In the first pages of Ivanhoe, Scott crafts an idyllic pastoral scene of the forest, employing visual imagery to evoke a romanticized vision of ancient England:
The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades of that forest [...] Hundreds of broad short-stemmed oaks, which had witnessed perhaps the stately march of the Roman soldiery, flung their broad gnarled arms over a thick carpet of the most delicious green sward [...] in the intricacy of which the eye delights to lose itself, while imagination considers them as the paths to yet wilder scenes of sylvan solitude. Here the red rays of the sun shot a broken and discoloured light, that partially hung upon the scattered boughs and mossy trunks of the trees [...]
The author’s use of imagery to describe the forest scene is rich in "intricacies" of contrasting colors and shapes. The description of the setting sun’s red glow in contrast to the “delicious green sward” of the forest is particularly striking. The sun doesn’t just touch the scene, but has "shot a broken and discoloured light" on the trunks and boughs of the trees, hanging there as if the light is a material object. This play of light and shadow gives the scene a mystical, almost supernatural quality, as if the forest could actually catch and keep light within itself.
This portrayal of the forest as a serene and untouched wilderness of “hundreds” of trees evokes the classic vision of "merrie England." This trope—common to the Romance genre and to stories about England in the Middle Ages—is a romanticized notion of England's past as a land of enchanting woods, happy peasants, rosy-cheeked nobles, and majestic landscapes. Scott's imagery in this early passage does more than just represent what the reader would “see” in the woods. It invites them to think about Ivanhoe as occurring in a place of “wilder sylvan solitude,” a time and place where history and mythology tangle and blur.
As Cedric sits anxiously "musing" on the throne in his great hall, he’s suddenly disturbed by a loud report from a horn. When this happens, Scott utilizes auditory imagery to capture the chaos of a military and canine uproar:
From his musing, Cedric was suddenly awakened by the blast of a horn, which was replied to by the clamorous yells and barking of all the dogs in the hall, and some twenty or thirty which were quartered in other parts of the building. It cost much exercise of the white truncheon, well seconded by the exertions of the domestics, to silence this canine clamour.
The auditory imagery in this passage vividly brings to life the overwhelming noise that interrupts Cedric's daydreams. The hall around him suddenly seems chaotic and enormous, which Scott emphasizes through the echoing din of horn blasts and barking dogs. The description of the "clamorous yells and barking of all the dogs in the hall" immediately immerses the reader in the scene, making them feel the shock and chaos of a rude military awakening.
The imagery of the noise reverberating throughout the hall heightens the sense of disruption Cedric feels, especially as he’s immediately forced to get up and calm down the dogs. His effort "to silence this canine clamour" through "much exercise of the white truncheon" and calling upon the "exertions of the domestics" underscores the extent to which the horn-blast destroys the peace of the scene. It’s so disruptive that it alerts every dog in the building, all of whom have to be beaten with Cedric’s “white truncheon” or otherwise silenced.
Bois-Guilbert's appearance is substantially altered when he returns to England from the Crusades. Scott uses visual imagery to emphasize both his commanding presence and the arrogance that undermines it when he and prior Aymer join Cedric in his Hall:
The appearance of the Knight Templar was also changed; and, though less studiously bedecked with ornament, his dress was as rich, and his appearance far more commanding than that of his companion. [...] Nothing could be more majestic than his step and manner, had they not been marked by a predominant air of haughtiness, easily acquired by the exercise of unresisted authority.
The visual imagery of Bois-Guilbert’s minimally ornamented yet expensive dress shows the Knight Templar’s preference for letting the quality of the rare materials stand on its own. His choice of attire is an unmistakeable assertion of status and wealth. The lack of ostentatious decoration paradoxically highlights his prestige; his clothes are made of such expensive materials that they don’t need to be ornamented. The “richness” of his simple attire—especially when described in contrast to the more decorated dress of Prior Aymer—points to his power and wealth.
However, even though his clothes are of the best quality, they don’t quite do the work of making him seem “majestic.” Even though he’s expensively dressed, he seems haughty and arrogant. Scott tells the reader that Bois-Guilbert is too used to "unresisted authority," hinting at the danger of power not balanced by humility. Although he’s clearly rich and powerful, his arrogance undermines any “majesty” his appearance might otherwise have. Cedric is already suspicious of the Knight Templar, and his new resplendent clothing doesn't impress the Saxon lord.
When Bois-Guilbert visits Cedric in Chapter 5 of Volume 1, Scott uses a simile and visual imagery to depict the intensity of his gaze upon Rowena when he first sees her. This highlights the extreme discomfort his gaze causes both her and her guardian Cedric:
When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar’s eyes bent on her with an ardour, that, compared with the dark caverns under which they moved, gave them the effect of lighted charcoal, she drew with dignity the veil around her face, as an intimation that the determined freedom of his glance was disagreeable. Cedric saw the motion and its cause. ‘Sir Templar,’ said he, ‘the cheeks of our Saxon maidens have seen too little of the sun to enable them to bear the fixed glance of a crusader.’
In this scene, Bois-Guilbert's gaze is so hungry and desirous that Cedric feels compelled to tell him to look away. Describing Bois-Guilbert's eyes as being like "lighted charcoal" conveys the intense, dangerous quality of his gaze. This imagery does more than just inform the reader that his face is dark, intense, and “cavernous.” It suggests that the “darkness” of his appearance actually reveals something about Bois-Guilbert’s character. His eyes are so penetrating that they seem to glow from within, as if they are shedding an uncomfortable amount of heat onto Rowena. She actually draws her veil as a shield between herself and the Knight Templar, signaling her desire to protect herself from his metaphorically burning eyes.
Cedric's intervention extends the metaphor of heat and intensity. He chastises Bois-Guilbert for staring at Rowena, suggesting that Rowena’s “cheeks” are not used to burning either from the “sun” or the “fixed glance of a crusader.” This comparison also subtly invokes a cultural contrast between the Norman Bois-Guilbert and the Saxons Rowena and Cedric. Cedric's words reinforce the notion that Bois-Guilbert's gaze, like that of any Norman crusader, is as potentially harmful as burning, excessive sunlight. He subtly critiques Bois-Guilbert and the Crusaders in general, while also further illustrating the discomfort and danger the other man’s stare represents to Rowena.
Scott vividly describes the Ashby jousting field's lists before the tournament begins, using visual imagery to highlight the stark contrasts between nobility and poverty. The scene as a whole is a useful microcosm of the social strata of Ivanhoe’s world, where the "fabric" of English society is described in the same terms as velvet or silk might be compared to burlap:
The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. The sloping galleries were crowded with all that was noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful in the northern and midland parts of England; and the contrast of the various dresses of these dignified spectators, rendered the view as gay as it was rich, while the interior and lower space, filled with the substantial burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, in their more plain attire, a dark fringe, or border, around this circle of brilliant embroidery, relieving, and, at the same time, setting off its splendour.
The splendidly colorful attire of the nobles, which Scott describes as "rich and gay", displays their wealth and status. In the medieval context of the novel, bright colors and fancy fabrics were not just aesthetic choices. Dyes were expensive and importing fabrics and materials even more so, so clothes like this were unmistakable symbols of affluence and power. The ability to afford these garments distinguished the elite from the common folk who lived on the land they owned. Their attire was generally more functional and made from natural, less expensive materials. This distinction in dress was a visual signifier of the economic disparities of the time. Serfs like Gurth, who were enslaved people living on the estates of the wealthy, would have had even less choice in their attire.
Scott's depiction of the “galleries” of the lists surrounded by the "dark fringe" of the poorer classes represents this difference between haves and have-nots literally. At an event like the Ashby tournament, wealthy people would be seated behind the barriers that surrounded the arena, while the poorer attendees would stand around and underneath them. In the image Scott creates for the reader here, the "brilliant embroidery" of the nobles is set against the plainer, darker clothing of the lesser members of society. This both “relieves” the brightness of the wealthy people’s outfits and emphasizes it, making them seem more glamorous in comparison.
In the dungeons of Torquilstone, Front-de-Boeuf attempts to terrify the imprisoned Isaac by vividly describing how he plans to torture him. He describes how he intends to do so using a simile and a metaphor referring to cooking meat:
‘Seest thou, Isaac [...] the range of iron bars above that glowing charcoal? – on that warm couch thou shalt lie, stripped of thy clothes as if thou wert to rest on a bed of down. One of these slaves shall maintain the fire beneath thee, while the other shall anoint thy wretched limbs with oil, lest the roast should burn.'
Front-de-Boeuf’s descriptions of his impending actions are deliberately vague and delicate, as if even he can’t bear to literally describe roasting Isaac alive. The simile here compares the iron bars of the stove heated by charcoal to a "bed of down” upon which Isaac will lie. This serves to underscore the cruelty and sadism of the planned torture in a manner that's chillingly understated. By presenting the searing-hot stove as a pleasant place to rest, Front-de-Boeuf mocks Isaac's pain. If Isaac cannot produce the enormous ransom he demands, Front-de-Boeuf states, he will roast him alive. This contrast between the expected comfort of a bed of down and the reality of a torture device ingeniously plays on Isaac's fears, amplifying the horror of the situation through the use of language that minimizes the horrifying pain to come.
The metaphor Front-de-Bouef then uses adds another dimension to the shocking imagery. Isaac is forced to listen to an explanation of how his roasting flesh will be prevented from “burning” by being daubed with oil. Comparing Isaac’s living body to meat that is being carefully cooked provides a grim visual and tactile sense of the torture for the reader. This depiction is also very dehumanizing, reducing Isaac to nothing more than a piece of meat to be cooked. The detail of slaves maintaining the fire and anointing Isaac's limbs with oil to prevent burning adds a grotesque realism to his torturer’s threats. This brutal passage reinforces Front-de-Boeuf’s cruelty and the extremity of the peril that Isaac faces, making the reader feel a nauseating sense of dread.
In this dramatic moment, the author employs visual imagery and hyperbole to underscore the intensity of Bois-Guilbert’s attempt to "save" Rebecca amidst the chaos of the burning castle Torquilstone (while neglecting the wounded Ivanhoe, who lies stricken in the background):
At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, and the Templar presented himself, – a ghastly figure, for his gilded armour was both broken and bloody, and the plume was partly shorn away, partly burned from his casque. ‘I have found thee,’ said he to Rebecca; ‘thou shalt prove I will keep my word to share weal and woe with thee – There is but one path to safety, I have cut my way through fifty dangers to point it to thee – up, and instantly follow me.’
As Bois-Guilbert bursts onto the scene, Scott uses intense visual imagery to make the reader “see” his dramatic entrance. His "gilded armour," which had previously been burnished and sparkling, is now "broken and bloody." Even the decorations on his head haven’t survived: the “plume” that decorates his helmet has been partially burned and shorn away. This depiction dramatizes the physical toll of the battle and the fire on Bois-Guilbert. He enters the room with Rebecca in the full froth of battle, having abandoned his position on the wall, a “ghastly figure” dripping blood and visibly damaged.
The combination of this imagery and Bois-Guilbert’s hyperbolic declaration to Rebecca amplifies the urgency of the situation. By claiming he has "cut [his] way through fifty dangers" to find her, he not only exaggerates his efforts and the peril he faced but also presents Rebecca with an ultimatum: to follow him immediately or face certain death. He’s manipulating her, using hyperbole and his embattled appearance to make himself seem like her sole savior in a moment of crisis. He’s trying to leverage the situation to bind Rebecca to him in any way he can.
As he introduces the Grand Master of the Knights Templar Lucas de Beaumanoir in Volume 3, Scott employs visual imagery and foreshadowing to signal the man's inner qualities and set the stage for his actions later on:
The Grand Master was a man advanced in age, as was testified by his long grey beard, and the shaggy grey eyebrows over-hanging eyes, of which, however, years had been unable to quench the fire. A formidable warrior, his thin and severe features retained the soldier’s fierceness of expression; an ascetic bigot, they were no less marked by the emaciation of abstinence, and the spiritual pride of the self-satisfied devotee.
The visual language used to describe Lucas de Beaumanoir here immediately conveys the duality of his character. His outward appearance is “formidable” and alarming, while simultaneously conveying that he’s a highly self-denying (“ascetic”) and spiritual person. Like other members of the Order of Templars, however, his devotion is overlaid with a smugness and self-satisfaction that stops it from seeming genuine and altruistic. The detailed description of his “long grey beard” and “shaggy grey eyebrows” when combined with the unquenched “fire” in his eyes suggests to the reader that he’s relentlessly intense and zealous despite his age. His insides reflect his outsides: he is a person of unwavering fanaticism and rigid adherence to his beliefs.
Referring to Beaumanoir as an "ascetic bigot" who’s lined by "the emaciation of abstinence" and "spiritual pride" foreshadows the extent to which he views himself as a moral arbiter of the Templars. De Beaumanoir is a man who possesses a dangerous level of self-righteousness, viewing himself as above reproach and justified in his actions, regardless of their consequences. This introductory paragraph thus foreshadows the Grand Master's grim, “bigoted” adherence to doctrine and his religious fanaticism.
