Ivanhoe (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (61 page)

Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how he might seek entrance in the manner most likely to bespeak favour; for he was well aware that to his unhappy race the reviving fanaticism of the order was not less dangerous than their unprincipled licentiousness; and that his religion would be the object of hate and persecution in the one case, as his wealth would have exposed him in the other to the extortions of unrelenting oppression.

Meantime, Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a small garden belonging to the preceptory, included within the precincts of its exterior fortification, and held sad and confidential communication with a brother of his order, who had come in his company from Palestine.

The Grand Master was a man advanced in age, as was testified by his long grey beard, and the shaggy grey eyebrows, overhanging eyes of which, however, years had been unable to quench the fire. A formidable warrior, his thin and severe features retained the soldier’s fierceness of expression; an ascetic bigot, they were no less marked by the emaciation of abstinence, and the spiritual pride of the self-satisfied devotee. Yet with these severer traits of physiognomy, there was mixed somewhat striking and noble, arising, doubtless, from the great part which his high office called upon him to act among monarchs and princes, and from the habitual exercise of supreme authority over the valiant and high-born knights who were united by the rules of the order. His stature was tall, and his gait, undepressed by age and toil, was erect and stately. His white mantle was shaped with severe regularity, according to the rule of St. Bernard himself, being composed of what was then called burrel cloth, exactly fitted to the size of the wearer, and bearing on the left shoulder the octangular cross peculiar to the order, formed of red cloth. No vair or ermine
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decked this garment; but in respect of his age, the Grand Master, as permitted by the rules, wore his doublet lined and trimmed with the softest lambskin, dressed with the wool outwards, which was the nearest approach he could regularly make to the use of fur, then the greatest luxury of dress. In his hand he bore that singular abacus, or staff of office, with which Templars are usually represented, having at the upper end a round plate, on which was engraved the cross of the order, inscribed within a circle or orle, as heralds term it. His companion, who attended on this great personage, had nearly the same dress in all respects, but his extreme deference towards his superior showed that no other equality subsisted between them. The preceptor, for such he was in rank, walked not in a line with the Grand Master, but just so far behind that Beaumanoir could speak to him without turning round his head.

“Conrade,” said the Grand Master, “dear companion of my battles and my toils, to thy faithful bosom alone I can confide my sorrows. To thee alone can I tell how oft, since I came to this kingdom, I have desired to be dissolved and to be with the just. Not one object in England hath met mine eye which it could rest upon with pleasure, save the tombs of our brethren, beneath the massive roof of our Temple Church in yonder proud capital.
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‘O, valiant Robert de Ros!’ did I exclaim internally, as I gazed upon these good soldiers of the cross, where they lie sculptured on their sepulchres—‘0, worthy William de Mareschal! open your marble cells, and take to your repose a weary brother, who would rather strive with a hundred thousand pagans than witness the decay of our holy order!’”

“It is but true,” answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet—“it is but too true; and the irregularities of our brethren in England are even more gross than those in France.”

“Because they are more wealthy,” answered the Grand Master. “Bear with me, brother, although I should something vaunt myself. Thou knowest the life I have led, keeping each point of my order, striving with devils embodied and disembodied, striking down the roaring lion, who goeth about seeking whom he may devour, like a good knight and devout priest, wheresoever I met with him, even as blessed St. Bernard hath prescribed to us in the forty-fifth capital of our rule,
Ut leo semper feriatur.
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But, by the Holy Temple! the zeal which hath devoured my substance and my life, yea, the very nerves and marrow of my bones—by that very Holy Temple I swear to thee, that save thyself and some few that still retain the ancient severity of our order, I look upon no brethren whom I can bring my soul to embrace under that holy name. What say our statutes, and how do our brethren observe them? They should wear no vain or worldly ornament, no crest upon their helmet, no gold upon stirrup or bridle-bit; yet who now go pranked out so proudly and so gaily as the poor soldiers of the Temple? They are forbidden by our statutes to take one bird by means of another, to shoot beasts with bow or arblast, to halloo to a hunting-horn, or to spur the horse after game; but now, at hunting and hawking, and each idle sport of wood and river, who so prompt as the Templars in all these fond vanities? They are forbidden to read, save what their superior permitted, or listen to what is read, save such holy things as may be recited aloud during the hours of refection; but lo! their ears are at the command of idle minstrels, and their eyes study empty romaunts. They were commanded to extirpate magic and heresy; lo! they are charged with studying the accursed cabalistical secrets of the Jews, and the magic of the paynim Saracens. Simpleness of diet was prescribed to them—roots, pottage, gruels, eating flesh but thrice a-week, because the accustomed feeding on flesh is a dishonourable corruption of the body; and behold, their tables groan under delicate fare. Their drink was to be water; and now, to drink like a Templar is the boast of each jolly boon companion. This very garden, filled as it is with curious herbs and trees sent from the Eastern climes, better becomes the harem of an unbelieving emir than the plot which Christian monks should devote to raise their homely pot-herbs. And O, Conrade! well it were that the relaxation of discipline stopped even here! Well thou knowest that we were forbidden to receive those devout women who at the beginning were associated as sisters of our order, because, saith the forty-sixth chapter, the Ancient Enemy hath, by female society, withdrawn many from the right path to paradise. Nay, in the last capital, being, as it were, the copestone which our blessed founder placed on the pure and undefiled doctrine which he had enjoined, we are prohibited from offering, even to our sisters and our mothers, the kiss of affection:
ut omnium mulierum fugiantur oscula.
I shame to speak—I shame to think—of the corruptions which have rushed in upon us even like a flood. The souls of our pure founders, the spirits of Hugh de Payen and Godfrey de St. Omer, and of the blessed seven who first joined in dedicating their lives to the service of the Temple, are disturbed even in the enjoyment of paradise itself. I have seen them, Conrade, in the visions of the night: their sainted eyes shed tears for the sins and follies of their brethren, and for the foul and shameful luxury in which they wallow. ‘Beaumanoir,’ they say, ‘thou slumberest; awake! There is a stain in the fabric of the Temple, deep and foul as that left by the streaks of leprosy on the walls of the infected houses of old.
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The soldiers of the Cross, who should shun the glance of a woman as the eye of a basilisk, live in open sin, not with the females of their own race only, but with the daughters of the accursed heathen, and more accursed Jew. Beaumanoir, thou sleepest; up, and avenge our cause! Slay the sinners, male and female! Take to thee the brand of Phineas!’
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The vision fled, Conrade, but as I awaked I could still hear the clank of their mail, and see the waving of their white mantles. And I will do according to their word: I WILL purify the fabric of the Temple; and the unclean stones in which the plague is, I will remove and cast out of the building.”

“Yet bethink thee, reverend father,” said Mont-Fitchet, “the stain hath become engrained by time and consuetude; let thy reformation be cautious, as it is just and wise.”

“No, Mont-Fitchet,” answered the stern old man, “it must be sharp and sudden; the order is on the crisis of its fate. The sobriety, self-devotion, and piety of our predecessors made us powerful friends; our presumption, our wealth, our luxury have raised up against us mighty enemies. We must cast away these riches, which are a temptation to princes; we must lay down that presumption, which is an offence to them; we must reform that license of manners, which is a scandal to the whole Christian world! Or—mark my words—the order of the Temple will be utterly demolished, and the place thereof shall no more be known among the nations.”

“Now may God avert such a calamity!” said the preceptor.

“Amen,” said the Grand Master, with solemnity, “but we must deserve His aid. I tell thee, Conrade, that neither the powers in Heaven, nor the powers on earth, will longer endure the wickedness of this generation. My intelligence is sure—the ground on which our fabric is reared is already undermined, and each addition we make to the structure of our greatness will only sink it the sooner in the abyss. We must retrace our steps, and show ourselves the faithful champions of the Cross, sacrificing to our calling not alone our blood and our lives, not alone our lusts and our vices, but our ease, our comforts, and our natural affections, and act as men convinced that many a pleasure which may be lawful to others is forbidden to the vowed soldier of the Temple.”

At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbare vestment—for the aspirants after this holy order wore during their noviciate the cast-off garments of the knights—entered the garden, and, bowing profoundly before the Grand Master, stood silent, awaiting his permission ere he presumed to tell his errand.

“Is it not more seemly,” said the Grand Master, “to see this Damian, clothed in the garments of Christian humility, thus appear with reverend silence before his superior, than but two days since, when the fond fool was decked in a painted coat, and jangling as pert and as proud as any popinjay? Speak, Damian, we permit thee. What is thine errand?”

“A Jew stands without the gate, noble and reverend father,” said the squire, “who prays to speak with brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert.”

“Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it,” said the Grand Master; “in our presence a preceptor is but as a common compeer of our order, who may not walk according to his own will, but to that of his Master, even according to the text, ‘In the hearing of the ear he hath obeyed me.’ It imports us especially to know of this Bois-Guilbert’s proceedings,” said he, turning to his companion.

“Report speaks him brave and valiant,” said Conrade.

“And truly is he so spoken of,” said the Grand Master; “in our valour only we are not degenerated from our predecessors, the heroes of the Cross. But brother Brian came into our order a moody and disappointed man, stirred, I doubt me, to take our vows and to renounce the world, not in sincerity of soul, but as one whom some touch of light discontent had driven into penitence. Since then he hath become an active and earnest agitator, a murmurer, and a machinator, and a leader amongst those who impugn our authority; not considering that the rule is given to the Master even by the symbol of the staff and the rod—the staff to support the infirmities of the weak, the rod to correct the faults of delinquents. Damian,” he continued, “lead the Jew to our presence.”

The squire departed with a profound reverence, and in a few minutes returned, marshalling in Isaac of York. No naked slave, ushered into the presence of some mighty prince, could approach his judgment-seat with more profound reverence and terror than that with which the Jew drew near to the presence of the Grand Master. When he had approached within the distance of three yards, Beaumanoir made a sign with his staff that he should come no farther. The Jew kneeled down on the earth, which he kissed in token of reverence; then rising, stood before the Templars, his hands folded on his bosom, his head bowed on his breast, in all the submission of Oriental slavery.

“Damian,” said the Grand Master, “retire, and have a guard ready to await our sudden call; and suffer no one to enter the garden until we shall leave it.” The squire bowed and retreated. “Jew,” continued the haughty old man, “mark me. It suits not our condition to hold with thee long communication, nor do we waste words or time upon any one. Wherefore be brief in thy answers to what questions I shall ask thee, and let thy words be of truth; for if thy tongue doubles with me, I will have it torn from thy misbelieving jaws.”

The Jew was about to reply; but the Grand Master went on—

“Peace, unbeliever! not a word in our presence, save in answer to our questions. What is thy business with our brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert?”

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tell his tale might be interpreted into scandalising the order; yet, unless he told it, what hope could he have of achieving his daughter’s deliverance? Beaumanoir saw his mortal apprehension, and condescended to give him some assurance.

“Fear nothing,” he said, “for thy wretched person, Jew, so thou dealest uprightly in this matter. I demand again to know from thee thy business with Brian de Bois-Guilbert?”

“I am bearer of a letter,” stammered out the Jew, “so please your reverend valour, to that good knight, from Prior Aymer of the Abbey of Jorvaulx.”

“Said I not these were evil times, Conrade?” said the Master. “A Cistercian prior sends a letter to a soldier of the Temple, and can find no more fitting messenger than an unbelieving Jew. Give me the letter.”

The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the folds of his Armenian cap, in which he had deposited the Prior’s tablets for the greater security, and was about to approach, with hand extended and body crouched, to place it within the reach of his grim interrogator.

“Back, dog!” said the Grand Master; “I touch not misbelievers, save with the sword. Conrade, take thou the letter from the Jew and give it to me.”

Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets, inspected the outside carefully, and then proceeded to undo the packthread which secured its folds. “Reverend father,” said Conrade, interposing, though with much deference, “wilt thou break the seal?”