While the scenes we have described were passing in other parts of
the castle, the Jewess Rebecca awaited her fate in a distant and
sequestered turret. Hither she had been led by two of her
disguised ravishers, and on being thrust into the little cell,
she found herself in the presence of an old sibyl, who kept
murmuring to herself a Saxon rhyme, as if to beat time to the
revolving dance which her spindle was performing upon the floor.
The hag raised her head as Rebecca entered, and scowled at the
fair Jewess with the malignant envy with which old age and
ugliness, when united with evil conditions, are apt to look upon
youth and beauty.
"Thou must up and away, old house-cricket," said one of the men;
"our noble master commands it---Thou must e'en leave this chamber
to a fairer guest."
"Ay," grumbled the hag, "even thus is service requited. I have
known when my bare word would have cast the best man-at-arms
among ye out of saddle and out of service; and now must I up and
away at the command of every groom such as thou."
"Good Dame Urfried," said the other man, "stand not to reason on
it, but up and away. Lords' hests must be listened to with a
quick ear. Thou hast had thy day, old dame, but thy sun has long
been set. Thou art now the very emblem of an old war-horse
turned out on the barren heath---thou hast had thy paces in thy
time, but now a broken amble is the best of them---Come, amble
off with thee."
"Ill omens dog ye both!" said the old woman; "and a kennel be
your burying-place! May the evil demon Zernebock tear me limb
from limb, if I leave my own cell ere I have spun out the hemp on
my distaff!"
"Answer it to our lord, then, old housefiend," said the man, and
retired; leaving Rebecca in company with the old woman, upon
whose presence she had been thus unwillingly forced.
"What devil's deed have they now in the wind?" said the old hag,
murmuring to herself, yet from time to time casting a sidelong
and malignant glance at Rebecca; "but it is easy to guess
---Bright eyes, black locks, and a skin like paper, ere the
priest stains it with his black unguent---Ay, it is easy to guess
why they send her to this lone turret, whence a shriek could no
more be heard than at the depth of five hundred fathoms beneath
the earth.---Thou wilt have owls for thy neighbours, fair one;
and their screams will be heard as far, and as much regarded, as
thine own. Outlandish, too," she said, marking the dress and
turban of Rebecca---"What country art thou of?---a Saracen? or an
Egyptian?---Why dost not answer?---thou canst weep, canst thou
not speak?"
"Be not angry, good mother," said Rebecca.
"Thou needst say no more," replied Urfried "men know a fox by the
train, and a Jewess by her tongue."
"For the sake of mercy," said Rebecca, "tell me what I am to
expect as the conclusion of the violence which hath dragged me
hither! Is it my life they seek, to atone for my religion? I
will lay it down cheerfully."
"Thy life, minion?" answered the sibyl; "what would taking thy
life pleasure them?---Trust me, thy life is in no peril. Such
usage shalt thou have as was once thought good enough for a
noble Saxon maiden. And shall a Jewess, like thee, repine
because she hath no better? Look at me---I was as young and
twice as fair as thou, when Front-de-Boeuf, father of this
Reginald, and his Normans, stormed this castle. My father and
his seven sons defended their inheritance from story to story,
from chamber to chamber---There was not a room, not a step of the
stair, that was not slippery with their blood. They died---they
died every man; and ere their bodies were cold, and ere their
blood was dried, I had become the prey and the scorn of the
conqueror!"
"Is there no help?---Are there no means of escape?" said Rebecca
---"Richly, richly would I requite thine aid."
"Think not of it," said the hag; "from hence there is no escape
but through the gates of death; and it is late, late," she added,
shaking her grey head, "ere these open to us---Yet it is comfort
to think that we leave behind us on earth those who shall be
wretched as ourselves. Fare thee well, Jewess!---Jew or Gentile,
thy fate would be the same; for thou hast to do with them that
have neither scruple nor pity. Fare thee well, I say. My thread
is spun out---thy task is yet to begin."
"Stay! stay! for Heaven's sake!" said Rebecca; "stay, though it
be to curse and to revile me ---thy presence is yet some
protection."
"The presence of the mother of God were no protection," answered
the old woman. "There she stands," pointing to a rude image of
the Virgin Mary, "see if she can avert the fate that awaits
thee."
She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed into a sort
of sneering laugh, which made them seem even more hideous than
their habitual frown. She locked the door behind her, and
Rebecca might hear her curse every step for its steepness, as
slowly and with difficulty she descended the turret-stair.
Rebecca was now to expect a fate even more dreadful than that of
Rowena; for what probability was there that either softness or
ceremony would be used towards one of her oppressed race,
whatever shadow of these might be preserved towards a Saxon
heiress? Yet had the Jewess this advantage, that she was better
prepared by habits of thought, and by natural strength of mind,
to encounter the dangers to which she was exposed. Of a strong
and observing character, even from her earliest years, the pomp
and wealth which her father displayed within his walls, or which
she witnessed in the houses of other wealthy Hebrews, had not
been able to blind her to the precarious circumstances under
which they were enjoyed. Like Damocles at his celebrated
banquet, Rebecca perpetually beheld, amid that gorgeous display,
the sword which was suspended over the heads of her people by a
single hair. These reflections had tamed and brought down to a
pitch of sounder judgment a temper, which, under other
circumstances, might have waxed haughty, supercilious, and
obstinate.
From her father's example and injunctions, Rebecca had learnt to
bear herself courteously towards all who approached her. She
could not indeed imitate his excess of subservience, because she
was a stranger to the meanness of mind, and to the constant state
of timid apprehension, by which it was dictated; but she bore
herself with a proud humility, as if submitting to the evil
circumstances in which she was placed as the daughter of a
despised race, while she felt in her mind the consciousness that
she was entitled to hold a higher rank from her merit, than the
arbitrary despotism of religious prejudice permitted her to
aspire to.
Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she had acquired
the firmness necessary for acting under them. Her present
situation required all her presence of mind, and she summoned it
up accordingly.
Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but it afforded few
hopes either of escape or protection. It contained neither
secret passage nor trap-door, and unless where the door by which
she had entered joined the main building, seemed to be
circumscribed by the round exterior wall of the turret. The door
had no inside bolt or bar. The single window opened upon an
embattled space surmounting the turret, which gave Rebecca, at
first sight, some hopes of escaping; but she soon found it had no
communication with any other part of the battlements, being an
isolated bartisan, or balcony, secured, as usual, by a parapet,
with embrasures, at which a few archers might be stationed for
defending the turret, and flanking with their shot the wall of
the castle on that side.
There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, and in that
strong reliance on Heaven natural to great and generous
characters. Rebecca, however erroneously taught to interpret the
promises of Scripture to the chosen people of Heaven, did not err
in supposing the present to be their hour of trial, or in
trusting that the children of Zion would be one day called in
with the fulness of the Gentiles. In the meanwhile, all around
her showed that their present state was that of punishment and
probation, and that it was their especial duty to suffer without
sinning. Thus prepared to consider herself as the victim of
misfortune, Rebecca had early reflected upon her own state, and
schooled her mind to meet the dangers which she had probably to
encounter.
The prisoner trembled, however, and changed colour, when a step
was heard on the stair, and the door of the turret-chamber slowly
opened, and a tall man, dressed as one of those banditti to whom
they owed their misfortune, slowly entered, and shut the door
behind him; his cap, pulled down upon his brows, concealed the
upper part of his face, and he held his mantle in such a manner
as to muffle the rest. In this guise, as if prepared for the
execution of some deed, at the thought of which he was himself
ashamed, he stood before the affrighted prisoner; yet, ruffian as
his dress bespoke him, he seemed at a loss to express what
purpose had brought him thither, so that Rebecca, making an
effort upon herself, had time to anticipate his explanation.
She had already unclasped two costly bracelets and a collar,
which she hastened to proffer to the supposed outlaw, concluding
naturally that to gratify his avarice was to bespeak his favour.
"Take these," she said, "good friend, and for God's sake be
merciful to me and my aged father! These ornaments are of value,
yet are they trifling to what he would bestow to obtain our
dismissal from this castle, free and uninjured."
"Fair flower of Palestine," replied the outlaw, "these pearls are
orient, but they yield in whiteness to your teeth; the diamonds
are brilliant, but they cannot match your eyes; and ever since I
have taken up this wild trade, I have made a vow to prefer beauty
to wealth."
"Do not do yourself such wrong," said Rebecca; "take ransom, and
have mercy!---Gold will purchase you pleasure,---to misuse us,
could only bring thee remorse. My father will willingly satiate
thy utmost wishes; and if thou wilt act wisely, thou mayst
purchase with our spoils thy restoration to civil society---mayst
obtain pardon for past errors, and be placed beyond the necessity
of committing more."
"It is well spoken," replied the outlaw in French, finding it
difficult probably to sustain, in Saxon, a conversation which
Rebecca had opened in that language; "but know, bright lily of
the vale of Baca! that thy father is already in the hands of a
powerful alchemist, who knows how to convert into gold and silver
even the rusty bars of a dungeon grate. The venerable Isaac is
subjected to an alembic, which will distil from him all he holds
dear, without any assistance from my requests or thy entreaty.
The ransom must be paid by love and beauty, and in no other coin
will I accept it."
"Thou art no outlaw," said Rebecca, in the same language in which
he addressed her; "no outlaw had refused such offers. No outlaw
in this land uses the dialect in which thou hast spoken. Thou
art no outlaw, but a Norman---a Norman, noble perhaps in birth
---O, be so in thy actions, and cast off this fearful mask of
outrage and violence!"
"And thou, who canst guess so truly," said Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, dropping the mantle from his face, "art no true
daughter of Israel, but in all, save youth and beauty, a very
witch of Endor. I am not an outlaw, then, fair rose of Sharon.
And I am one who will be more prompt to hang thy neck and arms
with pearls and diamonds, which so well become them, than to
deprive thee of these ornaments."
"What wouldst thou have of me," said Rebecca, "if not my wealth?
---We can have nought in common between us---you are a Christian
---I am a Jewess.---Our union were contrary to the laws, alike of
the church and the synagogue."
"It were so, indeed," replied the Templar, laughing; "wed with a
Jewess? 'Despardieux!'---Not if she were the Queen of Sheba! And
know, besides, sweet daughter of Zion, that were the most
Christian king to offer me his most Christian daughter, with
Languedoc for a dowery, I could not wed her. It is against my
vow to love any maiden, otherwise than 'par amours', as I will
love thee. I am a Templar. Behold the cross of my Holy Order."
"Darest thou appeal to it," said Rebecca, "on an occasion like
the present?"
"And if I do so," said the Templar, "it concerns not thee, who
art no believer in the blessed sign of our salvation."
"I believe as my fathers taught," said Rebecca; "and may God
forgive my belief if erroneous! But you, Sir Knight, what is
yours, when you appeal without scruple to that which you deem
most holy, even while you are about to transgress the most solemn
of your vows as a knight, and as a man of religion?"
"It is gravely and well preached, O daughter of Sirach!" answered
the Templar; "but, gentle Ecclesiastics, thy narrow Jewish
prejudices make thee blind to our high privilege. Marriage were
an enduring crime on the part of a Templar; but what lesser folly
I may practise, I shall speedily be absolved from at the next
Preceptory of our Order. Not the wisest of monarchs, not his
father, whose examples you must needs allow are weighty, claimed
wider privileges than we poor soldiers of the Temple of Zion have
won by our zeal in its defence. The protectors of Solomon's
Temple may claim license by the example of Solomon."
"If thou readest the Scripture," said the Jewess, "and the lives
of the saints, only to justify thine own license and profligacy,
thy crime is like that of him who extracts poison from the most
healthful and necessary herbs."
The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof---"Hearken,"
he said, "Rebecca; I have hitherto spoken mildly to thee, but now
my language shall be that of a conqueror. Thou art the captive
of my bow and spear---subject to my will by the laws of all
nations; nor will I abate an inch of my right, or abstain from
taking by violence what thou refusest to entreaty or necessity."
"Stand back," said Rebecca---"stand back, and hear me ere thou
offerest to commit a sin so deadly! My strength thou mayst
indeed overpower for God made women weak, and trusted their
defence to man's generosity. But I will proclaim thy villainy,
Templar, from one end of Europe to the other. I will owe to the
superstition of thy brethren what their compassion might refuse
me, Each Preceptory---each Chapter of thy Order, shall learn,
that, like a heretic, thou hast sinned with a Jewess. Those who
tremble not at thy crime, will hold thee accursed for having so
far dishonoured the cross thou wearest, as to follow a daughter
of my people."
"Thou art keen-witted, Jewess," replied the Templar, well aware
of the truth of what she spoke, and that the rules of his Order
condemned in the most positive manner, and under high penalties,
such intrigues as he now prosecuted, and that, in some instances,
even degradation had followed upon it---"thou art sharp-witted,"
he said; "but loud must be thy voice of complaint, if it is heard
beyond the iron walls of this castle; within these, murmurs,
laments, appeals to justice, and screams for help, die alike
silent away. One thing only can save thee, Rebecca. Submit to
thy fate---embrace our religion, and thou shalt go forth in such
state, that many a Norman lady shall yield as well in pomp as in
beauty to the favourite of the best lance among the defenders of
the Temple."
"Submit to my fate!" said Rebecca---"and, sacred Heaven! to what
fate?---embrace thy religion! and what religion can it be that
harbours such a villain?---THOU the best lance of the Templars!
---Craven knight!---forsworn priest! I spit at thee, and I defy
thee.---The God of Abraham's promise hath opened an escape to his
daughter---even from this abyss of infamy!"
As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window which led to the
bartisan, and in an instant after, stood on the very verge of the
parapet, with not the slightest screen between her and the
tremendous depth below. Unprepared for such a desperate effort,
for she had hitherto stood perfectly motionless, Bois-Guilbert
had neither time to intercept nor to stop her. As he offered to
advance, she exclaimed, "Remain where thou art, proud Templar, or
at thy choice advance!---one foot nearer, and I plunge myself
from the precipice; my body shall be crushed out of the very form
of humanity upon the stones of that court-yard, ere it become the
victim of thy brutality!"
As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and extended them
towards heaven, as if imploring mercy on her soul before she made
the final plunge. The Templar hesitated, and a resolution which
had never yielded to pity or distress, gave way to his admiration
of her fortitude. "Come down," he said, "rash girl!---I swear by
earth, and sea, and sky, I will offer thee no offence."
"I will not trust thee, Templar," said Rebecca; thou hast taught
me better how to estimate the virtues of thine Order. The next
Preceptory would grant thee absolution for an oath, the keeping
of which concerned nought but the honour or the dishonour of a
miserable Jewish maiden."
"You do me injustice," exclaimed the Templar fervently; "I swear
to you by the name which I bear---by the cross on my bosom---by
the sword on my side---by the ancient crest of my fathers do I
swear, I will do thee no injury whatsoever! If not for thyself,
yet for thy father's sake forbear! I will be his friend, and in
this castle he will need a powerful one."
"Alas!" said Rebecca, "I know it but too well---dare I trust
thee?"
"May my arms be reversed, and my name dishonoured," said Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, "if thou shalt have reason to complain of me!
Many a law, many a commandment have I broken, but my word never."
"I will then trust thee," said Rebecca, "thus far;" and she
descended from the verge of the battlement, but remained standing
close by one of the embrasures, or "machicolles", as they were
then called.---"Here," she said, "I take my stand. Remain where
thou art, and if thou shalt attempt to diminish by one step the
distance now between us, thou shalt see that the Jewish maiden
will rather trust her soul with God, than her honour to the
Templar!"
While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, which
corresponded so well with the expressive beauty of her
countenance, gave to her looks, air, and manner, a dignity that
seemed more than mortal. Her glance quailed not, her cheek
blanched not, for the fear of a fate so instant and so horrible;
on the contrary, the thought that she had her fate at her
command, and could escape at will from infamy to death, gave a
yet deeper colour of carnation to her complexion, and a yet more
brilliant fire to her eye. Bois-Guilbert, proud himself and
high-spirited, thought he had never beheld beauty so animated and
so commanding.
"Let there be peace between us, Rebecca," he said.
"Peace, if thou wilt," answered Rebecca---"Peace---but with this
space between."
"Thou needst no longer fear me," said Bois-Guilbert.
"I fear thee not," replied she; "thanks to him that reared this
dizzy tower so high, that nought could fall from it and live
--thanks to him, and to the God of Israel!---I fear thee not."
"Thou dost me injustice," said the Templar; "by earth, sea, and
sky, thou dost me injustice! I am not naturally that which you
have seen me, hard, selfish, and relentless. It was woman that
taught me cruelty, and on woman therefore I have exercised it;
but not upon such as thou. Hear me, Rebecca---Never did knight
take lance in his hand with a heart more devoted to the lady of
his love than Brian de Bois-Guilbert. She, the daughter of a
petty baron, who boasted for all his domains but a ruinous tower,
and an unproductive vineyard, and some few leagues of the barren
Landes of Bourdeaux, her name was known wherever deeds of arms
were done, known wider than that of many a lady's that had a
county for a dowery.---Yes," he continued, pacing up and down the
little platform, with an animation in which he seemed to lose all
consciousness of Rebecca's presence---"Yes, my deeds, my danger,
my blood, made the name of Adelaide de Montemare known from the
court of Castile to that of Byzantium. And how was I requited?
---When I returned with my dear-bought honours, purchased by toil
and blood, I found her wedded to a Gascon squire, whose name was
never heard beyond the limits of his own paltry domain! Truly
did I love her, and bitterly did I revenge me of her broken
faith! But my vengeance has recoiled on myself. Since that day
I have separated myself from life and its ties---My manhood must
know no domestic home---must be soothed by no affectionate wife
---My age must know no kindly hearth---My grave must be solitary,
and no offspring must outlive me, to bear the ancient name of
Bois-Guilbert. At the feet of my Superior I have laid down the
right of self-action---the privilege of independence. The
Templar, a serf in all but the name, can possess neither lands
nor goods, and lives, moves, and breathes, but at the will and
pleasure of another."
"Alas!" said Rebecca, "what advantages could compensate for such
an absolute sacrifice?"
"The power of vengeance, Rebecca," replied the Templar, "and the
prospects of ambition."
"An evil recompense," said Rebecca, "for the surrender of the
rights which are dearest to humanity."
"Say not so, maiden," answered the Templar; "revenge is a feast
for the gods! And if they have reserved it, as priests tell us,
to themselves, it is because they hold it an enjoyment too
precious for the possession of mere mortals.---And ambition? it
is a temptation which could disturb even the bliss of heaven
itself."---He paused a moment, and then added, "Rebecca! she who
could prefer death to dishonour, must have a proud and a powerful
soul. Mine thou must be!---Nay, start not," he added, "it must
be with thine own consent, and on thine own terms. Thou must
consent to share with me hopes more extended than can be viewed
from the throne of a monarch!---Hear me ere you answer and judge
ere you refuse.---The Templar loses, as thou hast said, his
social rights, his power of free agency, but he becomes a member
and a limb of a mighty body, before which thrones already
tremble,---even as the single drop of rain which mixes with the
sea becomes an individual part of that resistless ocean, which
undermines rocks and ingulfs royal armadas. Such a swelling
flood is that powerful league. Of this mighty Order I am no mean
member, but already one of the Chief Commanders, and may well
aspire one day to hold the batoon of Grand Master. The poor
soldiers of the Temple will not alone place their foot upon the
necks of kings---a hemp-sandall'd monk can do that. Our mailed
step shall ascend their throne---our gauntlet shall wrench the
sceptre from their gripe. Not the reign of your vainly-expected
Messiah offers such power to your dispersed tribes as my ambition
may aim at. I have sought but a kindred spirit to share it, and
I have found such in thee."
"Sayest thou this to one of my people?" answered Rebecca.
"Bethink thee---"
"Answer me not," said the Templar, "by urging the difference of
our creeds; within our secret conclaves we hold these nursery
tales in derision. Think not we long remained blind to the
idiotical folly of our founders, who forswore every delight of
life for the pleasure of dying martyrs by hunger, by thirst, and
by pestilence, and by the swords of savages, while they vainly
strove to defend a barren desert, valuable only in the eyes of
superstition. Our Order soon adopted bolder and wider views, and
found out a better indemnification for our sacrifices. Our
immense possessions in every kingdom of Europe, our high military
fame, which brings within our circle the flower of chivalry from
every Christian clime---these are dedicated to ends of which our
pious founders little dreamed, and which are equally concealed
from such weak spirits as embrace our Order on the ancient
principles, and whose superstition makes them our passive tools.
But I will not further withdraw the veil of our mysteries. That
bugle-sound announces something which may require my presence.
Think on what I have said.---Farewell!---I do not say forgive me
the violence I have threatened, for it was necessary to the
display of thy character. Gold can be only known by the
application of the touchstone. I will soon return, and hold
further conference with thee."
He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the stair,
leaving Rebecca scarcely more terrified at the prospect of the
death to which she had been so lately exposed, than at the
furious ambition of the bold bad man in whose power she found
herself so unhappily placed. When she entered the
turret-chamber, her first duty was to return thanks to the God of
Jacob for the protection which he had afforded her, and to
implore its continuance for her and for her father. Another name
glided into her petition---it was that of the wounded Christian,
whom fate had placed in the hands of bloodthirsty men, his avowed
enemies. Her heart indeed checked her, as if, even in communing
with the Deity in prayer, she mingled in her devotions the
recollection of one with whose fate hers could have no alliance
---a Nazarene, and an enemy to her faith. But the petition was
already breathed, nor could all the narrow prejudices of her sect
induce Rebecca to wish it recalled.
