APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/authors/scott/ivanhoe/INTRO

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            IVANHOE;

            A ROMANCE.



  Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart,
  And often took leave,----but seemed loath to depart!*

*    The motto alludes to the Author returning to the stage repeatedly
*    after having taken leave.

                                             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 G<a^>t<e'> 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 subjects, endeavours to sustain
his reputation by striving to add a novelty
of attraction to themes of the same character
which have been formerly successful under
his management, there are manifest reasons
why, after a certain point, he is likely to fail.
If the mine be not wrought out, the strength
and capacity of the miner become necessarily
exhausted.  If he closely imitates the narratives
which he has before rendered successful,
he is doomed to ``wonder that they please no
more.'' If he struggles to take a different view
of the same class of subjects, he speedily discovers
that what is obvious, graceful, and
natural, has been exhausted; and, in order to
obtain the indispensable charm of novelty, he
is forced upon caricature, and, to avoid being
trite, must become extravagant.

  It is not, perhaps, necessary to enumerate
so many reasons why the author of the Scottish
Novels, as they were then exclusively termed,
should be desirous to make an experiment
on a subject purely English.  It was his purpose,
at the same time, to have rendered the
experiment as complete as possible, by bringing
the intended work before the public as the effort
of a new candidate for their favour, in order
that no degree of prejudice, whether favourable
or the reverse, might attach to it, as a new
production of the Author of Waverley; but
this intention was afterwards departed from,
for reasons to be hereafter mentioned.

  The period of the narrative adopted was
the reign of Richard I., not only as abounding
with characters whose very names were sure
to attract general attention, but as affording a
striking contrast betwixt the Saxons, by whom
the soil was cultivated, and the Normans, who
still reigned in it as conquerors, reluctant to
mix with the vanquished, or acknowledge
themselves of the same stock.  The idea of this
contrast was taken from the ingenious and unfortunate
Logan's tragedy of Runnamede, in
which, about the same period of history, the
author had seen the Saxon and Norman barons
opposed to each other on different sides of the
stage.  He does not recollect that there was
any attempt to contrast the two races in their
habits and sentiments; and indeed it was obvious,
that history was violated by introducing
the Saxons still existing as a high-minded and
martial race of nobles.

  They did, however, survive as a people, and
some of the ancient Saxon families possessed
wealth and power, although they were exceptions
to the humble condition of the race in
general.  It seemed to the author, that the existence
of the two races in the same country,
the vanquished distinguished by their plain,
homely, blunt manners, and the free spirit
infused by their ancient institutions and laws;
the victors, by the high spirit of military fame,
personal adventure, and whatever could distinguish
them as the Flower of Chivalry, might,
intermixed with other characters belonging to
the same time and country, interest the reader
by the contrast, if the author should not
fail on his part.

  Scotland, however, had been of late used so
exclusively as the scene of what is called Historical
Romance, that the preliminary letter
of Mr Laurence Templeton became in some
measure necessary. To this, as to an Introduction,
the reader is referred, as expressing
author's purpose and opinions in undertaking
this species of composition, under the
necessary reservation, that he is far from
thinking he has attained the point at which he
aimed.

  It is scarcely necessary to add, that there
was no idea or wish to pass off the supposed
Mr Templeton as a real person.  But a kind of
continuation of the Tales of my Landlord had
been recently attempted by a stranger, and it
was supposed this Dedicatory Epistle might
pass for some imitation of the same kind, and
thus putting enquirers upon a false scent, induce
them to believe they had before them the
work of some new candidate for their favour.

  After a considerable part of the work had
been finished and printed, the Publishers, who
pretended to discern in it a germ of popularity,
remonstrated strenuously against its appearing
as an absolutely anonymous production, and
contended that it should have the advantage of
being announced as by the Author of Waverley.
The author did not make any obstinate opposition,
for he began to be of opinion with Dr
Wheeler, in Miss Edgeworth's excellent tale
of ``Man<oe>uvring,'' that ``Trick upon Trick''
might be too much for the patience of an indulgent
public, and might be reasonably considered
as trifling with their favour.

  The book, therefore, appeared as an avowed
continuation of the Waverley Novels; and it
would be ungrateful not to acknowledge, that it
met with the same favourable reception as its
predecessors.

  Such annotations as may be useful to assist
the reader in comprehending the characters of
the Jew, the Templar, the Captain of the mercenaries,
or Free Companions, as they were
called, and others proper to the period, are
added, but with a sparing hand, since sufficient
information on these subjects is to be found in
general history.

  An incident in the tale, which had the good
fortune to find favour in the eyes of many readers,
is more directly borrowed from the stores
of old romance.  I mean the meeting of the
King with Friar Tuck at the cell of that buxom
hermit.  The general tone of the story belongs
to all ranks and all countries, which emulate
each other in describing the rambles of a disguised
sovereign, who, going in search of information
or amusement, into the lower ranks
of life, meets with adventures diverting to the
reader or hearer, from the contrast betwixt the
monarch's outward appearance, and his real
character.  The Eastern tale-teller has for his
theme the disguised expeditions of Haroun
Alraschid with his faithful attendants, Mesrour
and Giafar, through the midnight streets of
Bagdad; and Scottish tradition dwells upon
the similar exploits of James V., distinguished
during such excursions by the travelling name
of the Goodman of Ballengeigh, as the Commander
of the Faithful, when he desired to be
incognito, was known by that of Il Bondocani.
The French minstrels are not silent on so popular
a theme.  There must have been a Norman
original of the Scottish metrical romance of
Rauf Colziar, in which Charlemagne is introduced
as the unknown guest of a charcoal-man.*

*   This very curious poem, long a _desideratum_ in Scottish literature,
*   and given up as irrecoverably lost, was lately brought
*   to light by the researches of Dr Irvine of the Advocates' Library,
*   and has been reprinted by Mr David Laing, Edinburgh.

It seems to have been the original of
other poems of the kind.

  In merry England there is no end of popular
ballads on this theme.  The poem of John
the Reeve, or Steward, mentioned by Bishop
Percy, in the Reliques of English Poetry,* is

*   Vol. ii. p. 167.

said to have turned on such an incident; and
we have besides, the King and the Tanner of
Tamworth, the King and the Miller of Mansfield,
and others on the same topic.  But the
peculiar tale of this nature to which the author
of Ivanhoe has to acknowledge an obligation,
is more ancient by two centuries than any of
these last mentioned.

  It was first communicated to the public in
that curious record of ancient literature, which
has been accumulated by the combined exertions
of Sir Egerton Brydges. and Mr Hazlewood,
in the periodical work entitled the British
Bibliographer.  From thence it has been
transferred by the Reverend Charles Henry
Hartsborne, M.A., editor of a very curious volume,
entitled ``Ancient Metrical Tales, printed
chiefly from original sources, 1829.'' Mr
Hartshorne gives no other authority for the
present fragment, except the article in the
Bibliographer, where it is entitled the Kyng
and the Hermite.  A short abstract of its
contents will show its similarity  to  the  meeting
of King Richard and Friar Tuck.

  King Edward (we are not told which among
the monarchs of that name, but, from his temper
and habits, we may suppose Edward IV.)
sets forth with his court to a gallant hunting-match
in Sherwood Forest, in which, as is not
unusual for princes in romance, he falls in with
a deer of extraordinary size and swiftness, and
pursues it closely, till he has outstripped his
whole retinue, tired out hounds and horse, and
finds himself alone under the gloom of an extensive
forest, upon which night is descending.
Under the apprehensions natural to a situation
so uncomfortable, the king recollects that he
has heard how poor men, when apprehensive of
a bad nights lodging, pray to Saint Julian, who,
in the Romish calendar, stands Quarter-Master-General
to all forlorn travellers that render
him due homage.  Edward puts up his orisons
accordingly, and by the guidance, doubtless, of
the good Saint, reaches a small path, conducting
him to a chapel in the forest, having a hermit's
cell in its close vicinity.  The King hears
the reverend man, with a companion of his
solitude, telling his beads within, and meekly
requests of him quarters for the night.  ``I
have no accommodation for such a lord as ye
be,'' said the Hermit. ``I live here in the wilderness
upon roots and rinds, and may not receive
into my dwelling even the poorest wretch
that lives, unless it were to save his life.'' The
King enquires the way to the next town, and,
understanding it is by a road which he cannot
find without difficulty, even if he had daylight
to befriend him, he declares, that with or without
the Hermits consent, he is determined to
be his guest that night.  He is admitted accordingly,
not without a hint from the Recluse,
that were he himself out of his priestly weeds,
he would care little for his threats of using
violence, and that he gives way to him not out
of intimidation, but simply to avoid scandal.

  The King is admitted into the cell---two
bundles of straw are shaken down for his accommodation,
and he comforts himself that he
is now under shelter, and that

     ``A night will soon be gone.''

  Other wants, however, arise.  The guest
becomes clamorous for supper, observing,

     ``For certainly, as I you say,
       I ne had never so sorry a day,
         That I ne had a merry night.''

  But this indication of his taste for good
cheer, joined to the annunciation of his being
a follower of the Court, who had lost himself
at the great hunting-match, cannot induce the
niggard Hermit to produce better fare than
bread and cheese, for which his guest showed
little appetite; and ``thin drink,'' which was
even less acceptable.  At length the King
presses his host on a point to which he had
more than once alluded, without obtaining a
satisfactory reply:

    ``Then said the King, `by Godys grace,
      Thou wert in a merry place,
        To shoot should thou lere
      When the foresters go to rest,
      Sometyme thou might have of the best,
        All of the wild deer;
      I wold hold it for no scathe,
      Though thou hadst bow and arrows baith,
        Althoff thou best a Frere.' ''

  The Hermit, in return, expresses his apprehension
that his guest means to drag him into
some confession of offence against the forest
laws, which, being betrayed to the King, might
cost him his life.  Edward answers by fresh
assurances of secrecy, and again urges on him
the necessity of procuring some venison.  The
Hermit replies, by once more insisting on the
duties incumbent upon him as a churchman,
and continues to affirm himself free from all
such breaches of order:---

      ``Many day I have here been,
        And flesh-meat I eat never,
           But milk of the kye;
        Warm thee well, and go to sleep,
        And I will lap thee with my cope,
           Softly to lye.''

  It would seem that the manuscript is here
imperfect, for we do not find the reasons which
finally induce the curtal Friar to amend the
King's cheer.  But acknowledging his guest
to be such a ``good fellow'' as has seldom
graced his board, the holy man at length produces
the best his cell affords.  Two candles
are placed on a table, white bread and baked
pasties are displayed by the light, besides
choice of venison, both salt and fresh, from
which they select collops.  ``I might have eaten
my bread dry,'' said the King, ``had I not
pressed thee on the score of archery, but now
have I dined like a prince---if we had but drink
enow.''

  This too is afforded by the hospitable anchorite,
who dispatches an assistant to fetch a pot
of four gallons from a secret corner near his
bed, and the whole three set in to serious drinking.
This amusement is superintended by the
Friar, according to the recurrence  of certain
fustian words, to be repeated by  every compotator
in turn before he drank---a  species of
High Jinks, as it were, by which  they regulated
their potations, as toasts were given in
latter times.  The one toper says _fusty bandias_,
to which the other is obliged to reply, _strike
pantnere_, and the Friar passes many jests on
the King's want of memory, who sometimes
forgets the words of action.  The night is spent
in this jolly pastime.  Before his departure
in the morning, the King invites his reverend
host to Court, promises, at least, to requite his
hospitality, and expresses himself much pleased
with his entertainment.  The jolly Hermit
at length agrees to venture thither, and to
enquire for Jack Fletcher, which is the name
assumed by the King.  After the Hermit has
shown Edward some feats of archery, the joyous
pair separate.  The King rides home, and
rejoins his retinue.  As the romance is imperfect,
we are not acquainted how the discovery
takes place; but it is probably much
in the same manner as in other narratives
turning on the same subject, where the host,
apprehensive of death for having trespassed
on the respect due to his Sovereign, while incognito,
is agreeably surprised by receiving
honours and reward.

  In Mr Hartshorne's collection, there is a
romance on the same foundation, called King
Edward and the Shepherd,* which, considered

*   Like the Hermit, the Shepherd makes havock amongst the
*   King's game; but by means of a sling, not of a bow; like the
*   Hermit, too, he has his peculiar phrases of compotation, the
*   sign and countersign being Passelodion and Berafriend.  One
*   can scarce conceive what humour our ancestors found in this
*   species of gibberish; but

*      ``I warrant it proved an excuse for the glass.''

as illustrating manners, is still more curious
than the King and the Hermit; but it is foreign
to the present purpose.  The reader has here
the original legend from which the incident in
the romance is derived; and the identifying
the irregular Eremite with the Friar Tuck of
Robin Hood's story, was an obvious expedient.

  The name of Ivanhoe was suggested by an
old rhyme.  All novelists have had occasion
at some time or other to wish with Falstaff, that
they knew where a commodity of good names
was to be had.  On such an occasion the
author chanced to call to memory a rhyme
recording three names of the manors forfeited
by the ancestor of the celebrated Hampden,
for striking the Black Prince a blow with his
racket, when they quarrelled at tennis;---

      ``Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe,
        For striking of a blow,
        Hampden did forego,
        And glad he could escape so.''

  The word suited the author's purpose in two
material respects,---for, first, it had an ancient
English sound; and secondly, it conveyed no
indication whatever of the nature of the story.
He presumes to hold this last quality to be of
no small importance.  What is called a taking
title, serves the direct interest of the bookseller
or publisher, who by this means sometimes sells
an edition while it is yet passing the press.  But
if the author permits an over degree of attention
to be drawn to his work ere it has appeared,
he places himself in the embarrassing condition
of having excited a degree of expectation
which, if he proves unable to satisfy, is an error
fatal to his literary reputation.  Besides, when
we meet such a title as the Gunpowder Plot, or
any other connected with general history, each
reader, before he has seen the book, has formed
to himself some particular idea of the sort of
manner in which the story is to be conducted,
and the nature of the amusement which he is
to derive from it.  In this he is probably disappointed,
and in that case may be naturally disposed
to visit upon the author or the work, the
unpleasant feelings thus excited.  In such a
case the literary adventurer is censured, not
for having missed the mark at which he himself
aimed, but for not having shot off his shaft
in a direction he never thought of.

  On the footing of unreserved communication
which the Author has established with the
reader, he may here add the trifling circumstance,
that a roll of Norman warriors, occurring
in the Auchinleck Manuscript, gave him
the formidable name of Front-de-B<oe>uf.

  Ivanhoe was highly successful upon its appearance,
and may be said to have procured
for its author the freedom of the Rules, since
he has ever since been permitted to exercise
his powers of fictitious composition in England,
as well as Scotland.

  The character of the fair Jewess found so
much favour in the eyes of some fair readers,
that the writer was censured, because, when
arranging the fates of the characters  of the
drama, he had not assigned the hand of Wilfred
to Rebecca, rather than the less interesting
Rowena.  But, not to mention that the prejudices
of the age rendered such an union almost
impossible, the author may, in passing,
observe, that he thinks a character of a highly
virtuous and lofty stamp, is degraded rather
than exalted by an attempt to reward virtue
with temporal prosperity.  Such is not the recompense
which Providence has deemed worthy
of suffering merit, and it is a dangerous
and fatal doctrine to teach young persons, the
most common readers of romance, that rectitude
of conduct and of principle are either naturally
allied with, or adequately rewarded by,
the gratification of our passions, or attainment
of our wishes.  In a word, if a virtuous and self-denied
character is dismissed with temporal
wealth, greatness, rank, or the indulgence of
such a rashly formed or ill assorted passion as
that of Rebecca for Ivanhoe, the reader will be
apt to say, verily Virtue has had its reward.
But a glance on the great picture of life will
show, that the duties of self-denial, and the
sacrifice of passion to principle, are seldom thus
remunerated; and that the internal consciousness
of their  high-minded discharge of duty,
produces on their own reflections a more adequate
recompense, in the form of that peace
which the world cannot give or take away.

    Abbotsford,
1st September, 1830.