 | The Hebrew |  |
9
ACT I.
SCENE I.
—Cedric's Hall: Cedric and the Palmer.Cedric.
Tell me not, Palmer; I must curse these Normans;
'Tis all I can; we bear the name and form
Of Saxons, not the heart—else—to your tale;
You spoke of good King Richard—Though a Norman,
He loves his Saxons—to thy story—Oh!
That noble Richard! While he pines in chains
Of Austria's forging, here his brother, John,
Ambitious of his throne, makes factious part
With Templars, tatter'd soldiers, and a crew
Of honorable beggars, such as live
Conjecture says not how—But to your tale.
Palmer.
My story is of Ivanhoe—
Cedric
(interrupting him).
My son!
A father's curse,—
Palmer.
Curse not thy son.
Cedric.
I do.
Palmer.
Curse not thy son, old man;—he loves thee well.
Cedric.
It has not seem'd so; I will tell thee, Palmer;
Thou art a Saxon, and wilt understand me.
He lov'd a Jewess—that was sin enough;
He did deny to leave her at my bidding;
That was a sin a father could not pardon;
I banish'd him my house, my blood, the land.
Palmer.
My life the pledge,
Her soul is spotless as the vestal beam
10
Upon the brooks of earth.
Horn without: Oswald enters.
Oswald.
My Lord, the Prior Aymer, and the Knight
Brian de Bois Guilbert, request, for them
And for their train, your shelter.
Cedric.
Normans both!
Palmer.
But yet thy door should not be bolted 'gainst them;
For hospitality is as the sun,
That shines on all, on weeds as on the flow'rs,
Or else on nothing shines.
Cedric.
You chide me well.
Go, bring them in.
Oswald goes out, and re-enters, conducting the Prior Aymer, Brian, and their train.
Cedric.
To hearth and table welcome.
Prior.
Right noble Cedric, we do thank thee well.
All seat themselves at the great table, except the Palmer, who places himself in a corner by the fire.
Our way was to the tourney, which the Prince
To morrow holds at Ashby, but the night
Clos'd in upon us. Our noble host, you join
The tournament?
Cedric.
Such is my purpose, father.
Brian.
'Twill be a day for after times to talk of;
The valours of our island will be there,
No carpet warriors,—men,—whose hands and hearts
Are temper'd as their swords—'Twill be a day
Of blows, and blood, and death.
Oswald enters.
Oswald.
The wealthy Jew,
Isaac of York, craves shelter.
Cedric.
Bring him in.
Brian.
A Jew sit with a Templar!
Prior.
Or with me,
A Father of the Church?
11
And hath he then
No feeling of the tempest? Will the rains
Spare him, that drench the Christian? Or these winds,—
Will they pass over him as o'er the oak
That bends, yet feels them not.
Prior.
Noble host,
'Tis he, whose daughter did bewitch your son.
Palmer.
His love is not their crime—their mis'ry rather.
I pity the old man.
Brian.
By Paul! He comes!
How the dog crouches! Oh! he'd play the part
Of kind humility. But dæmon Pride
Burns in that dark wild eye, and mocks the show
His habit would put on.
Enter Isaac.
Isaac.
Your pardon, pray:
The storm is cold and wet, and growing night
Made the few miles that lie 'twixt me and home
A weary way—I mean my brother's home;
For there I would abide to-morrow's tourney,
Which being done, I shall return to York,
To mine own dwelling.
Ced.
Well; be seated, Jew.
Prior.
Not here.
Brian.
Nor here.
Isaac.
O ye, twelve tribes! What evil is in me,
Poor way-worn man, that I'm cast forth of all
As dead flesh from the living bone?
Palmer.
Old man,
My vest is dry; my hunger full; thou art
Both wet and fasting. Sit.
Isaac.
And is it so?
I did not think to weep—O, noble youth,
I thank thee with my tears.
Brian.
A pilgrim thou!
Shame of thy habit—Dost touch hands with Jews?
12
Thou hast done worse, for thou hast touch'd the earth
In combat with young Ivanhoe.—So fame
Reports from Palestine.
Palmer.
And truly.
Brian.
Slave!
Cedric.
Blood must not stain my hospitable board.
Brian speaks aside to his Saracens.
Prior.
Let the Jew go; his presence is a stone
To whet the knife of discord.
Cedric.
Say not so.
Isaac.
Kind Saxon, yes; 'tis fitting I should go;
Better the old man die, if death indeed
Be in the storm, than so much blood of youth
Should flow in riot.
Palmer.
Templar, I have mark'd thee;
The Jew goes not alone.
Brian
(contemptuously.)
And who art thou?
Palmer.
I am—the Palmer; one who, in the lack
Of thy philosophy, thinks man is man,
Whate'er his faith, his habit, or his speech.
Come, Jew, I'll be thy safety.
Isaac.
Noble youth!
How shall I thank thee? Hate, and scorn, and blows,
Are our sad portion—thou—men say I love
My gold too well—it may be so; I'm old,
And age will freeze the heart as winter locks
The bounty of the brook: yet shine the sun,
Twill melt the ice; thy kindness is a sun—
I feel it at my heart.
Brian.
Base renegade!
Prior.
Vile infidel!
Brian.
Forth! Forth!
Isaac.
I pity thee;
The poor old Jew—the dog—worse if worse be,
Whom thy scorn spits upon, thy hatred loathes,
Doth pity thee! think, Christian, what thou art,
When one so poor, so beaten, so forlorn,
Can say, I pity thee.
Brian.
Die, villain!
13
Hold!
Cedric keeps back Brian, who had drawn upon Isaac.
Isaac.
Oh, valour nobly shown, and wise as noble!
For is it not a valour most discreet,
That knows to safely choose its foe, and makes
Its secure war on hands that lack the sword,
Or swords that lack the hand?
Brian.
Unloose me, sirs.
Isaac.
Hark how the lion roars!
Palmer.
No more, old man.
Prior.
Go forth, I say.
Isaac.
But this, and I am gone.
Prior.
Be wise, and fear.
Isaac.
What should I fear? I've broke
The bread of Cedric;—drank his wine—I'm safe
In hospitality.
Cedric.
'Tis true;—He stays.
Brian.
Thou money-bag—thou thing, whose Midas-touch
Turns all to gold,—
Isaac.
And what art thou?—A cypher,—
That swells the social number though itself
Is merely nothing.—What seed hast thou sown?
What harvest reap'd?—What things of profit made?
What merchandize exchang'd?—Thou hast set up
A false god, Honour, at whose shrine man's blood
Is pour'd in sacrifice by night and day;
Thy worship is a murder;—and thy life
Is nothing but that worship.
Cedric.
Jew, no more.
Isaac.
I was too rash—Say 'twas the fault of age,
And pardon it; the dryest wood is still
The quickest to the spark.
Cedric.
No more of strife.
Oswald, conduct the Jew to his repose.
Isaac.
O noble Cedric! you have waken'd here
A feeling that I thought was not; so long,
So dully it had slumber'd.—Well, I see
Impatience kindles in your eye—Good night!
Thou'lt not sleep harder that an old man's pray'r
14
My very soul, breathes forth an orison
For thy felicity. Blest be thy night,
And oh, thy day more blessed. Fare thee well.
(Exit Isaac.
Prior.
Let us to bed; the night is growing old,
And we must forth with early morn to Ashby,
To Prince John's tournament.
(Aside to Brian.
Brian, be calm.
Brian.
(to him)
Yes; for I mind me of an after game—
I'll pull the bravest feather from the wing
Of this same infidel.
Prior.
The parting cup,
And then to rest, good host.
Cedric.
Be't as you say.
Prior.
The toast be mine—the fairest of the fair!
Although a Jewess, to her health—Rebecca—
All.
Rebecca!
Prior.
Now, good night.
Cedric.
Lights, knaves—Myself
Will be your servant.
All go out except the Palmer—Gurth enters.
Palmer.
How to save the Jew!
For sav'd he must be at what ever price—
Ha! honest Gurth—
The Jew and I must forth.
Undo the postern gate.
Gurth.
Ay, marry! when—
At your good bidding?
Palmer.
Ay, at mine.
The Palmer draws back his cowl.
Gurth.
How!
Palmer.
Silence; walls have ears.
Gurth.
But yet no tongues
To tell what they do hear.
Palmer.
Where sleeps the Jew?
Gurth.
In the north tower.
Palmer.
And I?
15
I' the room below.
Palmer.
I know it well—the light—when all's still, come.
Gurth and the Palmer go out on different sides.
SCENE II.
—A Gallery in Cedric's Castle: Cedric and Servants enter conducting the Prior, Brian, Saracens, &c.Cedric.
This way, my noble guests.
Prior.
We entertain
Your kindness as 'tis offer'd, frankly, freely.
Brian.
A moment, with your leave—Melek—a
trifle 'tis, yet proper to the moment.
Cedric.
Take your time.
Brian.
(aside to Melek)
There is a pilgrim in the Prior's train;
Melek.
Francis, my Lord.
(Wamba steals in.)
Brian.
Get me his pilgrim's garb,
And bring it to my chamber. (Exit, Melek.)
Our kind host!—
All go out except Wamba, who comes to the front.
Wamba.
What should he want now with a pilgrim's frock?
Some notable intrigue! your soldier, troth,
Is ever nibbling at the wenches, as
Your mouse at cheese, or fishes at the hook,
When as the wind blows southerly. Good faith,
Here is strange fellowship; Jew, Norman, Saxon;
Here's Noah's ark; your Saxon is a horse;
An ass the Jew, who bears his load for others;
A wolf, your Norman—Well an if a man
Should choose to prophecy, horse, ass, and wolf,
Will be by th' ears ere morning.
Gurth.
(stealing in)
Wamba!—Fool!
Wamba.
That's I; yet now I think on it again,
It is not I, for he 's a wise man who
Doth know himself; and if I know myself,
Why then, no fool.
Gurth.
There's mischief stirring.
16
True;
You're not abed.
Gurth.
Truce with thy mocks, good fool:
Are all at rest?
Wamba.
At rest?—I'll not say that;
But all are in their beds:—O, Gurth! Gurth! Gurth!
Your taper burning in the chimney nook
Shall see more merry sights, than e'er the sun
Can hope to look upon.
Gurth.
Hark!
Wamba.
Wherefore?
Gurth.
Hush!
Wamba.
Your pitcher, I; two goodly ears and a
wide mouth, but no tongue.
Gurth.
(striking him)
Wilt not be silent?
Wamba.
What's that for?
Gurth.
For thee.
Wamba.
Thank ye; but, good troth, you're
welcome to it again, an you'll take it at my
hands.
Gurth.
No anger, fool.
Wamba.
Fool, quotha! Better be a fool in word,
—as I am,—than a fool in deeds,—as thou art. I
never get drunk with ale,—as thou dost,—and that is
folly, for it makes the head ache: I am not married,
—as thou art,—and that is folly, for it makes the
heart ache—nay, and the head too beyond the cure of
physic—no getting rid of the horn of cuckoldom; it
grows, like your corn, the more you cut it.
Gurth.
Go to; my wife is faithful to me.
Wamba.
Neither am I valiant; for valour is
quarrelsome: quarrels bring blows, blows bring pain;
and he who is a voluntary to pain, shall have any
praise under Heaven but that of wisdom. Now I
think on't, I will tell thee a tale which thou shalt like
marvellously, for thou shalt not understand its least
syllable.
Cedric.
(without)
Wamba!
Wamba.
Nuncle cuts short my tale.
17
Thou'lt be the more like a man:—but,
Wamba, when Cedric is at rest, let me know—here—
or in my chamber.
Wamba.
Some petticoat business. Knave thou
hast been, knave thou art—may, can, will, and shall
be, through all moods and tenses—past, present, and
to come. An thou art not damned; the devil must
be horn-mad.
Wamba and Gurth go out on different sides.
SCENE III.
—A rude Bed-chamber. The Jew asleep on a Pallet. Brian enters in a Palmer's habit.Brian.
The dull brute sleeps. Now, could I make him fear
An instant danger, and so lead him forth
To mine own castle, I'd wring heaps of gold
From his close avarice. This guise will hide
My real seeming. What should he with gold,
But as the mule to bear't for others' use?
Mule, I will ease thee of thy burthen.
Isaac.
(asleep)
Mercy!
Brian.
His slumber speaks: Now for my holy part,
A part I scarce shall prosper in—Awake!
Isaac.
Murd'rer! Hold back thy hand! A hundred marks—
A thousand—for my life, my precious life.
Brian.
Nay, know me better; am I not your friend?
Isaac.
Thou art a Christian;—yet have mercy on me!
Brian.
I am thy friend, and come with friendly purpose.
The Templar's avarice would wring the gold
From thy hard gripe.
Isaac.
And thou will save me?
Brian.
Yes.
Isaac.
O noble youth! a hapless race are we!
And thou wilt guide me forth. The mountain top
18
Than we to persecution. Gen'rous youth!
Wrong is not wrong when it is done to us;—
We're held a game for service of the rich,
Who fence us from the gripe of meaner hands
To hunt us down themselves.
Brian.
Well; follow me;
I'll be thy safety from the Templar.
Isaac.
Who
Will safe me from thyself?
Brian.
Stay in thy doubt,
And perish.
Isaac.
Hold! I do not doubt—And yet—
Such was the figure, such the voice of him
My dream show'd to me.
Brian.
How! a dream!—
Isaac.
E'en so.
Laugh if you will—But has not heav'n ere now
Through the thin shade of dreams discours'd to man,
Divulging murder when hid fathoms deep?
Are not the dreams of sleep like shadows seen
In doubtful moonlight?
Brian.
Tush.
Isaac.
But hearken, youth,
I follow'd you through night, when, on the sudden,
A dreadful earthquake shook our lower world;
The bosom of the earth was torn; the graves
Yawn'd wide with cold and famish'd maw,
As if, too leanly fed by death, their hunger gap'd
For living food to gorge their appetite.
Brian.
Would'st teach me, like thyself, to shake at shadows.
Isaac.
Strange cries, such as no mortal tongue e'er breath'd,
No mortal ear e'er heard till that sad hour,
Fill'd up the list'ning pauses of the storm.
The light'nings hissed, and flash'd upon the dead,
Who had for ages slumber'd in their darkness:
In the strong blaze I saw their livid cheeks,
19
Yea, their op'd eyes glar'd strangely on the living
With fire not of life.—I call'd on thee;
But, while I spoke, the human form drop'd from thee;
And thou a serpent, stood erect before me,
With glaring eyes, and scales made bright with anger.
I heard thy hiss, and the next moment felt
Thy coil ring round me with an iron grasp,
Bruising and crushing; and thy fiery tongue
Shot, like a burning arrow, in mine eyes—
Horror!—the very memory is madness!
I will not follow thee.
Brian.
Thou must—thou shalt.
Isaac.
How say you?
Brian.
Follow me.
Isaac.
Thy wrath betrays thee.
Thou art not the Palmer.
Brian.
Hence then with disguise.
Isaac.
The dream was truth.
Brian.
This avails thee not.
If by denial, slow consent, or cries,
You check my purpose, in that instant is
My dagger at your heart. Now follow, Jew.
Isaac.
Have pity on mine age.
Brian.
Jew, wilt thou follow?
Isaac.
I can not—dare not.
Brian.
Dog, die like a dog.
As Brian attempts to stab Isaac, the Palmer suddenly enters and arrests his hand.
Palmer.
Hold—noble Templar.
Brian.
Slave.
Palmer.
Strike if you dare,
Cold midnight murderer; but yet beware;
We're Cedric's guests, who wants nor will, nor means,
T'avenge his broken hospitality.
Brian.
The present hour is thine; but triumph not;
A time will come, when you shall both well wish
This had not been; I will pursue revenge
20
Isaac.
Oh, Christian—no—hence with ye, pride and hate;
My heart's a humble dwelling, and you love
To throne in more ambitious habitations.
Your pardon, Christian; let the past be past:
Accept my hand.
Brian.
Accept my vow of hate.
Where now I would have taken grains of gold,
I will have tons; Look to it, Jew.
Palmer.
Indeed!
Violent storm.
Isaac.
Hark! how the tempest roars! Does not its voice
Chide thy vain savage boasting? Dost not feel
Another world is clipping thee about?
The howling wind makes faint thy loudest cries!
The thunder shows thee as a sickly babe
Screaming weak anger!—Hark! how it shakes these walls!
While thy poor breath will scarcely move a rush.
A violent burst of wind beats open the window, and shows the blighted arm of an oak.
Isaac.
Ha! see yon blasted oak that flings its arm
Across the window—Once that arm was stout—
Ay, stouter than thine own—Proud earthworm, look!
Behold!—as that once was, so hast thou been;—
As that is now, so shalt thou be—
To the Palmer.
Come! Come!
The Palmer and Isaac go out. Brian remains as if stupified.
END OF ACT I.
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