumanoir have chosen not one, but two or three of the brethren here assembled, I had not doubted to cast them out of the saddle with my single lance. Thus, Rebecca, should thine innocence have been avouched, and to thine own gratitude would I have trusted for the reward of my victory.''
``This, Sir Knight,'' said Rebecca, ``is but idle boasting---a brag of what you would have done had you not found it convenient to do otherwise. You received my glove, and my champion, if a creature so desolate can find one, must encounter your lance in the lists---yet you would assume the air of my friend and protector!''
``Thy friend and protector,'' said the Templar, gravely, ``I will yet be---but mark at what risk, or rather at what certainty, of dishonour; and then blame me not if I make my stipulations, before I offer up all that I have hitherto held dear, to save the life of a Jewish maiden.''
``Speak,'' said Rebecca; ``I understand thee not.''
``Well, then,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``I will speak as freely as ever did doting penitent to his ghostly father, when placed in the tricky confessional.--- Rebecca, if I appear not in these lists I lose fame and rank---lose that which is the breath of my nostrils, the esteem, I mean, in which I am held by my brethren, and the hopes I have of succeeding to that mighty authority, which is now wielded by the bigoted dotard Lucas de Beaumanoir, but of which I should make a different use. Such is my certain doom, except I appear in arms against thy cause. Accursed be he of Goodalricke, who baited this trap for me! and doubly accursed Albert de Malvoisin, who withheld me from the resolution I had formed, of hurling back the glove at the face of the superstitious and superannuated fool, who listened to a charge so absurd, and against a creature so high in mind, and so lovely in form as thou art!''
``And what now avails rant or flattery?'' answered Rebecca. ``Thou hast made thy choice between causing to be shed the blood of an innocent woman, or of endangering thine own earthly state and earthly hopes---What avails it to reckon together?---thy choice is made.''
``No, Rebecca,'' said the knight, in a softer tone,
and drawing nearer towards her; ``my choice is
=not= made---nay, mark, it is thine to make the election.
If I appear in the lists, I must maintain my
name in arms; and if I do so, championed or unchampioned,
thou diest by the stake and faggot,
for there lives not the knight who hath coped with
me in arms on equal issue, or on terms of vantage,
save Richard C
``And what avails repeating this so often?'' said
Rebecca.
``Much,'' replied the Templar; ``for thou must
learn to look at thy fate on every side.''
``Well, then, turn the tapestry,'' said the Jewess,
``and let me see the other side.''
``If I appear,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``in the fatal
lists, thou diest by a slow and cruel death, in pain
such as they say is destined to the guilty hereafter.
But if I appear not, then am I a degraded and dishonoured
knight, accused of witchcraft and of communion
with infidels---the illustrious name which
bas grown yet more so under my wearing, becomes
a hissing and a reproach. I lose fame, I lose honour,
I lose the prospect of such greatness as scarce
emperors attain to---I sacrifice mighty ambition, I
destroy schemes built as high as the mountains
with which heathens say their heaven was once
nearly scaled---and yet, Rebecca,'' he added, throwing
himself at her feet, ``this greatness will I sacrifice,
this fame will I renounce, this power will I
forego, even now when it is half within my grasp,
if thou wilt say, Bois-Guilbert, I receive thee for
my lover.''
``Think not of such foolishness, Sir Knight,''
answered Rebecca, ``but hasten to the Regent, the
Queen Mother, and to Prince John---they cannot,
in honour to the English crown, allow of the proceedings
of your Grand Master. So shall you give
me protection without sacrifice on your part, or the
pretext of requiring any requital from me.''
``With these I deal not,'' he continued, holding
the train of her robe---``it is thee only I address;
and what can counterbalance thy choice? Bethink
thee, were I a fiend, yet death is a worse, and it is
death who is my rival.''
``I weigh not these evils,'' said Rebecca, afraid
to provoke the wild knight, yet equally determined
neither to endure his passion, nor even feign to endure
it. ``Be a man, be a Christian! If indeed
thy faith recommends that mercy which rather
your tongues than your actions pretend, save me
from this dreadful death, without seeking a requital
which would change thy magnanimity into base
barter.''
``No, damsel!'' said the proud Templar, springing
up, ``thou shalt not thus impose on me---if I
renounce present fame and future ambition, I renounce
it for thy sake, and we will escape in company.
Listen to me, Rebecca,'' he said, again
softening his tone; ``England,---Europe,---is not
the world. There are spheres in which we may act,
ample enough even for my ambition. We will go
to Palestine, where Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat,
is my friend---a friend free as myself from
the doting scruples which fetter our free-born reason
----rather with Saladin will we league ourselves,
than endure the scorn of the bigots whom we contemn.
---I will form new paths to greatness,'' he continued,
again traversing the room with hasty strides
---``Europe shall hear the loud step of him she
has driven from her sons!---Not the millions whom
her crusaders send to slaughter, can do so much to
defend Palestine---not the sabres of the thousands
and ten thousands of Saracens can hew their way
so deep into that land for which nations are striving,
as the strength and policy of me and those
brethren, who, in despite of yonder old bigot, will
adhere to me in good and evil. Thou shalt be a
queen, Rebecca---on Mount Carmel shall we pitch
the throne which my valour will gain for you, and
I will exchange my long-desired batoon for a sceptre!''
``A dream,'' said Rebecca; ``an empty vision
of the night, which, were it a waking reality, affects
me not. Enough, that the power which thou mightest
acquire, I will never share; nor hold I so light
of country or religious faith, as to esteem him who
is willing to barter these ties, and cast away the
bonds of the Order of which he is a sworn member,
in order to gratify an unruly passion for the
daughter of another people.---Put not a price on my
deliverance, Sir Knight---sell not a deed of generosity
---protect the oppressed for the sake of charity,
and not for a selfish advantage---Go to the
throne of England; Richard will listen to my appeal
from these cruel men.''
``Never, Rebecca!'' said the Templar, fiercely.
``If I renounce my Order, for thee alone will I renounce
it---Ambition shall remain mine, if thou
refuse my love; I will not be fooled on all hands.
---Stoop my crest to Richard?---ask a boon of that
heart of pride?---Never, Rebecca, will I place the
Order of the Temple at his feet in my person. I
may forsake the Order, I never will degrade or betray
it.''
``Now God be gracious to me,'' said Rebecca,
``for the succour of man is wellnigh hopeless!''
``It is indeed,'' said the Templar; ``for, proud
as thou art, thou hast in me found thy match. If
I enter the lists with my spear in rest, think not
any human consideration shall prevent my putting
forth my strength; and think then upon thine own
fate---to die the dreadful death of the worst of criminals
---to be consumed upon a blazing pile---dispersed
to the elements of which our strange forms
are so mystically composed---not a relic left of
that graceful frame, from which we could say this
lived and moved!---Rebecca, it is not in woman to
sustain this prospect---thou wilt yield to my suit.''
``Bois-Guilbert,'' answered the Jewess, ``thou
knowest not the heart of woman, or hast only conversed
with those who are lost to her best feelings.
I tell thee, proud Templar, that not in thy fiercest
battles hast thou displayed more of thy vaunted
courage, than has been shown by woman when called
upon to suffer by affection or duty. I am myself
a woman, tenderly nurtured, naturally fearful
of danger, and impatient of pain---yet, when we
enter those fatal lists, thou to fight and I to suffer,
I feel the strong assurance within me, that my
courage shall mount higher than thine. Farewell
---I waste no more words on thee; the time that remains
on earth to the daughter of Jacob must be
otherwise spent---she must seek the Comforter,
who may hide his face from his people, but who
ever opens his ear to the cry of those who seek him
in sincerity and in truth.''
``We part then thus?'' said the Templar, after a
short pause; ``would to Heaven that we had never
met, or that thou hadst been noble in birth and
Christian in faith!---Nay, by Heaven! when I
gaze on thee, and think when and how we are next
to meet, I could even wish myself one of thine own
degraded nation; my hand conversant with ingots
and shekels, instead of spear and shield; my head
bent down before each petty noble, and my look
only terrible to the shivering and bankrupt debtor
---this could I wish, Rebecca, to be near to thee in
life, and to escape the fearful share I must have in
thy death.''
``Thou hast spoken the Jew,'' said Rebecca, ``as
the persecution of such as thou art has made him.
Heaven in ire has driven him from his country, but
industry has opened to him the only road to power
and to influence, which oppression has left unbarred.
Read the ancient history of the people of God,
and tell me if those, by whom Jehovah wrought
such marvels among the nations, were then a people
of misers and of usurers!---And know, proud
knight, we number names amongst us to which
your boasted northern nobility is as the gourd compared
with the cedar---names that ascend far back
to those high times when the Divine Presence
shook the mercy-seat between the cherubim, and
which derive their splendour from no earthly prince,
but from the awful Voice, which bade their fathers
be nearest of the congregation to the Vision---Such
were the princes of the House of Jacob.''
Rebecca's colour rose as she boasted the ancient
glories of her race, but faded as she added, with at
sigh, ``Such _were_ the princes of Judah, now such
no more!---They are trampled down like the shorn
grass, and mixed with the mire of the ways. Yet
are there those among them who shame not such
high descent, and of such shall be the daughter of
Isaac the son of Adonikam! Farewell!---I envy
not thy blood-won honours---I envy not thy barbarous
descent from northern heathens---I envy thee
not thy faith, which is ever in thy mouth, but never
in thy heart nor in thy practice.''
``There is a spell on me, by Heaven!'' said Bois-Guilbert.
``I almost think yon besotted skeleton
spoke truth, and that the reluctance with which
I part from thee hath something in it more than
is natural.---Fair creature!'' he said, approaching
near her, but with great respect,---``so young, so
beautiful, so fearless of death! and yet doomed to
die, and with infamy and agony. Who would not
weep for thee?---The tear, that has been a stranger
to these eyelids for twenty years, moistens them
as I gaze on thee. But it must be---nothing may
now save thy life. Thou and I are but the blind
instruments of some irresistible fatality, that hurries
us along, like goodly vessels driving before the
storm, which are dashed against each other, and so
perish. Forgive me, then, and let us part at least
as friends part. I have assailed thy resolution in
vain, and mine own is fixed as the adamantine decrees
of fate.''
``Thus,'' said Rebecca, ``do men throw on fate
the issue of their own wild passions. But I do forgive
thee, Bois-Guilbert, though the author of my
early death. There are noble things which cross
over thy powerful mind; but it is the garden of the
sluggard, and the weeds have rushed up, and conspired
to choke the fair and wholesome blossom.''
``Yes,'' said the Templar, ``I am, Rebecca, as
thou hast spoken me, untaught, untamed---and
proud, that, amidst a shoal of empty fools and crafty
bigots, I have retained the preeminent fortitude
that places me above them. I have been a child of
battle from my youth upward, high in my views,
steady and inflexible in pursuing them. Such must
I remain---proud, inflexible, and unchanging; and
of this the world shall have proof.---But thou forgivest
me, Rebecca?''
``As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner.''
``Farewell, then,'' said the Templar, and left
the apartment.
The Preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an
adjacent chamber the return of Bois-Guilbert.
``Thou hast tarried long,'' he said; ``I have
been as if stretched on red-hot iron with very impatience.
What if the Grand Master, or his spy
Conrade, had come hither? I had paid dear for
my complaisance.---But what ails thee, brother?---
Thy step totters, thy brow is as black as night.
Art thou well, Bois-Guilbert?''
``Ay,'' answered the Templar, ``as well as the
wretch who is doomed to die within an hour.---Nay,
by the rood, not half so well---for there be those in
such state, who can lay down life like a cast-off
garment. By Heaven, Malvoisin, yonder girl hath
wellnigh unmanned me. I am half resolved to go
to the Grand Master, abjure the Order to his very
teeth, and refuse to act the brutality which his
tyranny has imposed on me.''
``Thou art mad,'' answered Malvoisin; ``thou
mayst thus indeed utterly ruin thyself, but canst
not even find a chance thereby to save the life of
this Jewess, which seems so precious in thine eyes.
Beaumanoir will name another of the Order to
defend his judgment in thy place, and the accused
will as assuredly perish as if thou hadst taken the
duty imposed on thee.''
``'Tis false---I will myself take arms in her behalf,''
answered the Templar, haughtily; ``and,
should I do so, I think, Malvoisin, that thou knowest
not one of the Order, who will keep his saddle
before the point of my lance.''
``Ay, but thou forgettest,'' said the wily adviser,
``thou wilt have neither leisure nor opportunity to
execute this mad project. Go to Lucas Beaumanoir,
and say thou hast renounced thy vow of obedience,
and see how long the despotic old man will
leave thee in personal freedom. The words shall
scarce have left thy lips, ere thou wilt either be an
hundred feet under ground, in the dungeon of the
Preceptory, to abide trial as a recreant knight; or,
if his opinion holds concerning thy possession, thou
wilt be enjoying straw, darkness, and chains, in
some distant convent cell, stunned with exorcisms,
and drenched with holy water, to expel the foul
fiend which hath obtained dominion over thee.
Thou must to the lists, Brian, or thou art a lost and
dishonoured man.''
``I will break forth and fly,'' said Bois-Guilbert
---``fly to some distant land, to which folly and
fanaticism have not yet found their way. No drop
of the blood of this most excellent creature shall be
spilled by my sanction.''
``Thou canst not fly,'' said the Preceptor; ``thy
ravings have excited suspicion, and thou wilt not
be permitted to leave the Preceptory. Go and
make the essay---present thyself before the gate,
and command the bridge to be lowered, and mark
what answer thou shalt receive.---Thou are surprised
and offended; but is it not the better for thee?
Wert thou to fly, what would ensue but the reversal
of thy arms, the dishonour of thine ancestry,
the degradation of thy rank?---Think on it.
Where shall thine old companions in arms hide
their heads when Brian de Bois-Guilbert, the best
lance of the Templars, is proclaimed recreant, amid
the hisses of the assembled people? What grief
will be at the Court of France! With what joy
will the haughty Richard hear the news, that the
knight that set him hard in Palestine, and well-nigh
darkened his renown, has lost fame and honour
for a Jewish girl, whom he could not even
save by so costly a sacrifice!''
``Malvoisin,'' said the Knight, ``I thank thee---
thou hast touched the string at which my heart most
readily thrills!---Come of it what may, recreant
shall never be added to the name of Bois-Guilbert.
Would to God, Richard, or any of his vaunting
minions of England, would appear in these lists!
But they will be empty---no one will risk to break
a lance for the innocent, the forlorn.''
``The better for thee, if it prove so,'' said the
Preceptor; ``if no champion appears, it is not by
thy means that this unlucky damsel shall die, but
by the doom of the Grand Master, with whom rests
all the blame, and who will count that blame for
praise and commendation.''
``True,'' said Bois-Guilbert; ``if no champion
appears, I am but a part of the pageant, sitting indeed
on horseback in the lists, but having no part
in what is to follow.''
``None whatever,'' said Malvoisin; ``no more
than the armed image of Saint George when it
makes part of a procession.''
``Well, I will resume my resolution,'' replied
the haughty Templar. ``She has despised me---
repulsed me---reviled me---And wherefore should
I offer up for her whatever of estimation I have in
the opinion of others? Malvoisin, I will appear in
the lists.''
He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these
words, and the Preceptor followed, to watch and
confirm him in his resolution; for in Bois-Guilbert's
fame he had himself a strong interest, expecting
much advantage from his being one day at the head
of the Order, not to mention the preferment of
which Mont-Fitchet had given him hopes, on condition
he would forward the condemnation of the
unfortunate Rebecca. Yet although, in combating
his friend's better feelings, he possessed all the advantage
which a wily, composed, selfish disposition
has over a man agitated by strong and contending
passions, it required all Malvoisin's art to keep
Bois-Guilbert steady to the purpose he had prevailed
on him to adopt. He was obliged to watch
him closely to prevent his resuming his purpose
of flight, to intercept his communication with the
Grand Master, lest he should come to an open rupture
with his Superior, and to renew, from time to
time, the various arguments by which he endeavoured
to show, that, in appearing as champion on
this occasion, Bois-Guilbert, without either accelerating
or ensuring the fate of Rebecca, would follow
the only course by which be could save himself
from degradation and disgrace.
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