Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

257
*See Hume, Giraldus Cambrensis, The Monk of Croyland, and
Pinnock's Catechism.
Ah, where was Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, the unconquerable champion, to defend the castle
against the royal party? A few thrusts from his lance would have spitted the leading
warriors of the King's host: a few cuts from his sword would have put John's forces to rout.
But the lance and sword of Ivanhoe were idle on this occasion. "No, be hanged to me!" said
the knight, bitterly, "THIS is a quarrel in which I can't interfere. Common politeness
forbids. Let yonder ale-swilling Athelstane defend his—ha, ha—WIFE; and my Lady
Rowena guard her—ha, ha, ha—SON." And he laughed wildly and madly; and the
sarcastic, way in which he choked and gurgled out the words "wife" and "son" would have
made you shudder to hear.
When he heard, however, that, on the fourth day of the siege, Athelstane had been slain by
a cannon-ball, (and this time for good, and not to come to life again as he had done before,)
and that the widow (if so the innocent bigamist may be called) was conducting the defence
of Rotherwood herself with the greatest intrepidity, showing herself upon the walls with her
little son, (who bellowed like a bull, and did not like the fighting at all,) pointing the guns
and encouraging the garrison in every way—better feelings returned to the bosom of the
Knight of Ivanhoe, and summoning his men, he armed himself quickly and determined to
go forth to the rescue.
He rode without stopping for two days and two nights in the direction of Rotherwood, with
such swiftness and disregard for refreshment, indeed, that his men dropped one by one
upon the road, and he arrived alone at the lodge-gate of the park. The windows were
smashed; the door stove in; the lodge, a neat little Swiss cottage, with a garden where the
pinafores of Mrs. Gurth's children might have been seen hanging on the gooseberry-bushes
in more peaceful times, was now a ghastly heap of smoking ruins: cottage, bushes,
pinafores, children lay mangled together, destroyed by the licentious soldiery of an infuriate
monarch! Far be it from me to excuse the disobedience of Athelstane and Rowena to their
sovereign; but surely, surely this cruelty might have been spared.
Gurth, who was lodge-keeper, was lying dreadfully wounded and expiring at the flaming
and violated threshold of his lately picturesque home. A catapult and a couple of mangonels
had done his business. The faithful fellow, recognizing his master, who had put up his visor
and forgotten his wig and spectacles in the agitation of the moment, exclaimed, "Sir
Wilfrid! my dear master—praised be St. Waltheof—there may be yet time—my beloved
mistr—master Athelst . . ." He sank back, and never spoke again.
Ivanhoe spurred on his horse Bavieca madly up the chestnut avenue. The castle was before
him; the western tower was in flames; the besiegers were pressing at the southern gate;