Ivanhoe (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (85 page)

Sir Walter Scott had not all those aids of which his successors and imitators may take advantage. The historical romance was as much a distinct species of prose narrative fiction as the historical play was of dramatic poetry. He, however, had sufficient tact to detect at once the way in which it should be conducted, and continued to work upon the same principle, notwithstanding the warnings and oppositions of critics not submissive to the authority of contemporary genius, nor finding their canon of rules in the nature of the productions themselves, but reasoning from analogy, if not deciding on the grounds of hereditary prejudices.

—from an unsigned review printed in
Fraser’s Magazine
(February 1832)

 

Many exceptions have been taken to the detail of mediaeval life as it is described to us in
Ivanhoe,
but one merit will always remain to it, and will be enough to secure to it immense popularity. It describes the middle ages as we should have wished them to have been. We do not mean that the delineation satisfies those accomplished admirers of the old church system who fancy that they have found among the prelates and barons of the fourteenth century a close approximation to the theocracy which they would recommend for our adoption. On the contrary, the theological merits of the middle ages are not prominent in Scott’s delineation. ‘Dogma’ was not his way: a cheerful man of the world is not anxious for a precise definition of peculiar doctrines. The charm of
Ivanhoe
is addressed to a simpler sort of imagination,—to that kind of boyish fancy which idolises mediaeval society as the ‘fighting time.’ Every boy has heard of tournaments, and has a firm persuasion that in an age of tournaments life was thoroughly well understood. A martial society, where men fought hand to hand on good horses with large lances, in peace for pleasure, and in war for business, seems the very ideal of perfection to a bold and simply fanciful boy. Ivanhoe spreads before him the full landscape of such a realm, with Richard Coeur-de-Lion, a black horse, and the passage of arms at Ashby. Of course he admires it, and thinks there was never such a writer, and will never more be such a world. And a mature critic will share his admiration, at least to the extent of admitting that nowhere else have the elements of a martial romance been so gorgeously accumulated without becoming oppressive; their fanciful charm been so powerfully delineated, and yet so constantly relieved by touches of vigorous sagacity.

—from an unsigned review in the
National Review
(April 1858)

 

It is almost ungrateful to criticize [Scott] . He, least of all, would have invited or sanctioned any curious investigation of his works. They were written without pretence: all that has been claimed for them has been claimed by others than their author. They are emphatically works of entertainment. As such let us cherish and preserve them. Say what we will, we should be very sorry to lose, and equally sorry to mend them. There are few of us but can become sentimental over the uncounted hours they have cost us. There are moments of high-strung sympathy with the spirit which is abroad when we might find them rather dull—in parts; but they are capital books to have read. Who would forego the companionship of all those shadowy figures which stand side by side in their morocco niches in yonder mahogany cathedral? What youth would willingly close his eyes upon that dazzling array of female forms,—so serried that he can hardly see where to choose,—Rebecca of York, Edith Plantagenet, Mary of Scotland, sweet Lucy Ashton? What maiden would consent to drop the dear acquaintance of Halbert Glendinning, of Wilfred of Ivanhoe, of Roland Græme and Henry Morton? Scott was a born story-teller: we can give him no higher praise. Surveying his works, his character, his method, as a whole, we can liken him to nothing better than to a strong and kindly elder brother, who gathers his juvenile public about him at eventide, and pours out a stream of wondrous improvisation. Who cannot remember an experience like this? On no occasion are the delights of fiction so intense. Fiction? These are the triumphs of fact. In the richness of his invention and memory, in the infinitude of his knowledge, in his improvidence for the future, in the skill with which he answers, or rather parries, sudden questions, in his low-voiced pathos and his resounding merriment, he is identical with the ideal fireside chronicler. And thoroughly to enjoy him, we must again become as credulous as children at twilight.

—from an unsigned review in the
North American Review
(October 1864)

 

 

A curious exemplification of the power of a single book for good or harm is shown in the effects wrought by
Don Quixote
and those wrought by
Ivanhoe.
The first swept the world’s admiration for the mediæval chivalry-silliness out of existence; and the other restored it. As far as our South is concerned, the good work done by Cervantes is pretty nearly a dead letter, so effectually has Scott’s pernicious work undermined it.

—from
Life on the Mississippi
(1883)

1. Professor Wood reminds us of parallels between the circumstances of the time in which
Ivanhoe
was written and those of the time in which it was set. He also reminds us why, later, American southerners found it attractive. But the novel has had, and continues to have, many readers who know nothing about such matters. What is its appeal?

2. Is the artificial dialogue in
Ivanhoe
a problem? Think how hard it would be to recover the colloquial English of Ivanhoe’s time. If you wanted to write a sequel, how would you solve the problem, on the one hand, of avoiding anachronisms and, on the other, of writing dialogue that is true to the way people spoke at that time? How would you know what was accurate and what was a product of your imagination?

3. How would you describe the function of the material about Robin Hood within the novel as a whole? Do he and his band serve as an implied commentary on the lifestyles of the other characters? Does he represent another, alternative way of living?

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