Ivanhoe by Walter Scott (reading books for 4 year olds txt) 📕

Don sweeps through an amphitheatre, in

which cultivation is richly blended with woodland, and on a

mount, ascending from the river, well defended by walls and

ditches, rises this ancient edifice, which, as its Saxon name

implies, was, previous to the Conquest, a royal residence of the

kings of England. The outer walls have probably been added by the

Normans, but the inner keep bears token of very great antiquity.

It is situated on a mount at one angle of the inner court, and

forms a complete circle of perhaps twenty-five feet in diameter.

The wall is of immense thickness, and is propped or defended by

six huge external buttresses which project from the circle, and

rise up against the sides of the tower as if to strengthen or to

support it. These massive buttresses are solid when they arise

from the foundation, and a good way higher up; but are hollowed

out towards the top, and terminate in a sort of turrets

communicating with the interior of the keep itself. The distant

appearance of this huge building, with these singular

accompaniments, is as interesting to the lovers of the

picturesque, as the interior of the castle is to the eager

antiquary, whose imagination it carries back to the days of the

Heptarchy. A barrow, in the vicinity of the castle, is pointed

out as the tomb of the memorable Hengist; and various monuments,

of great antiquity and curiosity, are shown in the neighbouring

churchyard.*

Note J. Castle of Coningsburgh.

When Coeur-de-Lion and his retinue approached this rude yet

stately building, it was not, as at present, surrounded by

external fortifications. The Saxon architect had exhausted his

art in rendering the main keep defensible, and there was no other

circumvallation than a rude barrier of palisades.

A huge black banner, which floated from the top of the tower,

announced that the obsequies of the late owner were still in the

act of being solemnized. It bore no emblem of the deceased’s

birth or quality, for armorial bearings were then a novelty among

the Norman chivalry themselves and, were totally unknown to the

Saxons. But above the gate was another banner, on which the

figure of a white horse, rudely painted, indicated the nation and

rank of the deceased, by the well-known symbol of Hengist and his

Saxon warriors.

All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion; for such

funeral banquets were times of general and profuse hospitality,

which not only every one who could claim the most distant

connexion with the deceased, but all passengers whatsoever, were

invited to partake. The wealth and consequence of the deceased

Athelstane, occasioned this custom to be observed in the fullest

extent.

Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascending and descending

the hill on which the castle was situated; and when the King and

his attendants entered the open and unguarded gates of the

external barrier, the space within presented a scene not easily

reconciled with the cause of the assemblage. In one place cooks

were toiling to roast huge oxen, and fat sheep; in another,

hogsheads of ale were set abroach, to be drained at the freedom

of all comers. Groups of every description were to be seen

devouring the food and swallowing the liquor thus abandoned to

their discretion. The naked Saxon serf was drowning the sense

of his half-year’s hunger and thirst, in one day of gluttony and

drunkenness---the more pampered burgess and guild-brother was

eating his morsel with gust, or curiously criticising the

quantity of the malt and the skill of the brewer. Some few of

the poorer Norman gentry might also be seen, distinguished by

their shaven chins and short cloaks, and not less so by their

keeping together, and looking with great scorn on the whole

solemnity, even while condescending to avail themselves of the

good cheer which was so liberally supplied.

Mendicants were of course assembled by the score, together with

strolling soldiers returned from Palestine, (according to their

own account at least,) pedlars were displaying their wares,

travelling mechanics were enquiring after employment, and

wandering palmers, hedge-priests, Saxon minstrels, and Welsh

bards, were muttering prayers, and extracting mistuned dirges

from their harps, crowds, and rotes.*

The crowth, or crowd, was a species of violin. The rote a sort of guitar, or rather hurdy-gurdy, the strings of which were managed by a wheel, from which the instrument took its name.

One sent forth the praises of Athelstane in a doleful panegyric;

another, in a Saxon genealogical poem, rehearsed the uncouth and

harsh names of his noble ancestry. Jesters and jugglers were not

awanting, nor was the occasion of the assembly supposed to render

the exercise of their profession indecorous or improper. Indeed

the ideas of the Saxons on these occasions were as natural as

they were rude. If sorrow was thirsty, there was drink---if

hungry, there was food---if it sunk down upon and saddened the

heart, here were the means supplied of mirth, or at least of

amusement. Nor did the assistants scorn to avail themselves of

those means of consolation, although, every now and then, as if

suddenly recollecting the cause which had brought them together,

the men groaned in unison, while the females, of whom many were

present, raised up their voices and shrieked for very woe.

Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Coningsburgh when it was

entered by Richard and his followers. The seneschal or steward

deigned not to take notice of the groups of inferior guests who

were perpetually entering and withdrawing, unless so far as was

necessary to preserve order; nevertheless he was struck by the

good mien of the Monarch and Ivanhoe, more especially as he

imagined the features of the latter were familiar to him.

Besides, the approach of two knights, for such their dress

bespoke them, was a rare event at a Saxon solemnity, and could

not but be regarded as a sort of honour to the deceased and his

family. And in his sable dress, and holding in his hand his

white wand of office, this important personage made way through

the miscellaneous assemblage of guests, thus conducting Richard

and Ivanhoe to the entrance of the tower. Gurth and Wamba

speedily found acquaintances in the court-yard, nor presumed to

intrude themselves any farther until their presence should be

required.

CHAPTER XLII

I found them winding of Marcello’s corpse.

And there was such a solemn melody,

‘Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies,---

Such as old grandames, watching by the dead,

Are wont to outwear the night with.

Old Play

The mode of entering the great tower of Coningsburgh Castle is

very peculiar, and partakes of the rude simplicity of the early

times in which it was erected. A flight of steps, so deep and

narrow as to be almost precipitous, leads up to a low portal in

the south side of the tower, by which the adventurous antiquary

may still, or at least could a few years since, gain access to a

small stair within the thickness of the main wall of the tower,

which leads up to the third story of the building,---the two

lower being dungeons or vaults, which neither receive air nor

light, save by a square hole in the third story, with which they

seem to have communicated by a ladder. The access to the upper

apartments in the tower which consist in all of four stories, is

given by stairs which are carried up through the external

buttresses.

By this difficult and complicated entrance, the good King

Richard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe, was ushered into the

round apartment which occupies the whole of the third story from

the ground. Wilfred, by the difficulties of the ascent, gained

time to muffle his face in his mantle, as it had been held

expedient that he should not present himself to his father until

the King should give him the signal.

There were assembled in this apartment, around a large oaken

table, about a dozen of the most distinguished representatives of

the Saxon families in the adjacent counties. They were all old,

or, at least, elderly men; for the younger race, to the great

displeasure of the seniors, had, like Ivanhoe, broken down many

of the barriers which separated for half a century the Norman

victors from the vanquished Saxons. The downcast and sorrowful

looks of these venerable men, their silence and their mournful

posture, formed a strong contrast to the levity of the revellers

on the outside of the castle. Their grey locks and long full

beards, together with their antique tunics and loose black

mantles, suited well with the singular and rude apartment in

which they were seated, and gave the appearance of a band of

ancient worshippers of Woden, recalled to life to mourn over the

decay of their national glory.

Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen, seemed yet, by

common consent, to act as chief of the assembly. Upon the

entrance of Richard (only known to him as the valorous Knight of

the Fetterlock) he arose gravely, and gave him welcome by the

ordinary salutation, “Waes hael”, raising at the same time a

goblet to his head. The King, no stranger to the customs of his

English subjects, returned the greeting with the appropriate

words, “Drinc hael”, and partook of a cup which was handed to him

by the sewer. The same courtesy was offered to Ivanhoe, who

pledged his father in silence, supplying the usual speech by an

inclination of his head, lest his voice should have been

recognised.

When this introductory ceremony was performed, Cedric arose, and,

extending his hand to Richard, conducted him into a small and

very rude chapel, which was excavated, as it were, out of one of

the external buttresses. As there was no opening, saving a

little narrow loop-hole, the place would have been nearly quite

dark but for two flambeaux or torches, which showed, by a red and

smoky light, the arched roof and naked walls, the rude altar of

stone, and the crucifix of the same material.

Before this altar was placed a bier, and on each side of this

bier kneeled three priests, who told their beads, and muttered

their prayers, with the greatest signs of external devotion. For

this service a splendid “soul-scat” was paid to the convent of

Saint Edmund’s by the mother of the deceased; and, that it might

be fully deserved, the whole brethren, saving the lame Sacristan,

had transferred themselves to Coningsburgh, where, while six of

their number were constantly on guard in the performance of

divine rites by the bier of Athelstane, the others failed not to

take their share of the refreshments and amusements which went on

at the castle. In maintaining this pious watch and ward, the

good monks were particularly careful not to interrupt their hymns

for an instant, lest Zernebock, the ancient Saxon Apollyon,

should lay his clutches on the departed Athelstane. Nor were

they less careful to prevent any unhallowed layman from touching

the pall, which, having been that used at the funeral of Saint

Edmund, was liable to be desecrated, if handled by the profane.

If, in truth, these attentions could be of any use to the

deceased, he had some right to expect them at the hands of the

brethren of Saint Edmund’s, since, besides a hundred mancuses of

gold paid down as the soul-ransom, the mother of Athelstane had

announced her intention of endowing that foundation with the

better part of the lands of the deceased, in order to maintain

perpetual prayers for his soul, and that of her departed husband.

Richard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedric into the apartment

of death, where, as their guide pointed with solemn air to the

untimely bier of Athelstane, they followed his example in

devoutly crossing themselves, and muttering a brief prayer for

the weal of the departed soul.

This act of pious charity performed, Cedric again motioned them