Ivanhoe, Walter Scott [philippa perry book .txt] 📗

capital. 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—O, 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 Saint Bernard hath prescribed to us in the forty-fifth capital of our rule, Ut Leo semper feriatur.49 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 refaction; 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 potherbs.⁠—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 Saint 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.50 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!⁠—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