Join us on a captivating journey back to the days of chivalry and romance with Sir Walter Scott's timeless classic, "Ivanhoe." In this episode, we bring to life the tale of Ivanhoe, a noble Saxon knight, as he navigates the tumultuous times of Norman rule in England. With the backdrop of a stormy night at the Castle of Rutherford, tensions rise between the Saxon and Norman guests, setting the stage for a dramatic tale of love, honor, and bravery. Our story unfolds with the mysterious pilgrim, the lovely Lady Rowena, and the proud Cedric the Saxon, as they encounter the haughty Norman knight, Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and the wise Isaac of York. As the narrative progresses, we witness the thrilling tournament at Ashby, where the disinherited knight challenges the Normans, leading to a climactic showdown that tests the limits of courage and loyalty.
Experience the rich tapestry of medieval England as Ivanhoe battles for justice and love, facing formidable foes and overcoming personal trials. With a cast of memorable characters, including the beautiful Rebecca and the valiant King Richard the Lionheart, this episode captures the essence of Scott's epic tale. As the storm rages outside, the bonds of friendship and family are tested within the castle walls, reminding us of the enduring power of love and the timeless struggle for freedom. Tune in to Family Theater's adaptation of "Ivanhoe" and immerse yourself in a world where honor and valor reign supreme.
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Unknown:
Harry and Hans Conry. From Hollywood's mutual network in cooperation with Family Theater Incorporated brings you Macdonald Carey and Hans Comrade in Sir Walter Scott's immortal Ivanhoe. To introduce the drama, your host and narrator, Macdonald Carey.
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Thank you, Dean Baker. I suppose that most of us have our favorite author. I know that I have mine, and he's been so ever since that day long ago when I first picked up the most exciting, intriguing, and romantic historical novel I've ever read. Once I started it, I couldn't put it down any more than I can put it down today if I as much as open it to the first page. This favorite author of mine is sir Walter Scott, and the novel is his famous historical classic, Ivanhoe. That is why it is such a pleasure for me to tell it to you tonight on Family Theatre. Hans Conried will portray the famous knight and of its title.
Come with us then back to the days when knighthood was in flower. The romantic, civilrous days of sir Walter Scott's unforgettable Idaho. The storm that raged that night around the castle of Rutherford, the castle of Cedric the Saxon, was no more tempestuous or violent than were the times. For England was a nation divided. Her arrogant Norman conquerors rolled roughshod over her proud and resentful Saxon people. And her King, Richard the Lionhearted, was captured in the far off holy lands while his feared and hated brother, Prince John, occupied his throne. Aye. The storm that raged that night around the rugged battlements of the Castle Of Sedgwick reflected well the tempestuous temper of the times.
But let me take you now within those castle walls into the huge rafted dining hall. Cedric the Saxon is offering hospitality to several travelers who have sought shelter from the storm. I pray that one day I may return thy hospitality, sir Cedric. Then we shall drink good Norman wine, which I warrant shall forever turn thy tongue against this rough Saxon brew. There spoke Sir Brian de Bois Guilbert, arrogant, haughty Norman knight, but recently returned from the Crusades.
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One of the travelers given shelter this night. I trust so Brienne that she'll not measure the extent of my hospitality by the limitations of thy personal likes and dislikes.
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While you remain here, all within these walls is yours to command. And there spoke rough hewn and honest Cedric, the Saxon, overlord of Rutherford,
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host to the motley gathering. My deepest thanks, sir Cedric, for opening thy gates to a wet and weary merchant. May you and yours be forever blessed for this charitable deed. There is elderly Isaac of York,
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whose high, square, yellow cap of peculiar fashion,
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assigned by law, proclaimed his religion for all to see. But what is this, miss Hedrick? Is the defender of the Holy Sepulchre to be forced to abide the presence of this dog of an unbelief oak? It is well that my guardian's castle does not reserve its hospitality for only those who meet with thy Norman approval, sir Brienne. Else, even those of true sex and antraste
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might not enter here. And there spoke the lovely lady Rowena, Cedric's ward, whose beauty and warmth the spirit could have charmed the flinty heart of the prince of evil himself.
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I have no wish to cause discomfort to thee and thy guests, sir Cedric.
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I can well withdraw. That shall not be necessary, Isaac. There is room here at the fireplace beside me, and food and warmth will appease thy hunger and dry thy clothes. Take thy place then here
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beside me. And thus speaks the last of the trappers, a young pilgrim but recently returned from the Holy Land, whose black cloak with large collar and hood effectively conceals his features. And as Isaac thankfully seats himself at the fire beside the pilgrim, talk at the main table turns to other things. You are traveling then, Sir Brienne, to the passage of arms at Ashby? Aye, sir Cedric, dare to test the strength of my lance against all comers.
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And I pledge thee that if it not be I who wins the chaplain of honor, it shall be another Norman knight. I beg your lead, Sabrina, to state that Saxon chivalry comes second to none, either in tourney or in battle. Surely, you yourself can attest to that, or have you forgotten so soon the passage of arms are darker? Flight take thee, pilgrim, for such a memory. What means the pilgrim by that, sir William?
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He refers to a tourney held by King Richard,
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where my beast of a horse stumbled and caused my falling before the lance of a Saxon knight. A knight of Saxon blood, you say, sir Brienne?
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Aye. And one of little birth and less renowned, my lady. He is the knight of Ivanhoe.
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Ivanhoe.
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By you leave me, honor, please. I must enjoin you from ever mentioning that name in my presence again. It is forbidden within the walls of the Castle Of Rotherford.
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It is shortly after this is Hedwig's startling announcement that the pilgrim makes his way toward the corner to sign him. Then from a side passage, a lovely girl emerges to off the hooded figure's progress.
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May I speak with thee a moment, sir Pilgrim?
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I'm at thy service, lady Ruina.
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You mentioned this evening a noble Saxon night, the night of Ivanhoe. Please, in the name of heaven, if you have any inkling as to where he may be now, I beg thee. Send him urgent word not to set foot on this land.
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Your tone bespeaks much concern for this Ivanhoe, lady Ruina. Yet without more to judge by, I can scarce feel that the knight would listen.
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Not even if it were known that Prince John and his followers, and foremost among the means of Brian de Bois Gilbert, have sworn death to all loyal followers of King Richard?
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For a man who has but little personal reason for living, milady, such a warning might serve only as a challenge.
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Why do you say a little personal reason for living, sir Pilgrim?
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I have heard that Ivanhoe was banished from his father's domain because of love for thee, lady Rowena.
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That is true. His father, my guardian, sir Cedric, wishes me to wed royal Saxon blood. When Ivanhoe professed his love for me despite this,
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his father banished him. Then what joy in life for Ivanhoe unless he knows that this love of his be returned, my lady? What message canst thou send him concerning this?
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Only that I pray he does not risk return to this land. But if he should, then I also pray he be here in time to bear arms at Ashby. For I fear that only a champion of Saxony could alter Ser Cedric's intention to wed me to someone else. A marriage which would forever bar happiness from either of us.
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It is early the next morning when Isaac of York makes his solitary way through the postern gate and rides off in the Sherwood Forest. As scarce as the
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The blessings of a new day upon me, I beg of yours.
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Sir Luger,
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I had not thought that I was the only one forsaking the hospital walls of Rutherford at this early hour. Oh, nay. I too was up and above the times, Isaac, and fortunate for thee that I was. For I overheard Sir Brian de Brogliebert charge his Saracen sleighs with the task of seizing the nearest day and taking me captive to his castle of Tokelstone. But why, sir Pilgrim?
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Why this intended seizure of my person?
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One might hazard that his coffers are in need of gold, Isaac, and he intends using the alchemy of torture to ring it out of a poor soul who would have but little redress.
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It is not enough then that such as he must scorn and despise us. Our worldly possessions, our very blood and bodies must be theirs to command also. Also. Is it we then, sir Pilgrim, who are inhuman?
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In the eyes of God, Isaac, all men are brothers.
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And so I have warned thee. And I with my personal concern have not thanked thee for thy gracious mission. I wish for naught for this poor favor done Isaac.
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For naught, sir Pilgrim. Not even for a goodly steed, a firm lance, and a suit of the finest armor.
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And what fiend prompted that guess, Isaac?
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No fiend. But only the glint of firelight last evening upon the night's chain and spurs of gold that were hidden beneath that Gugun's gown.
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So with eyes as keen of mine, there is little that I can say. True, sir pilgrim.
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But there is much that you can do. I beg thee to take this scroll to a kinsman of mine in Leicester. He has six harnesses of Milan armor and 10 goodly steeds. The choice of these shall be thine.
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And if I were to avail myself of this, largesse, good Isaac.
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Then may the blessings of our father be upon thee. And may thy lance at the Tourney of Ashby be as powerful as the rod of Moses.
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It is color that sets the mood on the day of the tourney at Ashby, the proud colors of the pennants of the combatant knights, the gay and bubbly colors of the towns of their beloved ladies, and the rich green of the thick Turks upon the field of honor, soon to be stained with the red of proud blood as armor clad knights clash in mortal combat for glory and the favorite smile of their lady's head. These ends are the colors of the lists at Ashby.
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Lady Roana, look upon the pennons of those who have so far been victorious this day. Norman Ford. Are there no Saxons left with the courage and will to contest the field with such as these? I once knew of such a knight, sir Cedric.
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One who could indeed have brought honor to the fair name of Saxon England and to your house. Silence, lady, Rowena.
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On this subject, I'll hear you not.
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I shall speak no more of it, sir Cedric. Oh, but look there, settling in the lower stands. What does the merchant Isaac of York? And what a beautiful maiden will do. I wonder who she It is not likely to revel in such bloody sport as it he displayed, father. Now do I find it in my heart to enjoy it, Rebecca. Then why remain? From what the pilgrims said, your very life is in danger from that arrogant Norman knight upon the field. In my humble way, child, I have endeavored to repay the pilgrim's kindness
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by furthering his wishes. Whether I have succeeded should be borne out on that field today.
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I wish to be witness to it. But unless more challenges ride out shortly, the tourney shall be over. And so bring the boy will bear crown champion. What will I
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Ah, I see with that.
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Another challenger is entering the field. And judging by the strange device upon his shield, whatever risks I may have taken shall soon be amply repaid.
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It is the strange device upon the shield of the challenger. A young oak tree uprooted, and the Spanish word desde charles inscribed across, is inherited. And now the disinherited knight guides his fiery black speed toward the pavilions of the Norman knights whose shields hang defiantly from the pennant staffs. Straight to the pavilion of sir Brion de Bois Gilberts arrives, and with the tip of his lance, rudely strikes the proud shield to the ground.
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A road challenge, sir Knights. Your skill and arms had best be more polished. He's customary to answer a challenge with pointed lance rather than dulled words, Sabrina. And whether it shall be answered, sir knights, too well for thy liking. Take thy place in the lists and droop thy last upon the sun.
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Now the two knights ride to opposite ends of the green field, swaying their animals around, and couch their lances. An ominous hush falls off the lists as the two armored giants face each other, and the trumpets give the signal for combat to begin. Then challenger and challenge start toward each other relentlessly with the horses first in a walk, then a trot, a canter, and then the hooves pound furiously against the turf as their masters bend low on their saddles. The fields are held high. The points of their lance are deemed like arrows above each other's breasts. And then with the explosive force of a thunderbolt,
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they meet.
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And the three armed of Roi Gilbert has been unhorsed.
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A lucky hit of the land, sonites. I challenge thee to dismount Sabrina, yield then, or else I life before it. I
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I yield to thee, sir, disinheritance. I yield. And so it was that the great passage of arms at Ashby came to an end. Shortly after, the disinherited knight, his visor still closed, approached the appointed queen of love and beauty, the lady Rowena, to receive the prized chaplet of victory from Panos.
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Great night, thy valorous deeds have earned thee well, this chaplet of honor. But before I bestow it upon thee, is it not meet that thy identity become known?
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I beg of this, dear lady. Allow me to receive the chaplet, still helmeted and unknown. For my house and lineage matter not. Hath it not been said that by a man's deed, so shall he no. So shall he. Oh,
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my. Oh, my. You must be badly hurt. Calm myself, lady, Rowena.
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I'll I'll have his helmet removed in a trite. There. And now we may Sir Cedric,
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with this inherited knight, our Saxon chairman.
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Aye, Rowena. He is my son. The son who, for love of thee, I banished from his sight forever, Ivanhoe.
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Dust is falling over Sherwood Forest as the revenue of Sir Cedric winds its way through the leafy maze down homeward toward the Castle Of Crocodone. At its head rides frowning, dour visaged sir Cedric,
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I tell thee, lady Rowena, I'll have none of him. Let those leach his wounds for whose sake he suffered them. And for whose sake? But not for England.
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Thus thou believe his wounds were suffered, my lord. Surely not for those of Saxon blood.
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Else, why did he wear the armor of Isaac and Rebecca? Why did he not proclaim his identity as a true champion of his people should? Wouldst thou have him then flaunt his banishment in my
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face? Would so have he made open target for those who seek his life as the right hand of King Richard of the Lionheart?
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I
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I must intrude to admit that thy words have somewhat of sense, lady Arena. Consolutly,
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even sore wounded by Sir Brion's Lance to be tended by Isaac and the back house. Yes, sir. Lady In the name of him, miss Sysidic, I beseech my aid. 'Tis the merchant, Isaac.
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Thy aid, noble Sysidic.
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For the sake of our children, thy aid, Sysidic. Children, Ivanhoe and Rebecca, what's transpired, man? Speak quickly. Two hours ago, the Saracen slaves of Brienne attacked my party in these woods.
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They have abducted my daughter, Rebecca, to hold her for ransom. And Ivanhoe?
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What of him, Ivan?
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So wounded as he was, he rode after them to rescue my daughter, scarcely able to bear the weight of armor or sit upright in the saddle. Oh, no. Oh, they must be going to Sabrina's castle then, that of Torkelston.
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And And with two hours start before us, I fear me, Isaac, that our children are lost to us forever.
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The gray and moss brown battlements of the castle talk you stone loom large and forbidding in the dull half light of the sunless dawn. Now at night, reeling in his saddle, reins up his horse and winds his horn in defiant challenge before before the barred iron of her fort, Cullis. A message from him is taken within. A challenge to the overlord of Torquilstone for trial by combat under the laws of chivalry. The prize, the fairer person of the maiden, Rubka. And shortly after, out from the castle walls and across the drawbridge, armed and mounted for mortal battle, rides the ominous, powerful figure of Sir Brian de Bois du Bair.
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Ivan Hall, to enter the field of combat for one such as Rebecca is indeed a fool's challenge. And to do battle with the wounds you suffered at Ashby by my lance is but to invite certain death. The wounds at Saracen hands did not deter me from unharassing you in the holy lands, Apria. And if memory serves, it was you who yielded to me at Ashby despite the hurts to which you refer. So be it then, dog of a section. Take thy lance and prepare for the death you invite.
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And so, once again, arrogant Norman and brave Saxon face each other with couched lances across the green turf of the Field Of Honor. Once again, they move toward each other with loyal intent, flying hooves pounding with earth like drums of doom. And once again, they meet with the fury of the thunderbolt. As the horses recoil from the mighty shock, there stunned and still upon the turf lies Ivanhoe. But then he stirs, staggers to his feet, draws his blade, and with the lion's hut's own battle cry.
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Hey, George. I'm marrying England. He does battle against the furious attack of the still mounted Norman.
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The visor of thy helmet is open, Sabrina. My dagger point is at thy throat. Yieldy now or else I
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Sir, so be it, proud Norman. You have yielded them to a far greater power than I.
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A storm rages round the castle of Rotterdam, the castle of Cedric, the Saxon. But within its huge rafter dining hall, weary travelers are given warming shelter at the massive heart.
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Know ye then all who sit here at me table. A measure of me hospitality is limited not. All within these walls
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is yours to command. There spoke rough feud, honest Cedric, overlord of Rutherford.
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My heart is filled to overflown, sir Cedric, for what you and yours have done for me and mine.
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And surely, thou knowest that my prayers echo those of my father.
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May heaven bless thee forever. There spoke Isaac of York and his fair daughter, Rebecca, who here have found some momentary surcease from the tragic persecution of their kind. Nay, Rebecca,
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Isaac, rather let us thank thee. For if not for you, he who is now my betrothed
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would not this day be alive. There, the lovely lady Rowena, lovelier than ever now, as she turns to gaze at the tall, stalwart night beside her. Aye.
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And the thanks of thy liege, lord,
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Richard of the Lion Heart, go after thee too. For my mission here in England, to scout out his enemies,
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could ne'er have been otherwise accomplished.
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And thus speaks he whose tale now has been told. Pilgrim, disinherited one, chivalrous son of Saxony, and flower of knight serrant, sir Ivanhoe. And we leave him now as he and those he loves in the Castle Of Rutherford toast their brave challenge to the storm raging outside and to the storm of their tempestuous times.
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To Saint George and bury England. To Saint George and bury England.
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You know, here's something I think will interest you. You. During the past two and a half years, hundreds of stars have appeared on family theater. Many of them several times. That's quite a record and one we're all proud of. And why do we enjoy being on family theater? Because its ideals and objectives seem important to us and necessary. It brings us a weekly reminder that individuals and families can obtain God's help by praying for it humbly and sincerely. Many of Family Theatre's regular listeners have written to tell us that they feel as we do, that they enjoy the program and approve of its ideals. We're always glad to receive your critical reactions to Family Theatre. Why not drop us a note and perhaps mention a story you'd like to hear on our program? We'd like to have the opportunity of bringing it to you if we can and with it to send you our reminder that the family that prays together stays together.
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More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.
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From Hollywood, Family Theater has brought to you McDonald Terry and Hans Conried in sir Walter Scott's Ivanhoe. Others in our cast were Jean Bates, Tudor Owen, William Conrad, Lillian Via, and Walter Burke. Our adaptation was written by Sydney Marshall with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed for family theater by Jaime Del Valle. This series of family theater broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who felt the need for this type of program, by the mutual network which has responded to this need, and by the hundreds of stars of stage, screen, and radio who have so unselfishly given of their time and talent to appear on our family theater stage. This is Gene Baker inviting you to join us next week at this time when your family theater will present Anne Blythe and Sterling Holloway in George Laffer's rollicking comedy, in each other's shoes.
Join us, won't you? Family theater is heard in Canada through the facilities of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation and is broadcast to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. This is the world's largest network, the mutual broadcasting system.
Harry and Hans Conry. From Hollywood's mutual network in cooperation with Family Theater Incorporated brings you Macdonald Carey and Hans Comrade in Sir Walter Scott's immortal Ivanhoe. To introduce the drama, your host and narrator, Macdonald Carey.
[00:00:40] Unknown:
Thank you, Dean Baker. I suppose that most of us have our favorite author. I know that I have mine, and he's been so ever since that day long ago when I first picked up the most exciting, intriguing, and romantic historical novel I've ever read. Once I started it, I couldn't put it down any more than I can put it down today if I as much as open it to the first page. This favorite author of mine is sir Walter Scott, and the novel is his famous historical classic, Ivanhoe. That is why it is such a pleasure for me to tell it to you tonight on Family Theatre. Hans Conried will portray the famous knight and of its title.
Come with us then back to the days when knighthood was in flower. The romantic, civilrous days of sir Walter Scott's unforgettable Idaho. The storm that raged that night around the castle of Rutherford, the castle of Cedric the Saxon, was no more tempestuous or violent than were the times. For England was a nation divided. Her arrogant Norman conquerors rolled roughshod over her proud and resentful Saxon people. And her King, Richard the Lionhearted, was captured in the far off holy lands while his feared and hated brother, Prince John, occupied his throne. Aye. The storm that raged that night around the rugged battlements of the Castle Of Sedgwick reflected well the tempestuous temper of the times.
But let me take you now within those castle walls into the huge rafted dining hall. Cedric the Saxon is offering hospitality to several travelers who have sought shelter from the storm. I pray that one day I may return thy hospitality, sir Cedric. Then we shall drink good Norman wine, which I warrant shall forever turn thy tongue against this rough Saxon brew. There spoke Sir Brian de Bois Guilbert, arrogant, haughty Norman knight, but recently returned from the Crusades.
[00:02:46] Unknown:
One of the travelers given shelter this night. I trust so Brienne that she'll not measure the extent of my hospitality by the limitations of thy personal likes and dislikes.
[00:02:57] Unknown:
While you remain here, all within these walls is yours to command. And there spoke rough hewn and honest Cedric, the Saxon, overlord of Rutherford,
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host to the motley gathering. My deepest thanks, sir Cedric, for opening thy gates to a wet and weary merchant. May you and yours be forever blessed for this charitable deed. There is elderly Isaac of York,
[00:03:19] Unknown:
whose high, square, yellow cap of peculiar fashion,
[00:03:23] Unknown:
assigned by law, proclaimed his religion for all to see. But what is this, miss Hedrick? Is the defender of the Holy Sepulchre to be forced to abide the presence of this dog of an unbelief oak? It is well that my guardian's castle does not reserve its hospitality for only those who meet with thy Norman approval, sir Brienne. Else, even those of true sex and antraste
[00:03:43] Unknown:
might not enter here. And there spoke the lovely lady Rowena, Cedric's ward, whose beauty and warmth the spirit could have charmed the flinty heart of the prince of evil himself.
[00:03:54] Unknown:
I have no wish to cause discomfort to thee and thy guests, sir Cedric.
[00:03:58] Unknown:
I can well withdraw. That shall not be necessary, Isaac. There is room here at the fireplace beside me, and food and warmth will appease thy hunger and dry thy clothes. Take thy place then here
[00:04:12] Unknown:
beside me. And thus speaks the last of the trappers, a young pilgrim but recently returned from the Holy Land, whose black cloak with large collar and hood effectively conceals his features. And as Isaac thankfully seats himself at the fire beside the pilgrim, talk at the main table turns to other things. You are traveling then, Sir Brienne, to the passage of arms at Ashby? Aye, sir Cedric, dare to test the strength of my lance against all comers.
[00:04:38] Unknown:
And I pledge thee that if it not be I who wins the chaplain of honor, it shall be another Norman knight. I beg your lead, Sabrina, to state that Saxon chivalry comes second to none, either in tourney or in battle. Surely, you yourself can attest to that, or have you forgotten so soon the passage of arms are darker? Flight take thee, pilgrim, for such a memory. What means the pilgrim by that, sir William?
[00:05:03] Unknown:
He refers to a tourney held by King Richard,
[00:05:07] Unknown:
where my beast of a horse stumbled and caused my falling before the lance of a Saxon knight. A knight of Saxon blood, you say, sir Brienne?
[00:05:15] Unknown:
Aye. And one of little birth and less renowned, my lady. He is the knight of Ivanhoe.
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Ivanhoe.
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By you leave me, honor, please. I must enjoin you from ever mentioning that name in my presence again. It is forbidden within the walls of the Castle Of Rotherford.
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It is shortly after this is Hedwig's startling announcement that the pilgrim makes his way toward the corner to sign him. Then from a side passage, a lovely girl emerges to off the hooded figure's progress.
[00:05:59] Unknown:
May I speak with thee a moment, sir Pilgrim?
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I'm at thy service, lady Ruina.
[00:06:05] Unknown:
You mentioned this evening a noble Saxon night, the night of Ivanhoe. Please, in the name of heaven, if you have any inkling as to where he may be now, I beg thee. Send him urgent word not to set foot on this land.
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Your tone bespeaks much concern for this Ivanhoe, lady Ruina. Yet without more to judge by, I can scarce feel that the knight would listen.
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Not even if it were known that Prince John and his followers, and foremost among the means of Brian de Bois Gilbert, have sworn death to all loyal followers of King Richard?
[00:06:44] Unknown:
For a man who has but little personal reason for living, milady, such a warning might serve only as a challenge.
[00:06:51] Unknown:
Why do you say a little personal reason for living, sir Pilgrim?
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I have heard that Ivanhoe was banished from his father's domain because of love for thee, lady Rowena.
[00:07:03] Unknown:
That is true. His father, my guardian, sir Cedric, wishes me to wed royal Saxon blood. When Ivanhoe professed his love for me despite this,
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his father banished him. Then what joy in life for Ivanhoe unless he knows that this love of his be returned, my lady? What message canst thou send him concerning this?
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Only that I pray he does not risk return to this land. But if he should, then I also pray he be here in time to bear arms at Ashby. For I fear that only a champion of Saxony could alter Ser Cedric's intention to wed me to someone else. A marriage which would forever bar happiness from either of us.
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It is early the next morning when Isaac of York makes his solitary way through the postern gate and rides off in the Sherwood Forest. As scarce as the
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The blessings of a new day upon me, I beg of yours.
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Sir Luger,
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I had not thought that I was the only one forsaking the hospital walls of Rutherford at this early hour. Oh, nay. I too was up and above the times, Isaac, and fortunate for thee that I was. For I overheard Sir Brian de Brogliebert charge his Saracen sleighs with the task of seizing the nearest day and taking me captive to his castle of Tokelstone. But why, sir Pilgrim?
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Why this intended seizure of my person?
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One might hazard that his coffers are in need of gold, Isaac, and he intends using the alchemy of torture to ring it out of a poor soul who would have but little redress.
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It is not enough then that such as he must scorn and despise us. Our worldly possessions, our very blood and bodies must be theirs to command also. Also. Is it we then, sir Pilgrim, who are inhuman?
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In the eyes of God, Isaac, all men are brothers.
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And so I have warned thee. And I with my personal concern have not thanked thee for thy gracious mission. I wish for naught for this poor favor done Isaac.
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For naught, sir Pilgrim. Not even for a goodly steed, a firm lance, and a suit of the finest armor.
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And what fiend prompted that guess, Isaac?
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No fiend. But only the glint of firelight last evening upon the night's chain and spurs of gold that were hidden beneath that Gugun's gown.
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So with eyes as keen of mine, there is little that I can say. True, sir pilgrim.
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But there is much that you can do. I beg thee to take this scroll to a kinsman of mine in Leicester. He has six harnesses of Milan armor and 10 goodly steeds. The choice of these shall be thine.
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And if I were to avail myself of this, largesse, good Isaac.
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Then may the blessings of our father be upon thee. And may thy lance at the Tourney of Ashby be as powerful as the rod of Moses.
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It is color that sets the mood on the day of the tourney at Ashby, the proud colors of the pennants of the combatant knights, the gay and bubbly colors of the towns of their beloved ladies, and the rich green of the thick Turks upon the field of honor, soon to be stained with the red of proud blood as armor clad knights clash in mortal combat for glory and the favorite smile of their lady's head. These ends are the colors of the lists at Ashby.
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Lady Roana, look upon the pennons of those who have so far been victorious this day. Norman Ford. Are there no Saxons left with the courage and will to contest the field with such as these? I once knew of such a knight, sir Cedric.
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One who could indeed have brought honor to the fair name of Saxon England and to your house. Silence, lady, Rowena.
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On this subject, I'll hear you not.
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I shall speak no more of it, sir Cedric. Oh, but look there, settling in the lower stands. What does the merchant Isaac of York? And what a beautiful maiden will do. I wonder who she It is not likely to revel in such bloody sport as it he displayed, father. Now do I find it in my heart to enjoy it, Rebecca. Then why remain? From what the pilgrims said, your very life is in danger from that arrogant Norman knight upon the field. In my humble way, child, I have endeavored to repay the pilgrim's kindness
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by furthering his wishes. Whether I have succeeded should be borne out on that field today.
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I wish to be witness to it. But unless more challenges ride out shortly, the tourney shall be over. And so bring the boy will bear crown champion. What will I
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Ah, I see with that.
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Another challenger is entering the field. And judging by the strange device upon his shield, whatever risks I may have taken shall soon be amply repaid.
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It is the strange device upon the shield of the challenger. A young oak tree uprooted, and the Spanish word desde charles inscribed across, is inherited. And now the disinherited knight guides his fiery black speed toward the pavilions of the Norman knights whose shields hang defiantly from the pennant staffs. Straight to the pavilion of sir Brion de Bois Gilberts arrives, and with the tip of his lance, rudely strikes the proud shield to the ground.
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A road challenge, sir Knights. Your skill and arms had best be more polished. He's customary to answer a challenge with pointed lance rather than dulled words, Sabrina. And whether it shall be answered, sir knights, too well for thy liking. Take thy place in the lists and droop thy last upon the sun.
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Now the two knights ride to opposite ends of the green field, swaying their animals around, and couch their lances. An ominous hush falls off the lists as the two armored giants face each other, and the trumpets give the signal for combat to begin. Then challenger and challenge start toward each other relentlessly with the horses first in a walk, then a trot, a canter, and then the hooves pound furiously against the turf as their masters bend low on their saddles. The fields are held high. The points of their lance are deemed like arrows above each other's breasts. And then with the explosive force of a thunderbolt,
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they meet.
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And the three armed of Roi Gilbert has been unhorsed.
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A lucky hit of the land, sonites. I challenge thee to dismount Sabrina, yield then, or else I life before it. I
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I yield to thee, sir, disinheritance. I yield. And so it was that the great passage of arms at Ashby came to an end. Shortly after, the disinherited knight, his visor still closed, approached the appointed queen of love and beauty, the lady Rowena, to receive the prized chaplet of victory from Panos.
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Great night, thy valorous deeds have earned thee well, this chaplet of honor. But before I bestow it upon thee, is it not meet that thy identity become known?
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I beg of this, dear lady. Allow me to receive the chaplet, still helmeted and unknown. For my house and lineage matter not. Hath it not been said that by a man's deed, so shall he no. So shall he. Oh,
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my. Oh, my. You must be badly hurt. Calm myself, lady, Rowena.
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I'll I'll have his helmet removed in a trite. There. And now we may Sir Cedric,
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with this inherited knight, our Saxon chairman.
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Aye, Rowena. He is my son. The son who, for love of thee, I banished from his sight forever, Ivanhoe.
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Dust is falling over Sherwood Forest as the revenue of Sir Cedric winds its way through the leafy maze down homeward toward the Castle Of Crocodone. At its head rides frowning, dour visaged sir Cedric,
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I tell thee, lady Rowena, I'll have none of him. Let those leach his wounds for whose sake he suffered them. And for whose sake? But not for England.
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Thus thou believe his wounds were suffered, my lord. Surely not for those of Saxon blood.
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Else, why did he wear the armor of Isaac and Rebecca? Why did he not proclaim his identity as a true champion of his people should? Wouldst thou have him then flaunt his banishment in my
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face? Would so have he made open target for those who seek his life as the right hand of King Richard of the Lionheart?
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I
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I must intrude to admit that thy words have somewhat of sense, lady Arena. Consolutly,
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even sore wounded by Sir Brion's Lance to be tended by Isaac and the back house. Yes, sir. Lady In the name of him, miss Sysidic, I beseech my aid. 'Tis the merchant, Isaac.
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Thy aid, noble Sysidic.
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For the sake of our children, thy aid, Sysidic. Children, Ivanhoe and Rebecca, what's transpired, man? Speak quickly. Two hours ago, the Saracen slaves of Brienne attacked my party in these woods.
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They have abducted my daughter, Rebecca, to hold her for ransom. And Ivanhoe?
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What of him, Ivan?
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So wounded as he was, he rode after them to rescue my daughter, scarcely able to bear the weight of armor or sit upright in the saddle. Oh, no. Oh, they must be going to Sabrina's castle then, that of Torkelston.
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And And with two hours start before us, I fear me, Isaac, that our children are lost to us forever.
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The gray and moss brown battlements of the castle talk you stone loom large and forbidding in the dull half light of the sunless dawn. Now at night, reeling in his saddle, reins up his horse and winds his horn in defiant challenge before before the barred iron of her fort, Cullis. A message from him is taken within. A challenge to the overlord of Torquilstone for trial by combat under the laws of chivalry. The prize, the fairer person of the maiden, Rubka. And shortly after, out from the castle walls and across the drawbridge, armed and mounted for mortal battle, rides the ominous, powerful figure of Sir Brian de Bois du Bair.
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Ivan Hall, to enter the field of combat for one such as Rebecca is indeed a fool's challenge. And to do battle with the wounds you suffered at Ashby by my lance is but to invite certain death. The wounds at Saracen hands did not deter me from unharassing you in the holy lands, Apria. And if memory serves, it was you who yielded to me at Ashby despite the hurts to which you refer. So be it then, dog of a section. Take thy lance and prepare for the death you invite.
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And so, once again, arrogant Norman and brave Saxon face each other with couched lances across the green turf of the Field Of Honor. Once again, they move toward each other with loyal intent, flying hooves pounding with earth like drums of doom. And once again, they meet with the fury of the thunderbolt. As the horses recoil from the mighty shock, there stunned and still upon the turf lies Ivanhoe. But then he stirs, staggers to his feet, draws his blade, and with the lion's hut's own battle cry.
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Hey, George. I'm marrying England. He does battle against the furious attack of the still mounted Norman.
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The visor of thy helmet is open, Sabrina. My dagger point is at thy throat. Yieldy now or else I
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Sir, so be it, proud Norman. You have yielded them to a far greater power than I.
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A storm rages round the castle of Rotterdam, the castle of Cedric, the Saxon. But within its huge rafter dining hall, weary travelers are given warming shelter at the massive heart.
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Know ye then all who sit here at me table. A measure of me hospitality is limited not. All within these walls
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is yours to command. There spoke rough feud, honest Cedric, overlord of Rutherford.
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My heart is filled to overflown, sir Cedric, for what you and yours have done for me and mine.
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And surely, thou knowest that my prayers echo those of my father.
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May heaven bless thee forever. There spoke Isaac of York and his fair daughter, Rebecca, who here have found some momentary surcease from the tragic persecution of their kind. Nay, Rebecca,
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Isaac, rather let us thank thee. For if not for you, he who is now my betrothed
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would not this day be alive. There, the lovely lady Rowena, lovelier than ever now, as she turns to gaze at the tall, stalwart night beside her. Aye.
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And the thanks of thy liege, lord,
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Richard of the Lion Heart, go after thee too. For my mission here in England, to scout out his enemies,
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could ne'er have been otherwise accomplished.
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And thus speaks he whose tale now has been told. Pilgrim, disinherited one, chivalrous son of Saxony, and flower of knight serrant, sir Ivanhoe. And we leave him now as he and those he loves in the Castle Of Rutherford toast their brave challenge to the storm raging outside and to the storm of their tempestuous times.
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To Saint George and bury England. To Saint George and bury England.
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You know, here's something I think will interest you. You. During the past two and a half years, hundreds of stars have appeared on family theater. Many of them several times. That's quite a record and one we're all proud of. And why do we enjoy being on family theater? Because its ideals and objectives seem important to us and necessary. It brings us a weekly reminder that individuals and families can obtain God's help by praying for it humbly and sincerely. Many of Family Theatre's regular listeners have written to tell us that they feel as we do, that they enjoy the program and approve of its ideals. We're always glad to receive your critical reactions to Family Theatre. Why not drop us a note and perhaps mention a story you'd like to hear on our program? We'd like to have the opportunity of bringing it to you if we can and with it to send you our reminder that the family that prays together stays together.
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More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.
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From Hollywood, Family Theater has brought to you McDonald Terry and Hans Conried in sir Walter Scott's Ivanhoe. Others in our cast were Jean Bates, Tudor Owen, William Conrad, Lillian Via, and Walter Burke. Our adaptation was written by Sydney Marshall with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed for family theater by Jaime Del Valle. This series of family theater broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who felt the need for this type of program, by the mutual network which has responded to this need, and by the hundreds of stars of stage, screen, and radio who have so unselfishly given of their time and talent to appear on our family theater stage. This is Gene Baker inviting you to join us next week at this time when your family theater will present Anne Blythe and Sterling Holloway in George Laffer's rollicking comedy, in each other's shoes.
Join us, won't you? Family theater is heard in Canada through the facilities of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation and is broadcast to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. This is the world's largest network, the mutual broadcasting system.
