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Ivanhoe (Penguin Classics) Paperback – October 1, 2000


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Product Details

  • Series: Penguin Classics
  • Paperback: 544 pages
  • Publisher: Penguin Classics; Reprint edition (October 1, 2000)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0140436588
  • ISBN-13: 978-0140436587
  • Product Dimensions: 7.8 x 1 x 5.2 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 11.4 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
  • Average Customer Review: 4.4 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (217 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #61,174 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Editorial Reviews

About the Author

Sir Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh in 1771. Educated for the law, he obtained the office of sheriff-depute of Selkirkshire in 1799 and in 1806 the office of clerk of session, a post whose duties he fulfilled for some twenty-five years. His lifelong interest in Scottish antiquity and the ballads which recorded Scottish history led him to try his hand at narrative poems of adventure and action. The Lay of the Last Minstrel (1805), Marmion (1808), and The Lady of the Lake (1810) made his reputation as one of the leading poets of his time. A novel, Waverley, which he had begun in 1805, was published anonymously in 1814. Subsequent novels appeared with the note “by the author of Waverley”; hence his novels often are called collectively “the Waverley novels.” Some of the most famous of these are Old Mortality (1816), Rob Roy (1817), Ivanhoe (1819), Kenilworth (1821), and Quentin Durward (1823). In recognition of his literary work Scott was made a baronet in 1819. During his last years he held various official positions and published biographies, editions of Swift and Dryden, tales, lyric poetry, and various studies of history and antiquity. He died in 1832.

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Ivanhoe
CHAPTER I
Thus communed these; while to their lowly dome The full-fed swine return'd with evening home, Compell'd, reluctant, to the several sites, With din obstreperous and ungrateful cries.
POPE'S Odyssey
In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered by the river Don, there extended in ancient times a large forest, covering the greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster. The remains of this extensive wood are still to be seen at the noble seats of Wentworth, of Wharncliffe Park, and around Rotherham. Here haunted of yore the fabulous Dragon of Wantley; here were fought many of the most desperate battles during the Civil Wars of the Roses; and here also flourished in ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws whose deeds have been rendered so popular in English song.
Such being our chief scene, the date of our story refers to a period towards the end of the reign of Richard I, when his return from his long captivity had become an event rather wished than hoped for by his despairing subjects, who were in the meantime subjected to every species of subordinate oppression. The nobles, whose power had becomeexorbitant during the reign of Stephen, and whom the prudence of Henry the Second had scarce reduced into some degree of subjection to the crown, had now resumed their ancient license in its utmost extent; despising the feeble interference of the English Council of the State, fortifying their castles, increasing the number of their dependants, reducing all around them to a state of vassalage, and striving by every means in their power to place themselves each at the head of such forces as might enable him to make a figure in the national convulsions which appeared to be impending.
The situation of the inferior gentry, or franklins, as they were called, who, by the law and spirit of the English constitution, were entitled to hold themselves independent of the feudal tyranny, became now unusually precarious. If, as was most generally the case, they placed themselves under the protection of any of the petty kings in their vicinity, accepted of feudal offices in his household, or bound themselves, by mutual treaties of alliance and protection, to support him in his enterprises, they might indeed purchase temporary repose; but it must be with the sacrifice of that independence which was so dear to every English bosom, and at the certain hazard of being involved as a party in whatever rash expedition the ambition of their protector might lead him to undertake. On the other hand, such and so multiplied were the means of vexation and oppression possessed by the great barons, that they never wanted the pretext, and seldom the will, to harass and pursue, even to the very edge of destruction, any of their less powerful neighbours who attempted to separate themselves from their authority, and to trust for their protection, during the dangers of the times, to their own inoffensive conduct and to the laws of the land.
A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the tyranny of the nobility and the sufferings of the inferior classes arose from the consequences of the Conquest by Duke Williamof Normandy. Four generations had not sufficed to blend the hostile blood of the Normans and Anglo-Saxons, or to unite, by common language and mutual interest, two hostile races, one of which still felt the elation of triumph, while the other groaned under all the consequences of defeat. The power had been completely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility by the event of the battle of Hastings, and it had been used, as our histories assure us, with no moderate hand. The whole race of Saxon princes and nobles had been extirpated or disinherited, with few or no exceptions, nor were the numbers great who possessed land in the country of their fathers, even as proprietors of the second or of yet inferior classes. The royal policy had long been to weaken, by every means, legal or illegal, the strength of a part of the population which has justly considered as nourishing the most inveterate antipathy to their victor. All the monarchs of the Norman race had shown the most marked predilection for their Norman subjects; the laws of the chase, and many others, equally unknown to the milder and more free spirit of the Saxon constitution, had been fixed upon the necks of the subjugated inhabitants, to add weight, as it were, to the feudal chains with which they were loaded. At court, and in the castles of the great nobles, where the pomp and state of a court was emulated, Norman-French was the only language employed; in courts of law, the pleadings and judgments were delivered in the same tongue. In short, French was the language of honour, of chivalry, and even of justice, while the far more manly and expressive Anglo-Saxon was abandoned to the use of rustics and hinds, who knew no other. Still, however, the necessary intercourse between the lords of the soil, and those oppressed inferior beings by whom that soil was cultivated, occasioned the gradual formation of a dialect, compounded betwixt the French and the Anglo-Saxon, in which they could render themselves mutually intelligible to each other; and from this necessity arose by degrees the structureof our present English language, in which the speech of the victors and the vanquished have been so happily blended together; and which has since been so richly improved by importations from the classical languages, and from those spoken by the southern nations of Europe.
This state of things I have thought it necessary to premise for the information of the general reader, who might be apt to forget that, although no great historical events, such as war or insurrection, mark the existence of the Anglo-Saxons as a separate people subsequent to the reign of William the Second, yet the great national distinctions betwixt them and their conquerors, the recollection of what they had formerly been, and to what they were now reduced, continued, down to the reign of Edward the Third, to keep open the wounds which the Conquest had inflicted, and to maintain a line of separation betwixt the descendants of the victor Normans and the vanquished Saxons.
 
The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades of that forest which we have mentioned in the beginning of the chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed, short-stemmed, wide-branched oaks, which had witnessed perhaps the stately march of the Roman soldiery, flung their gnarled arms over a thick carpet of the most delicious green sward; in some places they were intermingled with beeches, hollies, and copsewood of various descriptions, so closely as totally to intercept the level beams of the sinking sun; in others they receded from each other, forming those long sweeping vistas in the intricacy of which the eye delights to lose itself, while imagination considers them as the paths to yet wilder scenes of silvan solitude. Here the red rays of the sun shot a broken and discoloured light, that partially hung upon the shattered boughs and mossy trunks of the trees, and there they illuminated in brilliant patches the portions of turf to which they made their way. A considerable open space, in the midst of this glade, seemed formerly to have been dedicatedto the rites of Druidical superstition; for, on the summit of a hillock, so regular as to seem artificial, there still remained part of a circle of rough, unhewn stones, of large dimensions. Seven stood upright; the rest had been dislodged from their places, probably by the zeal of some convert to Christianity, and lay, some prostrate near their former site, and others on the side of the hill. One large stone only had found its way to the bottom, and, in stopping the course of a small brook which glided smoothly round the foot of the eminence, gave, by its opposition, a feeble voice of murmur to the placid and elsewhere silent streamlet.
The human figures which completed this landscape were in number two, partaking, in their dress and appearance, of that wild and rustic character which belonged to the woodlands of the West Riding of Yorkshire at that early period. The eldest of these men had a stern, savage, and wild aspect. His garment was of the simplest form imaginable, being a closed jacket with sleeves, composed of the tanned skin of some animal, on which the hair had been originally left, but which had been worn off in so many places that it would have been difficult to distinguish, from the patches that remained, to what creature the fur had belonged. This primeval vestment reached from the throat to the knees, and served at once all the usual purposes of body-clothing; there was no wider opening at the collar than was necessary to admit the passage of the head, from which it may be inferred that it was put on by slipping it over the head and shoulders, in the manner of a modern shirt, or ancient hauberk. Sandals, bound with throngs made of boar's hide, protected the feet, and a roll of thin leather was twined artificially round the legs, and, ascending above the calf, left the knees bare, like those of a Scottish Highlander. To make the jacket sit yet more close to the body, it was gathered at the middle by a broad leather belt, secured by a brass buckle; to one side of which was attached a sort ofscrip, and to the other a ram's horn, accounted with a mouthpiece, for the purpose of blowing. In the same belt was stuck one of those long, broad, sharp-pointed, and two-edged knives, with a buck's-horn handle, which were fabricated in the neighbourhood, and bore even at this early period the name of a Sheffield whittle. The man had no covering upon his head, which was only defended by his own thick hair, matted and twisted together, and scorched by the influence of the sun into a rusty dark-red colour, forming a contrast with the overgrown beard upon his cheeks, which was rather of a yellow or amber hue. One part of his dress only remains, but it is too remarkable to be suppressed; it was a brass ring, resembling a dog's collar, but without any opening, and soldered fast round his neck, so loose as to form no impediment to his breathing, yet so tight as to be incapable of being removed, excepting by the use of the file. On this singular gorget was engraved, in Saxon characters, an inscription of the following purport: "Gurth, the son of Beowulph, is the born thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood."
Beside the swineherd, for such was Gurth's occupation, was seated, upon one of the fallen Druidical monuments, a person about ten years younger in appearance, and whose dress, though resembling his companion's in form, was of better materials, and of a more fantastic description. His jacket had been stained a bright purple hue, upon which there had been some attempt to paint grotesque ornaments in different colours. To the jacket he added a short cloak, which scarcely reached half-way down his thigh; it was of crimson cloth, though a good deal soiled, lined with bright yellow; and as he could transfer it from one shoulder to the other, or at his pleasure draw it all around him, its width, contrasted with its want of longitude, formed a fantastic piece of drapery. He had thin silver bracelets upon his arms, and on his neck a collar of the same metal, bearing the inscription, "Wamba, the son of Witless, is the thrall ofCedric of Rotherwood." This personage had the same sort of sandals with his companion, but instead of the roll of leather thong, his legs were cased in a sort of gaiters, of which one was red and the other yellow. He was provided also with a cap, having around it more than one bell, about the size of those attached to hawks, which jingled as he turned his head to one side or other; and as he seldom remained a minute in the same posture, the sound might be considered as incessant. Around the edge of this cap was a stiff bandeau of leather, cut at the top into open work, resembling a coronet, while a prolonged bag arose from within it, and fell down on one shoulder like an old-fashioned nightcap, or a jelly-bag, or the head-gear of a modern hussar. It was to this part of the cap that the bells were attached; which circumstance, as well as the shape of his head-dress, and his own half-crazed, half-cunning expression of countenance, sufficiently pointed him out as belonging to the race of domestic clowns or jesters, maintained in the houses of the wealthy, to help away the tedium of those lingering hours which they were obliged to spend within doors. He bore, like his companion, a scrip attached to his belt, but had neither horn nor knife, being probably considered as belonging to a class whom it is esteemed dangerous to entrust with edge tools. In place of these, he was equipped with a sword of lath, resembling that with which harlequin operates his wonders upon the modern stage.
The outward appearance of these two men formed scarce a stronger contrast than their look and demeanour. That of the serf, or bondsman, was sad and sullen; his aspect was bent on the ground with an air of deep dejection, which might be almost construed into apathy, had not the fire which occasionally sparkled in his red eye manifested that there slumbered, under the appearance of sullen despondency, a sense of oppression, and a disposition to resistance. The looks of Wamba, on the other hand, indicated, as usualwith his class, a sort of vacant curiosity, and fidgety impatience of any posture of repose, together with the utmost self-satisfaction respecting his own situation and the appearance which he made. The dialogue which they maintained between them was carried on in Anglo-Saxon, which, as we said before, was universally spoken by the inferior classes, excepting the Norman soldiers and the immediate personal dependants of the great feudal nobles. But to give their conversation in the original would convey but little information to the modern reader, for whose benefit we beg to offer the following translation:
"The curse of St. Withold upon these infernal porkers!" said the swineherd, after blowing his horn obstreperously, to collect together the scattered herd of swine, which, answering his call with notes equally melodious, made, however, no haste to remove themselves from the luxurious banquet of beechmast and acorns on which they had fattened, or to forsake the marshy banks of the rivulet, where several of them, half-plunged in mud, lay stretched at their ease, altogether regardless of the voice of their keeper. "The curse of St. Withold upon them and upon me!" said Gurth; "If the two-legged wolf snap not up some of them ere nightfall, I am no true man. Here, Fangs! Fangs!" he ejaculated at the top of his voice to a ragged, wolfish-looking dog, a sort of lurcher, half mastiff, half greyhound, which ran limping about as if with the purpose of seconding his master in collecting the refractory grunters; but which, in fact, from misapprehension of the swineherd's signal, ignorance of his own duty, or malice prepense, only drove them hither and thither, and increased the evil which he seemed to design to remedy. "A devil draw the teeth of him," said Gurth, "and the mother of mischief confound the ranger of the forest, that cuts the fore-claws off our dogs, and makes them unfit for their trade! Wamba, up and help me if thou beest a man; take a turn round the back o' the hill to gain the wind on them; and when thou'st got the weather-gage, thoumayst drive them before thee as gently as so many innocent lambs."
"Truly," said Wamba, without stirring from the spot, "I have consulted my legs upon this matter, and they are altogether of opinion that to carry my gay garments through these sloughs would be an act of unfriendship to my sovereign person and royal wardrobe; wherefore, Gurth, I advise thee to call off Fangs, and leave the herd to their destiny, which, whether they meet with bands of travelling soldiers, or of outlaws, or of wandering pilgrims, can be little else than to be converted into Normans before morning, to thy no small ease and comfort."
"The swine turned Normans to my comfort!" quoth Gurth; "expound that to me, Wamba, for my brain is too dull and my mind too vexed to read riddles."
"Why, how call you those grunting brutes running about on their four legs?" demanded Wamba.
"Swine, fool--swine," said the herd; "every fool knows that."
"And swine is good Saxon," said the Jester; "but how call you the sow when she is flayed, and drawn, and quartered, and hung by up the heels, like a traitor?"
"Pork," answered the swineherd.
"I am very glad every fool knows that too," said Wamba, "and pork, I think, is good Norman-French; and so when the brute lives, and is in the charge of a Saxon slave, she goes by her Saxon name; but becomes a Norman, and is called pork, when she is carried to the castle hall to feast among the nobles. What dost thou think of this, friend Gurth, ha?"
"It is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba, however it got into thy fool's pate."
"Nay, I can tell you more," said Wamba in the same tone. "There is old Alderman Ox who continues to hold his Saxon epithet while he is under the charge of serfs and bondsmen such as thou, but becomes a Beef, a fiery French gallant, when he arrives before the worshipful jaws that are destinedto consume him. Mynherr Calf, too, becomes Monsieur de Veau in the like manner: he's Saxon when he requires tendance, and takes a Norman name when he becomes matter of enjoyment."
"By St. Dunstan," answered Gurth, "thou speakest but sad truths; little is left to us but the air we breathe, and that appears to have been reserved with much hesitation, solely for the purpose of enabling us to endure the tasks they lay upon our shoulders. The finest and the fattest is for their board; the loveliest is for their couch; the best and bravest supply their foreign masters with soldiers, and whiten distant lands with their bones, leaving few here who have either will or the power to protect the unfortunate Saxon. God's blessing on our Master Cedric, he hath done the work of a man in standing in the gap; but Reginald Front-de-Bœuf is coming down to this country in person, and we shall soon see how little Cedric's trouble will avail him. Here, here," he exclaimed again, raising his voice, "So ho! so ho! well done, Fangs! thou hast them all before thee now, and bring'st them on bravely, lad."
"Gurth," said the Jester, "I know thou thinkest me a fool, or thou wouldst not be so rash in putting thy head into thy mouth. One word to Reginald Front-de-Bœuf or Philip de Malvoisin, that thou hast spoken treason against the Norman--and thou art but a castaway swineherd; thou wouldst waver on one of these trees as a terror to all evil speakers against dignities."
"Dog, thou wouldst not betray me," said Gurth, "after having led me on to speak so much at disadvantage?"
"Betray thee!" answered the Jester; "no, that were the trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half so well help himself. But soft, whom have we here?" he said, listening to the trampling of several horses which became then audible.
"Never mind whom," answered Gurth, who had now got his herd before him, and, with the aid of Fangs, was driving them down one of the long dim vistas which we have endeavoured to describe.
"Nay, but I must see the riders," answered Wamba; "perhaps they are come from Fairyland with a message from King Oberon."
"A murrain take thee!" rejoined the swineherd; "wilt thou talk of such things, while a terrible storm of thunder and lightning is raging within a few miles of us? Hark, how the thunder rumbles! and for summer rain, I never saw such broad downright flat drops fall out of the clouds; the oaks, too, notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and creak with their great boughs as if announcing a tempest. Thou canst play the rational if thou wilt; credit me for once, and let us home ere the storm begins to rage, for the night will be fearful."
Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal, and accompanied his companion, who began his journey after catching up a long quarter-staff which lay upon the grass beside him. This second Eumæous strode hastily down the forest glade, driving before him, with the assistance of Fangs, the whole herd of his inharmonious charge.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

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Customer Reviews

This is a classic and I have wanted to read this book since high school (when I chose easier reading).
rtopp
The reason why I had stopped reading the book two-and-a-half times was because the language and syntax seem so very heavy and dense to the modern reader.
DonAthos
Ivanhoe was the first novel set in England written by the great romancer Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) the Scottish lawyer who wrote fiction.
C. M Mills

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

145 of 148 people found the following review helpful By Jonathan B. Sims on May 7, 2001
Format: Mass Market Paperback
It was fashionable during my school days (the 60s and 70s) to dismiss "Ivanhoe" as just another medieval romance replete with damsels in distress and their knights in shining armor. In retrospect, I think that was just a lazy excuse (certainly my own) to avoid wading through this rather lengthy, densely written historical novel. Take my advice, fellow reader: wade through. It is well worth your time and energy.
The story, of course, is set in Merry Ole England, with Richard the Lion-Hearted on the throne and his malevolent kid brother (the future King John of Magna Carta fame) plotting to take it away from him. From the history we do know of this period, King Richard rarely spent any time in England, much preferring to immerse himself in the Crusades or any other errant knight adventure which struck his fancy. In this setting we find the Saxon-bred Ivanhoe, who against his father's wishes joined Richard in the Middle East to fight the "Infidel." Ultimately, Ivanhoe finds his way back into his father's good graces, and I suppose at one level Sir Walter Scott's Classic is about their estrangement and final rapprochement. But "Ivanhoe" is so much more.
Perhaps the over-arching theme to "Ivanhoe" is the nascent reconciliation between the proud, yet vanquished, Saxons and their equally proud, conquering French Norman overlords. The story takes place about a century after the Norman Conquest, and it took a great many more years than that before the antagonists successfully blended together to form the greatest nation on earth. Equally great was the emergence of the language we now call English, which is in large measure a synthesis of the Saxon and Norman tongues.
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86 of 91 people found the following review helpful By T. S. VINE VOICE on September 9, 2009
Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
This the first,the classic, novelized medieval Romance. Written the same year as Queen Victoria's birth, it gave us much of our modern conception of medieval tournaments, King John, Robin Hood, Richard Coeur de Lion, etc. (I realize I stretch things a bit by calling Sir Walter Scott "modern," but I speak only by comparison with medieval ballads, King Arthur, Robin Hood legends, etc.)

If you've ever thought "ok, that was cool" as Robin Hood split an arrow with another arrow at the Great Archery Tournament, or wondered where the idea of Robin Hood as the defender of Saxon yeomanry against the Villainous John of Anjou, Regent for the absent Richard, got its start -- it started here.

The book isn't all about Robin Hood, though; mostly, it's about Knights and Tournaments and foul Norman oppressors. There's a tournament, a trial by combat, a castle seige, a little bit of anti-racist message (in the person of a beautiful and noble-in-spirit Jewish beauty unjustly maligned and accused of witchcraft), multiple anonymous knights (including a Black Knight!), and in short all the important highlights of medieval ballads, conveniently arranged in the format of a historical novel.

Scott's historiography is a little off (for example, at one point a character pretends to be a Franciscan monk, when the order wasn't founded until about twenty years after the novel's action takes place), but Scott does make a real effort to avoid most anachronisms (moreso than many writers of "historical novels"). This kindle edition also includes Scott's introduction and notes, which show that he put real effort into basing many of the events in his book on excerpts from period ballads and tales (rearranging them, of course, as per his authorial prerogative).
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83 of 88 people found the following review helpful By Peter Reeve VINE VOICE on June 21, 2003
Format: Mass Market Paperback
"Ivanhoe" is Romanticism writ large. The author's style is elegant and lucid - often very funny - and the interpolated poetry is fine, too. Dialogue, action and description are all well handled. Scott established the historical novel as a popular literary form, paving the way for Dumas, Fennimore Cooper and countless others since. Fennimore Cooper in particular, was directly inspired to take up writing by Scott's enormous success.

Although he has been criticized for historical errors, Scott includes a wealth of authentic detail and he certainly stays far closer to the truth than Hollywood ever does. (Here's a thought; why have we become ever more demanding of historical accuracy in our authors, yet able to accept the most glaring errors on the cinema screen?) The sensibilities reflected in this book are mostly those of a conservative gentleman and scholar of the nineteenth, rather than twelfth, century. In particular, the depiction of the Jewish characters and the master-servant relationships tells us as much about nineteenth century Britain as about medieval England. Nonetheless, it is in many ways a convincing portrait of life in the Middle Ages. Having lived in what is now the industrial wastescape of South Yorkshire (you saw it in "The Full Monty"), where much of the action of "Ivanhoe" takes place, I enjoyed Scott's vision of a still green and pleasant Merry England where deer roamed vast forests and knights went in search of adventure.

The varied cast of characters is one of the novel's great strengths. The reader cares what happens to them because they are so real. Oddly, the eponymous hero plays a minor, albeit crucial, role in the tale and the putative heroine Rowena is overshadowed by the more interesting Rebecca.
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