“Chivalry! – why, maiden, she is the nurse of pure and high affection – the stay of the oppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the power of the tyrant – Nobility were but an empty name without her, and liberty finds the best protection in her lance and her sword.”

Chivalry is one of the central themes of Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe, a riveting 19^th century tale of medieval romance. However, the words written above – uttered by one of the book’s characters – fail to reflect Scott’s own views on the topic of chivalry. The venerable author wrote Ivanhoe in 1820, spurred by his concern that audiences were growing tired of the Scottish setting of his earlier books. Ivanhoe, then, represented an attempt by Scott – one of the world’s first popular and commercially successful novelists – to reinvent his “brand”. In this, he seems to have succeeded.  Ivanhoe was a runaway success and remains one of Scott’s best loved works, credited with triggering a revival of interest in the Middle Ages during the Victorian period that would influence not just literature but music, theology, and the visual arts.

So great was the influence of Ivanhoe that Scott was to receive the “blame” of later generations for reviving archaic values of honour and chivalry in the modern world. Mark Twain went so far as to accuse Scott of being “in great measure responsible” for the American Civil War, having “had so large a hand in making Southern character, as it existed before the war”. The Southern elite, Twain believed, were burdened with the notion that they were the chivalrous heroes in one of Scott’s romantic novels, and it was this idea that sent the American South down the road of conflict with the North as they struggled to preserve their romantic, aristocratic, agrarian way of life. Twain’s view may seem hyperbolic, but the idea that Scott’s novels were childish fantasies guilty of filling young men’s heads with rubbish has been common amongst the literary critics of succeeding generations. For an author so much adored in his lifetime, Scott has received little in the way of posthumous acclaim.

And yet, Scott’s Ivanhoe is not the idealised vision of medieval life for which it is often remembered. Scott portrays a medieval England of superstition, prejudice, and conflict, where the characters of lower status are often wiser than their social “betters”. The most rigid and inflexible of characters routinely find themselves in trouble because of their dogmatic views, whilst the most sympathetic of the book’s cast more often than not behave in ways that are morally ambiguous, or at least not in line with the law of the day – neither the written law nor the unwritten laws of medieval chivalry. Take, for example, Cedric of Rotherwood. Father to the titular Ivanhoe, Cedric is not an unlikable figure. He demonstrates personal courage and leadership skills and is respected and trusted by those over whom he is in a position of power. And yet Cedric’s bullheadedness causes him no small amount of grief over the course of the novel. A descendant of the old Anglo-Saxon ruling dynasty, Cedric is possessed by an unabating hatred of England’s new Norman rulers. His attitude shows clear parallels to the Jacobite heroes of Scott’s earlier novels, and as with the Jacobites, Cedric’s cause is represented as a sympathetic and romantic one, but the reader can nonetheless see what Cedric cannot – that his efforts are doomed to failure. By contrast, his estranged son makes a name for himself and secures a prosperous future for himself and his family by accommodating the new regime.

Another character standing in stark contrast with Cedric is Locksley, the mysterious archer who is ultimately revealed to be none other than the legendary Robin Hood himself. Robin is a hero, although he’s also an outlaw, and unlike many adaptations of the Robin Hood legend, Ivanhoe does not shirk from the implications of this, the mythical hero showing no small measure of ruthlessness over the course of the book in the cause of the greater good. Robin Hood is certainly the best leader in the novel; compare the heroic King Richard the Lionheart, who is shown as a just and noble man but a neglectful ruler whose stubbornness and lack of interest in the more mundane elements of kingship, we are told, ultimately causes his kingdom a great deal of grief. In this way Scott injects a degree of moral ambiguity into his story. Richard has many good qualities, but is better suited to the role of adventurer than king. Robin Hood is a good man, but he goes against the law and at times demonstrates a flexible moral code quite removed from the conventional Christian morals of the book’s setting, which ultimately makes him a better leader. He nonetheless retains an air of nobility, always managing to avoid going too far in pursuit of his goals and consistently defending the defenceless and innocent against those characters in the book who possess power and have no qualms using it to fulfil their own desires and ambitions, regardless of whom it might hurt.

Chief amongst these is the Templar knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a hypocritical crusader who takes his holy vows about as seriously as he does the law of England – that is, not at all. Bois-Guilbert is a man driven by his passions; he is motivated by a desire for power and for pleasure. His obsession with the virtuous Jewish maiden Rebecca, intertwined with his rivalry with the noble Wilfred of Ivanhoe, drives the novel’s plot to its conclusion. Like all great literary villains, Bois-Guilbert is not entirely lacking in positive characteristics. He is courageous, and has a strong sense of honour, although it is centred around his martial pride rather than any sense of noblesse oblige. What’s more, he seems to be attracted by Rebecca’s intelligence and nobility of character as much as by her physical beauty, showing a degree of depth to his own character.

Rebecca herself is kind, selfless, beautiful, intelligent, and resourceful – she is so wonderful, in fact, that it may seem to some readers as if Scott was trying just a little too hard to counter centuries of anti-Semitic prejudice in English literature. Remarkably, Rebecca is thought to have been based upon a real person, a friend of Scott’s fellow author and acquaintance, Washington Irving – the Jewish American philanthropist, Rebecca Gratz. Her father, Isaac of York, is a more traditional Jewish character, but although the suspicious and avaricious money-lender may stray uncomfortably close to offensive caricatures for many modern readers, he is fundamentally a sympathetic figure. He clearly loves his daughter more than anything, money included, and values wealth precisely because it is the only source of power, status, and – crucially – protection available to him as a Jew.

This is only a small selection of the characters who play a role in Scott’s novel.  As is typical of Scott’s canon, the titular Wilfred of Ivanhoe spends fairly little time in the spotlight; he instead serves as a thread connecting the other characters together, and it is through their eyes that his story is told. Ivanhoe is not perfect; at times he shows rashness of judgement and he shares the prejudices of the book’s other Christian characters towards the Jews, though they do not prevent him from showing kindness to them. He is courageous and chivalrous, but nonetheless more flexible than his father and more pragmatic than his king; it’s these qualities that make him a hero. Ivanhoe is a lengthy novel, and its archaic style may pose a challenge for the modern-day reader, but it is worth the effort. The story is a thrilling one and the book’s plot, setting, and characters are far more nuanced than its critical reputation might suggest. It’s not exactly a historically accurate depiction of the period, as Scott himself acknowledged; the chivalric code central to the theme is anachronistic here, being largely a product of the Late Medieval Period, and it’s highly unlikely that the social division between the “English” (Anglo-Saxon) and “Normans” shown in the book would have persisted into the time of Richard I. But Ivanhoe is a great read for anyone willing to tackle its antiquated prose, and every medievalist should take joy in what remains the definitive romantic novel set in the Middle Ages.