Ivanhoe: A Romance

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER XVI

  Far in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age a reverend hermit grew; The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well Remote from man, with God he pass'd his days, Prayer all his business--all his pleasure praise. --Parnell

  The reader cannot have forgotten that the event of the tournament wasdecided by the exertions of an unknown knight, whom, on account of thepassive and indifferent conduct which he had manifested on the formerpart of the day, the spectators had entitled, "Le Noir Faineant". Thisknight had left the field abruptly when the victory was achieved; andwhen he was called upon to receive the reward of his valour, he wasnowhere to be found. In the meantime, while summoned by heralds andby trumpets, the knight was holding his course northward, avoiding allfrequented paths, and taking the shortest road through the woodlands.He paused for the night at a small hostelry lying out of the ordinaryroute, where, however, he obtained from a wandering minstrel news of theevent of the tourney.

  On the next morning the knight departed early, with the intentionof making a long journey; the condition of his horse, which he hadcarefully spared during the preceding morning, being such as enabled himto travel far without the necessity of much repose. Yet his purpose wasbaffled by the devious paths through which he rode, so that when eveningclosed upon him, he only found himself on the frontiers of theWest Riding of Yorkshire. By this time both horse and man requiredrefreshment, and it became necessary, moreover, to look out forsome place in which they might spend the night, which was now fastapproaching.

  The place where the traveller found himself seemed unpropitious forobtaining either shelter or refreshment, and he was likely to be reducedto the usual expedient of knights-errant, who, on such occasions, turnedtheir horses to graze, and laid themselves down to meditate on theirlady-mistress, with an oak-tree for a canopy. But the Black Knighteither had no mistress to meditate upon, or, being as indifferentin love as he seemed to be in war, was not sufficiently occupied bypassionate reflections upon her beauty and cruelty, to be able toparry the effects of fatigue and hunger, and suffer love to act asa substitute for the solid comforts of a bed and supper. He feltdissatisfied, therefore, when, looking around, he found himself deeplyinvolved in woods, through which indeed there were many open glades,and some paths, but such as seemed only formed by the numerous herds ofcattle which grazed in the forest, or by the animals of chase, and thehunters who made prey of them.

  The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directed his course, had nowsunk behind the Derbyshire hills on his left, and every effort which hemight make to pursue his journey was as likely to lead him out of hisroad as to advance him on his route. After having in vain endeavouredto select the most beaten path, in hopes it might lead to the cottage ofsome herdsman, or the silvan lodge of a forester, and having repeatedlyfound himself totally unable to determine on a choice, the knightresolved to trust to the sagacity of his horse; experience having,on former occasions, made him acquainted with the wonderful talentpossessed by these animals for extricating themselves and their riderson such emergencies.

  The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long a day's journey undera rider cased in mail, had no sooner found, by the slackened reins,that he was abandoned to his own guidance, than he seemed to assume newstrength and spirit; and whereas, formerly he had scarce replied to thespur, otherwise than by a groan, he now, as if proud of the confidencereposed in him, pricked up his ears, and assumed, of his own accord, amore lively motion. The path which the animal adopted rather turned offfrom the course pursued by the knight during the day; but as the horseseemed confident in his choice, the rider abandoned himself to hisdiscretion.

  He was justified by the event; for the footpath soon after appeareda little wider and more worn, and the tinkle of a small bell gave theknight to understand that he was in the vicinity of some chapel orhermitage.

  Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of turf, on the opposite sideof which, a rock, rising abruptly from a gently sloping plain, offeredits grey and weatherbeaten front to the traveller. Ivy mantled its sidesin some places, and in others oaks and holly bushes, whose roots foundnourishment in the cliffs of the crag, waved over the precipices below,like the plumage of the warrior over his steel helmet, giving grace tothat whose chief expression was terror. At the bottom of the rock,and leaning, as it were, against it, was constructed a rude hut, builtchiefly of the trunks of trees felled in the neighbouring forest, andsecured against the weather by having its crevices stuffed with mossmingled with clay. The stem of a young fir-tree lopped of its branches,with a piece of wood tied across near the top, was planted upright bythe door, as a rude emblem of the holy cross. At a little distance onthe right hand, a fountain of the purest water trickled out of therock, and was received in a hollow stone, which labour had formed into arustic basin. Escaping from thence, the stream murmured down the descentby a channel which its course had long worn, and so wandered through thelittle plain to lose itself in the neighbouring wood.

  Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very small chapel, of whichthe roof had partly fallen in. The building, when entire, had never beenabove sixteen feet long by twelve feet in breadth, and the roof, lowin proportion, rested upon four concentric arches which sprung fromthe four corners of the building, each supported upon a short and heavypillar. The ribs of two of these arches remained, though the roofhad fallen down betwixt them; over the others it remained entire. Theentrance to this ancient place of devotion was under a very low roundarch, ornamented by several courses of that zig-zag moulding, resemblingshark's teeth, which appears so often in the more ancient Saxonarchitecture. A belfry rose above the porch on four small pillars,within which hung the green and weatherbeaten bell, the feeble sounds ofwhich had been some time before heard by the Black Knight.

  The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmering in twilight beforethe eyes of the traveller, giving him good assurance of lodging for thenight; since it was a special duty of those hermits who dwelt inthe woods, to exercise hospitality towards benighted or bewilderedpassengers.

  Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider minutely theparticulars which we have detailed, but thanking Saint Julian (thepatron of travellers) who had sent him good harbourage, he leaped fromhis horse and assailed the door of the hermitage with the butt of hislance, in order to arouse attention and gain admittance.

  It was some time before he obtained any answer, and the reply, whenmade, was unpropitious.

  "Pass on, whosoever thou art," was the answer given by a deep hoarsevoice from within the hut, "and disturb not the servant of God and StDunstan in his evening devotions."

  "Worthy father," answered the knight, "here is a poor wandererbewildered in these woods, who gives thee the opportunity of exercisingthy charity and hospitality."

  "Good brother," replied the inhabitant of the hermitage, "it has pleasedOur Lady and St Dunstan to destine me for the object of those virtues,instead of the exercise thereof. I have no provisions here which even adog would share with me, and a horse of any tenderness of nurture woulddespise my couch--pass therefore on thy way, and God speed thee."

  "But how," replied the knight, "is it possible for me to find my waythrough such a wood as this, when darkness is coming on? I pray you,reverend father as you are a Christian, to undo your door, and at leastpoint out to me my road."

  "And I pray you, good Christian brother," replied the anchorite, "todisturb me no more. You have already interrupted one 'pater', two'aves', and a 'credo', which I, miserable sinner that I am, should,according to my vow, have said before moonrise."

  "The road--the road!" vociferated the knight, "give me directions forthe road, if I am to expect no more from thee."

  "The road," replied the hermit, "is easy to hit. The path from the woodleads to a morass, and from thence to a ford, which, as the rains haveabated, may now be passable. When thou hast crossed the ford, thouwilt take care of thy footing up the left bank, a
s it is somewhatprecipitous; and the path, which hangs over the river, has lately, as Ilearn, (for I seldom leave the duties of my chapel,) given way in sundryplaces. Thou wilt then keep straight forward---"

  "A broken path--a precipice--a ford, and a morass!" said the knightinterrupting him,--"Sir Hermit, if you were the holiest that ever worebeard or told bead, you shall scarce prevail on me to hold this roadto-night. I tell thee, that thou, who livest by the charity of thecountry--ill deserved, as I doubt it is--hast no right to refuse shelterto the wayfarer when in distress. Either open the door quickly, or, bythe rood, I will beat it down and make entry for myself."

  "Friend wayfarer," replied the hermit, "be not importunate; if thouputtest me to use the carnal weapon in mine own defence, it will be e'enthe worse for you."

  At this moment a distant noise of barking and growling, which thetraveller had for some time heard, became extremely loud and furious,and made the knight suppose that the hermit, alarmed by his threat ofmaking forcible entry, had called the dogs who made this clamour toaid him in his defence, out of some inner recess in which they had beenkennelled. Incensed at this preparation on the hermit's part for makinggood his inhospitable purpose, the knight struck the door so furiouslywith his foot, that posts as well as staples shook with violence.

  The anchorite, not caring again to expose his door to a similar shock,now called out aloud, "Patience, patience--spare thy strength, goodtraveller, and I will presently undo the door, though, it may be, mydoing so will be little to thy pleasure."

  The door accordingly was opened; and the hermit, a large, strong-builtman, in his sackcloth gown and hood, girt with a rope of rushes, stoodbefore the knight. He had in one hand a lighted torch, or link, and inthe other a baton of crab-tree, so thick and heavy, that it might wellbe termed a club. Two large shaggy dogs, half greyhound half mastiff,stood ready to rush upon the traveller as soon as the door should beopened. But when the torch glanced upon the lofty crest and golden spursof the knight, who stood without, the hermit, altering probably hisoriginal intentions, repressed the rage of his auxiliaries, and,changing his tone to a sort of churlish courtesy, invited the knightto enter his hut, making excuse for his unwillingness to open his lodgeafter sunset, by alleging the multitude of robbers and outlaws who wereabroad, and who gave no honour to Our Lady or St Dunstan, nor to thoseholy men who spent life in their service.

  "The poverty of your cell, good father," said the knight, looking aroundhim, and seeing nothing but a bed of leaves, a crucifix rudely carvedin oak, a missal, with a rough-hewn table and two stools, and one or twoclumsy articles of furniture--"the poverty of your cell should seem asufficient defence against any risk of thieves, not to mention the aidof two trusty dogs, large and strong enough, I think, to pull down astag, and of course, to match with most men."

  "The good keeper of the forest," said the hermit, "hath allowed methe use of these animals, to protect my solitude until the times shallmend."

  Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted branch of iron whichserved for a candlestick; and, placing the oaken trivet before theembers of the fire, which he refreshed with some dry wood, he placed astool upon one side of the table, and beckoned to the knight to do thesame upon the other.

  They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at each other, each thinkingin his heart that he had seldom seen a stronger or more athletic figurethan was placed opposite to him.

  "Reverend hermit," said the knight, after looking long and fixedly athis host, "were it not to interrupt your devout meditations, I wouldpray to know three things of your holiness; first, where I am to put myhorse?--secondly, what I can have for supper?--thirdly, where I am totake up my couch for the night?"

  "I will reply to you," said the hermit, "with my finger, it beingagainst my rule to speak by words where signs can answer the purpose."So saying, he pointed successively to two corners of the hut. "Yourstable," said he, "is there--your bed there; and," reaching down aplatter with two handfuls of parched pease upon it from the neighbouringshelf, and placing it upon the table, he added, "your supper is here."

  The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving the hut, brought in hishorse, (which in the interim he had fastened to a tree,) unsaddled himwith much attention, and spread upon the steed's weary back his ownmantle.

  The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to compassion by the anxiety aswell as address which the stranger displayed in tending his horse; for,muttering something about provender left for the keeper's palfrey, hedragged out of a recess a bundle of forage, which he spread before theknight's charger, and immediately afterwards shook down a quantity ofdried fern in the corner which he had assigned for the rider's couch.The knight returned him thanks for his courtesy; and, this duty done,both resumed their seats by the table, whereon stood the trencher ofpease placed between them. The hermit, after a long grace, which hadonce been Latin, but of which original language few traces remained,excepting here and there the long rolling termination of some word orphrase, set example to his guest, by modestly putting into a very largemouth, furnished with teeth which might have ranked with those of aboar both in sharpness and whiteness, some three or four dried pease, amiserable grist as it seemed for so large and able a mill.

  The knight, in order to follow so laudable an example, laid aside hishelmet, his corslet, and the greater part of his armour, and showed tothe hermit a head thick-curled with yellow hair, high features, blueeyes, remarkably bright and sparkling, a mouth well formed, having anupper lip clothed with mustachoes darker than his hair, and bearingaltogether the look of a bold, daring, and enterprising man, with whichhis strong form well corresponded.

  The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidence of his guest,threw back his cowl, and showed a round bullet head belonging to a manin the prime of life. His close-shaven crown, surrounded by a circleof stiff curled black hair, had something the appearance of a parishpinfold begirt by its high hedge. The features expressed nothing ofmonastic austerity, or of ascetic privations; on the contrary, it wasa bold bluff countenance, with broad black eyebrows, a well-turnedforehead, and cheeks as round and vermilion as those of a trumpeter,from which descended a long and curly black beard. Such a visage,joined to the brawny form of the holy man, spoke rather of sirloins andhaunches, than of pease and pulse. This incongruity did not escape theguest. After he had with great difficulty accomplished the masticationof a mouthful of the dried pease, he found it absolutely necessaryto request his pious entertainer to furnish him with some liquor; whoreplied to his request by placing before him a large can of the purestwater from the fountain.

  "It is from the well of St Dunstan," said he, "in which, betwixt sun andsun, he baptized five hundred heathen Danes and Britons--blessed be hisname!" And applying his black beard to the pitcher, he took a draughtmuch more moderate in quantity than his encomium seemed to warrant.

  "It seems to me, reverend father," said the knight, "that the smallmorsels which you eat, together with this holy, but somewhat thinbeverage, have thriven with you marvellously. You appear a man morefit to win the ram at a wrestling match, or the ring at a bout atquarter-staff, or the bucklers at a sword-play, than to linger out yourtime in this desolate wilderness, saying masses, and living upon parchedpease and cold water."

  "Sir Knight," answered the hermit, "your thoughts, like those of theignorant laity, are according to the flesh. It has pleased Our Lady andmy patron saint to bless the pittance to which I restrain myself, evenas the pulse and water was blessed to the children Shadrach, Meshech,and Abednego, who drank the same rather than defile themselves with thewine and meats which were appointed them by the King of the Saracens."

  "Holy father," said the knight, "upon whose countenance it hath pleasedHeaven to work such a miracle, permit a sinful layman to crave thyname?"

  "Thou mayst call me," answered the hermit, "the Clerk of Copmanhurst,for so I am termed in these parts--They add, it is true, theepithet holy, but I stand not upon that, as being unworthy of suchaddition.--And now, valiant kn
ight, may I pray ye for the name of myhonourable guest?"

  "Truly," said the knight, "Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst, men call me inthese parts the Black Knight,--many, sir, add to it the epithet ofSluggard, whereby I am no way ambitious to be distinguished."

  The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling at his guest's reply.

  "I see," said he, "Sir Sluggish Knight, that thou art a man of prudenceand of counsel; and moreover, I see that my poor monastic fare likesthee not, accustomed, perhaps, as thou hast been, to the license ofcourts and of camps, and the luxuries of cities; and now I bethink me,Sir Sluggard, that when the charitable keeper of this forest-walk leftthose dogs for my protection, and also those bundles of forage, he leftme also some food, which, being unfit for my use, the very recollectionof it had escaped me amid my more weighty meditations."

  "I dare be sworn he did so," said the knight; "I was convinced thatthere was better food in the cell, Holy Clerk, since you first doffedyour cowl.--Your keeper is ever a jovial fellow; and none who beheld thygrinders contending with these pease, and thy throat flooded with thisungenial element, could see thee doomed to such horse-provender andhorse-beverage," (pointing to the provisions upon the table,) "andrefrain from mending thy cheer. Let us see the keeper's bounty,therefore, without delay."

  The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight, in which there wasa sort of comic expression of hesitation, as if uncertain how far heshould act prudently in trusting his guest. There was, however, as muchof bold frankness in the knight's countenance as was possible to beexpressed by features. His smile, too, had something in it irresistiblycomic, and gave an assurance of faith and loyalty, with which his hostcould not refrain from sympathizing.

  After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit went to the furtherside of the hut, and opened a hutch, which was concealed with great careand some ingenuity. Out of the recesses of a dark closet, into whichthis aperture gave admittance, he brought a large pasty, baked in apewter platter of unusual dimensions. This mighty dish he placed beforehis guest, who, using his poniard to cut it open, lost no time in makinghimself acquainted with its contents.

  "How long is it since the good keeper has been here?" said the knightto his host, after having swallowed several hasty morsels of thisreinforcement to the hermit's good cheer.

  "About two months," answered the father hastily.

  "By the true Lord," answered the knight, "every thing in your hermitageis miraculous, Holy Clerk! for I would have been sworn that the fat buckwhich furnished this venison had been running on foot within the week."

  The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this observation; and,moreover, he made but a poor figure while gazing on the diminution ofthe pasty, on which his guest was making desperate inroads; a warfarein which his previous profession of abstinence left him no pretext forjoining.

  "I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk," said the knight, stopping shortof a sudden, "and I bethink me it is a custom there that every host whoentertains a guest shall assure him of the wholesomeness of his food, bypartaking of it along with him. Far be it from me to suspect so holy aman of aught inhospitable; nevertheless I will be highly bound to youwould you comply with this Eastern custom."

  "To ease your unnecessary scruples, Sir Knight, I will for once departfrom my rule," replied the hermit. And as there were no forks in thosedays, his clutches were instantly in the bowels of the pasty.

  The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed matter of rivalrybetween the guest and the entertainer which should display the bestappetite; and although the former had probably fasted longest, yet thehermit fairly surpassed him.

  "Holy Clerk," said the knight, when his hunger was appeased, "I wouldgage my good horse yonder against a zecchin, that that same honestkeeper to whom we are obliged for the venison has left thee a stoup ofwine, or a runlet of canary, or some such trifle, by way of ally to thisnoble pasty. This would be a circumstance, doubtless, totally unworthyto dwell in the memory of so rigid an anchorite; yet, I think, were youto search yonder crypt once more, you would find that I am right in myconjecture."

  The hermit only replied by a grin; and returning to the hutch, heproduced a leathern bottle, which might contain about four quarts. Healso brought forth two large drinking cups, made out of the horn ofthe urus, and hooped with silver. Having made this goodly provisionfor washing down the supper, he seemed to think no farther ceremoniousscruple necessary on his part; but filling both cups, and saying, in theSaxon fashion, "'Waes hael', Sir Sluggish Knight!" he emptied his own ata draught.

  "'Drink hael', Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst!" answered the warrior, and didhis host reason in a similar brimmer.

  "Holy Clerk," said the stranger, after the first cup was thus swallowed,"I cannot but marvel that a man possessed of such thews and sinews asthine, and who therewithal shows the talent of so goodly a trencher-man,should think of abiding by himself in this wilderness. In my judgment,you are fitter to keep a castle or a fort, eating of the fat anddrinking of the strong, than to live here upon pulse and water, or evenupon the charity of the keeper. At least, were I as thou, I should findmyself both disport and plenty out of the king's deer. There is many agoodly herd in these forests, and a buck will never be missed that goesto the use of Saint Dunstan's chaplain."

  "Sir Sluggish Knight," replied the Clerk, "these are dangerous words,and I pray you to forbear them. I am true hermit to the king and law,and were I to spoil my liege's game, I should be sure of the prison,and, an my gown saved me not, were in some peril of hanging."

  "Nevertheless, were I as thou," said the knight, "I would take my walkby moonlight, when foresters and keepers were warm in bed, and everand anon,--as I pattered my prayers,--I would let fly a shaft among theherds of dun deer that feed in the glades--Resolve me, Holy Clerk, hastthou never practised such a pastime?"

  "Friend Sluggard," answered the hermit, "thou hast seen all that canconcern thee of my housekeeping, and something more than he deserves whotakes up his quarters by violence. Credit me, it is better to enjoythe good which God sends thee, than to be impertinently curious how itcomes. Fill thy cup, and welcome; and do not, I pray thee, by furtherimpertinent enquiries, put me to show that thou couldst hardly have madegood thy lodging had I been earnest to oppose thee."

  "By my faith," said the knight, "thou makest me more curious than ever!Thou art the most mysterious hermit I ever met; and I will know more ofthee ere we part. As for thy threats, know, holy man, thou speakest toone whose trade it is to find out danger wherever it is to be met with."

  "Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee," said the hermit; "respecting thyvalour much, but deeming wondrous slightly of thy discretion. If thouwilt take equal arms with me, I will give thee, in all friendship andbrotherly love, such sufficing penance and complete absolution, thatthou shalt not for the next twelve months sin the sin of excess ofcuriosity."

  The knight pledged him, and desired him to name his weapons.

  "There is none," replied the hermit, "from the scissors of Delilah, andthe tenpenny nail of Jael, to the scimitar of Goliath, at which I am nota match for thee--But, if I am to make the election, what sayst thou,good friend, to these trinkets?"

  Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took out from it a coupleof broadswords and bucklers, such as were used by the yeomanry of theperiod. The knight, who watched his motions, observed that this secondplace of concealment was furnished with two or three good long-bows, across-bow, a bundle of bolts for the latter, and half-a-dozen sheaves ofarrows for the former. A harp, and other matters of a very uncanonicalappearance, were also visible when this dark recess was opened.

  "I promise thee, brother Clerk," said he, "I will ask thee no moreoffensive questions. The contents of that cupboard are an answer to allmy enquiries; and I see a weapon there" (here he stooped and took outthe harp) "on which I would more gladly prove my skill with thee, thanat the sword and buckler."

  "I hope, Sir Knight," said the hermit, "thou hast given no good reasonfor thy surname of the Slu
ggard. I do promise thee I suspect theegrievously. Nevertheless, thou art my guest, and I will not put thymanhood to the proof without thine own free will. Sit thee down, then,and fill thy cup; let us drink, sing, and be merry. If thou knowest evera good lay, thou shalt be welcome to a nook of pasty at Copmanhurst solong as I serve the chapel of St Dunstan, which, please God, shall betill I change my grey covering for one of green turf. But come, fill aflagon, for it will crave some time to tune the harp; and nought pitchesthe voice and sharpens the ear like a cup of wine. For my part, Ilove to feel the grape at my very finger-ends before they make theharp-strings tinkle." [22]