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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3820-0.txt b/3820-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a18f009 --- /dev/null +++ b/3820-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8905 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Nathan the Wise, by Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, +Edited by Henry Morley, Translated by William Taylor + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Nathan the Wise + + +Author: Gotthold Ephraim Lessing + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: August 10, 2014 [eBook #3820] +[This file was first posted on September 25, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NATHAN THE WISE*** + + +Transcribed from the 1893 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY + + * * * * * + + + + + + NATHAN THE WISE + _A Dramatic Poem in Five Acts_ + + + _Translated by William Taylor of Norwich_ + + FROM THE GERMAN OF + + LESSING + +[Picture: Decorative graphic] + + CASSELL & COMPANY LIMITED + _LONDON PARIS & MELBOURNE_ + 1893 + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING was born on the 22nd of January, 1729, eldest of +ten sons of a pious and learned minister of Camenz in the Oberlausitz, +who had two daughters also. As a child Lessing delighted in books, and +had knowledge beyond his years when he went to school, in Meissen, at the +age of twelve. As a school-boy he read much Greek and Latin that formed +no part of the school course; read also the German poets of his time, +wrote a “History of Ancient Mathematics,” and began a poem of his own on +the “Plurality of Worlds.” + +In 1746, at the age of seventeen, Lessing was sent to the University of +Leipsic. There he studied with energy, and was attracted strongly by the +theatre. His artistic interest in the drama caused him to be put on the +free list of the theatre, in exchange for some translations of French +pieces. Then he produced, also for the Leipsic stage, many slight pieces +of his own, and he had serious thought of turning actor, which excited +alarm in the parsonage at Camenz and caused his recall home in January, +1747. It was found, however, that although he could not be trained to +follow his father’s profession, he had been studying to such good +purpose, and developing, in purity of life, such worth of character, that +after Easter he was sent back to Leipsic, with leave to transfer his +studies from theology to medicine. + +Lessing went back, continued to work hard, but still also gave all his +leisure to the players. For the debts of some of them he had +incautiously become surety, and when the company removed to Vienna, there +were left behind them unpaid debts for which young Lessing was +answerable. The creditors pressed, and Lessing moved to Wittenberg; but +he fell ill, and was made so miserable by pressure for impossible +payments, that he resolved to break off his studies, go to Berlin, and +begin earning by his pen, his first earnings being for the satisfaction +of these Leipsic creditors. Lessing went first to Berlin to seek his +fortune in December, 1748, when he was nineteen years old. He was +without money, without decent clothes, and with but one friend in Berlin, +Mylius, who was then editing a small journal, the _Rudigersche Zeitung_. +Much correspondence brought him a little money from the overburdened +home, and with addition of some small earning from translations, this +enabled him to obtain a suit of clothes, in which he might venture to +present himself to strangers in his search for fortune. A new venture +with Mylius, a quarterly record of the history of the theatre, was not +successful; but having charge committed to him of the library part of +Mylius’s journal, Lessing had an opportunity of showing his great +critical power. Gottsched, at Leipsic, was then leader of the war on +behalf of classicism in German literature. Lessing fought on the +National side, and opposed also the beginning of a new French influence +then rising, which was to have its chief apostle in Rousseau. + +In 1752 Lessing went back to Wittenberg for another year, that he might +complete the work for graduation; graduated in December of that year as +Master of Arts, and then returned to his work in Berlin. He worked +industriously, not only as critic, but also in translation from the +classics, from French, English, and Italian; and he was soon able to send +help towards providing education for the youngest of the household of +twelve children in the Camenz parsonage. In 1753 he gave himself eight +weeks of withdrawal from other work to write, in a garden-house at +Potsdam, his tragedy of “Miss Sarah Sampson.” It was produced with great +success at Frankfort on the Oder, and Lessing’s ruling passion for +dramatic literature became the stronger for this first experience of what +he might be able to achieve. In literature, Frederick the Great cared +only for what was French. A National drama, therefore, could not live in +Berlin. In the autumn of 1755, Lessing suddenly moved to Leipsic, where +an actor whom he had befriended was establishing a theatre. Here he was +again abandoning himself to the cause of a National drama, when a rich +young gentleman of Leipsic invited his companionship upon a tour in +Europe. Terms were settled, and they set out together. They saw much of +Holland, and were passing into England, when King Frederick’s attack on +Saxony recalled the young Leipsiger, and caused breach of what had been a +contract for a three years’ travelling companionship. In May, 1758, +Lessing, aged twenty-nine, returned to his old work in Berlin. Again he +translated, edited, criticised. He wrote a tragedy, “Philotas,” and +began a “Faust.” He especially employed his critical power in “Letters +upon the Latest Literature,” known as his _Literatur briefe_. +Dissertations upon fable, led also to Lessing’s “Fables,” produced in +this period of his life. + +In 1760 Lessing was tempted by scarcity of income to serve as a +Government secretary at Breslau. He held that office for five years, and +then again returned to his old work in Berlin. During the five years in +Breslau, Lessing had completed his play of “Minna von Barnhelm,” and the +greatest of his critical works, “Laocoon,” a treatise on the “Boundary +Lines of Painting and Poetry.” All that he might then have saved from +his earnings went to the buying of books and to the relief of the burdens +in the Camenz parsonage. At Berlin the office of Royal Librarian became +vacant. The claims of Lessing were urged, but Frederick appointed an +insignificant Frenchman. In 1767 Lessing was called to aid an +unsuccessful attempt to establish a National Theatre in Hamburg. + +Other troubles followed. Lessing gave his heart to a widow, Eva König, +and was betrothed to her. But the involvements of her worldly affairs, +and of his, delayed the marriage for six years. To secure fixed income +he took a poor office as Librarian at Wolfenbüttel. In his first year at +Wolfenbüttel, he wrote his play of “Emilia Galotti.” Then came a +long-desired journey to Italy; but it came in inconvenient form, for it +had to be made with Prince Leopold, of Brunswick, hurriedly, for the sake +of money, at the time when Lessing was at last able to marry. + +The wife, long waited for, and deeply loved, died at the birth of her +first child. This was in January, 1778, when Lessing’s age was 49. Very +soon afterwards he was attacked by a Pastor Goeze, in Hamburg, and other +narrow theologians, for having edited papers that contained an attack on +Christianity, which Lessing himself had said that he wished to see +answered before he died. The uncharitable bitterness of these attacks, +felt by a mind that had been touched to the quick by the deepest of +sorrows, helped to the shaping of Lessing’s calm, beautiful lesson of +charity, this noblest of his plays—“Nathan the Wise.” But Lessing’s +health was shattered, and he survived his wife only three years. He died +in 1781, leaving imperishable influence for good upon the minds of men, +but so poor in what the world calls wealth, that his funeral had to be +paid for by a Duke of Brunswick. + +William Taylor, the translator of Lessing’s “Nathan the Wise;” was born +in 1765, the son of a rich merchant at Norwich, from whose business he +was drawn away by his strong bent towards literature. His father yielded +to his wishes, after long visits to France and to Germany, in days astir +with the new movements of thought, that preceded and followed the French +Revolution. He formed a close friendship with Southey, edited for a +little time a “Norwich Iris,” and in his later years became known +especially for his Historic Survey of German Poetry, which included his +translations, and among them this of “Nathan the Wise.” It was published +in 1830, Taylor died in 1836. Thomas Carlyle, in reviewing William +Taylor’s Survey of German Poetry, said of the author’s own translations +in it “compared with the average of British translations, they may be +pronounced of almost ideal excellence; compared with the best +translations extant, for example, the German Shakespeare, Homer, +Calderon, they may still be called better than indifferent. One great +merit Mr. Taylor has: rigorous adherence to his original; he endeavours +at least to copy with all possible fidelity the term of praise, the tone, +the very metre, whatever stands written for him.” + + H. M. + + + + +NATHAN THE WISE. + + + “Introite nam et heic Dii sunt!”—APUD GELLIUM. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. + + +SALADIN, _the Sultan_. + +SITTAH, _his Sister_. + +NATHAN, _a rich Jew_. + +RECHA, _his adopted Daughter_. + +DAYA, _a Christian Woman dwelling with the Jew a companion to Recha_. + +CONRADE, _a young Templar_. + +HAFI, _a Dervis_. + +ATHANASIOS, _the Patriarch of Palestine_. + +BONAFIDES, _a Friar_. + +_An Emir_, _sundry Mamalukes_, _Slaves_, _&c._ + + _The Scene is at Jerusalem_. + + + +ACT I. + + + SCENE.—A Hall in Nathan’s House. + + NATHAN, _in a travelling dress_, DAYA _meeting him_. + + DAYA. + + ’Tis he, ’tis Nathan! Thanks to the Almighty, + That you’re at last returned. + + NATHAN. + + Yes, Daya, thanks, + That I have reached Jerusalem in safety. + But wherefore this _at last_? Did I intend, + Or was it possible to come back sooner? + As I was forced to travel, out and in, + ’Tis a long hundred leagues to Babylon; + And to get in one’s debts is no employment, + That speeds a traveller. + + DAYA. + + O Nathan, Nathan, + How miserable you had nigh become + During this little absence; for your house— + + NATHAN. + + Well, ’twas on fire; I have already heard it. + God grant I may have heard the whole, that chanced! + + DAYA. + + ’Twas on the point of burning to the ground. + + NATHAN. + + Then we’d have built another, and a better. + + DAYA. + + True!—But thy Recha too was on the point + Of perishing amid the flames. + + NATHAN. + + Of perishing? + My Recha, saidst thou? She? I heard not that. + I then should not have needed any house. + Upon the point of perishing—perchance + She’s gone?—Speak out then—out—torment me not + With this suspense.—Come, tell me, tell me all. + + DAYA. + + Were she no more, from me you would not hear it. + + NATHAN. + + Why then alarm me?—Recha, O my Recha! + + DAYA. + + Your Recha? Yours? + + NATHAN. + + What if I ever were + Doomed to unlearn to call this child, _my_ child, + + DAYA. + + Is all you own yours by an equal title? + + NATHAN. + + Nought by a better. What I else enjoy + Nature and Fortune gave—this treasure, Virtue. + + DAYA. + + How dear you make me pay for all your goodness!— + If goodness, exercised with such a view, + Deserves the name.— + + NATHAN. + + With such a view? With what? + + DAYA. + + My conscience— + + NATHAN. + + Daya, let me tell you first— + + DAYA. + + I say, my conscience— + + NATHAN. + + What a charming silk + I bought for you in Babylon! ’Tis rich, + Yet elegantly rich. I almost doubt + If I have brought a prettier for Recha. + + DAYA. + + And what of that—I tell you that my conscience + Will no be longer hushed. + + NATHAN. + + And I have bracelets, + And earrings, and a necklace, which will charm you. + I chose them at Damascus. + + DAYA. + + That’s your way:— + If you can but make presents—but make presents.— + + NATHAN. + + Take you as freely as I give—and cease. + + DAYA. + + And cease?—Who questions, Nathan, but that you are + Honour and generosity in person;— + Yet— + + NATHAN. + + Yet I’m but a Jew.—That was your meaning. + + DAYA. + + You better know what was my meaning, Nathan. + + NATHAN. + + Well, well, no more of this, + + DAYA. + + I shall be silent; + But what of sinful in the eye of heaven + Springs out of it—not I, not I could help; + It falls upon thy head. + + NATHAN. + + So let it, Daya. + Where is she then? What stays her? Surely, surely, + You’re not amusing me—And does she know + That I’m arrived? + + DAYA. + + That you yourself must speak to, + Terror still vibrates in her every nerve. + Her fancy mingles fire with all she thinks of. + Asleep, her soul seems busy; but awake, + Absent: now less than brute, now more than angel. + + NATHAN. + + Poor thing! What are we mortals— + + DAYA. + + As she lay + This morning sleeping, all at once she started + And cried: “list, list! there come my father’s camels!” + And then she drooped again upon her pillow + And I withdrew—when, lo! you really came. + Her thoughts have only been with you—and him. + + NATHAN. + + And _him_? What him? + + DAYA. + + With him, who from the fire + Preserved her life, + + NATHAN. + + Who was it? Where is he, + That saved my Recha for me? + + DAYA. + + A young templar, + Brought hither captive a few days ago, + And pardoned by the Sultan. + + NATHAN. + + How, a _templar_ + Dismissed with life by Saladin. In truth, + Not a less miracle was to preserve her, + God!—God!— + + DAYA. + + Without this man, who risked afresh + The Sultan’s unexpected boon, we’d lost her. + + NATHAN. + + Where is he, Daya, where’s this noble youth? + Do, lead me to his feet. Sure, sure you gave him + What treasures I had left you—gave him all, + Promised him more—much more? + + DAYA. + + How could we? + + NATHAN. + + Not? + + DAYA. + + He came, he went, we know not whence, or whither. + Quite unacquainted with the house, unguided + But by his ear, he prest through smoke and flame, + His mantle spread before him, to the room + Whence pierced the shrieks for help; and we began + To think him lost—and her; when, all at once, + Bursting from flame and smoke, he stood before us, + She in his arm upheld. Cold and unmoved + By our loud warmth of thanks, he left his booty, + Struggled into the crowd, and disappeared. + + NATHAN. + + But not for ever, Daya, I would hope. + + DAYA. + + For some days after, underneath you palms, + That shade his grave who rose again from death, + We saw him wandering up and down. I went, + With transport went to thank him. I conjured, + Intreated him to visit once again + The dear sweet girl he saved, who longed to shed + At her preserver’s feet the grateful tear— + + NATHAN. + + Well? + + DAYA. + + But in vain. Deaf to our warmest prayers, + On me he flung such bitter mockery— + + NATHAN. + + That hence rebuffed— + + DAYA. + + Oh, no, oh, no, indeed not, + Daily I forced myself upon him, daily + Afresh encountered his dry taunting speeches. + Much I have borne, and would have borne much more: + But he of late forbears his lonely walk + Under the scattered palms, which stand about + Our holy sepulchre: nor have I learnt + Where he now is. You seem astonished—thoughtful— + + NATHAN. + + I was imagining what strange impressions + This conduct makes on such a mind as Recha’s. + Disdained by one whom she must feel compelled + To venerate and to esteem so highly. + At once attracted and repelled—the combat + Between her head and heart must yet endure, + Regret, Resentment, in unusual struggle. + Neither, perhaps, obtains the upper hand, + And busy fancy, meddling in the fray, + Weaves wild enthusiasms to her dazzled spirit, + Now clothing Passion in the garb of Reason, + And Reason now in Passion’s—do I err? + This last is Recha’s fate—Romantic notions— + + DAYA. + + Aye; but such pious, lovely, sweet, illusions. + + NATHAN. + + Illusions though. + + DAYA. + + Yes: and the one, her bosom + Clings to most fondly, is, that the brave templar + Was but a transient inmate of the earth, + A guardian angel, such as from her childhood + She loved to fancy kindly hovering round her, + Who from his veiling cloud amid the fire + Stepped forth in her preserver’s form. You smile— + Who knows? At least beware of banishing + So pleasing an illusion—if deceitful + Christian, Jew, Mussulman, agree to own it, + And ’tis—at least to her—a dear illusion. + + NATHAN. + + Also to me. Go, my good Daya, go, + See what she’s after. Can’t I speak with her? + Then I’ll find out our untamed guardian angel, + Bring him to sojourn here awhile among us— + We’ll pinion his wild wing, when once he’s taken. + + DAYA. + + You undertake too much. + + NATHAN. + + And when, my Daya, + This sweet illusion yields to sweeter truth, + (For to a man a man is ever dearer + Than any angel) you must not be angry + To see our loved enthusiast exercised. + + DAYA. + + You are so good—and yet so sly. I’ll seek her, + But listen,—yes! she’s coming of herself. + + NATHAN, DAYA, _and_ RECHA. + + RECHA. + + And you are here, your very self, my father, + I thought you’d only sent your voice before you. + Where are you then? What mountains, deserts, torrents, + Divide us now? You see me, face to face, + And do not hasten to embrace your Recha. + Poor Recha! she was almost burnt alive, + But only—only—almost. Do not shudder! + O ’tis a horrid end to die in fire! + + NATHAN (_embracing her_). + + My child, my darling child! + + RECHA. + + You had to cross + The Jordan, Tigris, and Euphrates, and + Who knows what rivers else. I used to tremble + And quake for you, till the fire came so nigh me; + Since then, methinks ’twere comfort, balm, refreshment, + To die by water. But you are not drowned— + I am not burnt alive.—We will rejoice— + We will praise God—the kind good God, who bore thee, + Upon the buoyant wings of _unseen_ angels, + Across the treacherous stream—the God who bade + My angel _visibly_ on his white wing + Athwart the roaring flame— + + NATHAN (_aside_). + + White wing?—oh, aye + The broad white fluttering mantle of the templar. + + RECHA. + + Yes, visibly he bore me through the fire, + O’ershadowed by his pinions.—Face to face + I’ve seen an angel, father, my own angel. + + NATHAN. + + Recha deserves it, and would see in him + No fairer form than he beheld in her, + + RECHA. + + Whom are you flattering, father—tell me now— + The angel, or yourself? + + NATHAN. + + Yet had a man, + A man of those whom Nature daily fashions, + Done you this service, he to you had seemed, + Had been an angel. + + RECHA. + + No, not such a one. + Indeed it was a true and real angel. + And have not you yourself instructed me + How possible it is there may be angels; + That God for those who love him can work miracles— + And I do love him, father— + + NATHAN. + + And he thee; + And both for thee, and all like thee, my child, + Works daily wonders, from eternity + Has wrought them for you. + + RECHA. + + That I like to hear. + + NATHAN. + + Well, and although it sounds quite natural, + An every day event, a simple story, + That you was by a real templar saved, + Is it the less a miracle? The greatest + Of all is this, that true and real wonders + Should happen so perpetually, so daily. + Without this universal miracle + A thinking man had scarcely called those such, + Which only children, Recha, ought to name so, + Who love to gape and stare at the unusual + And hunt for novelty— + + DAYA. + + Why will you then + With such vain subtleties, confuse her brain + Already overheated? + + NATHAN. + + Let me manage.— + And is it not enough then for my Recha + To owe her preservation to a man, + Whom no small miracle preserved himself. + For whoe’er heard before that Saladin + Let go a templar; that a templar wished it, + Hoped it, or for his ransom offered more + Than taunts, his leathern sword-belt, or his dagger? + + RECHA. + + That makes for me; these are so many reasons + He was no real knight, but only seemed it. + If in Jerusalem no captive templar, + Appears alive, or freely wanders round, + How could I find one, in the night, to save me? + + NATHAN. + + Ingenious! dextrous! Daya, come in aid. + It was from you I learnt he was a prisoner; + Doubtless you know still more about him, speak. + + DAYA. + + ’Tis but report indeed, but it is said + That Saladin bestowed upon this youth + His gracious pardon for the strong resemblance + He bore a favourite brother—dead, I think + These twenty years—his name, I know it not— + He fell, I don’t know where—and all the story + Sounds so incredible, that very likely + The whole is mere invention, talk, romance. + + NATHAN. + + And why incredible? Would you reject + This story, tho’ indeed, it’s often done, + To fix on something more incredible, + And give that faith? Why should not Saladin, + Who loves so singularly all his kindred, + Have loved in early youth with warmer fondness + A brother now no more. Do we not see + Faces alike, and is an old impression + Therefore a lost one? Do resembling features + Not call up like emotions. Where’s th’ incredible? + Surely, sage Daya, this can be to thee + No miracle, or do _thy_ wonders only + Demand—I should have said _deserve_ belief? + + DAYA. + + You’re on the bite. + + NATHAN. + + Were you quite fair with me? + Yet even so, my Recha, thy escape + Remains a wonder, only possible + To Him, who of the proud pursuits of princes + Makes sport—or if not sport—at least delights + To head and manage them by slender threads. + + RECHA. + + If I do err, it is not wilfully, + My father. + + NATHAN. + + No, you have been always docile. + See now, a forehead vaulted thus, or thus— + A nose bow’d one way rather than another— + Eye-brows with straiter, or with sharper curve— + A line, a mole, a wrinkle, a mere nothing + I’ th’ countenance of an European savage— + And thou—art saved, in Asia, from the fire. + Ask ye for signs and wonders after that? + What need of calling angels into play? + + DAYA. + + But Nathan, where’s the harm, if I may speak, + Of fancying one’s self by an angel saved, + Rather than by a man? Methinks it brings us + Just so much the nearer the incomprehensive + First cause of preservation. + + NATHAN. + + Pride, rank pride! + The iron pot would with a silver prong + Be lifted from the furnace—to imagine + Itself a silver vase. Paha! Where’s the harm? + Thou askest. Where’s the good? I might reply. + For thy _it brings us nearer to the Godhead_ + Is nonsense, Daya, if not blasphemy. + But it does harm: yes, yes, it does indeed. + Attend now. To the being, who preserved you, + Be he an angel or a man, you both, + And thou especially wouldst gladly show + Substantial services in just requital. + Now to an angel what great services + Have ye the power to do? To sing his praise— + Melt in transporting contemplation o’er him— + Fast on his holiday—and squander alms— + What nothingness of use! To me at least + It seems your neighbour gains much more than he + By all this pious glow. Not by your fasting + Is he made fat; not by your squandering, rich; + Nor by your transports is his glory exalted; + Nor by your faith his might. But to a man— + + DAYA. + + Why yes; a man indeed had furnished us + With more occasions to be useful to him. + God knows how readily we should have seized them. + But then he would have nothing—wanted nothing— + Was in himself wrapped up, and self-sufficient, + As angels are. + + RECHA. + + And when at last he vanished— + + NATHAN. + + Vanished? How vanished? Underneath the palms + Escaped your view, and has returned no more. + Or have you really sought for him elsewhere? + + DAYA. + + No, that indeed we’ve not. + + NATHAN. + + Not, Daya, not? + See it does harm, hard-hearted, cold enthusiasts, + What if this angel on a bed of illness— + + RECHA. + + Illness? + + DAYA. + + Ill! sure he is not. + + RECHA. + + A cold shudder + Creeps over me; O Daya, feel my forehead, + It was so warm, ’tis now as chill as ice. + + NATHAN. + + He is a Frank, unused to this hot climate, + Is young, and to the labours of his calling, + To fasting, watching, quite unused— + + RECHA. + + Ill—ill! + + DAYA. + + Thy father only means ’twere possible. + + NATHAN. + + And there he lies, without a friend, or money + To buy him friends— + + RECHA. + + Alas! my father. + + NATHAN. + + Lies + Without advice, attendance, converse, pity, + The prey of agony, of death— + + RECHA. + + Where—where? + + NATHAN. + + He, who, for one he never knew, or saw— + It is enough for him he is a man— + Plunged into fire. + + DAYA. + + O Nathan, Nathan, spare her. + + NATHAN. + + Who cared not to know aught of her he saved, + Declined her presence to escape her thanks— + + DAYA. + + Do, spare her! + + NATHAN. + + Did not wish to see her more + Unless it were a second time to save her— + Enough for him he is a man— + + DAYA. + + Stop, look! + + NATHAN. + + He—he, in death, has nothing to console him, + But the remembrance of this deed. + + DAYA. + + You kill her! + + NATHAN. + + And you kill him—or might have done at least— + Recha ’tis medicine I give, not poison. + He lives—come to thyself—may not be ill— + Not even ill— + + RECHA. + + Surely not dead, not dead. + + NATHAN. + + Dead surely not—for God rewards the good + Done here below, here too. Go; but remember + How easier far devout enthusiasm is + Than a good action; and how willingly + Our indolence takes up with pious rapture, + Tho’ at the time unconscious of its end, + Only to save the toil of useful deeds. + + RECHA. + + Oh never leave again thy child alone!— + But can he not be only gone a journey? + + NATHAN. + + Yes, very likely. There’s a Mussulman + Numbering with curious eye my laden camels, + Do you know who he is? + + DAYA. + + Oh, your old dervis. + + NATHAN. + + Who—who? + + DAYA. + + Your chess companion. + + NATHAN. + + That, Al-Hafi? + + DAYA. + + And now the treasurer of Saladin. + + NATHAN. + + Al-Hafi? Are you dreaming? How was this? + In fact it is so. He seems coming hither. + In with you quick.—What now am I to hear? + + NATHAN _and_ HAFI. + + HAFI. + + Aye, lift thine eyes in wonder. + + NATHAN. + + Is it you? + A dervis so magnificent!— + + HAFI. + + Why not? + Can nothing then be made out of a dervis? + + NATHAN. + + Yes, surely; but I have been wont to think + A dervis, that’s to say a thorough dervis, + Will allow nothing to be made of him. + + HAFI. + + May-be ’tis true that I’m no thorough dervis; + But by the prophet, when we must— + + NATHAN. + + Must, Hafi? + Needs must—belongs to no man: and a dervis— + + HAFI. + + When he is much besought, and thinks it right, + A dervis must. + + NATHAN. + + Well spoken, by our God! + Embrace me, man, you’re still, I trust, my friend. + + HAFI. + + Why not ask first what has been made of me? + + NATHAN. + + Ask climbers to look back! + + HAFI. + + And may I not + Have grown to such a creature in the state + That my old friendship is no longer welcome? + + NATHAN. + + If you still bear your dervis-heart about you + I’ll run the risk of that. Th’ official robe + Is but your cloak. + + HAFI. + + A cloak, that claims some honour. + What think’st thou? At a court of thine how great + Had been Al-Hafi? + + NATHAN. + + Nothing but a dervis. + If more, perhaps—what shall I say—my cook. + + HAFI. + + In order to unlearn my native trade. + Thy cook—why not thy butler too? The Sultan, + He knows me better, I’m his treasurer. + + NATHAN. + + You, you? + + HAFI. + + Mistake not—of the lesser purse— + His father manages the greater still— + The purser of his household. + + NATHAN. + + That’s not small. + + HAFI. + + ’Tis larger than thou think’st; for every beggar + Is of his household. + + NATHAN. + + He’s so much their foe— + + HAFI. + + That he’d fain root them out—with food and raiment— + Tho’ he turn beggar in the enterprize. + + NATHAN. + + Bravo, I meant so. + + HAFI. + + And he’s almost such. + His treasury is every day, ere sun-set, + Poorer than empty; and how high so e’er + Flows in the morning tide, ’tis ebb by noon. + + NATHAN. + + Because it circulates through such canals + As can be neither stopped, nor filled. + + HAFI. + + Thou hast it. + + NATHAN. + + I know it well. + + HAFI. + + Nathan, ’tis woeful doing + When kings are vultures amid caresses: + But when they’re caresses amid the vultures + ’Tis ten times worse. + + NATHAN. + + No, dervis, no, no, no. + + HAFI. + + Thou mayst well talk so. Now then, let me hear + What wouldst thou give me to resign my office? + + NATHAN. + + What does it bring you in? + + HAFI. + + To me, not much; + But thee, it might indeed enrich: for when, + As often happens, money is at ebb, + Thou couldst unlock thy sluices, make advances, + And take in form of interest all thou wilt. + + NATHAN. + + And interest upon interest of the interest— + + HAFI. + + Certainly. + + NATHAN. + + Till my capital becomes + All interest. + + HAFI. + + How—that does not take with thee? + Then write a finis to our book of friendship; + For I have reckoned on thee. + + NATHAN. + + How so, Hafi? + + HAFI. + + That thou wouldst help me to go thro’ my office + With credit, grant me open chest with thee— + Dost shake thy head? + + NATHAN. + + Let’s understand each other. + Here’s a distinction to be made. To you, + To dervis Hafi, all I have is open; + But to the defterdar of Saladin, + To that Al-Hafi— + + HAFI. + + Spoken like thyself! + Thou hast been ever no less kind than cautious. + The two Al-Hafis thou distinguishest + Shall soon be parted. See this coat of honour, + Which Saladin bestowed—before ’tis worn + To rags, and suited to a dervis’ back,— + Will in Jerusalem hang upon the hook; + While I along the Ganges scorching strand, + Amid my teachers shall be wandering barefoot. + + NATHAN. + + That’s like you. + + HAFI. + + Or be playing chess among them. + + NATHAN. + + Your sovereign good. + + HAFI. + + What dost thou think seduced me. + The wish of having not to beg in future— + The pride of acting the rich man to beggars— + Would these have metamorphosed a rich beggar + So suddenly into a poor rich man? + + NATHAN. + + No, I think not. + + HAFI. + + A sillier, sillier weakness, + For the first time my vanity was tempter, + Flattered by Saladin’s good-hearted notion— + + NATHAN. + + Which was? + + HAFI. + + That all a beggar’s wants are only + Known to a beggar: such alone can tell + How to relieve them usefully and wisely. + “Thy predecessor was too cold for me, + (He said) and when he gave, he gave unkindly; + Informed himself with too precautious strictness + Concerning the receiver, not content + To leant the want, unless he knew its cause, + And measuring out by that his niggard bounty. + Thou wilt not thus bestow. So harshly kind + Shall Saladin not seem in thee. Thou art not + Like the choked pipe, whence sullied and by spurts + Flow the pure waters it absorbs in silence. + Al-Hafi thinks and feels like me.” So nicely + The fowler whistled, that at last the quail + Ran to his net. Cheated, and by a cheat— + + NATHAN. + + Tush! dervis, gently. + + HAFI. + + What! and is’t not cheating, + Thus to oppress mankind by hundred thousands, + To squeeze, grind, plunder, butcher, and torment, + And act philanthropy to individuals?— + Not cheating—thus to ape from the Most High + The bounty, which alike on mead and desert, + Upon the just and the unrighteous, falls + In sunshine or in showers, and not possess + The never-empty hand of the Most High?— + Not cheating— + + NATHAN. + + Cease! + + HAFI. + + Of my own cheating sure + It is allowed to speak. Were it not cheating + To look for the fair side of these impostures, + In order, under colour of its fairness, + To gain advantage from them—ha? + + NATHAN. + + Al-Hafi, + Go to your desert quickly. Among men + I fear you’ll soon unlearn to be a man. + + HAFI. + + And so do I—farewell. + + NATHAN. + + What, so abruptly? + Stay, stay, Al-Hafi; has the desert wings? + Man, ’twill not run away, I warrant you— + Hear, hear, I want you—want to talk with you— + He’s gone. I could have liked to question him + About our templar. He will likely know him. + + NATHAN _and_ DAYA. + DAYA (_bursting in_). + + O Nathan, Nathan! + + NATHAN. + + Well, what now? + + DAYA. + + He’s there. + He shows himself again. + + NATHAN. + + Who, Daya, who? + + DAYA. + + He! he! + + NATHAN. + + When cannot He be seen? Indeed + Your He is only one; that should not be, + Were he an angel even. + + DAYA. + + ’Neath the palms + He wanders up and down, and gathers dates. + + NATHAN. + + And eats?—and as a templar? + + DAYA. + + How you tease us! + Her eager eye espied him long ago, + While he scarce gleamed between the further stems, + And follows him most punctually. Go, + She begs, conjures you, go without delay; + And from the window will make signs to you + Which way his rovings bend. Do, do make haste. + + NATHAN. + + What! thus, as I alighted from my camel, + Would that be decent? Swift, do you accost him, + Tell him of my return. I do not doubt, + His delicacy in the master’s absence + Forbore my house; but gladly will accept + The father’s invitation. Say, I ask him, + Most heartily request him— + + DAYA. + + All in vain! + In short, he will not visit any Jew. + + NATHAN. + + Then do thy best endeavours to detain him, + Or with thine eyes to watch his further haunt, + Till I rejoin you. I shall not be long. + + +SCENE.—A Place of Palms. + + +_The_ TEMPLAR _walking to and fro_, _a_ FRIAR _following him at some +distance_, _as if desirous of addressing him_. + + TEMPLAR. + + This fellow does not follow me for pastime. + How skaunt he eyes his hands! Well, my good brother— + Perhaps I should say, father; ought I not? + + FRIAR. + + No—brother—a lay-brother at your service. + + TEMPLAR. + + Well, brother, then; if I myself had something— + But—but, by God, I’ve nothing. + + FRIAR. + + Thanks the same; + And God reward your purpose thousand-fold! + The will, and not the deed, makes up the giver. + Nor was I sent to follow you for alms— + + TEMPLAR. + + Sent then? + + FRIAR. + + Yes, from the monastery. + + TEMPLAR. + + Where + I was just now in hopes of coming in + For pilgrims’ fare. + + FRIAR. + + They were already at table: + But if it suit with you to turn directly— + + TEMPLAR. + + Why so? ’Tis true, I have not tasted meat + This long time. What of that? The dates are ripe. + + FRIAR. + + O with that fruit go cautiously to work. + Too much of it is hurtful, sours the humours, + Makes the blood melancholy. + + TEMPLAR. + + And if I + Choose to be melancholy—For this warning + You were not sent to follow me, I ween. + + FRIAR. + + Oh, no: I only was to ask about you, + And feel your pulse a little. + + TEMPLAR. + + And you tell me + Of that yourself? + + FRIAR. + + Why not? + + TEMPLAR. + + A deep one! troth: + And has your cloister more such? + + FRIAR. + + I can’t say. + Obedience is our bounden duty. + + TEMPLAR. + + So— + And you obey without much scrupulous questioning? + + FRIAR. + + Were it obedience else, good sir? + + TEMPLAR. + + How is it + The simple mind is ever in the right? + May you inform me who it is that wishes + To know more of me? ’Tis not you yourself, + I dare be sworn. + + FRIAR. + + Would it become me, sir, + Or benefit me? + + TEMPLAR. + + Whom can it become, + Whom can it benefit, to be so curious? + + FRIAR. + + The patriarch, I presume—’twas he that sent me. + + TEMPLAR. + + The patriarch? Knows he not my badge, the cross + Of red on the white mantle? + + FRIAR. + + Can I say? + + TEMPLAR. + + Well, brother, well! I am a templar, taken + Prisoner at Tebnin, whose exalted fortress, + Just as the truce expired, we sought to climb, + In order to push forward next to Sidon. + I was the twentieth captive, but the only + Pardoned by Saladin—with this, the patriarch + Knows all, or more than his occasions ask. + + FRIAR. + + And yet no more than he already knows, + I think. But why alone of all the captives + Thou hast been spared, he fain would learn— + + TEMPLAR. + + Can I + Myself tell that? Already, with bare neck, + I kneeled upon my mantle, and awaited + The blow—when Saladin with steadfast eye + Fixed me, sprang nearer to me, made a sign— + I was upraised, unbound, about to thank him— + And saw his eye in tears. Both stand in silence. + He goes. I stay. How all this hangs together, + Thy patriarch may unriddle. + + FRIAR. + + He concludes, + That God preserved you for some mighty deed. + + TEMPLAR. + + Some mighty deed? To save out of the fire + A Jewish girl—to usher curious pilgrims + About Mount Sinai—to— + + FRIAR. + + The time may come— + And this is no such trifle—but perhaps + The patriarch meditates a weightier office. + + TEMPLAR. + + Think you so, brother? Has he hinted aught? + + FRIAR. + + Why, yes; I was to sift you out a little, + And hear if you were one to— + + TEMPLAR. + + Well—to what? + I’m curious to observe how this man sifts. + + FRIAR. + + The shortest way will be to tell you plainly + What are the patriarch’s wishes. + + TEMPLAR. + + And they are— + + FRIAR. + + To send a letter by your hand. + + TEMPLAR. + + By me? + I am no carrier. And were that an office + More meritorious than to save from burning + A Jewish maid? + + FRIAR. + + So it should seem; must seem— + For, says the patriarch, to all Christendom + This letter is of import; and to bear it + Safe to its destination, says the patriarch, + God will reward with a peculiar crown + In heaven; and of this crown, the patriarch says, + No one is worthier than you— + + TEMPLAR. + + Than I? + + FRIAR. + + For none so able, and so fit to earn + This crown, the patriarch says, as you. + + TEMPLAR. + + As I? + + FRIAR. + + The patriarch here is free, can look about him, + And knows, he says, how cities may be stormed, + And how defended; knows, he says, the strengths + And weaknesses of Saladin’s new bulwark, + And of the inner rampart last thrown up; + And to the warriors of the Lord, he says, + Could clearly point them out;— + + TEMPLAR. + + And can I know + Exactly the contents of this same letter? + + FRIAR. + + Why, that I don’t pretend to vouch exactly— + ’Tis to King Philip: and our patriarch— + I often wonder how this holy man, + Who lives so wholly to his God and heaven, + Can stoop to be so well informed about + Whatever passes here—’Tis a hard task! + + TEMPLAR. + + Well—and your patriarch— + + FRIAR. + + Knows, with great precision, + And from sure hands, how, when, and with what force, + And in which quarter, Saladin, in case + The war breaks out afresh, will take the field. + + TEMPLAR. + + He knows that? + + FRIAR. + + Yes; and would acquaint King Philip, + That he may better calculate, if really + The danger be so great as to require + Him to renew at all events the truce + So bravely broken by your body. + + TEMPLAR. + + So? + This is a patriarch indeed! He wants + No common messenger; he wants a spy. + Go tell your patriarch, brother, I am not, + As far as you can sift, the man to suit him. + I still esteem myself a prisoner, and + A templar’s only calling is to fight, + And not to ferret out intelligence. + + FRIAR. + + That’s much as I supposed, and, to speak plainly, + Not to be blamed. The best is yet behind. + The patriarch has made out the very fortress, + Its name, and strength, and site on Libanon, + Wherein the mighty sums are now concealed, + With which the prudent father of the sultan + Provides the cost of war, and pays the army. + He knows that Saladin, from time to time, + Goes to this fortress, through by-ways and passe + With few attendants. + + TEMPLAR. + + Well— + + FRIAR. + + How easy ’twere + To seize his person in these expeditions, + And make an end of all! You shudder, sir— + Two Maronites, who fear the Lord, have offer + To share the danger of the enterprise, + Under a proper leader. + + TEMPLAR. + + And the patriarch + Had cast his eye on me for this brave office? + + FRIAR. + + He thinks King Philip might from Ptolemais + Best second such a deed. + + TEMPLAR. + + On me? on me? + Have you not heard then, just now heard, the favour + Which I received from Saladin? + + FRIAR. + + Oh, yes! + + TEMPLAR. + + And yet? + + FRIAR. + + The patriarch thinks—that’s mighty well— + God, and the order’s interest— + + TEMPLAR. + + Alter nothing, + Command no villainies. + + FRIAR. + + No, that indeed not; + But what is villainy in human eyes + May in the sight of God, the patriarch thinks, + Not be— + + TEMPLAR. + + I owe my life to Saladin, + And might take his? + + FRIAR. + + That—fie! But Saladin, + The patriarch thinks, is yet the common foe + Of Christendom, and cannot earn a right + To be your friend. + + TEMPLAR. + + My friend—because I will not + Behave like an ungrateful scoundrel to him. + + FRIAR. + + Yet gratitude, the patriarch thinks, is not + A debt before the eye of God or man, + Unless for our own sakes the benefit + Had been conferred; and, it has been reported, + The patriarch understands that Saladin + Preserved your life merely because your voice, + Your air, or features, raised a recollection + Of his lost brother. + + TEMPLAR. + + He knows this? and yet— + If it were sure, I should—ah, Saladin! + How! and shall nature then have formed in me + A single feature in thy brother’s likeness, + With nothing in my soul to answer to it? + Or what does correspond shall I suppress + To please a patriarch? So thou dost not cheat us, + Nature—and so not contradict Thyself, + Kind God of all.—Go, brother, go away: + Do not stir up my anger. + + FRIAR. + + I withdraw + More gladly than I came. We cloister-folk + Are forced to vow obedience to superiors. + + [_Goes_. + + TEMPLAR _and_ DAYA. + + DAYA. + + The monk, methinks, left him in no good mood: + But I must risk my message. + + TEMPLAR. + + Better still + The proverb says that monks and women are + The devil’s clutches; and I’m tossed to-day + From one to th’ other. + + DAYA. + + Whom do I behold?— + Thank God! I see you, noble knight, once more. + Where have you lurked this long, long space? You’ve not + Been ill? + + TEMPLAR. + + No. + + DAYA. + + Well, then? + + TEMPLAR. + + Yes. + + DAYA. + + We’ve all been anxious + Lest something ailed you. + + TEMPLAR. + + So? + + DAYA. + + Have you been journeying? + + TEMPLAR. + + Hit off! + + DAYA. + + How long returned? + + TEMPLAR. + + Since yesterday. + + DAYA. + + Our Recha’s father too is just returned, + And now may Recha hope at last— + + TEMPLAR. + + For what? + + DAYA. + + For what she often has requested of you. + Her father pressingly invites your visit. + He now arrives from Babylon, with twenty + High-laden camels, brings the curious drugs, + And precious stones, and stuffs, he has collected + From Syria, Persia, India, even China. + + TEMPLAR. + + I am no chap. + + DAYA. + + His nation honours him, + As if he were a prince, and yet to hear him + Called the _wise_ Nathan by them, not the _rich_, + Has often made me wonder. + + TEMPLAR. + + To his nation + Are _rich_ and _wise_ perhaps of equal import. + + DAYA. + + But above all he should be called the _good_. + You can’t imagine how much goodness dwells + Within him. Since he has been told the service + You rendered to his Recha, there is nothing + That he would grudge you. + + TEMPLAR. + + Aye? + + DAYA. + + Do—see him, try him. + + TEMPLAR. + + A burst of feeling soon is at an end. + + DAYA. + + And do you think that I, were he less kind, + Less bountiful, had housed with him so long: + That I don’t feel my value as a Christian: + For ’twas not o’er my cradle said, or sung, + That I to Palestina should pursue + My husband’s steps, only to educate + A Jewess. My husband was a noble page + In Emperor Frederic’s army. + + TEMPLAR. + + And by birth + A Switzer, who obtained the gracious honour + Of drowning in one river with his master. + Woman, how often you have told me this! + Will you ne’er leave off persecuting me? + + DAYA. + + My Jesus! persecute— + + TEMPLAR. + + Aye, persecute. + Observe then, I henceforward will not see, + Not hear you, nor be minded of a deed + Over and over, which I did unthinking, + And which, when thought about, I wonder at. + I wish not to repent it; but, remember, + Should the like accident occur again, + ’Twill be your fault if I proceed more coolly, + Ask a few questions, and let burn what’s burning. + + DAYA. + + My God forbid! + + TEMPLAR. + + From this day forth, good woman, + Do me at least the favour not to know me: + I beg it of you; and don’t send the father. + A Jew’s a Jew, and I am rude and bearish. + The image of the maid is quite erased + Out of my soul—if it was ever there— + + DAYA. + + But yours remains with her. + + TEMPLAR. + + Why so—what then— + Wherefore give harbour to it?— + + DAYA. + + Who knows wherefore? + Men are not always what they seem to be. + + TEMPLAR. + + They’re seldom better than they seem to be. + + DAYA. + + Ben’t in this hurry. + + TEMPLAR. + + Pray, forbear to make + These palm-trees odious. I have loved to walk here. + + DAYA. + + Farewell then, bear. Yet I must track the savage. + + + +ACT II. + + + SCENE.—The Sultan’s Palace.—An outer room of Sittah’s apartment. + + SALADIN _and_ SITTAH, _playing chess_. + + SITTAH. + + Wherefore so absent, brother? How you play! + + SALADIN. + + Not well? I thought— + + SITTAH. + + Yes; very well for me, + Take back that move. + + SALADIN. + + Why? + + SITTAH. + + Don’t you see the knight + Becomes exposed? + + SALADIN. + + ’Tis true: then so. + + SITTAH. + + And so + I take the pawn. + + SALADIN. + + That’s true again. Then, check! + + SITTAH. + + That cannot help you. When my king is castled + All will be safe. + + SALADIN. + + But out of my dilemma + ’Tis not so easy to escape unhurt. + Well, you must have the knight. + + SITTAH. + + I will not have him, + I pass him by. + + SALADIN. + + In that, there’s no forbearance: + The place is better than the piece. + + SITTAH. + + Maybe. + + SALADIN. + + Beware you reckon not without your host: + This stroke you did not think of. + + SITTAH. + + No, indeed; + I did not think you tired of your queen. + + SALADIN. + + My queen? + + SITTAH. + + Well, well! I find that I to-day + Shall earn a thousand dinars to an asper. + + SALADIN. + + How so, my sister? + + SITTAH. + + Play the ignorant— + As if it were not purposely thou losest. + I find not my account in ’t; for, besides + That such a game yields very little pastime, + When have I not, by losing, won with thee? + When hast thou not, by way of comfort to me + For my lost game, presented twice the stake? + + SALADIN. + + So that it may have been on purpose, sister, + That thou hast lost at times. + + SITTAH. + + At least, my brother’s + Great liberality may be one cause + Why I improve no faster. + + SALADIN. + + We forget + The game before us: lot us make an end of it. + + SITTAH. + + I move—so—now then—check! and check again! + + SALADIN. + + This countercheck I wasn’t aware of, Sittah; + My queen must fall the sacrifice. + + SITTAH. + + Let’s see— + Could it be helped? + + SALADIN. + + No, no, take off the queen! + That is a piece which never thrives with me. + + SITTAH. + + Only that piece? + + SALADIN. + + Off with it! I shan’t miss it. + Thus I guard all again. + + SITTAH. + + How civilly + We should behave to queens, my brother’s lessons + Have taught me but too well. + + SALADIN. + + Take her, or not, + I stir the piece no more. + + SITTAH. + + Why should I take her? + Check! + + SALADIN. + + Go on. + + SITTAH. + + Check!— + + SALADIN. + + And check-mate? + + SITTAH. + + Hold! not yet. + You may advance the knight, and ward the danger, + Or as you will—it is all one. + + SALADIN. + + It is so. + You are the winner, and Al-Hafi pays. + Let him be called. Sittah, you was not wrong; + I seem to recollect I was unmindful— + A little absent. One isn’t always willing + To dwell upon some shapeless bits of wood + Coupled with no idea. Yet the Imam, + When I play with him, bends with such abstraction— + The loser seeks excuses. Sittah, ’twas not + The shapeless men, and the unmeaning squares, + That made me heedless—your dexterity, + Your calm sharp eye. + + SITTAH. + + And what of that, good brother, + Is that to be th’ excuse for your defeat? + Enough—you played more absently than I. + + SALADIN. + + Than you! What dwells upon your mind, my Sittah? + Not your own cares, I doubt— + + SITTAH. + + O Saladin, + When shall we play again so constantly? + + SALADIN. + + An interruption will but whet our zeal. + You think of the campaign. Well, let it come. + It was not I who first unsheathed the sword. + I would have willingly prolonged the truce, + And willingly have knit a closer bond, + A lasting one—have given to my Sittah + A husband worthy of her, Richard’s brother. + + SITTAH. + + You love to talk of Richard. + + SALADIN. + + Richard’s sister + Might then have been allotted to our Melek. + O what a house that would have formed—the first— + The best—and what is more—of earth the happiest! + You know I am not loth to praise myself; + Why should I?—Of my friends am I not worthy? + O we had then led lives! + + SITTAH. + + A pretty dream. + It makes me smile. You do not know the Christians. + You will not know them. ’Tis this people’s pride + Not to be men, but to be Christians. Even + What of humane their Founder felt, and taught, + And left to savour their found superstition, + They value not because it is humane, + Lovely, and good for man; they only prize it + Because ’twas Christ who taught it, Christ who did it. + ’Tis well for them He was so good a man: + Well that they take His goodness all for granted, + And in His virtues put their trust. His virtues— + ’Tis not His virtues, but His name alone + They wish to thrust upon us—’Tis His name + Which they desire should overspread the world, + Should swallow up the name of all good men, + And put the best to shame. ’Tis His mere name + They care for— + + SALADIN. + + Else, my Sittah, as thou sayst, + They would not have required that thou, and Melek, + Should be called Christians, ere you might be suffered + To feel for Christians conjugal affection. + + SITTAH. + + As if from Christians only, and as Christians, + That love could be expected which our Maker + In man and woman for each other planted. + + SALADIN. + + The Christians do believe such idle notions, + They well might fancy this: and yet thou errest. + The templars, not the Christians, are in fault. + ’Tis not as Christians, but as templars, that + They thwart my purpose. They alone prevent it. + They will on no account evacuate Acca, + Which was to be the dower of Richard’s sister, + And, lest their order suffer, use this cant— + Bring into play the nonsense of the monk— + And scarcely would await the truce’s end + To fall upon us. Go on so—go on, + To me you’re welcome, sirs. Would all things else + Went but as right! + + SITTAH. + + What else should trouble thee, + If this do not? + + SALADIN. + + Why, that which ever has. + I’ve been on Libanon, and seen our father. + He’s full of care. + + SITTAH. + + Alas! + + SALADIN. + + He can’t make shift, + Straitened on all sides, put off, disappointed; + Nothing comes in. + + SITTAH. + + What fails him, Saladin? + + SALADIN. + + What? but the thing I scarcely deign to name, + Which, when I have it, so superfluous seems, + And, when I have it not, so necessary. + Where is Al-Hafi then—this fatal money— + O welcome, Hafi! + + HAFI, SALADIN, _and_ SITTAH. + + HAFI. + + I suppose the gold + From Egypt is arrived. + + SALADIN. + + Hast tidings of it? + + HAFI. + + I? no, not I. I thought to have ta’en it here. + + SALADIN. + + To Sittah pay a thousand dinars. + + HAFI. + + Pay? + And not receive—that’s something less than nothing. + To Sittah and again to Sittah—and + Once more for loss at chess? Is this your game? + + SITTAH. + + Dost grudge me my good fortune? + + HAFI (_examining the board_). + + Grudge! you know— + + SITTAH (_making signs to Hafi_). + + Hush, Hafi, hush! + + HAFI. + + And were the white men yours? + You gave the check? + + SITTAH. + + ’Tis well he does not hear. + + HAFI. + + And he to move? + + SITTAH (_approaching Hafi_). + + Say then aloud that I + Shall have my money. + + HAFI (_still considering the game_). + + Yes, yes! you shall have it— + As you have always had it. + + SITTAH. + + Are you crazy? + + HAFI. + + The game is not decided; Saladin, + You have not lost. + + SALADIN (_scarcely hearkening_). + + Well, well!—pay, pay. + + HAFI. + + Pay, pay— + There stands your queen. + + SALADIN (_still walking about_). + + It boots not, she is useless. + + SITTAH (_low to Hafi_). + + Do say that I may send and fetch the gold. + + HAFI. + + Aye, aye, as usual—But although the queen + Be useless, you are by no means check-mate. + + SALADIN (_dashes down the board_). + + I am. I will then— + + HAFI. + + So! small pains, small gains; + As got, so spent. + + SALADIN (_to Sittah_). + + What is he muttering there? + + SITTAH (_to Saladin_, _winking meanwhile to Hafi_). + + You know him well, and his unyielding way. + He chooses to be prayed to—maybe he’s envious— + + SALADIN. + + No, not of thee, not of my sister, surely. + What do I hear, Al-Hafi, are you envious? + + HAFI. + + Perhaps. I’d rather have her head than mine, + Or her heart either. + + SITTAH. + + Ne’ertheless, my brother, + He pays me right, and will again to-day. + Let him alone. There, go away, Al-Hafi; + I’ll send and fetch my dinars. + + HAFI. + + No, I will not; + I will not act this farce a moment longer: + He shall, must know it. + + SALADIN. + + Who? what? + + SITTAH. + + O Al-Hafi, + Is this thy promise, this thy keeping word? + + HAFI. + + How could I think it was to go so far? + + SALADIN. + + Well, what am I to know? + + SITTAH. + + I pray thee, Hafi, + Be more discreet. + + SALADIN. + + That’s very singular. + And what can Sittah then so earnestly, + So warmly have to sue for from a stranger, + A dervis, rather than from me, her brother? + Al-Hafi, I command. Dervis, speak out. + + SITTAH. + + Let not a trifle, brother, touch you nearer + Than is becoming. You know I have often + Won the same sum of you at chess, and, as + I have not just at present need of money, + I’ve left the sum at rest in Hafi’s chest, + Which is not over-full; and thus the stakes + Are not yet taken out—but, never fear, + It is not my intention to bestow them + On thee, or Hafi. + + HAFI. + + Were it only this— + + SITTAH. + + Some more such trifles are perhaps unclaimed; + My own allowance, which you set apart, + Has lain some months untouched. + + HAFI. + + Nor is that all— + + SALADIN. + + Nor yet—speak then! + + HAFI. + + Since we have been expecting + The treasure out of Egypt, she not only— + + SITTAH. + + Why listen to him? + + HAFI. + + Has not had an asper;— + + SALADIN. + + Good creature—but has been advancing to thee— + + HAFI. + + Has at her sole expense maintained thy state. + + SALADIN (_embracing her_). + + My sister—ah! + + SITTAH. + + And who but you, my brother, + Could make me rich enough to have the power? + + HAFI. + + And in a little time again will leave thee + Poor as himself. + + SALADIN. + + I, poor—her brother, poor? + When had I more, when less than at this instant? + A cloak, a horse, a sabre, and a God!— + What need I else? With them what can be wanting? + And yet, Al-Hafi, I could quarrel with thee + For this. + + SITTAH. + + A truce to that, my brother. Were it + As easy to remove our father’s cares! + + SALADIN. + + Ah! now my joy thou hast at once abated: + To me there is, there can be, nothing wanting; + But—but to him—and, in him, to us all. + What shall I do? From Egypt maybe nothing + Will come this long time. Why—God only knows. + We hear of no stir. To reduce, to spare, + I am quite willing for myself to stoop to, + Were it myself, and only I, should suffer— + But what can that avail? A cloak, a horse, + A sword I ne’er can want;—as to my God, + He is not to be bought; He asks but little, + Only my heart. I had relied, Al-Hafi, + Upon a surplus in my chest. + + HAFI. + + A surplus? + And tell me, would you not have had me impaled, + Or hanged at least, if you had found me out + In hoarding up a surplus? Deficits— + Those one may venture on. + + SALADIN. + + Well, but how next? + Could you have found out no one where to borrow + Unless of Sittah? + + SITTAH. + + And would I have borne + To see the preference given to another? + I still lay claim to it. I am not as yet + Entirely bare. + + SALADIN. + + Not yet entirely—This + Was wanting still. Go, turn thyself about; + Take where, and as, thou canst; be quick, Al-Hafi. + Borrow on promise, contract, anyhow; + But heed me—not of those I have enriched— + To borrow there might seem to ask it back. + Go to the covetous. They’ll gladliest lend— + They know how well their money thrives with me— + + HAFI. + + I know none such. + + SITTAH. + + I recollect just now + I heard, Al-Hafi, of thy friend’s return. + + HAFI (_startled_). + + Friend—friend of mine—and who should that be? + + SITTAH. + + Who? + Thy vaunted Jew! + + HAFI. + + A Jew, and praised by me? + + SITTAH. + + To whom his God (I think I still retain + Thy own expression used concerning him) + To whom, of all the good things of this world, + His God in full abundance has bestowed + The greatest and the least. + + HAFI. + + What could I mean + When I said so? + + SITTAH. + + The least of good things, riches; + The greatest, wisdom. + + HAFI. + + How—and of a Jew + Could I say that? + + SITTAH. + + Didst thou not—of thy Nathan? + + HAFI. + + Hi ho! of him—of Nathan? At that moment + He did not come across me. But, in fact, + He is at length come home; and, I suppose, + Is not ill off. His people used to call him + The wise—also the rich. + + SITTAH. + + The rich he’s named + Now more than ever. The whole town resounds + With news of jewels, costly stuffs, and stores, + That he brings back. + + HAFI. + + Is he the rich again— + He’ll be, no fear of it, once more the wise. + + SITTAH. + + What thinkst thou, Hafi, of a call on him? + + HAFI. + + On him—sure not to borrow—why, you know him— + He lend? Therein his very wisdom lies, + That he lends no one. + + SITTAH. + + Formerly thon gav’st + A very different picture of this Nathan. + + HAFI. + + In case of need he’ll lend you merchandise, + But money, money, never. He’s a Jew, + There are but few such! he has understanding, + Knows life, plays chess; but is in bad notorious + Above his brethren, as he is in good. + On him rely not. To the poor indeed + He vies perhaps with Saladin in giving: + Though he distributes less, he gives as freely, + As silently, as nobly, to Jew, Christian, + Mahometan, or Parsee—’tis all one. + + SITTAH. + + And such a man should be— + + SALADIN. + + How comes it then + I never heard of him? + + SITTAH. + + Should be unwilling + To lend to Saladin, who wants for others, + Not for himself. + + HAFI. + + Aye, there peeps out the Jew, + The ordinary Jew. Believe me, prince, + He’s jealous, really envious of your giving. + To earn God’s favour seems his very business. + He lends not that he may always have to give. + The law commandeth mercy, not compliance: + And thus for mercy’s sake he’s uncomplying. + ’Tis true, I am not now on the best terms + With Nathan, but I must entreat you, think not + That therefore I would do injustice to him. + He’s good in everything, but not in that— + Only in that. I’ll knock at other doors. + I just have recollected an old Moor, + Who’s rich and covetous—I go—I go. + + SITTAH. + + Why in such hurry, Hafi? + + SALADIN. + + Let him go. + + SALADIN _and_ SITTAH. + + SITTAH. + + He hastens like a man who would escape me; + Why so? Was he indeed deceived in Nathan, + Or does he play upon us? + + SALADIN. + + Can I guess? + I scarcely know of whom you have been talking, + And hear to-day, for the first time, of Nathan. + + SITTAH. + + Is’t possible the man were hid from thee, + Of whom ’tis said, he has found out the tombs + Of Solomon and David, knows the word + That lifts their marble lids, and thence obtains + The golden oil that feeds his shining pomp? + + SALADIN. + + Were this man’s wealth by miracle created, + ’Tis not at David’s tomb, or Solomon’s, + That ’twould be wrought. Not virtuous men lie there. + + SITTAH. + + His source of opulence is more productive + And more exhaustless than a cave of Mammon. + + SALADIN. + + He trades, I hear. + + SITTAH. + + His ships fill every harbour; + His caravans through every desert toil. + This has Al-Hafi told me long ago: + With transport adding then—how nobly Nathan + Bestows what he esteems it not a meanness + By prudent industry to have justly earned— + How free from prejudice his lofty soul— + His heart to every virtue how unlocked— + With every lovely feeling how familiar. + + SALADIN. + + Yet Hafi spake just now so coldly of him. + + SITTAH. + + Not coldly; but with awkwardness, confusion, + As if he thought it dangerous to praise him, + And yet knew not to blame him undeserving, + Or can it really be that e’en the best + Among a people cannot quite escape + The tinges of the tribe; and that, in fact, + Al-Hafi has in this to blush for Nathan? + Be that as’t may—be he the Jew or no— + Is he but rich—that is enough for us. + + SALADIN. + + You would not, sister, take his wealth by force. + + SITTAH. + + What do you mean by force—fire, sword? Oh no! + What force is necessary with the weak + But their own weakness? Come awhile with me + Into my harem: I have bought a songstress, + You have not heard her, she came yesterday: + Meanwhile I’ll think somewhat about a project + I have upon this Nathan. Follow, brother. + + +SCENE.—The Place of Palms, close to Nathan’s House. + + + NATHAN, _attired_, _comes out with_ RECHA. + + RECHA. + + You have been so very slow, my dearest father, + You now will hardly be in time to find him. + + NATHAN. + + Well, if not here beneath the palms; yet, surely, + Elsewhere. My child, be satisfied. See, see, + Is not that Daya making towards us? + + RECHA. + + She certainly has lost him then. + + NATHAN. + + Why so? + + RECHA. + + Else she’d walk quicker. + + NATHAN. + + She may not have seen us. + + RECHA. + + There, now she sees us. + + NATHAN. + + And her speed redoubles, + Be calm, my Recha. + + RECHA. + + Would you have your daughter + Be cool and unconcerned who ’twas that saved her, + Heed not to whom is due the life she prizes + Chiefly because she owed it first to thee? + + NATHAN. + + I would not wish thee other than thou art, + E’en if I knew that in thy secret soul + A very different emotion throbs. + + RECHA. + + Why—what my father? + + NATHAN. + + Dost thou ask of me, + So tremblingly of me, what passes in thee? + Whatever ’tis, ’tis innocence and nature. + Be not alarmed, it gives me no alarm; + But promise me that, when thy heart shall speak + A plainer language, thou wilt not conceal + A single of thy wishes from my fondness. + + RECHA. + + Oh the mere possibility of wishing + Rather to veil and hide them makes me shudder. + + NATHAN. + + Let this be spoken once for all. Well, Daya— + + NATHAN, RECHA, _and_ DAYA. + + DAYA. + + He still is here beneath the palms, and soon + Will reach yon wall. See, there he comes. + + RECHA. + + And seems + Irresolute where next; if left or right. + + DAYA. + + I know he mostly passes to the convent, + And therefore comes this path. What will you lay me? + + RECHA. + + Oh yes he does. And did you speak to him? + How did he seem to-day? + + DAYA. + + As heretofore. + + NATHAN. + + Don’t let him see you with me: further back; + Or rather to the house. + + RECHA. + + Just one peep more. + Now the hedge steals him from me. + + DAYA. + + Come away. + Your father’s in the right—should he perceive us, + ’Tis very probable he’ll tack about. + + RECHA. + + But for the hedge— + + NATHAN. + + Now he emerges from it. + He can’t but see you: hence—I ask it of you. + + DAYA. + + I know a window whence we yet may— + + RECHA. + + Ay. + + [_Goes in with Daya_. + + NATHAN. + + I’m almost shy of this strange fellow, almost + Shrink back from his rough virtue. That one man + Should ever make another man feel awkward! + And yet—He’s coming—ha!—by God, the youth + Looks like a man. I love his daring eye, + His open gait. May be the shell is bitter; + But not the kernel surely. I have seen + Some such, methinks. Forgive me, noble Frank. + + NATHAN _and_ TEMPLAR. + + TEMPLAR. + + What? + + NATHAN. + + Give me leave. + + TEMPLAR. + + Well, Jew, what wouldst thou have? + + NATHAN. + + The liberty of speaking to you! + + TEMPLAR. + + So— + Can I prevent it? Quick then, what’s your business? + + NATHAN. + + Patience—nor hasten quite so proudly by + A man, who has not merited contempt, + And whom, for evermore, you’ve made your debtor. + + TEMPLAR. + + How so? Perhaps I guess—No—Are you then— + + NATHAN. + + My name is Nathan, father to the maid + Your generous courage snatched from circling flames, + And hasten— + + TEMPLAR. + + If with thanks, keep, keep them all. + Those little things I’ve had to suffer much from: + Too much already, far. And, after all, + You owe me nothing. Was I ever told + She was your daughter? ’Tis a templar’s duty + To rush to the assistance of the first + Poor wight that needs him; and my life just then + Was quite a burden. I was mighty glad + To risk it for another; tho’ it were + That of a Jewess. + + NATHAN. + + Noble, and yet shocking! + The turn might be expected. Modest greatness + Wears willingly the mask of what is shocking + To scare off admiration: but, altho’ + She may disdain the tribute, admiration, + Is there no other tribute she can bear with? + Knight, were you here not foreign, not a captive + I would not ask so freely. Speak, command, + In what can I be useful? + + TEMPLAR. + + You—in nothing. + + NATHAN. + + I’m rich. + + TEMPLAR. + + To me the richer Jew ne’er seemed + The bettor Jew. + + NATHAN. + + Is that a reason why + You should not use the better part of him, + His wealth? + + TEMPLAR. + + Well, well, I’ll not refuse it wholly, + For my poor mantle’s sake—when that is threadbare, + And spite of darning will not hold together, + I’ll come and borrow cloth, or money of thee, + To make me up a new one. Don’t look solemn; + The danger is not pressing; ’tis not yet + At the last gasp, but tight and strong and good, + Save this poor corner, where an ugly spot + You see is singed upon it. It got singed + As I bore off your daughter from the fire. + + NATHAN (_taking hold of the mantle_). + + ’Tis singular that such an ugly spot + Bears better testimony to the man + Than his own mouth. This brand—Oh I could kiss it! + Your pardon—that I meant not. + + TEMPLAR. + + What? + + NATHAN. + + A tear + Fell on the spot. + + TEMPLAR. + + You’ll find up more such tears— + (This Jew methinks begins to work upon me). + + NATHAN. + + Would you send once this mantle to my daughter? + + TEMPLAR. + + Why? + + NATHAN. + + That her lips may cling to this dear speck; + For at her benefactor’s feet to fall, + I find, she hopes in vain. + + TEMPLAR. + + But, Jew, your name + You said was Nathan—Nathan, you can join + Your words together cunningly—right well— + I am confused—in fact—I would have been— + + NATHAN. + + Twist, writhe, disguise you, as you will, I know you, + You were too honest, knight, to be more civil; + A girl all feeling, and a she-attendant + All complaisance, a father at a distance— + You valued her good name, and would not see her. + You scorned to try her, lest you should be victor; + For that I also thank you. + + TEMPLAR. + + I confess, + You know how templars ought to think. + + NATHAN. + + Still templars— + And only _ought_ to think—and all because + The rules and vows enjoin it to the _order_— + I know how good men think—know that all lands + Produce good men. + + TEMPLAR. + + But not without distinction. + + NATHAN. + + In colour, dress, and shape, perhaps, distinguished. + + TEMPLAR. + + Here more, there fewer sure? + + NATHAN. + + That boots not much, + The great man everywhere has need of room. + Too many set together only serve + To crush each others’ branches. Middling good, + As we are, spring up everywhere in plenty. + Only let one not scar and bruise the other; + Let not the gnarl be angry with the stump; + Let not the upper branch alone pretend + Not to have started from the common earth. + + TEMPLAR. + + Well said: and yet, I trust, you know the nation, + That first began to strike at fellow men, + That first baptised itself the chosen people— + How now if I were—not to hate this people, + Yet for its pride could not forbear to scorn it, + The pride which it to Mussulman and Christian + Bequeathed, as were its God alone the true one, + You start, that I, a Christian and a templar, + Talk thus. Where, when, has e’er the pious rage + To own the better god—on the whole world + To force this better, as the best of all— + Shown itself more, and in a blacker form, + Than here, than now? To him, whom, here and now, + The film is not removing from his eye— + But be he blind that wills! Forget my speeches + And leave me. + + NATHAN. + + Ah! indeed you do not know + How closer I shall cling to you henceforth. + We must, we will be friends. Despise my nation— + We did not choose a nation for ourselves. + Are we our nations? What’s a nation then? + Were Jews and Christians such, e’er they were men? + And have I found in thee one more, to whom + It is enough to be a man? + + TEMPLAR. + + That hast thou. + Nathan, by God, thou hast. Thy hand. I blush + To have mistaken thee a single instant. + + NATHAN. + + And I am proud of it. Only common souls + We seldom err in. + + TEMPLAR. + + And uncommon ones + Seldom forget. Yes, Nathan, yes we must, + We will be friends. + + NATHAN. + + We are so. And my Recha— + She will rejoice. How sweet the wider prospect + That dawns upon me! Do but know her—once. + + TEMPLAR. + + I am impatient for it. Who is that + Bursts from your house, methinks it is your Daya. + + NATHAN. + + Ay—but so anxiously— + + TEMPLAR. + + Sure, to our Recha + Nothing has happened. + + NATHAN, TEMPLAR, _and_ DAYA. + + DAYA. + + Nathan, Nathan. + + NATHAN. + + Well. + + DAYA. + + Forgive me, knight, that I must interrupt you. + + NATHAN. + + What is the matter? + + TEMPLAR. + + What? + + DAYA. + + The sultan sends— + The sultan wants to see you—in a hurry. + Jesus! the sultan— + + NATHAN. + + Saladin wants me? + He will be curious to see what wares, + Precious, or new, I brought with me from Persia. + Say there is nothing hardly yet unpacked. + + DAYA. + + No, no: ’tis not to look at anything. + He wants to speak to you, to you in person, + And orders you to come as soon as may be. + + NATHAN. + + I’ll go—return. + + DAYA. + + Knight, take it not amiss; + But we were so alarmed for what the sultan + Could have in view. + + NATHAN. + + That I shall soon discover. + + NATHAN _and_ TEMPLAR. + + TEMPLAR. + + And don’t you know him yet, I mean his person? + + NATHAN. + + Whose, Saladin’s? Not yet. I’ve neither shunned, + Nor sought to see him. And the general voice + Speaks too well of him, for me not to wish, + Rather to take its language upon trust, + Than sift the truth out. Yet—if it be so— + He, by the saving of your life, has now— + + TEMPLAR. + + Yes: it is so. The life I live he gave. + + NATHAN. + + And in it double treble life to me. + This flings a bond about me, which shall tie me + For ever to his service: and I scarcely + Like to defer inquiring for his wishes. + For everything I am ready; and am ready + To own that ’tis on your account I am so. + + TEMPLAR. + + As often as I’ve thrown me in his way, + I have not found as yet the means to thank him. + The impression that I made upon him came + Quickly, and so has vanished. Now perhaps + He recollects me not, who knows? Once more + At least, he must recall me to his mind, + Fully to fix my doom. ’Tis not enough + That by his order I am yet in being, + By his permission live, I have to learn + According to whose will I must exist. + + NATHAN. + + Therefore I shall the more avoid delay. + Perchance some word may furnish me occasion + To glance at you—perchance—Excuse me, knight, + I am in haste. When shall we see you with us? + + TEMPLAR. + + Soon as I may. + + NATHAN. + + That is, whene’er you will. + + TEMPLAR. + + To-day, then. + + NATHAN. + + And your name? + + TEMPLAR. + + My name was—is + Conrade of Stauffen. + + NATHAN. + + Conrade of Stauffen! Stauffen! + + TEMPLAR. + + Why does that strike so forcibly upon you? + + NATHAN. + + There are more races of that name, no doubt. + + TEMPLAR. + + Yes, many of that name were here—rot here. + My uncle even—I should say, my father. + But wherefore is your look so sharpened on me? + + NATHAN. + + Nothing—how can I weary to behold you— + + TEMPLAR. + + Therefore I quit you first. The searching eye + Finds often more than it desires to see. + I fear it, Nathan. Fare thee well. Let time, + Not curiosity make us acquainted. + + [_Goes_. + + NATHAN, _and soon after_, DAYA. + + NATHAN. + + “The searching eye will oft discover more + Than it desires,” ’tis as he read my soul. + That too may chance to me. ’Tis not alone + Leonard’s walk, stature, but his very voice. + Leonard so wore his head, was even wont + Just so to brush his eyebrows with his hand, + As if to mask the fire that fills his look. + Those deeply graven images at times + How they will slumber in us, seem forgotten, + When all at once a word a tone, a gesture, + Retraces all. Of Stauffen? Ay right—right— + Filnek and Stauffen—I will soon know more— + But first to Saladin—Ha, Daya there? + Why on the watch? Come nearer. By this time, + I’ll answer for’t, you’ve something more at heart + Than to know what the sultan wants with me. + + DAYA. + + And do you take it ill in part of her? + You were beginning to converse with him + More confidentially, just as the message, + Sent by the sultan, tore us from the window. + + NATHAN. + + Go tell her that she may expect his visit + At every instant. + + DAYA. + + What indeed—indeed? + + NATHAN. + + I think I can rely upon thee, Daya: + Be on thy guard, I beg. Thou’lt not repent it. + Be but discreet. Thy conscience too will surely + Find its account in ’t. Do not mar my plans + But leave them to themselves. Relate and question + With modesty, with backwardness. + + DAYA. + + Oh fear not. + How come you to preach up all this to me? + I go—go too. The sultan sends for you + A second time, and by your friend Al-Hafi. + + NATHAN _and_ HAFI. + + HAFI. + + Ha! art thou here? I was now seeking for thee. + + NATHAN. + + Why in such haste? What wants he then with me? + + HAFI. + + Who? + + NATHAN. + + Saladin. I’m coming—I am coming. + + HAFI. + + Where, to the sultan’s? + + NATHAN. + + Was ’t not he who sent thee? + + HAFI. + + Me? No. And has he sent already? + + NATHAN. + + Yes. + + HAFI. + + Then ’tis all right. + + NATHAN. + + What’s right? + + HAFI. + + That I’m unguilty. + God knows I am not guilty, knows I said— + What said I not of thee—belied thee—slandered— + To ward it off. + + NATHAN. + + To ward off what—be plain. + + HAFI. + + That them art now become his defterdar. + I pity thee. Behold it I will not. + I go this very hour—my road I told thee. + Now—hast thou orders by the way—command, + And then, adieu. Indeed they must not be + Such business as a naked man can’t carry. + Quick, what’s thy pleasure? + + NATHAN. + + Recollect yourself. + As yet all this is quite a riddle to me. + I know of nothing. + + HAFI. + + Where are then thy bags? + + NATHAN. + + Bags? + + HAFI. + + Bags of money: bring the weightiest forth: + The money thou’rt to lend the sultan, Nathan. + + NATHAN. + + And is that all? + + HAFI. + + Novice, thou’st yet to learn + How he day after day will scoop and scoop, + Till nothing but an hollow empty paring, + A husk as light as film, is left behind. + Thou’st yet to learn how prodigality + From prudent bounty’s never-empty coffers + Borrows and borrows, till there’s not a purse + Left to keep rats from starving. Thou mayst fancy + That he who wants thy gold will heed thy counsel; + But when has he yet listened to advice? + Imagine now what just befell me with him. + + NATHAN. + + Well— + + HAFI. + + I went in and found him with his sister, + Engaged, or rather rising up from chess. + Sittah plays—not amiss. Upon the board + The game, that Saladin supposed was lost + And had given up, yet stood. When I drew nigh, + And had examined it, I soon discovered + It was not gone by any means. + + NATHAN. + + For you + A blest discovery, a treasure-trove. + + HAFI. + + He only needed to remove his king + Behind the tower t’ have got him out of check. + Could I but make you sensible— + + NATHAN. + + I’ll trust thee. + + HAFI. + + Then with the knight still left.—I would have shown him + And called him to the board.—He must have won; + But what d’ye think he did? + + NATHAN. + + Dared doubt your insight? + + HAFI. + + He would not listen; but with scorn o’erthrew + The standing pieces. + + NATHAN. + + Is that possible? + + HAFI. + + And said, he chose to be check-mate—he chose it— + Is that to play the game? + + NATHAN. + + Most surely not: + ’Tis to play with the game. + + HAFI. + + And yet the stake + Was not a nut-shell. + + NATHAN. + + Money here or there + Matters but little. Not to listen to thee, + And on a point of such importance, Hafi, + There lies the rub. Not even to admire + Thine eagle eye—thy comprehensive glance— + That calls for vengeance:—does it not, Al-Hafi? + + HAFI. + + I only tell it to thee that thou mayst see + How his brain’s formed. I bear with him no longer. + Here I’ve been running to each dirty Moor, + Inquiring who will lend him. I, who ne’er + Went for myself a begging, go a borrowing, + And that for others. Borrowing’s much the same + As begging; just as lending upon usury + Is much the same as thieving—decency + Makes not of lewdness virtue. On the Ganges, + Among my ghebers, I have need of neither: + Nor need I be the tool or pimp of either— + Upon the Ganges only there are men. + Here, thou alone art somehow almost worthy + To have lived upon the Ganges. Wilt thou with me? + And leave him with the captive cloak alone, + The booty that he wants to strip thee of. + Little by little he will flay thee clean. + Thins thou’lt be quit at once, without the tease + Of being sliced to death. Come wilt thou with me? + I’ll find thee with a staff. + + NATHAN. + + I should have thought, + Come what come may, that thy resource remained: + But I’ll consider of it. Stay. + + HAFI. + + Consider— + No; such things must not be considered. + + NATHAN. + + Stay: + Till I have seen the sultan—till you’ve had— + + HAFI. + + He, who considers, looks about for motives + To forbear daring. He, who can’t resolve + In storm and sunshine to himself to live, + Must live the slave of others all his life. + But as you please; farewell! ’tis you who choose. + My path lies yonder—and yours there— + + NATHAN. + + Al-Hafi, + Stay then; at least you’ll set things right—not leave them + At sixes and at sevens— + + HAFI. + + Farce! Parade! + The balance in the chest will need no telling. + And my account—Sittah, or you, will vouch. + Farewell. + + [_Goes_. + + NATHAN. + + Yes I will vouch it. Honest, wild— + How shall I call you—Ah! the real beggar + Is, after all, the only real monarch. + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE.—A Room in Nathan’s House. + + + RECHA _and_ DAYA. + + RECHA. + + What, Daya, did my father really say + I might expect him, every instant, here? + That meant—now did it not? he would come soon. + And yet how many instants have rolled by!— + But who would think of those that are elapsed?— + To the next moment only I’m alive.— + At last the very one will come that brings him. + + DAYA. + + But for the sultan’s ill-timed message, Nathan + Had brought him in. + + RECHA. + + And when this moment comes, + And when this warmest inmost of my wishes + Shall be fulfilled, what then? what then? + + DAYA. + + What then? + Why then I hope the warmest of my wishes + Will have its turn, and happen. + + RECHA. + + ’Stead of this, + What wish shall take possession of my bosom, + Which now without some ruling wish of wishes + Knows not to heave? Shall nothing? ah, I shudder. + + DAYA. + + Yes: mine shall then supplant the one fulfilled— + My wish to see thee placed one day in Europe + In hands well worthy of thee. + + RECHA. + + No, thou errest— + The very thing that makes thee form this wish + Prevents its being mine. The country draws thee, + And shall not mine retain me? Shall an image, + A fond remembrance of thy home, thy kindred, + Which years and distance have not yet effaced, + Be mightier o’er thy soul, than what I hear, + See, feel, and hold, of mine. + + DAYA. + + ’Tis vain to struggle— + The ways of heaven are the ways of heaven. + Is he the destined saviour, by whose arm + His God, for whom he fights, intends to lead thee + Into the land, which thou wast born for— + + RECHA. + + Daya, + What art thou prating of? My dearest Daya, + Indeed thou hast some strange unseemly notions. + “_His_ God—_for_ whom he fights”—what is a God + Belonging to a man—needing another + To fight his battles? And can we pronounce + _For_ which among the scattered clods of earth + You, I was born; unless it be for that + _On_ which we were produced. If Nathan heard thee— + What has my father done to thee, that thou + Hast ever sought to paint my happiness + As lying far remote from him and his. + What has he done to thee that thus, among + The seeds of reason, which he sowed unmixed, + Pure in my soul, thou ever must be seeking + To plant the weeds, or flowers, of thy own land. + He wills not of these pranking gaudy blossoms + Upon this soil. And I too must acknowledge + I feel as if they had a sour-sweet odour, + That makes me giddy—that half suffocates. + Thy head is wont to bear it. I don’t blame + Those stronger nerves that can support it. Mine— + Mine it behoves not. Latterly thy angel + Had made me half a fool. I am ashamed, + Whene’er I see my father, of the folly. + + DAYA. + + As if here only wisdom were at home— + Folly—if I dared speak. + + RECHA. + + And dar’st thou not? + When was I not all ear, if thou beganst + To talk about the heroes of thy faith? + Have I not freely on their deeds bestowed + My admiration, to their sufferings yielded + The tribute of my tears? Their faith indeed + Has never seemed their most heroic side + To me: yet, therefore, have I only learnt + To find more consolation in the thought, + That our devotion to the God of all + Depends not on our notions about God. + My father has so often told us so— + Thou hast so often to this point consented— + How can it be that thou alone art restless + To undermine what you built up together? + This is not the most fit discussion, Daya, + To usher in our friend to; tho’ indeed + I should not disincline to it—for to me + It is of infinite importance if + He too—but hark—there’s some one at the door. + If it were he—stay—hush— + + (_A Slave who shows in the Templar_.) + + They are—here this way. + + TEMPLAR, DAYA, _and_ RECHA. + + RECHA. + + (_starts_—_composes herself_—_then offers to fall at his feet_) + + ’Tis he—my saviour! ah! + + TEMPLAR. + + This to avoid + Have I alone deferred my call so long. + + RECHA. + + Yes, at the feet of this proud man, I will + Thank—God alone. The man will have no thanks; + No more than will the bucket which was busy + In showering watery damps upon the flame. + That was filled, emptied—but to me, to thee + What boots it? So the man—he too, he too + Was thrust, he knew not how, and the fire. + I dropped, by chance, into his open arm. + By chance, remained there—like a fluttering spark + Upon his mantle—till—I know not what + Pushed us both from amid the conflagration. + What room is here for thanks? How oft in Europe + Wine urges men to very different deeds! + Templars must so behave; it is their office, + Like better taught or rather handier spaniels, + To fetch from out of fire, as out of water. + + TEMPLAR. + + Oh Daya, Daya, if, in hasty moments + Of care and of chagrin, my unchecked temper + Betrayed me into rudeness, why convey + To her each idle word that left my tongue? + This is too piercing a revenge indeed; + Yet if henceforth thou wilt interpret better— + + DAYA. + + I question if these barbed words, Sir Knight, + Alighted so, as to have much disserved you. + + RECHA. + + How, you had cares, and were more covetous + Of them than of your life? + + TEMPLAR. + + (_who has been viewing her with wonder and perturbation_). + + Thou best of beings, + How is my soul ’twixt eye and ear divided! + No: ’twas not she I snatched from amid fire: + For who could know her and forbear to do it?— + Indeed—disguised by terror— + + [_Pause_: _during which he gazes on her as it were entranced_. + + RECHA. + + But to me + You still appear the same you then appeared. + + [_Another like pause_—_till she resumes_, _in order to interrupt him_. + + Now tell me, knight, where have you been so long? + It seems as might I ask—where are you now? + + TEMPLAR. + + I am—where I perhaps ought not to be. + + RECHA. + + Where have you been? where you perhaps ought not— + That is not well. + + TEMPLAR. + + Up—how d’ye call the mountain? + Up Sinai. + + RECHA. + + Oh, that’s very fortunate. + Now I shall learn for certain if ’tis true— + + TEMPLAR. + + What! if the spot may yet be seen where Moses + Stood before God; when first— + + RECHA. + + No, no, not that. + Where’er he stood, ’twas before God. Of this + I know enough already. Is it true, + I wish to learn from you that—that it is not + By far so troublesome to climb this mountain + As to get down—for on all mountains else, + That I have seen, quite the reverse obtains. + Well, knight, why will you turn away from me? + Not look at me? + + TEMPLAR. + + Because I wish to hear you. + + RECHA. + + Because you do not wish me to perceive + You smile at my simplicity—You smile + That I can think of nothing more important + To ask about the holy hill of hills: + Do you not? + + TEMPLAR. + + Must I meet those eyes again? + And now you cast them down, and damp the smile— + Am I in doubtful motions of the features + To read what I so plainly hear—what you + So audibly declare; yet will conceal?— + How truly said thy father “Do but know her!” + + RECHA. + + Who has—of whom—said so to thee? + + TEMPLAR. + + Thy father + Said to me “Do but know her,” and of thee. + + DAYA. + + And have not I too said so, times and oft. + + TEMPLAR. + + But where is then your father—with the sultan? + + RECHA. + + So I suppose. + + TEMPLAR. + + Yet there? Oh, I forget, + He cannot be there still. He is waiting for me + Most certainly below there by the cloister. + ’Twas so, I think, we had agreed, Forgive, + I go in quest of him. + + DAYA. + + Knight, I’ll do that. + Wait here, I’ll bring him hither instantly. + + TEMPLAR. + + Oh no—Oh no. He is expecting me. + Besides—you are not aware what may have happened. + ’Tis not unlikely he may be involved + With Saladin—you do not know the sultan— + In some unpleasant—I must go, there’s danger + If I forbear. + + RECHA. + + Danger—of what? of what? + + TEMPLAR. + + Danger for me, for thee, for him; unless + I go at once. + + [_Goes_. + + RECHA _and_ DAYA. + + RECHA. + + What is the matter, Daya? + So quick—what comes across him, drives him hence? + + DAYA. + + Let him alone, I think it no bad sign. + + RECHA. + + Sign—and of what? + + DAYA. + + That something passes in him. + It boils—but it must not boil over. Leave him— + Now ’tis your turn. + + RECHA. + + My turn? Thou dost become + Like him incomprehensible to me. + + DAYA. + + Now you may give him back all that unrest + He once occasioned. Be not too severe, + Nor too vindictive. + + RECHA. + + Daya, what you mean + You must know best. + + DAYA. + + And pray are you again + So calm. + + RECHA. + + I am—yes that I am. + + DAYA. + + At least + Own—that this restlessness has given you pleasure, + And that you have to thank his want of ease + For what of ease you now enjoy. + + RECHA. + + Of that + I am unconscious. All I could confess + Were, that it does seem strange unto myself, + How, in this bosom, such a pleasing calm + Can suddenly succeed to such a tossing. + + DAYA. + + His countenance, his speech, his manner, has + By this the satiated thee. + + RECHA. + + Satiated, + I will not say—not by a good deal yet. + + DAYA. + + But satisfied the more impatient craving. + + RECHA. + + Well, well, if you must have it so. + + DAYA. + + I? no. + + RECHA. + + To me he will be ever dear, will ever + Remain more dear than my own life; altho’ + My pulse no longer flutters at his name, + My heart no longer, when I think about him, + Beats stronger, swifter. What have I been prating? + Come, Daya, let us once more to the window + Which overlooks the palms. + + DAYA. + + So that ’tis not + Yet satisfied—the more impatient craving. + + RECHA. + + Now I shall see the palm-trees once again, + Not him alone amid them. + + DAYA. + + This cold fit + Is but the harbinger of other fevers. + + RECHA. + + Cold—cold—I am not cold; but I observe not + Less willingly what I behold with calmness. + + +SCENE.—An Audience Room in the Sultan’s Palace. + + + SITTAH: SALADIN _giving directions at the door_. + + SALADIN. + + Here, introduce the Jew, whene’er he comes— + He seems in no great haste. + + SITTAH. + + May be at first + He was not in the way. + + SALADIN. + + Ah, sister, sister! + + SITTAH. + + You seem as if a combat were impending. + + SALADIN. + + With weapons that I have not learnt to wield. + Must I disguise myself? I use precautions? + I lay a snare? When, where gained I that knowledge? + And this, for what? To fish for money—money— + For money from a Jew—and to such arts + Must Saladin descend at last to come at + The least of little things? + + SITTAH. + + Each little thing + Despised too much finds methods of revenge. + + SALADIN. + + ’Tis but too true. And if this Jew should prove + The fair good man, as once the dervis painted— + + SITTAH. + + Then difficulties cease. A snare concerns + The avaricious, cautious, fearful Jew; + And not the good wise man: for he is ours + Without a snare. Then the delight of hearing + How such a man speaks out; with what stern strength + He tears the net, or with what prudent foresight + He one by one undoes the tangled meshes; + That will be all to boot— + + SALADIN. + + That I shall joy in. + + SITTAH. + + What then should trouble thee? For if he be + One of the many only, a mere Jew, + You will not blush to such a one to seem + A man, as he thinks all mankind to be. + One, that to him should bear a better aspect, + Would seem a fool—a dupe. + + SALADIN. + + So that I must + Act badly, lest the bad think badly of me. + + SITTAH. + + Yes, if you call it acting badly, brother, + To use a thing after its kind. + + SALADIN. + + There’s nothing + That woman’s wit invents it can’t embellish. + + SITTAH. + + Embellish— + + SALADIN. + + But their fine-wrought filligree + In my rude hand would break. It is for those + That can contrive them to employ such weapons: + They ask a practised wrist. But chance what may, + Well as I can— + + SITTAH. + + Trust not yourself too little. + I answer for you, if you have the will. + Such men as you would willingly persuade us + It was their swords, their swords alone that raised them. + The lion’s apt to be ashamed of hunting + In fellowship of the fox—’tis of his fellow + Not of the cunning that he is ashamed. + + SALADIN. + + You women would so gladly level man + Down to yourselves. Go, I have got my lesson. + + SITTAH. + + What—_must_ I go? + + SALADIN. + + Had you the thought of staying? + + SITTAH. + + In your immediate presence not indeed, + But in the by-room. + + SALADIN. + + You could like to listen. + Not that, my sister, if I may insist. + Away! the curtain rustles—he is come. + Beware of staying—I’ll be on the watch. + + [_While Sittah retires through one door_, _Nathan enters at another_, + _and Saladin seats himself_. + + SALADIN _and_ NATHAN. + + SALADIN. + + Draw nearer, Jew, yet nearer; here, quite by me, + Without all fear. + + NATHAN. + + Remain that for thy foes! + + SALADIN. + + Your name is Nathan? + + NATHAN. + + Yes. + + SALADIN. + + Nathan the wise? + + NATHAN. + + No. + + SALADIN. + + If not thou, the people calls thee so. + + NATHAN. + + May be, the people. + + SALADIN. + + Fancy not that I + Think of the people’s voice contemptuously; + I have been wishing much to know the man + Whom it has named the wise. + + NATHAN. + + And if it named + Him so in scorn. If wise meant only prudent. + And prudent, one who knows his interest well. + + SALADIN. + + Who knows his real interest, thou must mean. + + NATHAN. + + Then were the interested the most prudent, + Then wise and prudent were the same. + + SALADIN. + + I hear + You proving what your speeches contradict. + You know man’s real interests, which the people + Knows not—at least have studied how to know them. + That alone makes the sage. + + NATHAN. + + Which each imagines + Himself to be. + + SALADIN. + + Of modesty enough! + Ever to meet it, where one seeks to hear + Dry truth, is vexing. Let us to the purpose— + But, Jew, sincere and open— + + NATHAN. + + I will serve thee + So as to merit, prince, thy further notice. + + SALADIN. + + Serve me—how? + + NATHAN. + + Thou shalt have the best I bring. + Shalt have them cheap. + + SALADIN. + + What speak you of?—your wares? + My sister shall be called to bargain with you + For them (so much for the sly listener), I + Have nothing to transact now with the merchant. + + NATHAN. + + Doubtless then you would learn, what, on my journey, + I noticed of the motions of the foe, + Who stirs anew. If unreserved I may— + + SALADIN. + + Neither was that the object of my sending: + I know what I have need to know already. + In short I willed your presence— + + NATHAN. + + Sultan, order. + + SALADIN. + + To gain instruction quite on other points. + Since you are a man so wise, tell me which law, + Which faith appears to you the better? + + NATHAN. + + Sultan, + I am a Jew. + + SALADIN. + + And I a Mussulman: + The Christian stands between us. Of these three + Religions only one came be the true. + A man, like you, remains not just where birth + Has chanced to cast him, or, if he remains there, + Does it from insight, choice, from grounds of preference. + Share then with me your insight—let me hear + The grounds of preference, which I have wanted + The leisure to examine—learn the choice, + These grounds have motived, that it may be mine. + In confidence I ask it. How you startle, + And weigh me with your eye! It may well be + I’m the first sultan to whom this caprice, + Methinks not quite unworthy of a sultan, + Has yet occurred. Am I not? Speak then—Speak. + Or do you, to collect yourself, desire + Some moments of delay—I give them you— + (Whether she’s listening?—I must know of her + If I’ve done right.) Reflect—I’ll soon return— + + [_Saladin steps into the room to which Sittah had retired_. + + NATHAN. + + Strange! how is this? what wills the sultan of me? + I came prepared with cash—he asks truth. Truth? + As if truth too were cash—a coin disused + That goes by weight—indeed ’tis some such thing— + But a new coin, known by the stamp at once, + To be flung down and told upon the counter, + It is not that. Like gold in bags tied up, + So truth lies hoarded in the wise man’s head + To be brought out.—Which now in this transaction + Which of us plays the Jew; he asks for truth, + Is truth what he requires, his aim, his end? + That this is but the glue to lime a snare + Ought not to be suspected, ’twere too little, + Yet what is found too little for the great— + In fact, through hedge and pale to stalk at once + Into one’s field beseems not—friends look round, + Seek for the path, ask leave to pass the gate— + I must be cautious. Yet to damp him back, + And be the stubborn Jew is not the thing; + And wholly to throw off the Jew, still less. + For if no Jew he might with right inquire— + Why not a Mussulman—Yes—that may serve me. + Not children only can be quieted + With stories. Ha! he comes—well, let him come. + + SALADIN (_returning_). + + So, there, the field is clear, I’m not too quick, + Thou hast bethought thyself as much as need is, + Speak, no one hears. + + NATHAN. + + Might the whole world but hear us. + + SALADIN. + + Is Nathan of his cause so confident? + Yes, that I call the sage—to veil no truth, + For truth to hazard all things, life and goods. + + NATHAN. + + Aye, when ’tis necessary and when useful. + + SALADIN. + + Henceforth I hope I shall with reason bear + One of my titles—“Betterer of the world + And of the law.” + + NATHAN. + + In truth a noble title. + But, sultan, e’er I quite unfold myself + Allow me to relate a tale. + + SALADIN. + + Why not? + I always was a friend of tales well told. + + NATHAN. + + Well told, that’s not precisely my affair. + + SALADIN. + + Again so proudly modest, come begin. + + NATHAN. + + In days of yore, there dwelt in east a man + Who from a valued hand received a ring + Of endless worth: the stone of it an opal, + That shot an ever-changing tint: moreover, + It had the hidden virtue him to render + Of God and man beloved, who in this view, + And this persuasion, wore it. Was it strange + The eastern man ne’er drew it off his finger, + And studiously provided to secure it + For ever to his house. Thus—He bequeathed it; + First, to the _most beloved_ of his sons, + Ordained that he again should leave the ring + To the _most dear_ among his children—and + That without heeding birth, the _favourite_ son, + In virtue of the ring alone, should always + Remain the lord o’ th’ house—You hear me, Sultan? + + SALADIN. + + I understand thee—on. + + NATHAN. + + From son to son, + At length this ring descended to a father, + Who had three sons, alike obedient to him; + Whom therefore he could not but love alike. + At times seemed this, now that, at times the third, + (Accordingly as each apart received + The overflowings of his heart) most worthy + To heir the ring, which with good-natured weakness + He privately to each in turn had promised. + This went on for a while. But death approached, + And the good father grew embarrassed. So + To disappoint two sons, who trust his promise, + He could not bear. What’s to be done. He sends + In secret to a jeweller, of whom, + Upon the model of the real ring, + He might bespeak two others, and commanded + To spare nor cost nor pains to make them like, + Quite like the true one. This the artist managed. + The rings were brought, and e’en the father’s eye + Could not distinguish which had been the model. + Quite overjoyed he summons all his sons, + Takes leave of each apart, on each bestows + His blessing and his ring, and dies—Thou hearest me? + + SALADIN. + + I hear, I hear, come finish with thy tale; + Is it soon ended? + + NATHAN. + + It is ended, Sultan, + For all that follows may be guessed of course. + Scarce is the father dead, each with his ring + Appears, and claims to be the lord o’ th’ house. + Comes question, strife, complaint—all to no end; + For the true ring could no more be distinguished + Than now can—the true faith. + + SALADIN. + + How, how, is that + To be the answer to my query? + + NATHAN. + + No, + But it may serve as my apology; + If I can’t venture to decide between + Rings, which the father got expressly made, + That they might not be known from one another. + + SALADIN. + + The rings—don’t trifle with me; I must think + That the religions which I named can be + Distinguished, e’en to raiment, drink and food, + + NATHAN. + + And only not as to their grounds of proof. + Are not all built alike on history, + Traditional, or written. History + Must be received on trust—is it not so? + In whom now are we likeliest to put trust? + In our own people surely, in those men + Whose blood we are, in them, who from our childhood + Have given us proofs of love, who ne’er deceived us, + Unless ’twere wholesomer to be deceived. + How can I less believe in my forefathers + Than thou in thine. How can I ask of thee + To own that thy forefathers falsified + In order to yield mine the praise of truth. + The like of Christians. + + SALADIN. + + By the living God, + The man is in the right, I must be silent. + + NATHAN. + + Now let us to our rings return once more. + As said, the sons complained. Each to the judge + Swore from his father’s hand immediately + To have received the ring, as was the case; + After he had long obtained the father’s promise, + One day to have the ring, as also was. + The father, each asserted, could to him + Not have been false, rather than so suspect + Of such a father, willing as he might be + With charity to judge his brethren, he + Of treacherous forgery was bold t’ accuse them. + + SALADIN. + + Well, and the judge, I’m eager now to hear + What thou wilt make him say. Go on, go on. + + NATHAN. + + The judge said, If ye summon not the father + Before my seat, I cannot give a sentence. + Am I to guess enigmas? Or expect ye + That the true ring should here unseal its lips? + But hold—you tell me that the real ring + Enjoys the hidden power to make the wearer + Of God and man beloved; let that decide. + Which of you do two brothers love the best? + You’re silent. Do these love-exciting rings + Act inward only, not without? Does each + Love but himself? Ye’re all deceived deceivers, + None of your rings is true. The real ring + Perhaps is gone. To hide or to supply + Its loss, your father ordered three for one. + + SALADIN. + + O charming, charming! + + NATHAN. + + And (the judge continued) + If you will take advice in lieu of sentence, + This is my counsel to you, to take up + The matter where it stands. If each of you + Has had a ring presented by his father, + Let each believe his own the real ring. + ’Tis possible the father chose no longer + To tolerate the one ring’s tyranny; + And certainly, as he much loved you all, + And loved you all alike, it could not please him + By favouring one to be of two the oppressor. + Let each feel honoured by this free affection. + Unwarped of prejudice; let each endeavour + To vie with both his brothers in displaying + The virtue of his ring; assist its might + With gentleness, benevolence, forbearance, + With inward resignation to the godhead, + And if the virtues of the ring continue + To show themselves among your children’s children, + After a thousand thousand years, appear + Before this judgment-seat—a greater one + Than I shall sit upon it, and decide. + So spake the modest judge. + + SALADIN. + + God! + + NATHAN. + + Saladin, + Feel’st thou thyself this wiser, promised man? + + SALADIN. + + I dust, I nothing, God! + + [_Precipitates himself upon Nathan_, _and takes hold of his hand_, _which + he does not quit the remainder of the scene_. + + NATHAN. + + What moves thee, Sultan? + + SALADIN. + + Nathan, my dearest Nathan, ’tis not yet + The judge’s thousand thousand years are past, + His judgment-seat’s not mine. Go, go, but love me. + + NATHAN. + + Has Saladin then nothing else to order? + + SALADIN. + + No. + + NATHAN. + + Nothing? + + SALADIN. + + Nothing in the least, and wherefore? + + NATHAN. + + I could have wished an opportunity + To lay a prayer before you. + + SALADIN. + + Is there need + Of opportunity for that? Speak freely. + + NATHAN. + + I come from a long journey from collecting + Debts, and I’ve almost of hard cash too much; + The times look perilous—I know not where + To lodge it safely—I was thinking thou, + For coming wars require large sums, couldst use it. + + SALADIN (_fixing Nathan_). + + Nathan, I ask not if thou sawst Al-Hafi, + I’ll not examine if some shrewd suspicion + Spurs thee to make this offer of thyself. + + NATHAN. + + Suspicion— + + SALADIN. + + I deserve this offer. Pardon, + For what avails concealment, I acknowledge + I was about— + + NATHAN. + + To ask the same of me? + + SALADIN. + + Yes. + + NATHAN. + + Then ’tis well we’re both accommodated. + That I can’t send thee all I have of treasure + Arises from the templar; thou must know him, + I have a weighty debt to pay to him. + + SALADIN. + + A templar! How, thou dost not with thy gold + Support my direst foes. + + NATHAN. + + I speak of him + Whose life the sultan— + + SALADIN. + + What art thou recalling? + I had forgot the youth, whence is he, knowest thou? + + NATHAN. + + Hast thou not heard then how thy clemency + To him has fallen on me. He at the risk + Of his new-spared existence, from the flames + Rescued my daughter. + + SALADIN. + + Ha! Has he done that; + He looked like one that would—my brother too, + Whom he’s so like, bad done it. Is he here still? + Bring him to me—I have so often talked + To Sittah of this brother, whom she knew not, + That I must let her see his counterfeit. + Go fetch him. How a single worthy action, + Though but of whim or passion born, gives rise + To other blessings! Fetch him. + + NATHAN. + + In an instant. + The rest remains as settled. + + SALADIN. + + O, I wish + I had let my sister listen. Well, I’ll to her. + How shall I make her privy to all this? + + +SCENE.—The Place of Palms. + + + The TEMPLAR _walking and agitated_. + + TEMPLAR. + + Here let the weary victim pant awhile.— + Yet would I not have time to ascertain + What passes in me; would not snuff beforehand + The coming storm. ’Tis sure I fled in vain; + But more than fly I could not do, whatever + Comes of it. Ah! to ward it off—the blow + Was given so suddenly. Long, much, I strove + To keep aloof; but vainly. Once to see her— + Her, whom I surely did not court the sight of, + To see her, and to form the resolution, + Never to lose sight of her here again, + Was one—The resolution?—Not ’tis will, + Fixt purpose, made (for I was passive in it) + Sealed, doomed. To see her, and to feel myself + Bound to her, wove into her very being, + Was one—remains one. Separate from her + To live is quite unthinkable—is death. + And wheresoever after death we be, + There too the thought were death. And is this love? + Yet so in troth the templar loves—so—so— + The Christian loves the Jewess. What of that? + Here in this holy land, and therefore holy + And dear to me, I have already doffed + Some prejudices.—Well—what says my vow? + As templar I am dead, was dead to that + From the same hour which made me prisoner + To Saladin. But is the head he gave me + My old one? No. It knows no word of what + Was prated into yon, of what had bound it. + It is a better; for its patrial sky + Fitter than yon. I feel—I’m conscious of it, + With this I now begin to think, as here + My father must have thought; if tales of him + Have not been told untruly. Tales—why tales? + They’re credible—more credible than ever— + Now that I’m on the brink of stumbling, where + He fell. He fell? I’d rather fall with men, + Than stand with children. His example pledges + His approbation, and whose approbation + Have I else need of? Nathan’s? Surely of his + Encouragement, applause, I’ve little need + To doubt—O what a Jew is he! yet easy + To pass for the mere Jew. He’s coming—swiftly— + And looks delighted—who leaves Saladin + With other looks? Hoa, Nathan! + + NATHAN _and_ TEMPLAR. + + NATHAN. + + Are you there? + + TEMPLAR. + + Your visit to the sultan has been long. + + NATHAN. + + Not very long; my going was indeed + Too much delayed. Troth, Conrade, this man’s fame + Outstrips him not. His fame is but his shadow. + But before all I have to tell you— + + TEMPLAR. + + What? + + NATHAN. + + That he would speak with you, and that directly. + First to my house, where I would give some orders, + Then we’ll together to the sultan. + + TEMPLAR. + + Nathan, + I enter not thy doors again before— + + NATHAN. + + Then you’ve been there this while—have spoken with her. + How do you like my Recha? + + TEMPLAR. + + Words cannot tell— + Gaze on her once again—I never will— + Never—no never: unless thou wilt promise + That I for ever, ever, may behold her. + + NATHAN. + + How should I take this? + + TEMPLAR (_falling suddenly upon his neck_). + + Nathan—O my father! + + NATHAN. + + Young man! + + TEMPLAR (_quitting him as suddenly_). + + Not son?—I pray thee, Nathan—ha! + + NATHAN. + + Thou dear young man! + + TEMPLAR. + + Not son?—I pray thee, Nathan, + Conjure thee by the strongest bonds of nature, + Prefer not those of later date, the weaker.— + Be it enough to thee to be a man! + Push me not from thee! + + NATHAN. + + Dearest, dearest friend!— + + TEMPLAR. + + Not son? Not son? Not even—even if + Thy daughter’s gratitude had in her bosom + Prepared the way for love—not even if + Both wait thy nod alone to be but one?— + You do not speak? + + NATHAN. + + Young knight, you have surprised me. + + TEMPLAR. + + Do I surprise thee—thus surprise thee, Nathan, + With thy own thought? Canst thou not in my mouth + Know it again? Do I surprise you? + + NATHAN. + + Ere + I know, which of the Stauffens was your father? + + TEMPLAR. + + What say you, Nathan?—And in such a moment + Is curiosity your only feeling? + + NATHAN. + + For see, once I myself well knew a Stauffen, + Whose name was Conrade. + + TEMPLAR. + + Well, and if my father + Was bearer of that name? + + NATHAN. + + Indeed? + + TEMPLAR. + + My name + Is from my father’s, Conrade. + + NATHAN. + + Then thy father + Was not my Conrade. He was, like thyself, + A templar, never wedded. + + TEMPLAR. + + For all that— + + NATHAN. + + How? + + TEMPLAR. + + For all that he may have been my father. + + NATHAN. + + You joke. + + TEMPLAR. + + And you are captious. Boots it then + To be true-born? Does bastard wound thine ear? + The race is not to be despised: but hold, + Spare me my pedigree; I’ll spare thee thine. + Not that I doubt thy genealogic tree. + O, God forbid! You may attest it all + As far as Abraham back; and backwarder + I know it to my heart—I’ll swear to it also. + + NATHAN. + + Knight, you grow bitter. Do I merit this? + Have I refused you ought? I’ve but forborne + To close with you at the first word—no more. + + TEMPLAR. + + Indeed—no more? O then forgive— + + NATHAN. + + ’Tis well. + Do but come with me. + + TEMPLAR. + + Whither? To thy house? + No? there not—there not: ’tis a burning soil. + Here I await thee, go. Am I again + To see her, I shall see her times enough: + If not I have already gazed too much. + + NATHAN. + + I’ll try to be soon back. + + [_Goes_. + + TEMPLAR. + + Too much indeed— + Strange that the human brain, so infinite + Of comprehension, yet at times will fill + Quite full, and all at once, of a mere trifle— + No matter what it teems with. Patience! Patience! + The soul soon calms again, th’ upboiling stuff + Makes itself room and brings back light and order. + Is this then the first time I love? Or was + What by that name I knew before, not love— + And this, this love alone that now I feel? + + DAYA _and_ TEMPLAR. + + DAYA. + + Sir knight, sir knight. + + TEMPLAR. + + Who calls? ha, Daya, you? + + DAYA. + + I managed to slip by him. No, come here + (He’ll see us where you stand) behind this tree. + + TEMPLAR. + + Why so mysterious? What’s the matter, Daya? + + DAYA. + + Yes, ’tis a secret that has brought me to you + A twofold secret. One I only know, + The other only you. Let’s interchange, + Intrust yours first to me, then I’ll tell mine. + + TEMPLAR. + + With pleasure when I’m able to discover + What you call me. But that yours will explain. + Begin— + + DAYA. + + That is not fair, yours first, sir knight; + For be assured my secret serves you not + Unless I have yours first. If I sift it out + You’ll not have trusted me, and then my secret + Is still my own, and yours lost all for nothing. + But, knight, how can you men so fondly fancy + You ever hide such secrets from us women. + + TEMPLAR. + + Secrets we often are unconscious of. + + DAYA. + + May be—So then I must at last be friendly, + And break it to you. Tell me now, whence came it + That all at once you started up abruptly + And in the twinkling of an eye were fled? + That you left us without one civil speech! + That you return no more with Nathan to us— + Has Recha then made such a slight impression, + Or made so deep a one? I penetrate you. + Think you that on a limed twig the poor bird + Can flutter cheerfully, or hop at ease + With its wing pinioned? Come, come, in one word + Acknowledge to me plainly that you love her, + Love her to madness, and I’ll tell you what. + + TEMPLAR. + + To madness, oh, you’re very penetrating. + + DAYA. + + Grant me the love, and I’ll give up the madness. + + TEMPLAR. + + Because that must be understood of course— + A templar love a Jewess— + + DAYA. + + Seems absurd, + But often there’s more fitness in a thing + Than we at once discern; nor were this time + The first, when through an unexpected path + The Saviour drew his children on to him + Across the tangled maze of human life. + + TEMPLAR. + + So solemn that—(and yet if in the stead + Of Saviour, I were to say Providence, + It would sound true) you make me curious, Daya, + Which I’m unwont to be. + + DAYA. + + This is the place + For miracles + + TEMPLAR. + + For wonders—well and good— + Can it be otherwise, where the whole world + Presses as toward a centre. My dear Daya, + Consider what you asked of me as owned; + That I do love her—that I can’t imagine + How I should live without her—that + + DAYA. + + Indeed! + Then, knight, swear to me you will call her yours, + Make both her present and eternal welfare. + + TEMPLAR. + + And how, how can I, can I swear to do + What is not in my power? + + DAYA. + + ’Tis in your power, + A single word will put it in your power. + + TEMPLAR. + + So that her father shall not be against it. + + DAYA. + + Her father—father? he shall be compelled. + + TEMPLAR. + + As yet he is not fallen among thieves— + Compelled? + + DAYA. + + Aye to be willing that you should. + + TEMPLAR. + + Compelled and willing—what if I inform thee + That I have tried to touch this string already, + It vibrates not responsive. + + DAYA. + + He refused thee? + + TEMPLAR. + + He answered in a tone of such discordance + That I was hurt. + + DAYA. + + What do you say? How, you + Betrayed the shadow of a wish for Recha, + And he did not spring up for joy, drew back, + Drew coldly back, made difficulties? + + TEMPLAR. + + Almost. + + DAYA. + + Well then I’ll not deliberate a moment. + + TEMPLAR. + + And yet you are deliberating still. + + DAYA. + + That man was always else so good, so kind, + I am so deeply in his debt. Why, why + Would he not listen to you? God’s my witness + That my heart bleeds to come about him thus. + + TEMPLAR. + + I pray you, Daya, once for all, to end + This dire uncertainty. But if you doubt + Whether what ’tis your purpose to reveal + Be right or wrong, be praiseworthy or shameful, + Speak not—I will forget that you have had + Something to hide. + + DAYA. + + That spurs me on still more. + Then learn that Recha is no Jewess, that + She is a Christian. + + TEMPLAR. + + I congratulate you, + ’Twas a hard labour, but ’tis out at last; + The pangs of the delivery won’t hurt you. + Go on with undiminished zeal, and people + Heaven, when no longer fit to people earth. + + DAYA. + + How, knight, does my intelligence deserve + Such bitter scorn? That Recha is a Christian + On you a Christian templar, and her lover, + Confers no joy. + + TEMPLAR. + + Particularly as + She is a Christian of your making, Daya. + + DAYA. + + O, so you understand it—well and good— + I wish to find out him that might convert her. + It is her fate long since to have been that + Which she is spoiled for being. + + TEMPLAR. + + Do explain— + Or go. + + DAYA. + + She is a Christian child—of Christian + Parents was born and is baptised. + + TEMPLAR (_hastily_). + + And Nathan— + + DAYA. + + Is not her father. + + TEMPLAR. + + Nathan not her father— + And are you sure of what you say? + + DAYA. + + I am, + It is a truth has cost me tears of blood. + No, he is not her father. + + TEMPLAR. + + And has only + Brought her up as his daughter, educated + The Christian child a Jewess. + + DAYA. + + Certainly. + + TEMPLAR. + + And she is unacquainted with her birth? + Has never learnt from him that she was born + A Christian, and no Jewess? + + DAYA. + + Never yet. + + TEMPLAR. + + And he not only let the child grow up + In this mistaken notion, but still leaves + The woman in it. + + DAYA. + + Aye, alas! + + TEMPLAR. + + How, Nathan, + The wise good Nathan thus allow himself + To stifle nature’s voice? Thus to misguide + Upon himself th’ effusions of a heart + Which to itself abandoned would have formed + Another bias, Daya—yes, indeed + You have intrusted an important secret + That may have consequences—it confounds me, + I cannot tell what I’ve to do at present, + Therefore go, give me time, he may come by + And may surprise us. + + DAYA. + + I should drop for fright. + + TEMPLAR. + + I am not able now to talk, farewell; + And if you chance to meet him, only say + That we shall find each other at the sultan’s. + + DAYA. + + Let him not see you’ve any grudge against him. + That should be kept to give the proper impulse + To things at last, and may remove your scruples + Respecting Recha. But then, if you take her + Back with you into Europe, let not me + Be left behind. + + TEMPLAR. + + That we’ll soon settle, go. + + + +ACT IV. + + +SCENE.—The Cloister of a Convent. + + + _The_ FRIAR _alone_. + + FRIAR. + + Aye—aye—he’s very right—the patriarch is— + In fact of all that he has sent me after + Not much turns out his way—Why put on me + Such business and no other? I don’t care + To coax and wheedle, and to run my nose + Into all sorts of things, and have a hand + In all that’s going forward. I did not + Renounce the world, for my own part, in order + To be entangled with ’t for other people. + + FRIAR _and_ TEMPLAR. + + TEMPLAR (_abruptly entering_). + + Good brother, are you there? I’ve sought you long. + + FRIAR. + + Me, sir? + + TEMPLAR. + + What, don’t you recollect me? + + FRIAR. + + Oh, + I thought I never in my life was likely + To see you any more. For so I hoped + In God. I did not vastly relish the proposal + That I was bound to make you. Yes, God knows, + How little I desired to find a hearing, + Knows I was inly glad when you refused + Without a moment’s thought, what of a knight + Would be unworthy. Are your second thoughts— + + TEMPLAR. + + So, you already know my purpose, I + Scarce know myself. + + FRIAR. + + Have you by this reflected + That our good patriarch is not so much out, + That gold and fame in plenty may be got + By his commission, that a foe’s a foe + Were he our guardian angel seven times over. + Have you weighed this ’gainst flesh and blood, and come + To strike the bargain he proposed. Ah, God. + + TEMPLAR. + + My dear good man, set your poor heart at ease. + Not therefore am I come, not therefore wish + To see the patriarch in person. Still + On the first point I think as I then thought, + Nor would I for aught in the world exchange + That good opinion, which I once obtained + From such a worthy upright man as thou art, + I come to ask your patriarch’s advice— + + FRIAR (_looking round with timidity_). + + Our patriarch’s—you? a knight ask priest’s advice? + + TEMPLAR. + + Mine is a priestly business. + + FRIAR. + + Yet the priests + Ask not the knights’ advice, be their affair + Ever so knightly. + + TEMPLAR. + + Therefore one allows them + To overshoot themselves, a privilege + Which such as I don’t vastly envy them. + Indeed if I were acting for myself, + Had not t’ account with others, I should care + But little for his counsel. But some things + I’d rather do amiss by others’ guidance + Than by my own aright. And then by this time + I see religion too is party, and + He, who believes himself the most impartial, + Does but uphold the standard of his own, + Howe’er unconsciously. And since ’tis so, + So must be well. + + FRIAR. + + I rather shall not answer, + For I don’t understand exactly. + + TEMPLAR. + + Yet + Let me consider what it is precisely + That I have need of, counsel or decision, + Simple or learned counsel.—Thank you, brother, + I thank you for your hint—A patriarch—why? + Be thou my patriarch; for ’tis the plain Christian, + Whom in the patriarch I have to consult, + And not the patriarch in the Christian. + + FRIAR. + + Oh, + I beg no further—you must quite mistake me; + He that knows much hath learnt much care, and I + Devoted me to only one. ’Tis well, + Most luckily here comes the very man, + Wait here, stand still—he has perceived you, knight. + + TEMPLAR. + + I’d rather shun him, he is not my man. + A thick red smiling prelate—and as stately— + + FRIAR. + + But you should see him on a gala-day; + He only comes from visiting the sick. + + TEMPLAR. + + Great Saladin must then be put to shame. + + [_The Patriarch_, _after marching up one of the aisles in great pomp_, + _draws near_, _and makes signs to the Friar_, _who approaches him_. + + PATRIARCH, FRIAR, _and_ TEMPLAR. + + PATRIARCH. + + Hither—was that the templar? What wants he? + + FRIAR. + + I know not. + +PATRIARCH (_approaches the templar_, _while the friar and the rest of his + train draw back_). + + So, sir knight, I’m truly happy + To meet the brave young man—so very young too— + Something, God helping, may come of him. + + TEMPLAR. + + More + Than is already hardly will come of him, + But less, my reverend father, that may chance. + + PATRIARCH. + + It is my prayer at least a knight so pious + May for the cause of Christendom and God + Long be preserved; nor can that fail, so be + Young valour will lend ear to aged counsel. + With what can I be useful any way? + + TEMPLAR. + + With that which my youth is without, with counsel. + + PATRIARCH. + + Most willingly, but counsel should be followed. + + TEMPLAR. + + Surely not blindly? + + PATRIARCH. + + Who says that? Indeed + None should omit to make use of the reason + Given him by God, in things where it belongs, + But it belongs not everywhere; for instance, + If God, by some one of his blessed angels, + Or other holy minister of his word, + Deign’d to make known a mean, by which the welfare + Of Christendom, or of his holy church, + In some peculiar and especial manner + Might be promoted or secured, who then + Shall venture to rise up, and try by reason + The will of him who has created reason, + Measure th’ eternal laws of heaven by + The little rules of a vain human honour?— + But of all this enough. What is it then + On which our counsel is desired? + + TEMPLAR. + + Suppose, + My reverend father, that a Jew possessed + An only child, a girl we’ll say, whom he + With fond attention forms to every virtue, + And loves more than his very soul; a child + Who by her pious love requites his goodness. + And now suppose it whispered—say to me— + This girl is not the daughter of the Jew, + He picked up, purchased, stole her in her childhood— + That she was born of Christians and baptised, + But that the Jew hath reared her as a Jewess, + Allows her to remain a Jewess, and + To think herself his daughter. Reverend father + What then ought to be done? + + PATRIARCH. + + I shudder! But + First will you please explain if such a case + Be fact, or only an hypothesis? + That is to say, if you, of your own head, + Invent the case, or if indeed it happened, + And still continues happening? + + TEMPLAR. + + I had thought + That just to learn your reverence’s opinion + This were all one. + + PATRIARCH. + + All one—now see how apt + Proud human reason is in spiritual things + To err: ’tis not all one; for, if the point + In question be a mere sport of the wit, + ’Twill not be worth our while to think it through + But I should recommend the curious person + To theatres, where oft, with loud applause, + Such pro and contras have been agitated. + But if the object should be something more + Than by a school-trick—by a sleight of logic + To get the better of me—if the case + Be really extant, if it should have happened + Within our diocese, or—or perhaps + Here in our dear Jerusalem itself, + Why then— + + TEMPLAR. + + What then? + + PATRIARCH. + + Then were it proper + To execute at once upon the Jew + The penal laws in such a case provided + By papal and imperial right, against + So foul a crime—such dire abomination. + + TEMPLAR. + + So. + + PATRIARCH. + + And the laws forementioned have decreed, + That if a Jew shall to apostacy + Seduce a Christian, he shall die by fire. + + TEMPLAR. + + So. + + PATRIARCH. + + How much more the Jew, who forcibly + Tears from the holy font a Christian child, + And breaks the sacramental bond of baptism; + For all what’s done to children is by force— + I mean except what the church does to children. + + TEMPLAR. + + What if the child, but for this fostering Jew, + Must have expired in misery? + + PATRIARCH. + + That’s nothing, + The Jew has still deserved the faggot—for + ’Twere better it here died in misery + Than for eternal woe to live. Besides, + Why should the Jew forestall the hand of God? + God, if he wills to save, can save without him. + + TEMPLAR. + + And spite of him too save eternally. + + PATRIARCH. + + That’s nothing! Still the Jew is to be burnt. + + TEMPLAR. + + That hurts me—more particularly as + ’Tis said he has not so much taught the maid + His faith, as brought her up with the mere knowledge + Of what our reason teaches about God. + + PATRIARCH. + + That’s nothing! Still the Jew is to be burnt— + And for this very reason would deserve + To be thrice burnt. How, let a child grow up + Without a faith? Not even teach a child + The greatest of its duties, to believe? + ’Tis heinous! I am quite astonished, knight, + That you yourself— + + TEMPLAR. + + The rest, right reverend sir, + In the confessional, but not before. + + [_Offers to go_. + + PATRIARCH. + + What off—not stay for my interrogation— + Not name to me this infidel, this Jew— + Not find him up for me at once? But hold, + A thought occurs, I’ll straightway to the sultan + Conformably to the capitulation, + Which Saladin has sworn, he must support us + In all the privileges, all the doctrines + Which appertain to our most holy faith, + Thank God, we’ve the original in keeping, + We have his hand and seal to it—we— + And I shall lead him easily to think + How very dangerous for the state it is + Not to believe. All civic bonds divide, + Like flax fire-touched, where subjects don’t believe. + Away with foul impiety! + + TEMPLAR. + + It happens + Somewhat unlucky that I want the leisure + To enjoy this holy sermon. I am sent for + To Saladin. + + PATRIARCH. + + Why then—indeed—if so— + + TEMPLAR. + + And will prepare the sultan, if agreeable. + For your right reverend visit. + + PATRIARCH. + + I have heard + That you found favour in the sultan’s sight, + I beg with all humility to be + Remembered to him. I am purely motived + By zeal in th’ cause of God. What of too much + I do, I do for him—weigh that in goodness. + ’Twas then, most noble sir—what you were starting + About the Jew—a problem merely! + + TEMPLAR. + + Problem! + + [_Goes_. + + PATRIARCH. + + Of whose foundation I’ll have nearer knowledge. + Another job for brother Bonafides. + Hither, my son! + + [_Converses with the Friar as he walks off_. + + +SCENE.—A Room in the Palace. + + +SLAVES _bring in a number of purses and pile them on the floor_. SALADIN +_is present_. + + SALADIN. + + In troth this has no end. And is there much + Of this same thing behind? + + SLAVE. + + About one half. + + SALADIN. + + Then take the rest to Sittah. Where’s Al-Hafi? + What’s here Al-Hafi shall take charge of straight. + Or shan’t I rather send it to my father; + Here it slips through one’s fingers. Sure in time + One may grow callous; it shall now cost labour + To come at much from me—at least until + The treasures come from Ægypt, poverty + Must shift as ’t can—yet at the sepulchre + The charges must go on—the Christian pilgrims + Shall not go back without an alms. + + SALADIN _and_ SITTAH. + + SITTAH (_entering_). + + Why this? + Wherefore the gold to me? + + SALADIN. + + Pay thyself with it, + And if there’s something left ’twill be in store. + Are Nathan and the templar not yet come? + + SITTAH. + + He has been seeking for him everywhere— + Look what I met with when the plate and jewels + Were passing through my hands— + + [_Showing a small portrait_. + + SALADIN. + + Ha! What, my brother? + ’Tis he, ’tis he, _was_ he, _was_ he alas! + Thou dear brave youth, and lost to me so early; + What would I not with thee and at thy side + Have undertaken? Let me have the portrait, + I recollect it now again; he gave it + Unto thy elder sister, to his Lilah, + That morning that she would not part with him, + But clasped him so in tears. It was the last + Morning that he rode out; and I—I let him + Ride unattended. Lilah died for grief, + And never could forgive me that I let him + Then ride alone. He came not back. + + SITTAH. + + Poor brother— + + SALADIN. + + Time shall be when none of us will come back, + And then who knows? It is not death alone + That balks the hopes of young men of his cast, + Such have far other foes, and oftentimes + The strongest like the weakest is o’ercome. + Be as it may—I must compare this picture + With our young templar, to observe how much + My fancy cheated me. + + SITTAH. + + I therefore brought it; + But give it me, I’ll tell thee if ’tis like. + We women see that best. + + SALADIN (_to a slave at the door_). + + Ah, who is there? + The templar? let him come. + + SITTAH (_throws herself on a sofa apart and drops her veil_). + + Not to interfere, + Or with my curiosity disturb you. + + SALADIN. + + That’s right. And then his voice, will that be like? + The tone of Assad’s voice, sleeps somewhere yet— + So— + + TEMPLAR _and_ SALADIN. + + TEMPLAR. + + I thy prisoner, sultan, + + SALADIN. + + Thou my prisoner— + And shall I not to him whose life I gave + Also give freedom? + + TEMPLAR. + + What ’twere worthy thine + To do, it is my part to hear of thee, + And not to take for granted. But, O Sultan, + To lay loud protestations at thy feet + Of gratitude for a life spared, agrees + Not with my station or my character. + At all times, ’tis once more, prince, at thy service. + + SALADIN. + + Only forbear to use it against me. + Not that I grudge my enemy one pair more + Of hands—but such a heart, it goes against me + To yield him. I have been deceived with thee, + Thou brave young man, in nothing. Yes, thou art + In soul and body Assad. I could ask thee, + Where then hast thou been lurking all this time? + Or in what cavern slept? What Ginnistan + Chose some kind Perie for thy hiding-place, + That she might ever keep the flower thus fresh? + Methinks I could remind thee here and yonder + Of what we did together—could abuse thee + For having had one secret, e’en to me— + Cheat me of one adventure—yes, I could, + If I saw thee alone, and not myself. + Thanks that so much of this fond sweet illusion + At least is true, that in my sear of life + An Assad blossoms for me. Thou art willing? + + TEMPLAR. + + All that from thee comes to me, whatsoever + It chance to prove, lies as a wish already + Within my soul. + + SALADIN. + + We’ll try the experiment. + Wilt thou stay with me? dwell about me? boots not + As Mussulman or Christian, in a turban + Or a white mantle—I have never wished + To see the same bark grow about all trees. + + TEMPLAR. + + Else, Saladin, thou hardly hadst become + The hero that thou art, alike to all + The gardener of the Lord. + + SALADIN. + + If thou think not + The worse of me for this, we’re half right. + + TEMPLAR. + + Quite so. + One word. + + SALADIN (_holds out his hand_). + + TEMPLAR (_takes it_). + + One man—and with this receive more + Than thou canst take away again—thine wholly. + + SALADIN. + + ’Tis for one day too great a gain—too great. + Came he not with thee? + + TEMPLAR. + + Who? + + SALADIN. + + Who? Nathan. + + TEMPLAR (_coldly_). + + No, + I came alone. + + SALADIN. + + O, what a deed of thine! + And what a happiness, a blessing to thee, + That such a deed was serving such a man. + + TEMPLAR. + + Yes, yes. + + SALADIN. + + So cold—no, my young friend—when God + Does through our means a service, we ought not + To be so cold, not out of modesty + Wish to appear so cold. + + TEMPLAR. + + In this same world + All things have many sides, and ’tis not easy + To comprehend how they can fit each other. + + SALADIN. + + Cling ever to the best—Give praise to God, + Who knows how they can fit. But, my young man, + If thou wilt be so difficult, I must + Be very cautious with thee, for I too + Have many sides, and some of them perhaps + Such as mayn’t always seem to fit. + + TEMPLAR. + + That wounds me; + Suspicion usually is not my failing. + + SALADIN. + + Say then of whom thou harbour’st it, of Nathan? + So should thy talk imply—canst thou suspect him? + Give me the first proof of thy confidence. + + TEMPLAR. + + I’ve nothing against Nathan, I am angry + With myself only. + + SALADIN. + + And for what? + + TEMPLAR. + + For dreaming + That any Jew could learn to be no Jew— + For dreaming it awake. + + SALADIN. + + Out with this dream. + + TEMPLAR. + + Thou know’st of Nathan’s daughter, sultan. What + I did for her I did—because I did it; + Too proud to reap thanks which I had not sown for, + I shunned from day to day her very sight. + The father was far off. He comes, he hears, + He seeks me, thanks me, wishes that his daughter + May please me; talks to me of dawning prospects— + I listen to his prate, go, see, and find + A girl indeed. O, sultan, I am ashamed— + + SALADIN. + + A shamed that a Jew girl knew how to make + Impression on thee, surely not. + + TEMPLAR. + + But that + To this impression my rash yielding heart, + Trusting the smoothness of the father’s prate, + Opposed no more resistance. Fool—I sprang + A second time into the flame, and then + I wooed, and was denied. + + SALADIN. + + Denied! Denied! + + TEMPLAR. + + The prudent father does not flatly say + No to my wishes, but the prudent father + Must first inquire, and look about, and think. + Oh, by all means. Did not I do the same? + Did not I look about and ask who ’twas + While she was shrieking in the flame? Indeed, + By God, ’tis something beautifully wise + To be so circumspect. + + SALADIN. + + Come, come, forgive + Something to age. His lingerings cannot last. + He is not going to require of thee + First to turn Jew. + + TEMPLAR. + + Who knows? + + SALADIN. + + Who? I, who know + This Nathan better. + + TEMPLAR. + + Yet the superstition + In which we have grown up, not therefore loses + When we detect it, all its influence on us. + Not all are free that can bemock their fetters. + + SALADIN. + + Maturely said—but Nathan, surely Nathan— + + TEMPLAR. + + The worst of superstitions is to think + One’s own most bearable. + + SALADIN. + + May be, but Nathan— + + TEMPLAR. + + Must Nathan be the mortal, who unshrinking + Can face the moon-tide ray of truth, nor there + Betray the twilight dungeon which he crawled from. + + SALADIN. + + Yes, Nathan is that man. + + TEMPLAR. + + I thought so too, + But what if this picked man, this chosen sage, + Were such a thorough Jew that he seeks out + For Christian children to bring up as Jews— + How then? + + SALADIN. + + Who says this of him? + + TEMPLAR. + + E’en the maid + With whom he frets me—with the hope of whom + He seemed to joy in paying me the service, + Which he would not allow me to do gratis— + This very maid is not his daughter—no, + She is a kidnapped Christian child. + + SALADIN. + + Whom he + Has, notwithstanding, to thy wish refused? + + TEMPLAR (_with vehemence_). + + Refused or not, I know him now. There lies + The prating tolerationist unmasked— + And I’ll halloo upon this Jewish wolf, + For all his philosophical sheep’s clothing, + Dogs that shall touze his hide. + + SALADIN (_earnestly_). + + Peace, Christian! + + TEMPLAR. + + What! + Peace, Christian—and may Jew and Mussulman + Stickle for being Jew and Mussulman, + And must the Christian only drop the Christian? + + SALADIN (_more solemnly_). + + Peace, Christian! + + TEMPLAR (_calmly_.) + + Yes, I feel what weight of blame + Lies in that word of thine pent up. O that + I knew how Assad in my place would act. + + SALADIN. + + He—not much better, probably as fiery. + Who has already taught thee thus at once + Like him to bribe me with a single word? + Indeed, if all has past as thou narratest, + I scarcely can discover Nathan in it. + But Nathan is my friend, and of my friends + One must not bicker with the other. Bend— + And be directed. Move with caution. Do not + Loose on him the fanatics of thy sect. + Conceal what all thy clergy would be claiming + My hand to avenge upon him, with more show + Of right than is my wish. Be not from spite + To any Jew or Mussulman a Christian. + + TEMPLAR. + + Thy counsel is but on the brink of coming + Somewhat too late, thanks to the patriarch’s + Bloodthirsty rage, whose instrument I shudder + To have almost become. + + SALADIN. + + How! how! thou wentest + Still earlier to the patriarch than to me? + + TEMPLAR. + + Yes, in the storm of passion, in the eddy + Of indecision—pardon—oh! thou wilt + No longer care, I fear, to find in me + One feature of thy Assad. + + SALADIN. + + Yes, that fear. + Methinks I know by this time from what failings + Our virtue springs—this do thou cultivate, + Those shall but little harm thee in my sight. + But go, seek Nathan, as he sought for thee, + And bring him hither: I must reconcile you. + If thou art serious about the maid— + Be calm, she shall be thine—Nathan shall feel + That without swine’s flesh one may educate + A Christian child, Go. + + [_Templar withdraws_. + + SITTAH (_rising from the sofa_). + + Very strange indeed! + + SALADIN. + + Well, Sittah, must my Assad not have been + A gallant handsome youth? + + SITTAH. + + If he was thus, + And ’twasn’t the templar who sat to the painter. + But how couldst thou be so forgetful, brother, + As not to ask about his parents? + + SALADIN. + + And + Particularly too about his mother. + Whether his mother e’er was in this country, + That is your meaning, isn’t it? + + SITTAH. + + You run on— + + SALADIN. + + Oh, nothing is more possible, for Assad + ’Mong handsome Christian ladies was so welcome, + To handsome Christian ladies so attached, + That once a report spread—but ’tis not pleasant + To bring that up. Let us be satisfied + That we have got him once again—have got him + With all the faults and freaks, the starts and wildness + Of his warm gentle heart—Oh, Nathan must + Give him the maid—Dost think so? + + SITTAH. + + Give—give up! + + SALADIN. + + Aye, for what right has Nathan with the girl + If he be not her father? He who saved + Her life so lately has a stronger claim + To heir their rights who gave it her at first. + + SITTAH. + + What therefore, Saladin, if you withdraw + The maid at once from the unrightful owner? + + SALADIN. + + There is no need of that. + + SITTAH. + + Need, not precisely; + But female curiosity inspires + Me with that counsel. There are certain men + Of whom one is irresistibly impatient + To know what women they can be in love with. + + SALADIN. + + Well then you may send for her. + + SITTAH. + + May I, brother? + + SALADIN. + + But hurt not Nathan, he must not imagine + That we propose by violence to part them. + + SITTAH. + + Be without apprehension. + + SALADIN. + + Fare you well, + I must make out where this Al-Hafi is. + + +SCENE.—The Hall in Nathan’s House, as in the first scene; the things +there mentioned unpacked and displayed. + + + DAYA _and_ NATHAN. + + DAYA. + + O how magnificent, how tasty, charming— + All such as only you could give—and where + Was this thin silver stuff with sprigs of gold + Woven? What might it cost? Yes, this is worthy + To be a wedding-garment. Not a queen + Could wish a handsomer. + + NATHAN. + + Why wedding-garment? + + DAYA. + + Perhaps of that you thought not when you bought it; + But Nathan, it must be so, must indeed. + It seems made for a bride—the pure white ground, + Emblem of innocence—the branching gold, + Emblem of wealth—Now is not it delightful? + + NATHAN. + + What’s all this ingenuity of speech for? + Over whose wedding-gown are you displaying + Your emblematic learning? Have you found + A bridegroom? + + DAYA. + + I— + + NATHAN. + + Who then? + + DAYA. + + I—Gracious God! + + NATHAN. + + Who then? Whose wedding-garment do you speak of? + For this is all your own and no one’s else. + + DAYA. + + Mine—is’t for me and not for Recha? + + NATHAN. + + What + I brought for Recha is in another bale. + Come, clear it off: away with all your rubbish. + + DAYA. + + You tempter—No—Were they the precious things + Of the whole universe, I will not touch them + Until you promise me to seize upon + Such an occasion as heaven gives not twice. + + NATHAN. + + Seize upon what occasion? For what end? + + DAYA. + + There, do not act so strange. You must perceive + The templar loves your Recha—Give her to him; + Then will your sin, which I can hide no longer, + Be at an end. The maid will come once more + Among the Christians, will be once again + What she was born to, will be what she was; + And you, by all the benefits, for which + We cannot thank you enough, will not have heaped + More coals of fire upon your head. + + NATHAN. + + Again + Harping on the old string, new tuned indeed, + But so as neither to accord nor hold. + + DAYA. + + How so? + + NATHAN. + + The templar pleases me indeed, + I’d rather he than any one had Recha; + But—do have patience. + + DAYA. + + Patience—and is that + Not the old string you harp on? + + NATHAN. + + Patience, patience, + For a few days—no more. Ha! who comes here? + A friar—ask what he wants. + + DAYA (_going_). + + What can he want? + + NATHAN. + + Give, give before he begs. O could I tell + How to come at the templar, not betraying + The motive of my curiosity— + For if I tell it, and if my suspicion + Be groundless, I have staked the father idly. + What is the matter? + + DAYA (_returning_). + + He must speak to you. + + NATHAN. + + Then let him come to me. Go you meanwhile. + + [_Daya goes_. + + How gladly would I still remain my Recha’s + Father. And can I not remain so, though + I cease to wear the name. To her, to her + I still shall wear it, when she once perceives + + [_Friar enters_. + + How willingly I were so. Pious brother, + What can be done to serve you? + + NATHAN _and_ FRIAR. + + FRIAR. + + O not much; + And yet I do rejoice to see you yet + So well. + + NATHAN. + + You know me then— + + FRIAR. + + Who knows you not? + You have impressed your name in many a hand, + And it has been in mine these many years. + + NATHAN (_feeling for his purse_). + + Here, brother, I’ll refresh it. + + FRIAR. + + Thank you, thank you— + From poorer men I’d steal—but nothing now! + Only allow me to refresh my name + In your remembrance; for I too may boast + To have of old put something in your hand + Not to be scorned. + + NATHAN. + + Excuse me, I’m ashamed, + What was it? Claim it of me sevenfold, + I’m ready to atone for my forgetting. + + FRIAR. + + But before all, hear how this very day + I was reminded of the pledge I brought you. + + NATHAN. + + A pledge to me intrusted? + + FRIAR. + + Some time since, + I dwelt as hermit on the Quarantana, + Not far from Jericho, but Arab robbers + Came and broke up my cell and oratory, + And dragged me with them. Fortunately I + Escaped, and with the patriarch sought a refuge, + To beg of him some other still retreat, + Where I may serve my God in solitude + Until my latter end. + + NATHAN. + + I stand on coals— + Quick, my good brother, let me know what pledge + You once intrusted to me. + + FRIAR. + + Presently, + Good Nathan, presently. The patriarch + Has promised me a hermitage on Thabor, + As soon as one is vacant, and meanwhile + Employs me as lay-brother in the convent, + And there I am at present: and I pine + A hundred times a day for Thabor; for + The patriarch will set me about all work, + And some that I can’t brook—as for example— + + NATHAN. + + Be speedy, I beseech you. + + FRIAR. + + Now it happens + That some one whispered in his ear to-day, + There lives hard by a Jew, who educates + A Christian child as his own daughter. + + NATHAN (_startled_). + + How + + FRIAR. + + Hear me quite out. So he commissions me, + If possible to track him out this Jew: + And stormed most bitterly at the misdeed; + Which seems to him to be the very sin + Against the Holy Ghost—That is, the sin + Of all most unforgiven, most enormous; + But luckily we cannot tell exactly + What it consists in—All at once my conscience + Was roused, and it occurred to me that I + Perhaps had given occasion to this sin. + Now do not you remember a knight’s squire, + Who eighteen years ago gave to your hands + A female child a few weeks old? + + NATHAN. + + How that? + In fact such was— + + FRIAR. + + Now look with heed at me, + And recollect. I was the man on horseback + Who brought the child. + + NATHAN. + + Was you? + + FRIAR. + + And he from whom + I brought it was methinks a lord of Filnek— + Leonard of Filnek. + + NATHAN. + + Right! + + FRIAR. + + Because the mother. + Died a short time before; and he, the father, + Had on a sudden to make off to Gazza, + Where the poor helpless thing could not go with him; + Therefore he sent it you—that was my message. + Did not I find you out at Darun? there + Consign it to you? + + NATHAN. + + Yes. + + FRIAR. + + It were no wonder + My memory deceived me. I have had + Many a worthy master, and this one + I served not long. He fell at Askalon— + But he was a kind lord. + + NATHAN. + + O yes, indeed; + For much have I to thank him, very much— + He more than once preserved me from the sword. + + FRIAR. + + O brave—you therefore will with double pleasure + Have taken up this daughter. + + NATHAN. + + You have said it. + + FRIAR. + + Where is she then? She is not dead, I hope— + I would not have her dead, dear pretty creature. + If no one else know anything about it + All is yet safe. + + NATHAN. + + Aye all! + + FRIAR. + + Yes, trust me, Nathan, + This is my way of thinking—if the good + That I propose to do is somehow twined + With mischief, then I let the good alone; + For we know pretty well what mischief is, + But not what’s for the best. ’Twas natural + If you meant to bring up the Christian child + Right well, that you should rear it as your own; + And to have done this lovingly and truly, + For such a recompense—were horrible. + It might have been more prudent to have had it + Brought up at second hand by some good Christian + In her own faith. But your friend’s orphan child + You would not then have loved. Children need love, + Were it the mute affection of a brute, + More at that age than Christianity. + There’s always time enough for that—and if + The maid have but grown up before your eyes + With a sound frame and pious—she remains + Still in her maker’s eye the same. For is not + Christianity all built on Judaism? + Oh, it has often vexed me, cost me tears, + That Christians will forget so often that + Our Saviour was a Jew. + + NATHAN. + + You, my good brother, + Shall be my advocate, when bigot hate + And hard hypocrisy shall rise upon me— + And for a deed—a deed—thou, thou shalt know it— + But take it with thee to the tomb. As yet + Has vanity ne’er tempted me to tell it + To living soul—only to thee I tell it, + To simple piety alone; for it + Alone can feel what deeds the man who trusts + In God can gain upon himself. + + FRIAR. + + You seem + Affected, and your eye-balls swim in water. + + NATHAN. + + ’Twas at Darun you met me with the child; + But you will not have known that a few days + Before, the Christians murdered every Jew in Gath, + Woman and child; that among these, my wife + With seven hopeful sons were found, who all + Beneath my brother’s roof which they had fled to, + Were burnt alive. + + FRIAR. + + Just God! + + NATHAN. + + And when you came, + Three nights had I in dust and ashes lain + Before my God and wept—aye, and at times + Arraigned my maker, raged, and cursed myself + And the whole world, and to Christianity + Swore unrelenting hate. + + FRIAR. + + Ah, I believe you. + + NATHAN. + + But by degrees returning reason came, + She spake with gentle voice—And yet God is, + And this was his decree—now exercise + What thou hast long imagined, and what surely + Is not more difficult to exercise + Than to imagine—if thou will it once. + I rose and called out—God, I will—I will, + So thou but aid my purpose—And behold + You was just then dismounted, and presented + To me the child wrapt in your mantle. What + You said, or I, occurs not to me now— + Thus much I recollect—I took the child, + I bore it to my couch, I kissed it, flung + Myself upon my knees and sobbed—my God, + Now have I one out of the seven again! + + FRIAR. + + Nathan, you are a Christian! Yes, by God + You are a Christian—never was a better. + + NATHAN. + + Heaven bless us! What makes me to you a Christian + Makes you to me a Jew. But let us cease + To melt each other—time is nigh to act, + And though a sevenfold love had bound me soon + To this strange only girl, though the mere thought, + That I shall lose in her my seven sons + A second time distracts me—yet I will, + If providence require her at my hands, + Obey. + + FRIAR. + + The very thing I should advise you; + But your good genius has forestalled my thought. + + NATHAN. + + The first best claimant must not seek to tear + Her from me. + + FRIAR. + + No most surely not. + + NATHAN. + + And he, + That has not stronger claims than I, at least + Ought to have earlier. + + FRIAR. + + Certainly. + + NATHAN. + + By nature + And blood conferred. + + FRIAR. + + I mean so too. + + NATHAN. + + Then name + The man allied to her as brother, uncle, + Or otherwise akin, and I from him + Will not withhold her—she who was created + And was brought up to be of any house, + Of any faith, the glory—I, I hope, + That of your master and his race you knew + More than myself. + + FRIAR. + + I hardly think that, Nathan; + For I already told you that I passed + A short time with him. + + NATHAN. + + Can you tell at least + The mother’s family name? She was, I think, + A Stauffen. + + FRIAR. + + May be—yes, in fact, you’re right. + + NATHAN. + + Conrade of Stauffen was her brother’s name— + He was a templar. + + FRIAR. + + I am clear it was. + But stay, I recollect I’ve yet a book, + ’Twas my dead lord’s—I drew it from his bosom, + While we were burying him at Askalon. + + NATHAN. + + Well! + + FRIAR. + + There are prayers in’t, ’tis what we call + A breviary. This, thought I, may yet serve + Some Christian man—not me indeed, for I + Can’t read. + + NATHAN. + + No matter, to the thing. + + FRIAR. + + This book is written at both ends quite full, + And, as I’m told, contains, in his hand-writing + About both him and her what’s most material. + + NATHAN. + + Go, run and fetch the book—’tis fortunate; + I am ready with its weight in gold to pay it, + And thousand thanks beside—Go, run. + + FRIAR. + + Most gladly; + But ’tis in Arabic what he has written. + + [_Goes_. + + NATHAN. + + No matter—that’s all one—do fetch it—Oh! + If by its means I may retain the daughter, + And purchase with it such a son-in-law; + But that’s unlikely—well, chance as it may. + Who now can have been with the patriarch + To tell this tale? That I must not forget + To ask about. If ’t were of Daya’s? + + NATHAN _and_ DAYA. + + DAYA (_anxiously breaks in_). + + Nathan! + + NATHAN. + + Well! + + DAYA. + + Only think, she was quite frightened at it, + Poor child, a message— + + NATHAN. + + From the patriarch? + + DAYA. + + No— + The sultan’s sister, princess Sittah, sends. + + NATHAN. + + And not the patriarch? + + DAYA. + + Can’t you hear? The princess + Has sent to see your Recha. + + NATHAN. + + Sent for Recha + Has Sittah sent for Recha? Well, if Sittah, + And not the patriarch, sends. + + DAYA. + + Why think of him? + + NATHAN. + + Have you heard nothing from him lately—really + Seen nothing of him—whispered nothing to him? + + DAYA. + + How, I to him? + + NATHAN. + + Where are the messengers? + + DAYA. + + There, just before you. + + NATHAN. + + I will talk with them + Out of precaution. If there’s nothing lurking + Beneath this message of the patriarch’s doing— + + [_Goes_. + + DAYA. + + And I—I’ve other fears. The only daughter, + As they suppose, of such a rich, rich Jew, + Would for a Mussulman be no bad thing; + I bet the templar will be choused, unless + I risk the second step, and to herself + Discover who she is. Let me for this + Employ the first short moments we’re alone; + And that will be—oh, as I am going with her. + A serious hint upon the road I think + Can’t be amiss—yes, now or never—yes. + + + +ACT V. + + +SCENE.—A Room in the Palace; the Purses still in a pile. + + +SALADIN, _and_, _soon after_, _several_ MAMALUKES. + + SALADIN (_as he comes in_). + + Here lies the money still, and no one finds + The dervis yet—he’s probably got somewhere + Over a chess-board. Play would often make + The man forget himself, and why not, me. + Patience—Ha! what’s the matter. + + SALADIN _and_ IBRAHIM. + + IBRAHIM. + + Happy news— + Joy, sultan, joy, the caravan from Cairo + Is safe arrived and brings the seven years’ tribute + Of the rich Nile. + + SALADIN. + + Bravo, my Ibrahim, + Thou always wast a welcome messenger, + And now at length—at length—accept my thanks + For the good tidings. + + IBRAHIM (_waiting_). + + Hither with them, sultan. + + SALADIN. + + What art thou waiting for? Go. + + IBRAHIM. + + Nothing further + For my glad news? + + SALADIN. + + What further? + + IBRAHIM. + + Errand boys + Earn hire—and when their message smiles i’ the telling, + The sender’s hire by the receiver’s bounty + Is oft outweighed. Am I to be the first + Whom Saladin at length has learnt to pay + In words? The first about whose recompense + The sultan higgled? + + SALADIN. + + Go, pick up a purse. + + IBRAHIM. + + No, not now—you might give them all away + + SALADIN. + + All—hold, man. Here, come hither, take these two— + And is he really going—shall he conquer + Me then in generosity? for surely + ’Tis harder for this fellow to refuse + Than ’tis for me to give. Here, Ibrahim— + Shall I be tempted, just before my exit, + To be a different man—small Saladin + Not die like Saladin, then wherefore live so? + + ABDALLAH _and_ SALADIN. + + ABDALLAH. + + Hail, Sultan! + + SALADIN. + + If thou comest to inform me + That the whole convoy is arrived from Egypt, + I know it already. + + ABDALLAH. + + Do I come too late? + + SALADIN. + + Too late, and why too late? There for thy tidings + Pick up a purse or two. + + ABDALLAH. + + Does that make three? + + SALADIN. + + So thou wouldst reckon—well, well, take them, take them. + + ABDALLAH. + + A third will yet be here if he be able. + + SALADIN. + + How so? + + ABDALLAH. + + He may perhaps have broke his neck. + We three, as soon as certain of the coming + Of the rich caravan, each crossed our horses, + And galloped hitherward. The foremost fell, + Then I was foremost, and continued so + Into the city, but sly Ibrahim, + Who knows the streets— + + SALADIN. + + But he that fell, go, seek him. + + ABDALLAH. + + That will I quickly—if he lives, the half + Of what I’ve got is his. + + [_Goes_. + + SALADIN. + + What a fine fellow! + And who can boast such mamalukes as these; + And is it not allowed me to imagine + That my example helped to form them. Hence + With the vile thought at last to turn another. + + _A third_ COURIER. + + Sultan— + + SALADIN. + + Was’t thou who fell? + + COURIER. + + No, I’ve to tell thee + That Emir Mansor, who conducts the convoy, + Alights. + + SALADIN. + + O bring him to me—Ah, he’s there— + Be welcome, Emir. What has happened to thee? + For we have long expected thee. + + SALADIN _and_ EMIR. + + EMIR (_after the wont obeisance_). + + This letter + Will show, that, in Thebais, discontents + Required thy Abulkassem’s sabred hand, + Ere we could march. Since that, our progress, sultan, + My zeal has sped most anxiously. + + SALADIN. + + I trust thee— + But my good Mansor take without delay— + Thou art not loth to go further—fresh protection, + And with the treasure on to Libanon; + The greater part at least I have to lodge + With my old father. + + EMIR. + + O, most willingly. + + SALADIN. + + And take not a slight escort. Libanon + Is far from quiet, as thou wilt have heard; + The templars stir afresh, be therefore cautious. + Come, I must see thy troop, and give the orders. + + [_To a slave_. + + Say I shall be with Sittah when I’ve finished. + + +SCENE—A Place of Palms. + + + _The_ TEMPLAR _walking to and fro_. + + TEMPLAR. + + Into this house I go not—sure at last + He’ll show himself—once, once they used to see me + So instantly, so gladly—time will come + When he’ll send out most civilly to beg me + Not to pace up and down before his door. + Psha—and yet I’m a little nettled too; + And what has thus embittered me against him? + He answered yes. He has refused me nothing + As yet. And Saladin has undertaken + To bring him round. And does the Christian nestle + Deeper in me than the Jew lurks in him? + Who, who can justly estimate himself? + How comes it else that I should grudge him so + The little booty that he took such pains + To rob the Christians of? A theft, no less + Than such a creature tho’—but whose, whose creature? + Sure not the slave’s who floated the mere block + On to life’s barren strand, and then ran off; + But his the artist’s, whose fine fancy moulded + Upon the unowned block a godlike form, + Whose chisel graved it there. Recha’s true father, + Spite of the Christian who begot her, is, + Must ever be, the Jew. Alas, were I + To fancy her a simple Christian wench, + And without all that which the Jew has given, + Which only such a Jew could have bestowed— + Speak out my heart, what had she that would please thee? + No, nothing! Little! For her very smile + Shrinks to a pretty twisting of the muscles— + Be that, which makes her smile, supposed unworthy + Of all the charms in ambush on her lips? + No, not her very smile—I’ve seen sweet smiles + Spent on conceit, on foppery, on slander, + On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent, + And did they charm me then? then wake the wish + To flutter out a life beneath their sunshine? + Indeed not—Yet I’m angry with the man + Who alone gave this higher value to her. + How this, and why? Do I deserve the taunt + With which I was dismissed by Saladin? + ’Tis bad enough that Saladin should think so; + How little, how contemptible must I + Then have appeared to him—all for a girl. + Conrade, this will not do—back, back—And if + Daya to boot had prated matter to me + Not easy to be proved—At last he’s coming, + Engaged in earnest converse—and with whom? + My friar in Nathan’s house! then he knows all— + Perhaps has to the patriarch been betrayed. + O Conrade, what vile mischiefs thou hast brooded + Out of thy cross-grained head, that thus one spark + Of that same passion, love, can set so much + O’ th’ brain in flame? Quick, then, determine, wretch, + What shalt thou say or do? Step back a moment + And see if this good friar will please to quit him. + + NATHAN _and the_ FRIAR _come together out of Nathan’s house_. + + NATHAN. + + Once more, good brother, thanks. + + FRIAR. + + The like to you. + + NATHAN. + + To me, and why; because I’m obstinate— + Would force upon you what you have no use for? + + FRIAR. + + The book besides was none of mine. Indeed + It must at any rate belong to th’ daughter; + It is her whole, her only patrimony— + Save she has you. God grant you ne’er have reason + To sorrow for the much you’ve done for her. + + NATHAN. + + How should I? that can never be; fear nothing. + + FRIAR. + + Patriarchs and templars— + + NATHAN. + + Have not in their power + Evil enough to make me e’er repent. + And then—But are you really well assured + It is a templar who eggs on your patriarch? + + FRIAR. + + It scarcely can be other, for a templar + Talked with him just before, and what I heard + Agreed with this. + + NATHAN. + + But there is only one + Now in Jerusalem; and him I know; + He is my friend, a noble open youth. + + FRIAR. + + The same. But what one is at heart, and what + One gets to be in active life, mayn’t always + Square well together. + + NATHAN. + + No, alas, they do not. + Therefore unangered I let others do + Their best or worst. O brother, with your book + I set all at defiance, and am going + Straight with it to the Sultan. + + FRIAR. + + God be with you! + Here I shall take my leave. + + NATHAN. + + And have not seen her— + Come soon, come often to us. If to-day + The patriarch make out nothing—but no matter, + Tell him it all to-day, or when you will. + + FRIAR. + + Not I—farewell! + + NATHAN. + + Do not forget us, brother + My God, why may I not beneath thy sky + Here drop upon my knees; now the twined knot, + Which has so often made my thinkings anxious, + Untangles of itself—God, how I am eased, + Now that I’ve nothing in the world remaining + That I need hide—now that I can as freely + Walk before man as before thee, who only + Need’st not to judge a creature by his deeds— + Deeds which so seldom are his own—O God! + + NATHAN _and_ TEMPLAR. + + TEMPLAR (_coming forward_). + + Hoa, Nathan, take me with you. + + NATHAN. + + Ha! Who calls? + Is it you, knight? And whither have you been + That you could not be met with at the Sultan’s? + + TEMPLAR. + + We missed each other—take it not amiss. + + NATHAN. + + I, no, but Saladin. + + TEMPLAR. + + You was just gone. + + NATHAN. + + O, then you spoke with him; I’m satisfied. + + TEMPLAR. + + Yes—but he wants to talk with us together. + + NATHAN. + + So much the better. Come with me, my step + Was eitherwise bent thither. + + TEMPLAR. + + May I ask, + Nathan, who ’twas now left you? + + NATHAN. + + Did you know him? + + TEMPLAR. + + Was’t that good-hearted creature the lay-brother, + Whom the hoar patriarch has a knack of using + To feel his way out? + + NATHAN. + + That may be. In fact + He’s at the patriarch’s. + + TEMPLAR. + + ’Tis no awkward hit + To make simplicity the harbinger + Of craft. + + NATHAN. + + If the simplicity of dunces, + But if of honest piety? + + TEMPLAR. + + This last + No patriarch can believe in. + + NATHAN. + + I’ll be bound for’t + This last belongs to him who quitted me. + He’ll not assist his patriarch to accomplish + A vile or cruel purpose. + + TEMPLAR. + + Such, at least, + He would appear—but has he told you then + Something of me? + + NATHAN. + + Of you? No—not by name, + He can’t well be acquainted with your name. + + TEMPLAR. + + No, that not. + + NATHAN. + + He indeed spoke of a templar, + Who— + + TEMPLAR. + + What? + + NATHAN. + + But by this templar could not mean + To point out you. + + TEMPLAR. + + Stay, stay, who knows? Let’s hear. + + NATHAN. + + Who has accused me to his patriarch. + + TEMPLAR. + + Accused thee, no, that by his leave is false. + Nathan do hear me—I am not the man + Who would deny a single of his actions; + What I have done, I did. Nor am I one + Who would defend all he has done as right— + Why be ashamed of failing? Am I not + Firmly resolved on better future conduct? + And am I not aware how much the man + That’s willing can improve? O, hear me, Nathan— + I am the templar your lay-brother talked of— + Who has accused—You know what made me angry, + What set the blood in all my veins on fire, + The mad-cap that I was—I had drawn nigh + To fling myself with soul and body whole + Into your arms—and you received me, Nathan— + How cold, how lukewarm, for that’s worse than cold.— + How with words weighed and measured, you took care + To put me off; and with what questioning + About my parentage, and God knows what, + You seemed to answer me—I must not think on’t + If I would keep my temper—Hear me, Nathan— + While in this ferment—Daya steps behind me, + Bolts out a secret in my ear, which seemed + At once to lend a clue to your behaviour. + + NATHAN. + + How so? + + TEMPLAR. + + Do hear me to the end. I fancied + That what you from the Christians had purloined + You wasn’t content to let a Christian have; + And so the project struck me short and good, + To hold the knife to your throat till— + + NATHAN. + + Short and good; + And good—but where’s the good? + + TEMPLAR. + + Yet hear me, Nathan, + I own I did not right—you are unguilty, + No doubt. The prating Daya does not know + What she reported—has a grudge against you— + Seeks to involve you in an ugly business— + May be, may be, and I’m a crazy looby, + A credulous enthusiast—both ways mad— + Doing ever much too much, or much too little— + That too may be—forgive me, Nathan. + + NATHAN. + + If + Such be the light in which you view— + + TEMPLAR. + + In short + I to the patriarch went. I named you not. + That, as I said, was false. I only stated + In general terms, the case, to learn his notion, + That too might have been let alone—assuredly. + For knew I not the patriarch then to be + A knave? And might I not have talked with you? + And ought I to have exposed the poor girl—ha! + To part with such a father? Now what happens? + The patriarch’s villainy consistent ever + Restored me to myself—O, hear me out— + Suppose he was to ferret out your name, + What then? What then? He cannot seize the maid, + Unless she still belong to none but you. + ’Tis from your house alone that he could drag her + Into a convent; therefore grant her me— + Grant her to me, and let him come. By God— + Sever my wife from me—he’ll not be rash + Enough to think about it. Give her to me, + Be she or no thy daughter, Christian, Jewess, + Or neither, ’tis all one, all one—I’ll never + In my whole life ask of thee which she is, + Be’t as it may. + + NATHAN. + + You may perhaps imagine + That I’ve an interest to conceal the truth. + + TEMPLAR. + + Be’t as it may. + + NATHAN. + + I neither have to you + Nor any one, whom it behooved to know it, + Denied that she’s a Christian, and no more + Than my adopted daughter. Why, to her + I have not yet betrayed it—I am bound + To justify only to her. + + TEMPLAR. + + Of that + Shall be no need. Indulge, indulge her with + Never beholding you with other eyes— + Spare, spare her the discovery. As yet + You have her to yourself, and may bestow her; + Give her to me—oh, I beseech thee, Nathan, + Give her to me, I, only I can save her + A second time, and will. + + NATHAN. + + Yes, could have saved her. + But ’tis all over now—it is too late. + + TEMPLAR. + + How so, too late. + + NATHAN. + + Thanks to the patriarch. + + TEMPLAR. + + How + Thanks to the patriarch, and for what? Can he + Earn thanks of us. For what? + + NATHAN. + + That now we know + To whom she is related—to whose hands + She may with confidence be now delivered. + + TEMPLAR. + + He thank him who has more to thank him for. + + NATHAN. + + From theirs you now have to obtain her, not + From mine. + + TEMPLAR. + + Poor Recha—what befalls thee? Oh, + Poor Recha—what had been to other orphans + A blessing, is to thee a curse. But, Nathan, + Where are they, these new kinsmen? + + NATHAN. + + Where they are? + + TEMPLAR. + + Who are they? + + NATHAN. + + Who—a brother is found out + To whom you must address yourself. + + TEMPLAR. + + A brother! + And what is he, a soldier or a priest? + Let’s hear what I’ve to hope. + + NATHAN. + + As I believe + He’s neither of the two—or both. Just now + I cannot say exactly. + + TEMPLAR. + + And besides + He’s— + + NATHAN. + + A brave fellow, and with whom my Recha + Will not be badly placed. + + TEMPLAR. + + But he’s a Christian. + At times I know not what to make of you— + Take it not ill of me, good Nathan. Will she + Not have to play the Christian among Christians; + And when she has been long enough the actress + Not turn so? Will the tares in time not stifle + The pure wheat of your setting—and does that + Affect you not a whit—you yet declare + She’ll not be badly placed. + + NATHAN. + + I think, I hope so. + And should she there have need of any thing + Has she not you and me? + + TEMPLAR. + + Need at her brother’s— + What should she need when there? Won’t he provide + His dear new sister with all sorts of dresses, + With comfits and with toys and glittering jewels? + And what needs any sister wish for else— + Only a husband? And he comes in time. + A brother will know how to furnish that, + The Christianer the better. Nathan, Nathan, + O what an angel you had formed, and how + Others will mar it now! + + NATHAN. + + Be not so downcast, + Believe me he will ever keep himself + Worthy our love. + + TEMPLAR. + + No, say not that of mine. + My love allows of no refusal—none. + Were it the merest trifle—but a name. + Hold there—has she as yet the least suspicion + Of what is going forward? + + NATHAN. + + That may be, + And yet I know not whence. + + TEMPLAR. + + It matters not, + She shall, she must in either case from me + First learn what fate is threatening. My fixed purpose + To see her not again, nor speak to her, + Till I might call her mine, is gone. I hasten— + + NATHAN. + + Stay, whither would you go? + + TEMPLAR. + + To her, to learn + If this girl’s soul be masculine enough + To form the only resolution worthy + Herself. + + NATHAN. + + What resolution? + + TEMPLAR. + + This—to ask + No more about her brother and her father, + And— + + NATHAN. + + And— + + TEMPLAR. + + To follow me. E’en if she were + So doing to become a Moslem’s wife. + + NATHAN. + + Stay, you’ll not find her—she is now with Sittah, + The Sultan’s sister. + + TEMPLAR. + + How long since, and wherefore? + + NATHAN. + + And would you there behold her brother, come + Thither with me. + + TEMPLAR. + + Her brother, whose then? Sittah’s + Or Recha’s do you mean? + + NATHAN. + + Both, both, perchance. + Come this way—I beseech you, come with me. + + [_Leads off the Templar with him_. + + +SCENE.—The Sultan’s Palace. A Room in Sittah’s Apartment. + + + SITTAH _and_ RECHA. + + SITTAH. + + How I am pleased with thee, sweet girl! But do + Shake off this perturbation, be not anxious, + Be not alarmed, I want to hear thee talk— + Be cheerful. + + RECHA. + + Princess! + + SITTAH. + + No, not princess, child. + Call me thy friend, or Sittah, or thy sister, + Or rather aunt, for I might well be thine; + So young, so good, so prudent, so much knowledge, + You must have read a great deal to be thus. + + RECHA. + + I read—you’re laughing, Sittah, at your sister, + I scarce can read. + + SITTAH. + + Scarce can, you little fibber. + + RECHA. + + My father’s hand or so—I thought you spoke + Of books. + + SITTAH. + + Aye, surely so I did, of books. + + RECHA. + + Well really now it puzzles me to read them. + + SITTAH. + + In earnest? + + RECHA. + + Yes, in earnest, for my father + Hates cold book-learning, which makes an impression + With its dead letters only on the brain. + + SITTAH. + + What say you? Aye, he’s not unright in that. + So then the greater part of what you know— + + RECHA. + + I know but from his mouth—of most of it + I could relate to you, the how, the where, + The why he taught it me. + + SITTAH. + + So it clings closer, + And the whole soul drinks in th’ instruction. + + RECHA. + + Yes, + And Sittah certainly has not read much. + + SITTAH. + + How so? Not that I’m vain of having read; + But what can be thy reason? Speak out boldly, + Thy reason for it. + + RECHA. + + She is so right down, + Unartificial—only like herself + And books do seldom leave us so; my father + Says. + + SITTAH. + + What a man thy father is, my Recha. + + RECHA. + + Is not he? + + SITTAH. + + How he always hits the mark. + + RECHA. + + Does not he? And this father— + + SITTAH. + + Love, what ails thee? + + RECHA. + + This father— + + SITTAH. + + God, thou’rt weeping + + RECHA. + + And this father— + It must have vent, my heart wants room, wants room. + + SITTAH. + + Child, child, what ails you, Recha? + + RECHA. + + And this father + I am to lose. + + SITTAH. + + Thou lose him, O no, never: + Arise, be calm, how so? It must not be. + + RECHA. + + So shall thy offer not have been in vain, + To be my friend, my sister. + + SITTAH. + + Maid, I am. + Rise then, or I must call for help. + + RECHA. + + Forgive, + My agony made me awhile forgetful + With whom I am. Tears, sobbing, and despair, + Can not avail with Sittah. Cool calm reason + Alone is over her omnipotent; + Whose cause that pleads before her, he has conquered. + + SITTAH. + + Well, then! + + RECHA. + + My friend, my sister, suffer not + Another father to be forced upon me. + + SITTAH. + + Another father to be forced upon thee— + Who can do that, or wish to do it, Recha? + + RECHA. + + Who? Why my good, my evil genius, Daya, + She, she can wish it, will it—and can do it. + You do not know this dear good evil Daya. + God, God forgive it her—reward her for it; + So much good she has done me, so much evil. + + SITTAH. + + Evil to thee—much goodness she can’t have. + + RECHA. + + O yes, she has indeed. + + SITTAH. + + Who is she? + + RECHA. + + Who? + A Christian, who took care of all my childhood. + You cannot think how little she allowed me + To miss a mother—God reward her for it— + But then she has so teased, so tortured me. + + SITTAH. + + And about what? Why, how, when? + + RECHA. + + The poor woman, + I tell thee, is a Christian—and she must + From love torment—is one of those enthusiasts + Who think they only know the one true road + To God. + + SITTAH. + + I comprehend thee. + + RECHA. + + And who feel + Themselves in duty bound to point it out + To every one who is not in this path, + To lead, to drag them into it. And indeed + They can’t do otherwise consistently; + For if theirs really be the only road + On which ’tis safe to travel—they cannot + With comfort see their friends upon another + Which leads to ruin, to eternal ruin: + Else were it possible at the same instant + To love and hate the same man. Nor is ’t this + Which forces me to be aloud complainant. + Her groans, her prayers, her warnings, and her threats, + I willingly should have abided longer— + Most willingly—they always called up thoughts + Useful and good; and whom does it not flatter + To be by whomsoever held so dear, + So precious, that they cannot bear the thought + Of parting with us at some time for ever? + + SITTAH. + + Most true. + + RECHA. + + But—but—at last this goes too far; + I’ve nothing to oppose to it, neither patience, + Neither reflection—nothing. + + SITTAH. + + How, to what? + + RECHA. + + To what she has just now, as she will have it, + Discovered to me. + + SITTAH. + + How discovered to thee? + + RECHA. + + Yes, just this instant. Coming hitherward + We past a fallen temple of the Christians— + She all at once stood still, seemed inly struggling, + Turned her moist eyes to heaven, and then on me. + Come, says she finally, let us to the right + Thro’ this old fane—she leads the way, I follow. + My eyes with horror overran the dim + And tottering ruin—all at once she stops + By the sunk steps of a low Moorish altar.— + O how I felt, when there, with streaming tears + And wringing hands, prostrate before my feet + She fell + + SITTAH. + + Good child— + + RECHA. + + And by the holy Virgin, + Who there had hearkened many a prayer, and wrought + Many a wonder, she conjured, intreated, + With looks of heartfelt sympathy and love, + I would at length take pity of myself— + At least forgive, if she must now unfold + What claims her church had on me. + + SITTAH. + + Ah! I guessed it. + + RECHA. + + That I am sprung of Christian blood—baptised— + Not Nathan’s daughter—and he not my father. + God, God, he not my father! Sittah, Sittah, + See me once more low at thy feet. + + SITTAH. + + O Recha, + Not so; arise, my brother’s coming, rise. + + SALADIN, SITTAH, _and_ RECHA. + + SALADIN (_entering_). + + What is the matter, Sittah? + + SITTAH. + + She is swooned— + God— + + SALADIN. + + Who? + + SITTAH. + + You know sure. + + SALADIN. + + What, our Nathan’s daughter? + What ails her? + + SITTAH. + + Child, come to thyself, the sultan. + + RECHA. + + No, I’ll not rise, not rise, not look upon + The Sultan’s countenance—I’ll not admire + The bright reflection of eternal justice + And mercy on his brow, and in his eye, + Before— + + SALADIN. + + Rise, rise. + + RECHA. + + Before he shall have promised— + + SALADIN. + + Come, come, I promise whatsoe’er thy prayer. + + RECHA. + + Nor more nor less than leave my father to me, + And me to him. As yet I cannot tell + What other wants to be my father. Who + Can want it, care I not to inquire. Does blood + Alone then make the father? blood alone? + + SALADIN (_raising her_). + + Who was so cruel in thy breast to shed + This wild suspicion? Is it proved, made clear? + + RECHA. + + It must, for Daya had it from my nurse, + Whose dying lips intrusted it to her. + + SALADIN. + + Dying, perhaps delirious; if ’twere true, + Blood only does not make by much the father, + Scarcely the father of a brute, scarce gives + The first right to endeavour at deserving + The name of father. If there be two fathers + At strife for thee, quit both, and take a third, + And take me for thy father. + + SITTAH. + + Do it, do it. + + SALADIN. + + I will be a kind father—but methinks + A better thought occurs, what hast thou need + Of father upon father? They will die, + So that ’tis better to look out by times + For one that starts fair, and stakes life with life + On equal terms. Knowst thou none such? + + SITTAH. + + My brother, + Don’t make her blush. + + SALADIN. + + Why that was half my project. + Blushing so well becomes the ugly, that + The fair it must make charming—I have ordered + Thy father Nathan hither, and another, + Dost guess who ’tis? one other.—Sittah, you + Will not object? + + SITTAH. + + Brother— + + SALADIN. + + And when he comes, + Sweet girl, then blush to crimson. + + RECHA. + + Before whom— + Blush? + + SALADIN. + + Little hypocrite—or else grow pale, + Just as thou willst and canst. Already there? + + SITTAH (_to a female slave who comes in_). + + Well, be they ushered in. Brother, ’tis they. + + SALADIN, SITTAH, RECHA, NATHAN, _and_ TEMPLAR. + + SALADIN. + + Welcome, my dear good friends. Nathan, to you + I’ve first to mention, you may send and fetch + Your monies when you will. + + NATHAN. + + Sultan— + + SALADIN. + + And now + I’m at your service. + + NATHAN. + + Sultan— + + SALADIN. + + For my treasures + Are all arrived. The caravan is safe. + I’m richer than I’ve been these many years. + Now tell me what you wish for, to achieve + Some splendid speculation—you in trade + Like us, have never too much ready cash. + + NATHAN (_going towards Recha_). + + Why first about this trifle?—I behold + An eye in tears, which ’tis far more important + To me to dry. My Recha thou hast wept, + What hast thou lost? Thou art still, I trust, my daughter. + + RECHA. + + My father! + + NATHAN. + + That’s enough, we are understood + By one another; but be calm, be cheerful. + If else thy heart be yet thy own—if else + No threatened loss thy trembling bosom wring + Thy father shall remain to thee. + + RECHA. + + None, none. + + TEMPLAR. + + None, none—then I’m deceived. What we don’t fear + To lose, we never fancied, never wished + Ourselves possessed of. But ’tis well, ’tis well. + Nathan, this changes all—all. Saladin, + At thy command we came, but I misled thee, + Trouble thyself no further. + + SALADIN. + + Always headlong; + Young man, must every will then bow to thine, + Interpret all thy meanings? + + TEMPLAR. + + Thou hast heard, + Sultan, hast seen. + + SALADIN. + + Aye, ’twas a little awkward + Not to be certain of thy cause. + + TEMPLAR. + + I now + Do know my doom, + + SALADIN. + + Pride in an act of service + Revokes the benefit. What thou hast saved + Is therefore not thy own, or else the robber, + Urged by his avarice thro’ fire-crumbling halls, + Were like thyself a hero. Come, sweet maid, + + [_Advances toward Recha in order to lead her up to the Templar_. + + Come, stickle not for niceties with him. + Other—he were less warm and proud, and had + Paused, and not saved thee. Balance then the one + Against the other, and put him to the blush, + Do what he should have done—own thou thy love— + Make him thy offer, and if he refuse, + Or o’er forgot how infinitely more + By this thou do for him than he for thee— + What, what in fact has he then done for thee + But make himself a little sooty? That + (Else he has nothing of my Assad in him, + But only wears his mask) that was mere sport, + Come, lovely girl. + + SITTAH. + + Go, go, my love, this step + Is for thy gratitude too short, too trifling. + + [_They are each taking one of Recha’s hands when Nathan with a solemn + gesture of prohibition says_, + + NATHAN. + + Hold, Saladin—hold, Sittah. + + SALADIN. + + Ha! thou too? + + NATHAN. + + One other has to speak. + + SALADIN. + + Who denies that? + Unquestionably, Nathan, there belongs + A vote to such a foster-father—and + The first, if you require it. You perceive + I know how all the matter lies. + + NATHAN. + + Not all— + I speak not of myself. There is another, + A very different man, whom, Saladin, + I must first talk with. + + SALADIN. + + Who? + + NATHAN. + + Her brother. + + SALADIN. + + Recha’s? + + NATHAN. + + Yes, her’s. + + RECHA. + + My brother—have I then a brother? + + [_The templar starts from his silent and sullen inattention_. + + TEMPLAR. + + Where is this brother? Not yet here? ’Twas here + I was to find him. + + NATHAN. + + Patience yet a while. + + TEMPLAR (_very bitterly_). + + He has imposed a father on the girl, + He’ll find her up a brother. + + SALADIN. + + That was wanting! + Christian, this mean suspicion ne’er had past + The lips of Assad. Go but on— + + NATHAN. + + Forgive him, + I can forgive him readily. Who knows + What in his place, and at his time of life, + We might have thought ourselves? Suspicion, knight, + + [_Approaching the templar in a friendly manner_. + + Succeeds soon to mistrust. Had you at first + Favoured me with your real name. + + TEMPLAR. + + How? what? + + NATHAN. + + You are no Stauffen. + + TEMPLAR. + + Who then am I? Speak. + + NATHAN. + + Conrade of Stauffen is no name of yours. + + TEMPLAR. + + What is my name then? + + NATHAN. + + Guy of Filnek. + + TEMPLAR. + + How? + + NATHAN. + + You startle— + + TEMPLAR. + + And with reason. Who says that? + + NATHAN. + + I, who can tell you more. Meanwhile, observe + I do not tax you with a falsehood. + + TEMPLAR. + + No? + + NATHAN. + + May be you with propriety can wear + Yon name as well. + + TEMPLAR. + + I think so too. (God—God + Put that speech on his tongue.) + + NATHAN. + + In fact your mother— + She was a Stauffen: and her brother’s name, + (The uncle to whose care you were resigned, + When by the rigour of the climate chased, + Your parents quitted Germany to seek + This land once more) was Conrade. He perhaps + Adopted you as his own son and heir. + Is it long since you hither travelled with him? + Is he alive yet? + + TEMPLAR. + + So in fact it stands. + What shall I say? Yes, Nathan, ’tis all right: + Tho’ he himself is dead. I came to Syria + With the last reinforcement of our order, + But—but what has all this long tale to do + With Recha’s brother, whom— + + NATHAN. + + Your father— + + TEMPLAR. + + Him, + Him did you know? + + NATHAN. + + He was my friend. + + TEMPLAR. + + Your friend? + And is that possible? + + NATHAN. + + He called himself + Leonard of Filnek, but he was no German. + + TEMPLAR. + + You know that too? + + NATHAN. + + He had espoused a German, + And followed for a time your mother thither. + + TEMPLAR. + + No more I beg of you—But Recha’s brother— + + NATHAN. + + Art thou + + TEMPLAR. + + I, I her brother— + + RECHA. + + He, my brother? + + SITTAH. + + So near akin— + + RECHA (_offers to clasp him_). + + My brother! + + TEMPLAR (_steps back_). + + Brother to her— + + RECHA (_turning to Nathan_). + + It cannot be, his heart knows nothing of it. + We are deceivers, God. + + SALADIN (_to the templar_). + + Deceivers, yes; + All is deceit in thee, face, voice, walk, gesture, + Nothing belongs to thee. How, not acknowledge + A sister such as she? Go. + + TEMPLAR (_modestly approaching him_). + + Sultan, Sultan + O do not misinterpret my amazement— + Thou never saw’st in such a moment, prince, + Thy Assad’s heart—mistake not him and me. + + [_Hastening towards Nathan_. + + O Nathan, you have taken, you have given, + Both with full hands indeed; and now—yes—yes, + You give me more than you have taken from me, + Yes, infinitely more—my sister—sister. + + [_Embraces Recha_. + + NATHAN. + + Blanda of Filnek. + + TEMPLAR. + + Blanda, ha! not Recha, + Your Recha now no longer—you resign her, + Give her her Christian name again, and then + For my sake turn her off. Why Nathan, Nathan, + Why must she suffer for it? she for me? + + NATHAN. + + What mean you? O my children, both my children— + For sure my daughter’s brother is my child, + So soon as he but will it! + + [_While they embrace Nathan by turns_, _Saladin draws nigh to Sittah_. + + SALADIN. + + What sayst thou + Sittah to this? + + SITTAH. + + I’m deeply moved. + + SALADIN. + + And I + Half tremble at the thought of the emotion + Still greater, still to come. Nathan, a word + + [_While he converses with Nathan_, _Sittah goes to express her sympathy + to the others_. + + With thee apart. Wast thou not saying also + That her own father was no German born? + What was he then? Whence was he? + + NATHAN. + + He himself + Never intrusted me with that. From him + I knew it not. + + SALADIN. + + You say he was no Frank? + + NATHAN. + + No, that he owned: he loved to talk the Persian. + + SALADIN. + + The Persian—need I more? ’Tis he—’twas he! + + NATHAN. + + Who? + + SALADIN. + + Assad certainly, my brother Assad. + + NATHAN. + + If thou thyself perceive it, be assured; + Look in this book— + + [_Gives the breviary_. + + SALADIN (_eagerly looking_.) + + O ’tis his hand, his hand, + I recollect it well. + + NATHAN. + + They know it not; + It rests with thee what they shall learn of this. + + SALADIN (_turning over the breviary_.) + + I not acknowledge my own brother’s children, + Not own my nephew—not my children—I + Leave them to thee? Yes, Sittah, it is they, + + [_Aloud_. + + They are my brother’s and thy brother’s children. + + [_Rushes to embrace them_. + + SITTAH. + + What do I hear? Could it be otherwise? + + [_The like_. + + SALADIN (_to the templar_). + + Now, proud boy, thou shalt love me, thou must love me, + + [_To Recha_. + + And I am, what I offered to become, + With or without thy leave. + + SITTAH. + + I too—I too. + + SALADIN (_to the templar_.) + + My son—my Assad—my lost Assad’s son. + + TEMPLAR. + + I of thy blood—then those were more than dreams + With which they used to lull my infancy— + Much more. + + [_Falls at the Sultan’s feet_. + + SALADIN (_raising him_.) + + Now mark his malice. Something of it + He knew, yet would have let me butcher him— + Boy, boy! + + [_During the silent continuance of reciprocal embraces the curtain + falls_. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NATHAN THE WISE*** + + +******* This file should be named 3820-0.txt or 3820-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/8/2/3820 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Nathan the Wise + + +Author: Gotthold Ephraim Lessing + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: August 10, 2014 [eBook #3820] +[This file was first posted on September 25, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NATHAN THE WISE*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1893 Cassell & Company edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY</span></p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<h1>NATHAN THE WISE<br /> +<i>A Dramatic Poem in Five Acts</i></h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Translated by William Taylor of +Norwich</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">FROM THE +GERMAN OF</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">LESSING</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">CASSELL & COMPANY <span +class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>LONDON PARIS & +MELBOURNE</i></span><br /> +1893</p> +<h3>INTRODUCTION</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Gotthold Ephraim Lessing</span> was born +on the 22nd of January, 1729, eldest of ten sons of a pious and +learned minister of Camenz in the Oberlausitz, who had two +daughters also. As a child Lessing delighted in books, and +had knowledge beyond his years when he went to school, in +Meissen, at the age of twelve. As a school-boy he read much +Greek and Latin that formed no part of the school course; read +also the German poets of his time, wrote a “History of +Ancient Mathematics,” and began a poem of his own on the +“Plurality of Worlds.”</p> +<p>In 1746, at the age of seventeen, Lessing was sent to the +University of Leipsic. There he studied with energy, and +was attracted strongly by the theatre. His artistic +interest in the drama caused him to be put on the free list of +the theatre, in exchange for some translations of French +pieces. Then he produced, also for the Leipsic stage, many +slight pieces of his own, and he had serious thought of turning +actor, which excited alarm in the parsonage at Camenz and caused +his recall home in January, 1747. It was found, however, +that although he could not be trained to follow his +father’s profession, he had been studying to such good +purpose, and developing, in purity of life, such worth of +character, that after Easter he was sent back to Leipsic, with +leave to transfer his studies from theology to medicine.</p> +<p>Lessing went back, continued to work hard, but still also gave +all his leisure to the players. For the debts of some of +them he had incautiously become surety, and when the company +removed to Vienna, there were left behind them unpaid debts for +which young Lessing was answerable. The creditors pressed, +and Lessing moved to Wittenberg; but he fell ill, and was made so +miserable by pressure for impossible payments, that he resolved +to break off his studies, go to Berlin, and begin earning by his +pen, his first earnings being for the satisfaction of these +Leipsic creditors. Lessing went first to Berlin to seek his +fortune in December, 1748, when he was nineteen years old. +He was without money, without decent clothes, and with but one +friend in Berlin, Mylius, who was then editing a small journal, +the <i>Rudigersche Zeitung</i>. Much correspondence brought +him a little money from the overburdened home, and with addition +of some small earning from translations, this enabled him to +obtain a suit of clothes, in which he might venture to present +himself to strangers in his search for fortune. A new +venture with Mylius, a quarterly record of the history of the +theatre, was not successful; but having charge committed to him +of the library part of Mylius’s journal, Lessing had an +opportunity of showing his great critical power. Gottsched, +at Leipsic, was then leader of the war on behalf of classicism in +German literature. Lessing fought on the National side, and +opposed also the beginning of a new French influence then rising, +which was to have its chief apostle in Rousseau.</p> +<p>In 1752 Lessing went back to Wittenberg for another year, that +he might complete the work for graduation; graduated in December +of that year as Master of Arts, and then returned to his work in +Berlin. He worked industriously, not only as critic, but +also in translation from the classics, from French, English, and +Italian; and he was soon able to send help towards providing +education for the youngest of the household of twelve children in +the Camenz parsonage. In 1753 he gave himself eight weeks +of withdrawal from other work to write, in a garden-house at +Potsdam, his tragedy of “Miss Sarah Sampson.” +It was produced with great success at Frankfort on the Oder, and +Lessing’s ruling passion for dramatic literature became the +stronger for this first experience of what he might be able to +achieve. In literature, Frederick the Great cared only for +what was French. A National drama, therefore, could not +live in Berlin. In the autumn of 1755, Lessing suddenly +moved to Leipsic, where an actor whom he had befriended was +establishing a theatre. Here he was again abandoning +himself to the cause of a National drama, when a rich young +gentleman of Leipsic invited his companionship upon a tour in +Europe. Terms were settled, and they set out +together. They saw much of Holland, and were passing into +England, when King Frederick’s attack on Saxony recalled +the young Leipsiger, and caused breach of what had been a +contract for a three years’ travelling companionship. +In May, 1758, Lessing, aged twenty-nine, returned to his old work +in Berlin. Again he translated, edited, criticised. +He wrote a tragedy, “Philotas,” and began a +“Faust.” He especially employed his critical +power in “Letters upon the Latest Literature,” known +as his <i>Literatur briefe</i>. Dissertations upon fable, +led also to Lessing’s “Fables,” produced in +this period of his life.</p> +<p>In 1760 Lessing was tempted by scarcity of income to serve as +a Government secretary at Breslau. He held that office for +five years, and then again returned to his old work in +Berlin. During the five years in Breslau, Lessing had +completed his play of “Minna von Barnhelm,” and the +greatest of his critical works, “Laocoon,” a treatise +on the “Boundary Lines of Painting and Poetry.” +All that he might then have saved from his earnings went to the +buying of books and to the relief of the burdens in the Camenz +parsonage. At Berlin the office of Royal Librarian became +vacant. The claims of Lessing were urged, but Frederick +appointed an insignificant Frenchman. In 1767 Lessing was +called to aid an unsuccessful attempt to establish a National +Theatre in Hamburg.</p> +<p>Other troubles followed. Lessing gave his heart to a +widow, Eva König, and was betrothed to her. But the +involvements of her worldly affairs, and of his, delayed the +marriage for six years. To secure fixed income he took a +poor office as Librarian at Wolfenbüttel. In his first +year at Wolfenbüttel, he wrote his play of “Emilia +Galotti.” Then came a long-desired journey to Italy; +but it came in inconvenient form, for it had to be made with +Prince Leopold, of Brunswick, hurriedly, for the sake of money, +at the time when Lessing was at last able to marry.</p> +<p>The wife, long waited for, and deeply loved, died at the birth +of her first child. This was in January, 1778, when +Lessing’s age was 49. Very soon afterwards he was +attacked by a Pastor Goeze, in Hamburg, and other narrow +theologians, for having edited papers that contained an attack on +Christianity, which Lessing himself had said that he wished to +see answered before he died. The uncharitable bitterness of +these attacks, felt by a mind that had been touched to the quick +by the deepest of sorrows, helped to the shaping of +Lessing’s calm, beautiful lesson of charity, this noblest +of his plays—“Nathan the Wise.” But +Lessing’s health was shattered, and he survived his wife +only three years. He died in 1781, leaving imperishable +influence for good upon the minds of men, but so poor in what the +world calls wealth, that his funeral had to be paid for by a Duke +of Brunswick.</p> +<p>William Taylor, the translator of Lessing’s +“Nathan the Wise;” was born in 1765, the son of a +rich merchant at Norwich, from whose business he was drawn away +by his strong bent towards literature. His father yielded +to his wishes, after long visits to France and to Germany, in +days astir with the new movements of thought, that preceded and +followed the French Revolution. He formed a close +friendship with Southey, edited for a little time a +“Norwich Iris,” and in his later years became known +especially for his Historic Survey of German Poetry, which +included his translations, and among them this of “Nathan +the Wise.” It was published in 1830, Taylor died in +1836. Thomas Carlyle, in reviewing William Taylor’s +Survey of German Poetry, said of the author’s own +translations in it “compared with the average of British +translations, they may be pronounced of almost ideal excellence; +compared with the best translations extant, for example, the +German Shakespeare, Homer, Calderon, they may still be called +better than indifferent. One great merit Mr. Taylor has: +rigorous adherence to his original; he endeavours at least to +copy with all possible fidelity the term of praise, the tone, the +very metre, whatever stands written for him.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">H. M.</p> +<h2><span class="smcap">Nathan the Wise</span>.</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Introite nam et heic Dii +sunt!”—<span class="smcap">Apud Gellium</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Saladin</span>, <i>the Sultan</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Sittah</span>, <i>his Sister</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Nathan</span>, <i>a rich Jew</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Recha</span>, <i>his adopted +Daughter</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Daya</span>, <i>a Christian Woman dwelling +with the Jew a companion to Recha</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Conrade</span>, <i>a young +Templar</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Hafi</span>, <i>a Dervis</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Athanasios</span>, <i>the Patriarch of +Palestine</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bonafides</span>, <i>a Friar</i>.</p> +<p><i>An Emir</i>, <i>sundry Mamalukes</i>, <i>Slaves</i>, +<i>&c.</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Scene is at +Jerusalem</i>.</p> +<h3>ACT I.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Scene</span>.—A Hall in Nathan’s +House.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span>, +<i>in a travelling dress</i>, <span class="smcap">Daya</span> +<i>meeting him</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis he, ’tis Nathan! Thanks +to the Almighty,<br /> +That you’re at last returned.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes, Daya, thanks,<br /> +That I have reached Jerusalem in safety.<br /> +But wherefore this <i>at last</i>? Did I intend,<br /> +Or was it possible to come back sooner?<br /> +As I was forced to travel, out and in,<br /> +’Tis a long hundred leagues to Babylon;<br /> +And to get in one’s debts is no employment,<br /> +That speeds a traveller.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O Nathan, Nathan,<br /> +How miserable you had nigh become<br /> +During this little absence; for your house—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, ’twas on fire; I have already heard +it.<br /> +God grant I may have heard the whole, that chanced!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas on the point of burning to the +ground.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Then we’d have built another, and a +better.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">True!—But thy Recha too was on the +point<br /> +Of perishing amid the flames.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Of perishing?<br /> +My Recha, saidst thou? She? I heard not that.<br /> +I then should not have needed any house.<br /> +Upon the point of perishing—perchance<br /> +She’s gone?—Speak out then—out—torment me +not<br /> +With this suspense.—Come, tell me, tell me all.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Were she no more, from me you would not hear +it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why then alarm me?—Recha, O my Recha!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Your Recha? Yours?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What if I ever were<br /> +Doomed to unlearn to call this child, <i>my</i> child,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Is all you own yours by an equal title?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Nought by a better. What I else enjoy<br +/> +Nature and Fortune gave—this treasure, Virtue.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How dear you make me pay for all your +goodness!—<br /> +If goodness, exercised with such a view,<br /> +Deserves the name.—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">With such a view? With what?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">My conscience—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Daya, let me tell you first—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I say, my conscience—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What a charming silk<br /> +I bought for you in Babylon! ’Tis rich,<br /> +Yet elegantly rich. I almost doubt<br /> +If I have brought a prettier for Recha.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And what of that—I tell you that my +conscience<br /> +Will no be longer hushed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And I have bracelets,<br /> +And earrings, and a necklace, which will charm you.<br /> +I chose them at Damascus.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That’s your +way:—<br /> +If you can but make presents—but make presents.—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Take you as freely as I give—and +cease.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And cease?—Who questions, Nathan, but +that you are<br /> +Honour and generosity in person;—<br /> +Yet—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet I’m but a +Jew.—That was your meaning.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You better know what was my meaning, +Nathan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, well, no more of this,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I shall be silent;<br /> +But what of sinful in the eye of heaven<br /> +Springs out of it—not I, not I could help;<br /> +It falls upon thy head.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So let it, Daya.<br /> +Where is she then? What stays her? Surely, surely,<br +/> +You’re not amusing me—And does she know<br /> +That I’m arrived?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That you yourself must speak +to,<br /> +Terror still vibrates in her every nerve.<br /> +Her fancy mingles fire with all she thinks of.<br /> +Asleep, her soul seems busy; but awake,<br /> +Absent: now less than brute, now more than angel.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Poor thing! What are we +mortals—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> As she lay<br /> +This morning sleeping, all at once she started<br /> +And cried: “list, list! there come my father’s +camels!”<br /> +And then she drooped again upon her pillow<br /> +And I withdrew—when, lo! you really came.<br /> +Her thoughts have only been with you—and him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And <i>him</i>? What him?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> With him, who from the +fire<br /> +Preserved her life,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who was it? Where is +he,<br /> +That saved my Recha for me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A young templar,<br /> +Brought hither captive a few days ago,<br /> +And pardoned by the Sultan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How, a <i>templar</i><br /> +Dismissed with life by Saladin. In truth,<br /> +Not a less miracle was to preserve her,<br /> +God!—God!—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Without this man, who risked +afresh<br /> +The Sultan’s unexpected boon, we’d lost her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Where is he, Daya, where’s this noble +youth?<br /> +Do, lead me to his feet. Sure, sure you gave him<br /> +What treasures I had left you—gave him all,<br /> +Promised him more—much more?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How could we?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Not?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He came, he went, we know not whence, or +whither.<br /> +Quite unacquainted with the house, unguided<br /> +But by his ear, he prest through smoke and flame,<br /> +His mantle spread before him, to the room<br /> +Whence pierced the shrieks for help; and we began<br /> +To think him lost—and her; when, all at once,<br /> +Bursting from flame and smoke, he stood before us,<br /> +She in his arm upheld. Cold and unmoved<br /> +By our loud warmth of thanks, he left his booty,<br /> +Struggled into the crowd, and disappeared.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But not for ever, Daya, I would hope.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">For some days after, underneath you palms,<br +/> +That shade his grave who rose again from death,<br /> +We saw him wandering up and down. I went,<br /> +With transport went to thank him. I conjured,<br /> +Intreated him to visit once again<br /> +The dear sweet girl he saved, who longed to shed<br /> +At her preserver’s feet the grateful tear—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But in vain. Deaf to +our warmest prayers,<br /> +On me he flung such bitter mockery—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That hence rebuffed—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, no, oh, no, indeed +not,<br /> +Daily I forced myself upon him, daily<br /> +Afresh encountered his dry taunting speeches.<br /> +Much I have borne, and would have borne much more:<br /> +But he of late forbears his lonely walk<br /> +Under the scattered palms, which stand about<br /> +Our holy sepulchre: nor have I learnt<br /> +Where he now is. You seem +astonished—thoughtful—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I was imagining what strange impressions<br /> +This conduct makes on such a mind as Recha’s.<br /> +Disdained by one whom she must feel compelled<br /> +To venerate and to esteem so highly.<br /> +At once attracted and repelled—the combat<br /> +Between her head and heart must yet endure,<br /> +Regret, Resentment, in unusual struggle.<br /> +Neither, perhaps, obtains the upper hand,<br /> +And busy fancy, meddling in the fray,<br /> +Weaves wild enthusiasms to her dazzled spirit,<br /> +Now clothing Passion in the garb of Reason,<br /> +And Reason now in Passion’s—do I err?<br /> +This last is Recha’s fate—Romantic notions—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Aye; but such pious, lovely, sweet, +illusions.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Illusions though.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes: and the one, her +bosom<br /> +Clings to most fondly, is, that the brave templar<br /> +Was but a transient inmate of the earth,<br /> +A guardian angel, such as from her childhood<br /> +She loved to fancy kindly hovering round her,<br /> +Who from his veiling cloud amid the fire<br /> +Stepped forth in her preserver’s form. You +smile—<br /> +Who knows? At least beware of banishing<br /> +So pleasing an illusion—if deceitful<br /> +Christian, Jew, Mussulman, agree to own it,<br /> +And ’tis—at least to her—a dear illusion.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Also to me. Go, my good Daya, go,<br /> +See what she’s after. Can’t I speak with +her?<br /> +Then I’ll find out our untamed guardian angel,<br /> +Bring him to sojourn here awhile among us—<br /> +We’ll pinion his wild wing, when once he’s taken.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You undertake too much.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And when, my Daya,<br /> +This sweet illusion yields to sweeter truth,<br /> +(For to a man a man is ever dearer<br /> +Than any angel) you must not be angry<br /> +To see our loved enthusiast exercised.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You are so good—and yet so sly. +I’ll seek her,<br /> +But listen,—yes! she’s coming of herself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span>, +<span class="smcap">Daya</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Recha</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And you are here, your very self, my father,<br +/> +I thought you’d only sent your voice before you.<br /> +Where are you then? What mountains, deserts, torrents,<br +/> +Divide us now? You see me, face to face,<br /> +And do not hasten to embrace your Recha.<br /> +Poor Recha! she was almost burnt alive,<br /> +But only—only—almost. Do not shudder!<br /> +O ’tis a horrid end to die in fire!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN</span> (<i>embracing her</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">My child, my darling child!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You had to cross<br /> +The Jordan, Tigris, and Euphrates, and<br /> +Who knows what rivers else. I used to tremble<br /> +And quake for you, till the fire came so nigh me;<br /> +Since then, methinks ’twere comfort, balm, refreshment,<br +/> +To die by water. But you are not drowned—<br /> +I am not burnt alive.—We will rejoice—<br /> +We will praise God—the kind good God, who bore thee,<br /> +Upon the buoyant wings of <i>unseen</i> angels,<br /> +Across the treacherous stream—the God who bade<br /> +My angel <i>visibly</i> on his white wing<br /> +Athwart the roaring flame—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN</span> (<i>aside</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> White wing?—oh, aye<br +/> +The broad white fluttering mantle of the templar.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, visibly he bore me through the fire,<br /> +O’ershadowed by his pinions.—Face to face<br /> +I’ve seen an angel, father, my own angel.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Recha deserves it, and would see in him<br /> +No fairer form than he beheld in her,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Whom are you flattering, father—tell me +now—<br /> +The angel, or yourself?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet had a man,<br /> +A man of those whom Nature daily fashions,<br /> +Done you this service, he to you had seemed,<br /> +Had been an angel.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, not such a one.<br /> +Indeed it was a true and real angel.<br /> +And have not you yourself instructed me<br /> +How possible it is there may be angels;<br /> +That God for those who love him can work miracles—<br /> +And I do love him, father—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And he thee;<br /> +And both for thee, and all like thee, my child,<br /> +Works daily wonders, from eternity<br /> +Has wrought them for you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That I like to hear.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, and although it sounds quite natural,<br +/> +An every day event, a simple story,<br /> +That you was by a real templar saved,<br /> +Is it the less a miracle? The greatest<br /> +Of all is this, that true and real wonders<br /> +Should happen so perpetually, so daily.<br /> +Without this universal miracle<br /> +A thinking man had scarcely called those such,<br /> +Which only children, Recha, ought to name so,<br /> +Who love to gape and stare at the unusual<br /> +And hunt for novelty—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why will you then<br /> +With such vain subtleties, confuse her brain<br /> +Already overheated?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Let me manage.—<br /> +And is it not enough then for my Recha<br /> +To owe her preservation to a man,<br /> +Whom no small miracle preserved himself.<br /> +For whoe’er heard before that Saladin<br /> +Let go a templar; that a templar wished it,<br /> +Hoped it, or for his ransom offered more<br /> +Than taunts, his leathern sword-belt, or his dagger?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That makes for me; these are so many reasons<br +/> +He was no real knight, but only seemed it.<br /> +If in Jerusalem no captive templar,<br /> +Appears alive, or freely wanders round,<br /> +How could I find one, in the night, to save me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Ingenious! dextrous! Daya, come in +aid.<br /> +It was from you I learnt he was a prisoner;<br /> +Doubtless you know still more about him, speak.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis but report indeed, but it is said<br +/> +That Saladin bestowed upon this youth<br /> +His gracious pardon for the strong resemblance<br /> +He bore a favourite brother—dead, I think<br /> +These twenty years—his name, I know it not—<br /> +He fell, I don’t know where—and all the story<br /> +Sounds so incredible, that very likely<br /> +The whole is mere invention, talk, romance.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And why incredible? Would you reject<br +/> +This story, tho’ indeed, it’s often done,<br /> +To fix on something more incredible,<br /> +And give that faith? Why should not Saladin,<br /> +Who loves so singularly all his kindred,<br /> +Have loved in early youth with warmer fondness<br /> +A brother now no more. Do we not see<br /> +Faces alike, and is an old impression<br /> +Therefore a lost one? Do resembling features<br /> +Not call up like emotions. Where’s th’ +incredible?<br /> +Surely, sage Daya, this can be to thee<br /> +No miracle, or do <i>thy</i> wonders only<br /> +Demand—I should have said <i>deserve</i> belief?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You’re on the bite.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Were you quite fair with +me?<br /> +Yet even so, my Recha, thy escape<br /> +Remains a wonder, only possible<br /> +To Him, who of the proud pursuits of princes<br /> +Makes sport—or if not sport—at least delights<br /> +To head and manage them by slender threads.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">If I do err, it is not wilfully,<br /> +My father.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, you have been always +docile.<br /> +See now, a forehead vaulted thus, or thus—<br /> +A nose bow’d one way rather than another—<br /> +Eye-brows with straiter, or with sharper curve—<br /> +A line, a mole, a wrinkle, a mere nothing<br /> +I’ th’ countenance of an European savage—<br /> +And thou—art saved, in Asia, from the fire.<br /> +Ask ye for signs and wonders after that?<br /> +What need of calling angels into play?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But Nathan, where’s the harm, if I may +speak,<br /> +Of fancying one’s self by an angel saved,<br /> +Rather than by a man? Methinks it brings us<br /> +Just so much the nearer the incomprehensive<br /> +First cause of preservation.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Pride, rank pride!<br /> +The iron pot would with a silver prong<br /> +Be lifted from the furnace—to imagine<br /> +Itself a silver vase. Paha! Where’s the +harm?<br /> +Thou askest. Where’s the good? I might +reply.<br /> +For thy <i>it brings us nearer to the Godhead</i><br /> +Is nonsense, Daya, if not blasphemy.<br /> +But it does harm: yes, yes, it does indeed.<br /> +Attend now. To the being, who preserved you,<br /> +Be he an angel or a man, you both,<br /> +And thou especially wouldst gladly show<br /> +Substantial services in just requital.<br /> +Now to an angel what great services<br /> +Have ye the power to do? To sing his praise—<br /> +Melt in transporting contemplation o’er him—<br /> +Fast on his holiday—and squander alms—<br /> +What nothingness of use! To me at least<br /> +It seems your neighbour gains much more than he<br /> +By all this pious glow. Not by your fasting<br /> +Is he made fat; not by your squandering, rich;<br /> +Nor by your transports is his glory exalted;<br /> +Nor by your faith his might. But to a man—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why yes; a man indeed had furnished us<br /> +With more occasions to be useful to him.<br /> +God knows how readily we should have seized them.<br /> +But then he would have nothing—wanted nothing—<br /> +Was in himself wrapped up, and self-sufficient,<br /> +As angels are.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And when at last he +vanished—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Vanished? How vanished? Underneath +the palms<br /> +Escaped your view, and has returned no more.<br /> +Or have you really sought for him elsewhere?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No, that indeed we’ve not.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Not, Daya, not?<br /> +See it does harm, hard-hearted, cold enthusiasts,<br /> +What if this angel on a bed of illness—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Illness?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ill! sure he is not.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A cold shudder<br /> +Creeps over me; O Daya, feel my forehead,<br /> +It was so warm, ’tis now as chill as ice.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He is a Frank, unused to this hot climate,<br +/> +Is young, and to the labours of his calling,<br /> +To fasting, watching, quite unused—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ill—ill!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Thy father only means ’twere +possible.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And there he lies, without a friend, or +money<br /> +To buy him friends—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Alas! my father.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Lies<br /> +Without advice, attendance, converse, pity,<br /> +The prey of agony, of death—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Where—where?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He, who, for one he never knew, or +saw—<br /> +It is enough for him he is a man—<br /> +Plunged into fire.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O Nathan, Nathan, spare +her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Who cared not to know aught of her he saved,<br +/> +Declined her presence to escape her thanks—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Do, spare her!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Did not wish to see her +more<br /> +Unless it were a second time to save her—<br /> +Enough for him he is a man—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Stop, look!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He—he, in death, has nothing to console +him,<br /> +But the remembrance of this deed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You kill her!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And you kill him—or might have done at +least—<br /> +Recha ’tis medicine I give, not poison.<br /> +He lives—come to thyself—may not be ill—<br /> +Not even ill—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Surely not dead, not +dead.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Dead surely not—for God rewards the +good<br /> +Done here below, here too. Go; but remember<br /> +How easier far devout enthusiasm is<br /> +Than a good action; and how willingly<br /> +Our indolence takes up with pious rapture,<br /> +Tho’ at the time unconscious of its end,<br /> +Only to save the toil of useful deeds.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Oh never leave again thy child alone!—<br +/> +But can he not be only gone a journey?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, very likely. There’s a +Mussulman<br /> +Numbering with curious eye my laden camels,<br /> +Do you know who he is?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, your old dervis.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Who—who?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Your chess companion.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That, +Al-Hafi?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And now the treasurer of Saladin.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Al-Hafi? Are you dreaming? How was +this?<br /> +In fact it is so. He seems coming hither.<br /> +In with you quick.—What now am I to hear?</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Nathan</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Hafi</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Aye, lift thine eyes in wonder.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Is it you?<br /> +A dervis so magnificent!—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why not?<br /> +Can nothing then be made out of a dervis?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, surely; but I have been wont to think<br +/> +A dervis, that’s to say a thorough dervis,<br /> +Will allow nothing to be made of him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">May-be ’tis true that I’m no +thorough dervis;<br /> +But by the prophet, when we must—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Must, Hafi?<br /> +Needs must—belongs to no man: and a dervis—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">When he is much besought, and thinks it +right,<br /> +A dervis must.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well spoken, by our God!<br +/> +Embrace me, man, you’re still, I trust, my friend.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why not ask first what has been made of me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Ask climbers to look back!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And may I not<br /> +Have grown to such a creature in the state<br /> +That my old friendship is no longer welcome?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">If you still bear your dervis-heart about +you<br /> +I’ll run the risk of that. Th’ official robe<br +/> +Is but your cloak.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A cloak, that claims some +honour.<br /> +What think’st thou? At a court of thine how great<br +/> +Had been Al-Hafi?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Nothing but a dervis.<br /> +If more, perhaps—what shall I say—my cook.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">In order to unlearn my native trade.<br /> +Thy cook—why not thy butler too? The Sultan,<br /> +He knows me better, I’m his treasurer.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You, you?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Mistake not—of the +lesser purse—<br /> +His father manages the greater still—<br /> +The purser of his household.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That’s not small.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis larger than thou think’st; for +every beggar<br /> +Is of his household.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He’s so much their +foe—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That he’d fain root them out—with +food and raiment—<br /> +Tho’ he turn beggar in the enterprize.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Bravo, I meant so.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And he’s almost +such.<br /> +His treasury is every day, ere sun-set,<br /> +Poorer than empty; and how high so e’er<br /> +Flows in the morning tide, ’tis ebb by noon.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Because it circulates through such canals<br /> +As can be neither stopped, nor filled.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou hast it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I know it well.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Nathan, ’tis woeful +doing<br /> +When kings are vultures amid caresses:<br /> +But when they’re caresses amid the vultures<br /> +’Tis ten times worse.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, dervis, no, no, no.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Thou mayst well talk so. Now then, let me +hear<br /> +What wouldst thou give me to resign my office?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What does it bring you in?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> To me, not much;<br /> +But thee, it might indeed enrich: for when,<br /> +As often happens, money is at ebb,<br /> +Thou couldst unlock thy sluices, make advances,<br /> +And take in form of interest all thou wilt.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And interest upon interest of the +interest—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Certainly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Till my capital becomes<br /> +All interest.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How—that does not take +with thee?<br /> +Then write a finis to our book of friendship;<br /> +For I have reckoned on thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How so, Hafi?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That thou wouldst help me to go thro’ my +office<br /> +With credit, grant me open chest with thee—<br /> +Dost shake thy head?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Let’s understand each +other.<br /> +Here’s a distinction to be made. To you,<br /> +To dervis Hafi, all I have is open;<br /> +But to the defterdar of Saladin,<br /> +To that Al-Hafi—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Spoken like thyself!<br /> +Thou hast been ever no less kind than cautious.<br /> +The two Al-Hafis thou distinguishest<br /> +Shall soon be parted. See this coat of honour,<br /> +Which Saladin bestowed—before ’tis worn<br /> +To rags, and suited to a dervis’ back,—<br /> +Will in Jerusalem hang upon the hook;<br /> +While I along the Ganges scorching strand,<br /> +Amid my teachers shall be wandering barefoot.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That’s like you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Or be playing chess among +them.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Your sovereign good.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What dost thou think seduced +me.<br /> +The wish of having not to beg in future—<br /> +The pride of acting the rich man to beggars—<br /> +Would these have metamorphosed a rich beggar<br /> +So suddenly into a poor rich man?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No, I think not.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A sillier, sillier +weakness,<br /> +For the first time my vanity was tempter,<br /> +Flattered by Saladin’s good-hearted notion—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Which was?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That all a beggar’s +wants are only<br /> +Known to a beggar: such alone can tell<br /> +How to relieve them usefully and wisely.<br /> +“Thy predecessor was too cold for me,<br /> +(He said) and when he gave, he gave unkindly;<br /> +Informed himself with too precautious strictness<br /> +Concerning the receiver, not content<br /> +To leant the want, unless he knew its cause,<br /> +And measuring out by that his niggard bounty.<br /> +Thou wilt not thus bestow. So harshly kind<br /> +Shall Saladin not seem in thee. Thou art not<br /> +Like the choked pipe, whence sullied and by spurts<br /> +Flow the pure waters it absorbs in silence.<br /> +Al-Hafi thinks and feels like me.” So nicely<br /> +The fowler whistled, that at last the quail<br /> +Ran to his net. Cheated, and by a cheat—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Tush! dervis, gently.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What! and is’t not +cheating,<br /> +Thus to oppress mankind by hundred thousands,<br /> +To squeeze, grind, plunder, butcher, and torment,<br /> +And act philanthropy to individuals?—<br /> +Not cheating—thus to ape from the Most High<br /> +The bounty, which alike on mead and desert,<br /> +Upon the just and the unrighteous, falls<br /> +In sunshine or in showers, and not possess<br /> +The never-empty hand of the Most High?—<br /> +Not cheating—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Cease!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Of my own cheating sure<br /> +It is allowed to speak. Were it not cheating<br /> +To look for the fair side of these impostures,<br /> +In order, under colour of its fairness,<br /> +To gain advantage from them—ha?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Al-Hafi,<br /> +Go to your desert quickly. Among men<br /> +I fear you’ll soon unlearn to be a man.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And so do I—farewell.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What, so abruptly?<br /> +Stay, stay, Al-Hafi; has the desert wings?<br /> +Man, ’twill not run away, I warrant you—<br /> +Hear, hear, I want you—want to talk with you—<br /> +He’s gone. I could have liked to question him<br /> +About our templar. He will likely know him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Nathan</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Daya</span>.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Daya</span> (<i>bursting in</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">O Nathan, Nathan!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well, what now?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He’s +there.<br /> +He shows himself again.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who, Daya, who?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He! he!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> When cannot He be seen? +Indeed<br /> +Your He is only one; that should not be,<br /> +Were he an angel even.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Neath the palms<br /> +He wanders up and down, and gathers dates.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And eats?—and as a templar?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How you tease us!<br /> +Her eager eye espied him long ago,<br /> +While he scarce gleamed between the further stems,<br /> +And follows him most punctually. Go,<br /> +She begs, conjures you, go without delay;<br /> +And from the window will make signs to you<br /> +Which way his rovings bend. Do, do make haste.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What! thus, as I alighted from my camel,<br /> +Would that be decent? Swift, do you accost him,<br /> +Tell him of my return. I do not doubt,<br /> +His delicacy in the master’s absence<br /> +Forbore my house; but gladly will accept<br /> +The father’s invitation. Say, I ask him,<br /> +Most heartily request him—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> All in vain!<br /> +In short, he will not visit any Jew.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Then do thy best endeavours to detain him,<br +/> +Or with thine eyes to watch his further haunt,<br /> +Till I rejoin you. I shall not be long.</p> +<h4><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—A Place of +Palms.</h4> +<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Templar</span> <i>walking to +and fro</i>, <i>a</i> <span class="smcap">Friar</span> +<i>following him at some distance</i>, <i>as if desirous of +addressing him</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">This fellow does not follow me for pastime.<br +/> +How skaunt he eyes his hands! Well, my good +brother—<br /> +Perhaps I should say, father; ought I not?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No—brother—a lay-brother at your +service.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, brother, then; if I myself had +something—<br /> +But—but, by God, I’ve nothing.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Thanks the same;<br /> +And God reward your purpose thousand-fold!<br /> +The will, and not the deed, makes up the giver.<br /> +Nor was I sent to follow you for alms—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Sent then?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes, from the monastery.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Where<br /> +I was just now in hopes of coming in<br /> +For pilgrims’ fare.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> They were already at +table:<br /> +But if it suit with you to turn directly—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why so? ’Tis true, I have not +tasted meat<br /> +This long time. What of that? The dates are ripe.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">O with that fruit go cautiously to work.<br /> +Too much of it is hurtful, sours the humours,<br /> +Makes the blood melancholy.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And if I<br /> +Choose to be melancholy—For this warning<br /> +You were not sent to follow me, I ween.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, no: I only was to ask about you,<br /> +And feel your pulse a little.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And you +tell me<br /> +Of that yourself?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why not?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A deep one! +troth:<br /> +And has your cloister more such?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I +can’t say.<br /> +Obedience is our bounden duty.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So—<br /> +And you obey without much scrupulous questioning?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Were it obedience else, good sir?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How is it<br /> +The simple mind is ever in the right?<br /> +May you inform me who it is that wishes<br /> +To know more of me? ’Tis not you yourself,<br /> +I dare be sworn.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Would it become me, sir,<br +/> +Or benefit me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Whom can it become,<br /> +Whom can it benefit, to be so curious?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The patriarch, I presume—’twas he +that sent me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The patriarch? Knows he not my badge, the +cross<br /> +Of red on the white mantle?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Can I say?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, brother, well! I am a templar, +taken<br /> +Prisoner at Tebnin, whose exalted fortress,<br /> +Just as the truce expired, we sought to climb,<br /> +In order to push forward next to Sidon.<br /> +I was the twentieth captive, but the only<br /> +Pardoned by Saladin—with this, the patriarch<br /> +Knows all, or more than his occasions ask.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And yet no more than he already knows,<br /> +I think. But why alone of all the captives<br /> +Thou hast been spared, he fain would learn—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Can I<br /> +Myself tell that? Already, with bare neck,<br /> +I kneeled upon my mantle, and awaited<br /> +The blow—when Saladin with steadfast eye<br /> +Fixed me, sprang nearer to me, made a sign—<br /> +I was upraised, unbound, about to thank him—<br /> +And saw his eye in tears. Both stand in silence.<br /> +He goes. I stay. How all this hangs together,<br /> +Thy patriarch may unriddle.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He concludes,<br /> +That God preserved you for some mighty deed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Some mighty deed? To save out of the +fire<br /> +A Jewish girl—to usher curious pilgrims<br /> +About Mount Sinai—to—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> The time may come—<br +/> +And this is no such trifle—but perhaps<br /> +The patriarch meditates a weightier office.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Think you so, brother? Has he hinted +aught?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why, yes; I was to sift you out a little,<br /> +And hear if you were one to—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well—to what?<br /> +I’m curious to observe how this man sifts.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The shortest way will be to tell you plainly<br +/> +What are the patriarch’s wishes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And they are—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">To send a letter by your hand.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> By me?<br /> +I am no carrier. And were that an office<br /> +More meritorious than to save from burning<br /> +A Jewish maid?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So it should seem; must +seem—<br /> +For, says the patriarch, to all Christendom<br /> +This letter is of import; and to bear it<br /> +Safe to its destination, says the patriarch,<br /> +God will reward with a peculiar crown<br /> +In heaven; and of this crown, the patriarch says,<br /> +No one is worthier than you—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Than I?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">For none so able, and so fit to earn<br /> +This crown, the patriarch says, as you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> As I?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The patriarch here is free, can look about +him,<br /> +And knows, he says, how cities may be stormed,<br /> +And how defended; knows, he says, the strengths<br /> +And weaknesses of Saladin’s new bulwark,<br /> +And of the inner rampart last thrown up;<br /> +And to the warriors of the Lord, he says,<br /> +Could clearly point them out;—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And can I know<br /> +Exactly the contents of this same letter?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why, that I don’t pretend to vouch +exactly—<br /> +’Tis to King Philip: and our patriarch—<br /> +I often wonder how this holy man,<br /> +Who lives so wholly to his God and heaven,<br /> +Can stoop to be so well informed about<br /> +Whatever passes here—’Tis a hard task!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well—and your patriarch—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Knows, with great +precision,<br /> +And from sure hands, how, when, and with what force,<br /> +And in which quarter, Saladin, in case<br /> +The war breaks out afresh, will take the field.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He knows that?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes; and would acquaint King +Philip,<br /> +That he may better calculate, if really<br /> +The danger be so great as to require<br /> +Him to renew at all events the truce<br /> +So bravely broken by your body.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So?<br /> +This is a patriarch indeed! He wants<br /> +No common messenger; he wants a spy.<br /> +Go tell your patriarch, brother, I am not,<br /> +As far as you can sift, the man to suit him.<br /> +I still esteem myself a prisoner, and<br /> +A templar’s only calling is to fight,<br /> +And not to ferret out intelligence.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That’s much as I supposed, and, to speak +plainly,<br /> +Not to be blamed. The best is yet behind.<br /> +The patriarch has made out the very fortress,<br /> +Its name, and strength, and site on Libanon,<br /> +Wherein the mighty sums are now concealed,<br /> +With which the prudent father of the sultan<br /> +Provides the cost of war, and pays the army.<br /> +He knows that Saladin, from time to time,<br /> +Goes to this fortress, through by-ways and passe<br /> +With few attendants.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How easy +’twere<br /> +To seize his person in these expeditions,<br /> +And make an end of all! You shudder, sir—<br /> +Two Maronites, who fear the Lord, have offer<br /> +To share the danger of the enterprise,<br /> +Under a proper leader.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And the patriarch<br /> +Had cast his eye on me for this brave office?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He thinks King Philip might from Ptolemais<br +/> +Best second such a deed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> On me? on me?<br /> +Have you not heard then, just now heard, the favour<br /> +Which I received from Saladin?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, +yes!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And yet?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> The patriarch +thinks—that’s mighty well—<br /> +God, and the order’s interest—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Alter nothing,<br /> +Command no villainies.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, that indeed not;<br /> +But what is villainy in human eyes<br /> +May in the sight of God, the patriarch thinks,<br /> +Not be—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I owe my life to Saladin,<br +/> +And might take his?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That—fie! But +Saladin,<br /> +The patriarch thinks, is yet the common foe<br /> +Of Christendom, and cannot earn a right<br /> +To be your friend.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> My friend—because I +will not<br /> +Behave like an ungrateful scoundrel to him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yet gratitude, the patriarch thinks, is not<br +/> +A debt before the eye of God or man,<br /> +Unless for our own sakes the benefit<br /> +Had been conferred; and, it has been reported,<br /> +The patriarch understands that Saladin<br /> +Preserved your life merely because your voice,<br /> +Your air, or features, raised a recollection<br /> +Of his lost brother.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He knows this? and +yet—<br /> +If it were sure, I should—ah, Saladin!<br /> +How! and shall nature then have formed in me<br /> +A single feature in thy brother’s likeness,<br /> +With nothing in my soul to answer to it?<br /> +Or what does correspond shall I suppress<br /> +To please a patriarch? So thou dost not cheat us,<br /> +Nature—and so not contradict Thyself,<br /> +Kind God of all.—Go, brother, go away:<br /> +Do not stir up my anger.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I withdraw<br /> +More gladly than I came. We cloister-folk<br /> +Are forced to vow obedience to superiors.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Templar</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Daya</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The monk, methinks, left him in no good +mood:<br /> +But I must risk my message.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Better still<br /> +The proverb says that monks and women are<br /> +The devil’s clutches; and I’m tossed to-day<br /> +From one to th’ other.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Whom do I behold?—<br +/> +Thank God! I see you, noble knight, once more.<br /> +Where have you lurked this long, long space? You’ve +not<br /> +Been ill?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well, +then?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> We’ve +all been anxious<br /> +Lest something ailed you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Have you been journeying?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Hit off!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How long returned?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Since +yesterday.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Our Recha’s father too is just +returned,<br /> +And now may Recha hope at last—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> For +what?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">For what she often has requested of you.<br /> +Her father pressingly invites your visit.<br /> +He now arrives from Babylon, with twenty<br /> +High-laden camels, brings the curious drugs,<br /> +And precious stones, and stuffs, he has collected<br /> +From Syria, Persia, India, even China.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I am no chap.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> His nation honours him,<br /> +As if he were a prince, and yet to hear him<br /> +Called the <i>wise</i> Nathan by them, not the <i>rich</i>,<br /> +Has often made me wonder.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> To his nation<br /> +Are <i>rich</i> and <i>wise</i> perhaps of equal import.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But above all he should be called the +<i>good</i>.<br /> +You can’t imagine how much goodness dwells<br /> +Within him. Since he has been told the service<br /> +You rendered to his Recha, there is nothing<br /> +That he would grudge you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Aye?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Do—see +him, try him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">A burst of feeling soon is at an end.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And do you think that I, were he less kind,<br +/> +Less bountiful, had housed with him so long:<br /> +That I don’t feel my value as a Christian:<br /> +For ’twas not o’er my cradle said, or sung,<br /> +That I to Palestina should pursue<br /> +My husband’s steps, only to educate<br /> +A Jewess. My husband was a noble page<br /> +In Emperor Frederic’s army.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And by +birth<br /> +A Switzer, who obtained the gracious honour<br /> +Of drowning in one river with his master.<br /> +Woman, how often you have told me this!<br /> +Will you ne’er leave off persecuting me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">My Jesus! persecute—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Aye, +persecute.<br /> +Observe then, I henceforward will not see,<br /> +Not hear you, nor be minded of a deed<br /> +Over and over, which I did unthinking,<br /> +And which, when thought about, I wonder at.<br /> +I wish not to repent it; but, remember,<br /> +Should the like accident occur again,<br /> +’Twill be your fault if I proceed more coolly,<br /> +Ask a few questions, and let burn what’s burning.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">My God forbid!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> From this day forth, good +woman,<br /> +Do me at least the favour not to know me:<br /> +I beg it of you; and don’t send the father.<br /> +A Jew’s a Jew, and I am rude and bearish.<br /> +The image of the maid is quite erased<br /> +Out of my soul—if it was ever there—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But yours remains with her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why so—what +then—<br /> +Wherefore give harbour to it?—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who knows wherefore?<br /> +Men are not always what they seem to be.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">They’re seldom better than they seem to +be.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Ben’t in this hurry.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Pray, forbear to make<br /> +These palm-trees odious. I have loved to walk here.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Farewell then, bear. Yet I must track the +savage.</p> +<h3>ACT II.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Scene</span>.—The Sultan’s +Palace.—An outer room of Sittah’s apartment.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Saladin</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Sittah</span>, <i>playing +chess</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Wherefore so absent, brother? How you +play!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Not well? I thought—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes; very well for me,<br /> +Take back that move.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Don’t +you see the knight<br /> +Becomes exposed?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis true: then so.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And so<br +/> +I take the pawn.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That’s true +again. Then, check!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That cannot help you. When my king is +castled<br /> +All will be safe.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But out of my dilemma<br /> +’Tis not so easy to escape unhurt.<br /> +Well, you must have the knight.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I will not +have him,<br /> +I pass him by.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> In that, there’s no +forbearance:<br /> +The place is better than the piece.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Maybe.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Beware you reckon not without your host:<br /> +This stroke you did not think of.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, +indeed;<br /> +I did not think you tired of your queen.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">My queen?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well, well! I find that +I to-day<br /> +Shall earn a thousand dinars to an asper.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How so, my sister?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Play the ignorant—<br +/> +As if it were not purposely thou losest.<br /> +I find not my account in ’t; for, besides<br /> +That such a game yields very little pastime,<br /> +When have I not, by losing, won with thee?<br /> +When hast thou not, by way of comfort to me<br /> +For my lost game, presented twice the stake?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So that it may have been on purpose, sister,<br +/> +That thou hast lost at times.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> At least, +my brother’s<br /> +Great liberality may be one cause<br /> +Why I improve no faster.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> We forget<br /> +The game before us: lot us make an end of it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I move—so—now then—check! and +check again!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">This countercheck I wasn’t aware of, +Sittah;<br /> +My queen must fall the sacrifice.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Let’s +see—<br /> +Could it be helped?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, no, take off the +queen!<br /> +That is a piece which never thrives with me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Only that piece?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Off with +it! I shan’t miss it.<br /> +Thus I guard all again.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How +civilly<br /> +We should behave to queens, my brother’s lessons<br /> +Have taught me but too well.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Take her, +or not,<br /> +I stir the piece no more.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why should I take her?<br /> +Check!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Go on.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Check!—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And +check-mate?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Hold! not yet.<br /> +You may advance the knight, and ward the danger,<br /> +Or as you will—it is all one.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> It is so.<br /> +You are the winner, and Al-Hafi pays.<br /> +Let him be called. Sittah, you was not wrong;<br /> +I seem to recollect I was unmindful—<br /> +A little absent. One isn’t always willing<br /> +To dwell upon some shapeless bits of wood<br /> +Coupled with no idea. Yet the Imam,<br /> +When I play with him, bends with such abstraction—<br /> +The loser seeks excuses. Sittah, ’twas not<br /> +The shapeless men, and the unmeaning squares,<br /> +That made me heedless—your dexterity,<br /> +Your calm sharp eye.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And what of that, good +brother,<br /> +Is that to be th’ excuse for your defeat?<br /> +Enough—you played more absently than I.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Than you! What dwells upon your mind, my +Sittah?<br /> +Not your own cares, I doubt—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O +Saladin,<br /> +When shall we play again so constantly?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">An interruption will but whet our zeal.<br /> +You think of the campaign. Well, let it come.<br /> +It was not I who first unsheathed the sword.<br /> +I would have willingly prolonged the truce,<br /> +And willingly have knit a closer bond,<br /> +A lasting one—have given to my Sittah<br /> +A husband worthy of her, Richard’s brother.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You love to talk of Richard.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Richard’s sister<br /> +Might then have been allotted to our Melek.<br /> +O what a house that would have formed—the first—<br +/> +The best—and what is more—of earth the happiest!<br +/> +You know I am not loth to praise myself;<br /> +Why should I?—Of my friends am I not worthy?<br /> +O we had then led lives!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A pretty dream.<br /> +It makes me smile. You do not know the Christians.<br /> +You will not know them. ’Tis this people’s +pride<br /> +Not to be men, but to be Christians. Even<br /> +What of humane their Founder felt, and taught,<br /> +And left to savour their found superstition,<br /> +They value not because it is humane,<br /> +Lovely, and good for man; they only prize it<br /> +Because ’twas Christ who taught it, Christ who did it.<br +/> +’Tis well for them He was so good a man:<br /> +Well that they take His goodness all for granted,<br /> +And in His virtues put their trust. His virtues—<br +/> +’Tis not His virtues, but His name alone<br /> +They wish to thrust upon us—’Tis His name<br /> +Which they desire should overspread the world,<br /> +Should swallow up the name of all good men,<br /> +And put the best to shame. ’Tis His mere name<br /> +They care for—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Else, my Sittah, as thou +sayst,<br /> +They would not have required that thou, and Melek,<br /> +Should be called Christians, ere you might be suffered<br /> +To feel for Christians conjugal affection.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">As if from Christians only, and as +Christians,<br /> +That love could be expected which our Maker<br /> +In man and woman for each other planted.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The Christians do believe such idle notions,<br +/> +They well might fancy this: and yet thou errest.<br /> +The templars, not the Christians, are in fault.<br /> +’Tis not as Christians, but as templars, that<br /> +They thwart my purpose. They alone prevent it.<br /> +They will on no account evacuate Acca,<br /> +Which was to be the dower of Richard’s sister,<br /> +And, lest their order suffer, use this cant—<br /> +Bring into play the nonsense of the monk—<br /> +And scarcely would await the truce’s end<br /> +To fall upon us. Go on so—go on,<br /> +To me you’re welcome, sirs. Would all things else<br +/> +Went but as right!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What else should trouble +thee,<br /> +If this do not?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why, that which ever has.<br +/> +I’ve been on Libanon, and seen our father.<br /> +He’s full of care.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Alas!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He +can’t make shift,<br /> +Straitened on all sides, put off, disappointed;<br /> +Nothing comes in.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What fails him, Saladin?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What? but the thing I scarcely deign to +name,<br /> +Which, when I have it, so superfluous seems,<br /> +And, when I have it not, so necessary.<br /> +Where is Al-Hafi then—this fatal money—<br /> +O welcome, Hafi!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Hafi</span>, +<span class="smcap">Saladin</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Sittah</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I suppose the gold<br /> +From Egypt is arrived.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Hast +tidings of it?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I? no, not I. I thought to have +ta’en it here.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">To Sittah pay a thousand dinars.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Pay?<br /> +And not receive—that’s something less than +nothing.<br /> +To Sittah and again to Sittah—and<br /> +Once more for loss at chess? Is this your game?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Dost grudge me my good fortune?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">HAFI</span> +(<i>examining the board</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Grudge! you know—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH</span> (<i>making signs to Hafi</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Hush, Hafi, hush!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And were the white men +yours?<br /> +You gave the check?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis well he does not +hear.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And he to move?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH</span> (<i>approaching Hafi</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Say then aloud that I<br /> +Shall have my money.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">HAFI</span> +(<i>still considering the game</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes, yes! you shall have +it—<br /> +As you have always had it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Are you +crazy?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The game is not decided; Saladin,<br /> +You have not lost.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>scarcely hearkening</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Well, well!—pay, +pay.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Pay, pay—<br /> +There stands your queen.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>still walking about</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> It boots not, she is +useless.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH</span> (<i>low to Hafi</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Do say that I may send and fetch the gold.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Aye, aye, as usual—But although the +queen<br /> +Be useless, you are by no means check-mate.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>dashes down the +board</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">I am. I will then—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So! small pains, small +gains;<br /> +As got, so spent.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>to Sittah</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> What is he muttering +there?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH</span> (<i>to Saladin</i>, <i>winking +meanwhile to Hafi</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">You know him well, and his unyielding way.<br +/> +He chooses to be prayed to—maybe he’s +envious—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No, not of thee, not of my sister, surely.<br +/> +What do I hear, Al-Hafi, are you envious?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Perhaps. I’d rather have her head +than mine,<br /> +Or her heart either.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ne’ertheless, my +brother,<br /> +He pays me right, and will again to-day.<br /> +Let him alone. There, go away, Al-Hafi;<br /> +I’ll send and fetch my dinars.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, I will not;<br /> +I will not act this farce a moment longer:<br /> +He shall, must know it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who? what?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O +Al-Hafi,<br /> +Is this thy promise, this thy keeping word?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How could I think it was to go so far?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, what am I to know?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I pray thee, Hafi,<br /> +Be more discreet.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That’s very +singular.<br /> +And what can Sittah then so earnestly,<br /> +So warmly have to sue for from a stranger,<br /> +A dervis, rather than from me, her brother?<br /> +Al-Hafi, I command. Dervis, speak out.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Let not a trifle, brother, touch you nearer<br +/> +Than is becoming. You know I have often<br /> +Won the same sum of you at chess, and, as<br /> +I have not just at present need of money,<br /> +I’ve left the sum at rest in Hafi’s chest,<br /> +Which is not over-full; and thus the stakes<br /> +Are not yet taken out—but, never fear,<br /> +It is not my intention to bestow them<br /> +On thee, or Hafi.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Were it only this—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Some more such trifles are perhaps +unclaimed;<br /> +My own allowance, which you set apart,<br /> +Has lain some months untouched.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Nor is that +all—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Nor yet—speak then!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Since we have been +expecting<br /> +The treasure out of Egypt, she not only—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why listen to him?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Has not had an +asper;—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Good creature—but has been advancing to +thee—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Has at her sole expense maintained thy +state.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>embracing her</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">My sister—ah!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And who but you, my +brother,<br /> +Could make me rich enough to have the power?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And in a little time again will leave thee<br +/> +Poor as himself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I, poor—her brother, +poor?<br /> +When had I more, when less than at this instant?<br /> +A cloak, a horse, a sabre, and a God!—<br /> +What need I else? With them what can be wanting?<br /> +And yet, Al-Hafi, I could quarrel with thee<br /> +For this.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A truce to that, my +brother. Were it<br /> +As easy to remove our father’s cares!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! now my joy thou hast at once abated:<br /> +To me there is, there can be, nothing wanting;<br /> +But—but to him—and, in him, to us all.<br /> +What shall I do? From Egypt maybe nothing<br /> +Will come this long time. Why—God only knows.<br /> +We hear of no stir. To reduce, to spare,<br /> +I am quite willing for myself to stoop to,<br /> +Were it myself, and only I, should suffer—<br /> +But what can that avail? A cloak, a horse,<br /> +A sword I ne’er can want;—as to my God,<br /> +He is not to be bought; He asks but little,<br /> +Only my heart. I had relied, Al-Hafi,<br /> +Upon a surplus in my chest.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A +surplus?<br /> +And tell me, would you not have had me impaled,<br /> +Or hanged at least, if you had found me out<br /> +In hoarding up a surplus? Deficits—<br /> +Those one may venture on.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well, but +how next?<br /> +Could you have found out no one where to borrow<br /> +Unless of Sittah?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And would I have borne<br /> +To see the preference given to another?<br /> +I still lay claim to it. I am not as yet<br /> +Entirely bare.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Not yet +entirely—This<br /> +Was wanting still. Go, turn thyself about;<br /> +Take where, and as, thou canst; be quick, Al-Hafi.<br /> +Borrow on promise, contract, anyhow;<br /> +But heed me—not of those I have enriched—<br /> +To borrow there might seem to ask it back.<br /> +Go to the covetous. They’ll gladliest lend—<br +/> +They know how well their money thrives with me—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I know none such.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I recollect just now<br /> +I heard, Al-Hafi, of thy friend’s return.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">HAFI</span> +(<i>startled</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Friend—friend of mine—and who +should that be?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who?<br /> +Thy vaunted Jew!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A Jew, and praised by me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">To whom his God (I think I still retain<br /> +Thy own expression used concerning him)<br /> +To whom, of all the good things of this world,<br /> +His God in full abundance has bestowed<br /> +The greatest and the least.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What could I mean<br /> +When I said so?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> The least of good things, +riches;<br /> +The greatest, wisdom.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How—and of a Jew<br /> +Could I say that?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Didst thou not—of thy +Nathan?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Hi ho! of him—of Nathan? At that +moment<br /> +He did not come across me. But, in fact,<br /> +He is at length come home; and, I suppose,<br /> +Is not ill off. His people used to call him<br /> +The wise—also the rich.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> The rich he’s named<br +/> +Now more than ever. The whole town resounds<br /> +With news of jewels, costly stuffs, and stores,<br /> +That he brings back.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Is he the rich +again—<br /> +He’ll be, no fear of it, once more the wise.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What thinkst thou, Hafi, of a call on him?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">On him—sure not to borrow—why, you +know him—<br /> +He lend? Therein his very wisdom lies,<br /> +That he lends no one.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Formerly thon gav’st<br +/> +A very different picture of this Nathan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">In case of need he’ll lend you +merchandise,<br /> +But money, money, never. He’s a Jew,<br /> +There are but few such! he has understanding,<br /> +Knows life, plays chess; but is in bad notorious<br /> +Above his brethren, as he is in good.<br /> +On him rely not. To the poor indeed<br /> +He vies perhaps with Saladin in giving:<br /> +Though he distributes less, he gives as freely,<br /> +As silently, as nobly, to Jew, Christian,<br /> +Mahometan, or Parsee—’tis all one.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And such a man should be—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How comes +it then<br /> +I never heard of him?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Should be unwilling<br /> +To lend to Saladin, who wants for others,<br /> +Not for himself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Aye, there peeps out the +Jew,<br /> +The ordinary Jew. Believe me, prince,<br /> +He’s jealous, really envious of your giving.<br /> +To earn God’s favour seems his very business.<br /> +He lends not that he may always have to give.<br /> +The law commandeth mercy, not compliance:<br /> +And thus for mercy’s sake he’s uncomplying.<br /> +’Tis true, I am not now on the best terms<br /> +With Nathan, but I must entreat you, think not<br /> +That therefore I would do injustice to him.<br /> +He’s good in everything, but not in that—<br /> +Only in that. I’ll knock at other doors.<br /> +I just have recollected an old Moor,<br /> +Who’s rich and covetous—I go—I go.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why in such hurry, Hafi?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Let him +go.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Saladin</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Sittah</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He hastens like a man who would escape me;<br +/> +Why so? Was he indeed deceived in Nathan,<br /> +Or does he play upon us?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Can I guess?<br /> +I scarcely know of whom you have been talking,<br /> +And hear to-day, for the first time, of Nathan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Is’t possible the man were hid from +thee,<br /> +Of whom ’tis said, he has found out the tombs<br /> +Of Solomon and David, knows the word<br /> +That lifts their marble lids, and thence obtains<br /> +The golden oil that feeds his shining pomp?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Were this man’s wealth by miracle +created,<br /> +’Tis not at David’s tomb, or Solomon’s,<br /> +That ’twould be wrought. Not virtuous men lie +there.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">His source of opulence is more productive<br /> +And more exhaustless than a cave of Mammon.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He trades, I hear.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> His ships fill every +harbour;<br /> +His caravans through every desert toil.<br /> +This has Al-Hafi told me long ago:<br /> +With transport adding then—how nobly Nathan<br /> +Bestows what he esteems it not a meanness<br /> +By prudent industry to have justly earned—<br /> +How free from prejudice his lofty soul—<br /> +His heart to every virtue how unlocked—<br /> +With every lovely feeling how familiar.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yet Hafi spake just now so coldly of him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Not coldly; but with awkwardness, confusion,<br +/> +As if he thought it dangerous to praise him,<br /> +And yet knew not to blame him undeserving,<br /> +Or can it really be that e’en the best<br /> +Among a people cannot quite escape<br /> +The tinges of the tribe; and that, in fact,<br /> +Al-Hafi has in this to blush for Nathan?<br /> +Be that as’t may—be he the Jew or no—<br /> +Is he but rich—that is enough for us.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You would not, sister, take his wealth by +force.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What do you mean by force—fire, +sword? Oh no!<br /> +What force is necessary with the weak<br /> +But their own weakness? Come awhile with me<br /> +Into my harem: I have bought a songstress,<br /> +You have not heard her, she came yesterday:<br /> +Meanwhile I’ll think somewhat about a project<br /> +I have upon this Nathan. Follow, brother.</p> +<h4><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—The Place of Palms, +close to Nathan’s House.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span>, +<i>attired</i>, <i>comes out with</i> <span +class="smcap">Recha</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You have been so very slow, my dearest +father,<br /> +You now will hardly be in time to find him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, if not here beneath the palms; yet, +surely,<br /> +Elsewhere. My child, be satisfied. See, see,<br /> +Is not that Daya making towards us?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">She certainly has lost him then.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why so?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Else she’d walk quicker.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> She may not have seen us.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">There, now she sees us.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And her speed redoubles,<br +/> +Be calm, my Recha.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Would you have your +daughter<br /> +Be cool and unconcerned who ’twas that saved her,<br /> +Heed not to whom is due the life she prizes<br /> +Chiefly because she owed it first to thee?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I would not wish thee other than thou art,<br +/> +E’en if I knew that in thy secret soul<br /> +A very different emotion throbs.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why—what my father?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Dost thou ask of me,<br /> +So tremblingly of me, what passes in thee?<br /> +Whatever ’tis, ’tis innocence and nature.<br /> +Be not alarmed, it gives me no alarm;<br /> +But promise me that, when thy heart shall speak<br /> +A plainer language, thou wilt not conceal<br /> +A single of thy wishes from my fondness.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Oh the mere possibility of wishing<br /> +Rather to veil and hide them makes me shudder.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Let this be spoken once for all. Well, +Daya—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span>, +<span class="smcap">Recha</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Daya</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He still is here beneath the palms, and soon<br +/> +Will reach yon wall. See, there he comes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And +seems<br /> +Irresolute where next; if left or right.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I know he mostly passes to the convent,<br /> +And therefore comes this path. What will you lay me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Oh yes he does. And did you speak to +him?<br /> +How did he seem to-day?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> As heretofore.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Don’t let him see you with me: further +back;<br /> +Or rather to the house.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Just one peep more.<br /> +Now the hedge steals him from me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Come away.<br /> +Your father’s in the right—should he perceive us,<br +/> +’Tis very probable he’ll tack about.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But for the hedge—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Now he emerges from it.<br /> +He can’t but see you: hence—I ask it of you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I know a window whence we yet may—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ay.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes in with Daya</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I’m almost shy of this strange fellow, +almost<br /> +Shrink back from his rough virtue. That one man<br /> +Should ever make another man feel awkward!<br /> +And yet—He’s coming—ha!—by God, the +youth<br /> +Looks like a man. I love his daring eye,<br /> +His open gait. May be the shell is bitter;<br /> +But not the kernel surely. I have seen<br /> +Some such, methinks. Forgive me, noble Frank.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Templar</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Give me leave.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well, Jew, +what wouldst thou have?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The liberty of speaking to you!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So—<br /> +Can I prevent it? Quick then, what’s your +business?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Patience—nor hasten quite so proudly +by<br /> +A man, who has not merited contempt,<br /> +And whom, for evermore, you’ve made your debtor.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How so? Perhaps I +guess—No—Are you then—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">My name is Nathan, father to the maid<br /> +Your generous courage snatched from circling flames,<br /> +And hasten—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> If with thanks, keep, keep +them all.<br /> +Those little things I’ve had to suffer much from:<br /> +Too much already, far. And, after all,<br /> +You owe me nothing. Was I ever told<br /> +She was your daughter? ’Tis a templar’s duty<br +/> +To rush to the assistance of the first<br /> +Poor wight that needs him; and my life just then<br /> +Was quite a burden. I was mighty glad<br /> +To risk it for another; tho’ it were<br /> +That of a Jewess.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Noble, and yet shocking!<br +/> +The turn might be expected. Modest greatness<br /> +Wears willingly the mask of what is shocking<br /> +To scare off admiration: but, altho’<br /> +She may disdain the tribute, admiration,<br /> +Is there no other tribute she can bear with?<br /> +Knight, were you here not foreign, not a captive<br /> +I would not ask so freely. Speak, command,<br /> +In what can I be useful?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You—in nothing.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I’m rich.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> To me the richer Jew +ne’er seemed<br /> +The bettor Jew.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Is that a reason why<br /> +You should not use the better part of him,<br /> +His wealth?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well, well, I’ll not +refuse it wholly,<br /> +For my poor mantle’s sake—when that is threadbare,<br +/> +And spite of darning will not hold together,<br /> +I’ll come and borrow cloth, or money of thee,<br /> +To make me up a new one. Don’t look solemn;<br /> +The danger is not pressing; ’tis not yet<br /> +At the last gasp, but tight and strong and good,<br /> +Save this poor corner, where an ugly spot<br /> +You see is singed upon it. It got singed<br /> +As I bore off your daughter from the fire.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN</span> (<i>taking hold of the +mantle</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis singular that such an ugly spot<br +/> +Bears better testimony to the man<br /> +Than his own mouth. This brand—Oh I could kiss it!<br +/> +Your pardon—that I meant not.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A tear<br +/> +Fell on the spot.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You’ll find up more +such tears—<br /> +(This Jew methinks begins to work upon me).</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Would you send once this mantle to my +daughter?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That her lips may cling to +this dear speck;<br /> +For at her benefactor’s feet to fall,<br /> +I find, she hopes in vain.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But, Jew, your name<br /> +You said was Nathan—Nathan, you can join<br /> +Your words together cunningly—right well—<br /> +I am confused—in fact—I would have been—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Twist, writhe, disguise you, as you will, I +know you,<br /> +You were too honest, knight, to be more civil;<br /> +A girl all feeling, and a she-attendant<br /> +All complaisance, a father at a distance—<br /> +You valued her good name, and would not see her.<br /> +You scorned to try her, lest you should be victor;<br /> +For that I also thank you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I confess,<br /> +You know how templars ought to think.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Still +templars—<br /> +And only <i>ought</i> to think—and all because<br /> +The rules and vows enjoin it to the <i>order</i>—<br /> +I know how good men think—know that all lands<br /> +Produce good men.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But not without +distinction.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">In colour, dress, and shape, perhaps, +distinguished.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Here more, there fewer sure?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That boots +not much,<br /> +The great man everywhere has need of room.<br /> +Too many set together only serve<br /> +To crush each others’ branches. Middling good,<br /> +As we are, spring up everywhere in plenty.<br /> +Only let one not scar and bruise the other;<br /> +Let not the gnarl be angry with the stump;<br /> +Let not the upper branch alone pretend<br /> +Not to have started from the common earth.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well said: and yet, I trust, you know the +nation,<br /> +That first began to strike at fellow men,<br /> +That first baptised itself the chosen people—<br /> +How now if I were—not to hate this people,<br /> +Yet for its pride could not forbear to scorn it,<br /> +The pride which it to Mussulman and Christian<br /> +Bequeathed, as were its God alone the true one,<br /> +You start, that I, a Christian and a templar,<br /> +Talk thus. Where, when, has e’er the pious rage<br /> +To own the better god—on the whole world<br /> +To force this better, as the best of all—<br /> +Shown itself more, and in a blacker form,<br /> +Than here, than now? To him, whom, here and now,<br /> +The film is not removing from his eye—<br /> +But be he blind that wills! Forget my speeches<br /> +And leave me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ah! indeed you do not know<br +/> +How closer I shall cling to you henceforth.<br /> +We must, we will be friends. Despise my nation—<br /> +We did not choose a nation for ourselves.<br /> +Are we our nations? What’s a nation then?<br /> +Were Jews and Christians such, e’er they were men?<br /> +And have I found in thee one more, to whom<br /> +It is enough to be a man?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That hast +thou.<br /> +Nathan, by God, thou hast. Thy hand. I blush<br /> +To have mistaken thee a single instant.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And I am proud of it. Only common +souls<br /> +We seldom err in.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And uncommon ones<br /> +Seldom forget. Yes, Nathan, yes we must,<br /> +We will be friends.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> We are so. And my +Recha—<br /> +She will rejoice. How sweet the wider prospect<br /> +That dawns upon me! Do but know her—once.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I am impatient for it. Who is that<br /> +Bursts from your house, methinks it is your Daya.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Ay—but so anxiously—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Sure, to +our Recha<br /> +Nothing has happened.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span>, +<span class="smcap">Templar</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Daya</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Nathan, Nathan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Forgive me, knight, that I must interrupt +you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What is the matter?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> The sultan +sends—<br /> +The sultan wants to see you—in a hurry.<br /> +Jesus! the sultan—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Saladin wants me?<br /> +He will be curious to see what wares,<br /> +Precious, or new, I brought with me from Persia.<br /> +Say there is nothing hardly yet unpacked.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No, no: ’tis not to look at anything.<br +/> +He wants to speak to you, to you in person,<br /> +And orders you to come as soon as may be.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I’ll go—return.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Knight, take it not amiss;<br +/> +But we were so alarmed for what the sultan<br /> +Could have in view.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That I +shall soon discover.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Templar</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And don’t you know him yet, I mean his +person?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Whose, Saladin’s? Not yet. +I’ve neither shunned,<br /> +Nor sought to see him. And the general voice<br /> +Speaks too well of him, for me not to wish,<br /> +Rather to take its language upon trust,<br /> +Than sift the truth out. Yet—if it be so—<br /> +He, by the saving of your life, has now—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes: it is so. The life I live he +gave.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And in it double treble life to me.<br /> +This flings a bond about me, which shall tie me<br /> +For ever to his service: and I scarcely<br /> +Like to defer inquiring for his wishes.<br /> +For everything I am ready; and am ready<br /> +To own that ’tis on your account I am so.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">As often as I’ve thrown me in his way,<br +/> +I have not found as yet the means to thank him.<br /> +The impression that I made upon him came<br /> +Quickly, and so has vanished. Now perhaps<br /> +He recollects me not, who knows? Once more<br /> +At least, he must recall me to his mind,<br /> +Fully to fix my doom. ’Tis not enough<br /> +That by his order I am yet in being,<br /> +By his permission live, I have to learn<br /> +According to whose will I must exist.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Therefore I shall the more avoid delay.<br /> +Perchance some word may furnish me occasion<br /> +To glance at you—perchance—Excuse me, knight,<br /> +I am in haste. When shall we see you with us?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Soon as I may.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That is, whene’er you +will.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">To-day, then.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And your name?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> My name +was—is<br /> +Conrade of Stauffen.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Conrade of Stauffen! Stauffen!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why does that strike so forcibly upon you?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">There are more races of that name, no +doubt.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, many of that name were here—rot +here.<br /> +My uncle even—I should say, my father.<br /> +But wherefore is your look so sharpened on me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Nothing—how can I weary to behold +you—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Therefore I quit you first. The searching +eye<br /> +Finds often more than it desires to see.<br /> +I fear it, Nathan. Fare thee well. Let time,<br /> +Not curiosity make us acquainted.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span>, +<i>and soon after</i>, <span class="smcap">Daya</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">“The searching eye will oft discover +more<br /> +Than it desires,” ’tis as he read my soul.<br /> +That too may chance to me. ’Tis not alone<br /> +Leonard’s walk, stature, but his very voice.<br /> +Leonard so wore his head, was even wont<br /> +Just so to brush his eyebrows with his hand,<br /> +As if to mask the fire that fills his look.<br /> +Those deeply graven images at times<br /> +How they will slumber in us, seem forgotten,<br /> +When all at once a word a tone, a gesture,<br /> +Retraces all. Of Stauffen? Ay +right—right—<br /> +Filnek and Stauffen—I will soon know more—<br /> +But first to Saladin—Ha, Daya there?<br /> +Why on the watch? Come nearer. By this time,<br /> +I’ll answer for’t, you’ve something more at +heart<br /> +Than to know what the sultan wants with me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And do you take it ill in part of her?<br /> +You were beginning to converse with him<br /> +More confidentially, just as the message,<br /> +Sent by the sultan, tore us from the window.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Go tell her that she may expect his visit<br /> +At every instant.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What indeed—indeed?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I think I can rely upon thee, Daya:<br /> +Be on thy guard, I beg. Thou’lt not repent it.<br /> +Be but discreet. Thy conscience too will surely<br /> +Find its account in ’t. Do not mar my plans<br /> +But leave them to themselves. Relate and question<br /> +With modesty, with backwardness.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh fear +not.<br /> +How come you to preach up all this to me?<br /> +I go—go too. The sultan sends for you<br /> +A second time, and by your friend Al-Hafi.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Hafi</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Ha! art thou here? I was now seeking for +thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why in such haste? What wants he then +with me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Who?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Saladin. I’m +coming—I am coming.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Where, to the sultan’s?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Was +’t not he who sent thee?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Me? No. And has he sent +already?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Then ’tis all right.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What’s right?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That +I’m unguilty.<br /> +God knows I am not guilty, knows I said—<br /> +What said I not of thee—belied +thee—slandered—<br /> +To ward it off.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> To ward off what—be +plain.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That them art now become his defterdar.<br /> +I pity thee. Behold it I will not.<br /> +I go this very hour—my road I told thee.<br /> +Now—hast thou orders by the way—command,<br /> +And then, adieu. Indeed they must not be<br /> +Such business as a naked man can’t carry.<br /> +Quick, what’s thy pleasure?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Recollect +yourself.<br /> +As yet all this is quite a riddle to me.<br /> +I know of nothing.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Where are then thy bags?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Bags?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Bags of money: bring the +weightiest forth:<br /> +The money thou’rt to lend the sultan, Nathan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And is that all?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Novice, thou’st yet to +learn<br /> +How he day after day will scoop and scoop,<br /> +Till nothing but an hollow empty paring,<br /> +A husk as light as film, is left behind.<br /> +Thou’st yet to learn how prodigality<br /> +From prudent bounty’s never-empty coffers<br /> +Borrows and borrows, till there’s not a purse<br /> +Left to keep rats from starving. Thou mayst fancy<br /> +That he who wants thy gold will heed thy counsel;<br /> +But when has he yet listened to advice?<br /> +Imagine now what just befell me with him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I went in and found him with +his sister,<br /> +Engaged, or rather rising up from chess.<br /> +Sittah plays—not amiss. Upon the board<br /> +The game, that Saladin supposed was lost<br /> +And had given up, yet stood. When I drew nigh,<br /> +And had examined it, I soon discovered<br /> +It was not gone by any means.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> For you<br +/> +A blest discovery, a treasure-trove.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He only needed to remove his king<br /> +Behind the tower t’ have got him out of check.<br /> +Could I but make you sensible—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I’ll +trust thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Then with the knight still left.—I would +have shown him<br /> +And called him to the board.—He must have won;<br /> +But what d’ye think he did?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Dared doubt your insight?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He would not listen; but with scorn +o’erthrew<br /> +The standing pieces.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Is that possible?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And said, he chose to be check-mate—he +chose it—<br /> +Is that to play the game?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Most surely not:<br /> +’Tis to play with the game.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And yet the +stake<br /> +Was not a nut-shell.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Money here or there<br /> +Matters but little. Not to listen to thee,<br /> +And on a point of such importance, Hafi,<br /> +There lies the rub. Not even to admire<br /> +Thine eagle eye—thy comprehensive glance—<br /> +That calls for vengeance:—does it not, Al-Hafi?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I only tell it to thee that thou mayst see<br +/> +How his brain’s formed. I bear with him no longer.<br +/> +Here I’ve been running to each dirty Moor,<br /> +Inquiring who will lend him. I, who ne’er<br /> +Went for myself a begging, go a borrowing,<br /> +And that for others. Borrowing’s much the same<br /> +As begging; just as lending upon usury<br /> +Is much the same as thieving—decency<br /> +Makes not of lewdness virtue. On the Ganges,<br /> +Among my ghebers, I have need of neither:<br /> +Nor need I be the tool or pimp of either—<br /> +Upon the Ganges only there are men.<br /> +Here, thou alone art somehow almost worthy<br /> +To have lived upon the Ganges. Wilt thou with me?<br /> +And leave him with the captive cloak alone,<br /> +The booty that he wants to strip thee of.<br /> +Little by little he will flay thee clean.<br /> +Thins thou’lt be quit at once, without the tease<br /> +Of being sliced to death. Come wilt thou with me?<br /> +I’ll find thee with a staff.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I should have thought,<br /> +Come what come may, that thy resource remained:<br /> +But I’ll consider of it. Stay.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Consider—<br +/> +No; such things must not be considered.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Stay:<br /> +Till I have seen the sultan—till you’ve +had—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He, who considers, looks about for motives<br +/> +To forbear daring. He, who can’t resolve<br /> +In storm and sunshine to himself to live,<br /> +Must live the slave of others all his life.<br /> +But as you please; farewell! ’tis you who choose.<br /> +My path lies yonder—and yours there—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Al-Hafi,<br +/> +Stay then; at least you’ll set things right—not leave +them<br /> +At sixes and at sevens—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">HAFI.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Farce! +Parade!<br /> +The balance in the chest will need no telling.<br /> +And my account—Sittah, or you, will vouch.<br /> +Farewell.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes I will vouch it. +Honest, wild—<br /> +How shall I call you—Ah! the real beggar<br /> +Is, after all, the only real monarch.</p> +<h3>ACT III.</h3> +<h4><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—A Room in +Nathan’s House.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Recha</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Daya</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What, Daya, did my father really say<br /> +I might expect him, every instant, here?<br /> +That meant—now did it not? he would come soon.<br /> +And yet how many instants have rolled by!—<br /> +But who would think of those that are elapsed?—<br /> +To the next moment only I’m alive.—<br /> +At last the very one will come that brings him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But for the sultan’s ill-timed message, +Nathan<br /> +Had brought him in.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And when this moment +comes,<br /> +And when this warmest inmost of my wishes<br /> +Shall be fulfilled, what then? what then?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What +then?<br /> +Why then I hope the warmest of my wishes<br /> +Will have its turn, and happen.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> ’Stead +of this,<br /> +What wish shall take possession of my bosom,<br /> +Which now without some ruling wish of wishes<br /> +Knows not to heave? Shall nothing? ah, I shudder.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes: mine shall then supplant the one +fulfilled—<br /> +My wish to see thee placed one day in Europe<br /> +In hands well worthy of thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, thou +errest—<br /> +The very thing that makes thee form this wish<br /> +Prevents its being mine. The country draws thee,<br /> +And shall not mine retain me? Shall an image,<br /> +A fond remembrance of thy home, thy kindred,<br /> +Which years and distance have not yet effaced,<br /> +Be mightier o’er thy soul, than what I hear,<br /> +See, feel, and hold, of mine.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis +vain to struggle—<br /> +The ways of heaven are the ways of heaven.<br /> +Is he the destined saviour, by whose arm<br /> +His God, for whom he fights, intends to lead thee<br /> +Into the land, which thou wast born for—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Daya,<br +/> +What art thou prating of? My dearest Daya,<br /> +Indeed thou hast some strange unseemly notions.<br /> +“<i>His</i> God—<i>for</i> whom he +fights”—what is a God<br /> +Belonging to a man—needing another<br /> +To fight his battles? And can we pronounce<br /> +<i>For</i> which among the scattered clods of earth<br /> +You, I was born; unless it be for that<br /> +<i>On</i> which we were produced. If Nathan heard +thee—<br /> +What has my father done to thee, that thou<br /> +Hast ever sought to paint my happiness<br /> +As lying far remote from him and his.<br /> +What has he done to thee that thus, among<br /> +The seeds of reason, which he sowed unmixed,<br /> +Pure in my soul, thou ever must be seeking<br /> +To plant the weeds, or flowers, of thy own land.<br /> +He wills not of these pranking gaudy blossoms<br /> +Upon this soil. And I too must acknowledge<br /> +I feel as if they had a sour-sweet odour,<br /> +That makes me giddy—that half suffocates.<br /> +Thy head is wont to bear it. I don’t blame<br /> +Those stronger nerves that can support it. Mine—<br +/> +Mine it behoves not. Latterly thy angel<br /> +Had made me half a fool. I am ashamed,<br /> +Whene’er I see my father, of the folly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">As if here only wisdom were at home—<br +/> +Folly—if I dared speak.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And dar’st thou not?<br +/> +When was I not all ear, if thou beganst<br /> +To talk about the heroes of thy faith?<br /> +Have I not freely on their deeds bestowed<br /> +My admiration, to their sufferings yielded<br /> +The tribute of my tears? Their faith indeed<br /> +Has never seemed their most heroic side<br /> +To me: yet, therefore, have I only learnt<br /> +To find more consolation in the thought,<br /> +That our devotion to the God of all<br /> +Depends not on our notions about God.<br /> +My father has so often told us so—<br /> +Thou hast so often to this point consented—<br /> +How can it be that thou alone art restless<br /> +To undermine what you built up together?<br /> +This is not the most fit discussion, Daya,<br /> +To usher in our friend to; tho’ indeed<br /> +I should not disincline to it—for to me<br /> +It is of infinite importance if<br /> +He too—but hark—there’s some one at the +door.<br /> +If it were he—stay—hush—</p> +<p style="text-align: right">(<i>A Slave who shows in the +Templar</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> They +are—here this way.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Templar</span>, +<span class="smcap">Daya</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Recha</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>starts</i>—<i>composes +herself</i>—<i>then offers to fall at his feet</i>)</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis he—my saviour! ah!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> This to +avoid<br /> +Have I alone deferred my call so long.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, at the feet of this proud man, I will<br +/> +Thank—God alone. The man will have no thanks;<br /> +No more than will the bucket which was busy<br /> +In showering watery damps upon the flame.<br /> +That was filled, emptied—but to me, to thee<br /> +What boots it? So the man—he too, he too<br /> +Was thrust, he knew not how, and the fire.<br /> +I dropped, by chance, into his open arm.<br /> +By chance, remained there—like a fluttering spark<br /> +Upon his mantle—till—I know not what<br /> +Pushed us both from amid the conflagration.<br /> +What room is here for thanks? How oft in Europe<br /> +Wine urges men to very different deeds!<br /> +Templars must so behave; it is their office,<br /> +Like better taught or rather handier spaniels,<br /> +To fetch from out of fire, as out of water.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Oh Daya, Daya, if, in hasty moments<br /> +Of care and of chagrin, my unchecked temper<br /> +Betrayed me into rudeness, why convey<br /> +To her each idle word that left my tongue?<br /> +This is too piercing a revenge indeed;<br /> +Yet if henceforth thou wilt interpret better—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I question if these barbed words, Sir +Knight,<br /> +Alighted so, as to have much disserved you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How, you had cares, and were more covetous<br +/> +Of them than of your life?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>who has been viewing her with +wonder and perturbation</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou best of beings,<br /> +How is my soul ’twixt eye and ear divided!<br /> +No: ’twas not she I snatched from amid fire:<br /> +For who could know her and forbear to do it?—<br /> +Indeed—disguised by terror—</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Pause</i>: <i>during which he +gazes on her as it were entranced</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But to +me<br /> +You still appear the same you then appeared.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Another like +pause</i>—<i>till she resumes</i>, <i>in order to interrupt +him</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now tell me, knight, where have you been so +long?<br /> +It seems as might I ask—where are you now?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I am—where I perhaps ought not to be.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Where have you been? where you perhaps ought +not—<br /> +That is not well.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Up—how +d’ye call the mountain?<br /> +Up Sinai.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, that’s very +fortunate.<br /> +Now I shall learn for certain if ’tis true—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What! if the spot may yet be seen where +Moses<br /> +Stood before God; when first—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, no, not +that.<br /> +Where’er he stood, ’twas before God. Of this<br +/> +I know enough already. Is it true,<br /> +I wish to learn from you that—that it is not<br /> +By far so troublesome to climb this mountain<br /> +As to get down—for on all mountains else,<br /> +That I have seen, quite the reverse obtains.<br /> +Well, knight, why will you turn away from me?<br /> +Not look at me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Because I wish to hear +you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Because you do not wish me to perceive<br /> +You smile at my simplicity—You smile<br /> +That I can think of nothing more important<br /> +To ask about the holy hill of hills:<br /> +Do you not?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Must I meet those eyes +again?<br /> +And now you cast them down, and damp the smile—<br /> +Am I in doubtful motions of the features<br /> +To read what I so plainly hear—what you<br /> +So audibly declare; yet will conceal?—<br /> +How truly said thy father “Do but know her!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Who has—of whom—said so to +thee?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Thy +father<br /> +Said to me “Do but know her,” and of thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And have not I too said so, times and oft.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But where is then your father—with the +sultan?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So I suppose.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet there? Oh, I +forget,<br /> +He cannot be there still. He is waiting for me<br /> +Most certainly below there by the cloister.<br /> +’Twas so, I think, we had agreed, Forgive,<br /> +I go in quest of him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Knight, +I’ll do that.<br /> +Wait here, I’ll bring him hither instantly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Oh no—Oh no. He is expecting me.<br +/> +Besides—you are not aware what may have happened.<br /> +’Tis not unlikely he may be involved<br /> +With Saladin—you do not know the sultan—<br /> +In some unpleasant—I must go, there’s danger<br /> +If I forbear.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Danger—of what? of +what?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Danger for me, for thee, for him; unless<br /> +I go at once.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Recha</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Daya</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What is the matter, Daya?<br +/> +So quick—what comes across him, drives him hence?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Let him alone, I think it no bad sign.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Sign—and of what?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That +something passes in him.<br /> +It boils—but it must not boil over. Leave +him—<br /> +Now ’tis your turn.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> My turn? Thou dost +become<br /> +Like him incomprehensible to me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Now you may give him back all that unrest<br /> +He once occasioned. Be not too severe,<br /> +Nor too vindictive.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Daya, what +you mean<br /> +You must know best.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And pray +are you again<br /> +So calm.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I am—yes that I am.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> At least<br +/> +Own—that this restlessness has given you pleasure,<br /> +And that you have to thank his want of ease<br /> +For what of ease you now enjoy.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Of that<br +/> +I am unconscious. All I could confess<br /> +Were, that it does seem strange unto myself,<br /> +How, in this bosom, such a pleasing calm<br /> +Can suddenly succeed to such a tossing.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">His countenance, his speech, his manner, has<br +/> +By this the satiated thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Satiated,<br /> +I will not say—not by a good deal yet.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But satisfied the more impatient craving.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, well, if you must have it so.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I? no.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">To me he will be ever dear, will ever<br /> +Remain more dear than my own life; altho’<br /> +My pulse no longer flutters at his name,<br /> +My heart no longer, when I think about him,<br /> +Beats stronger, swifter. What have I been prating?<br /> +Come, Daya, let us once more to the window<br /> +Which overlooks the palms.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So that +’tis not<br /> +Yet satisfied—the more impatient craving.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Now I shall see the palm-trees once again,<br +/> +Not him alone amid them.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> This cold +fit<br /> +Is but the harbinger of other fevers.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Cold—cold—I am not cold; but I +observe not<br /> +Less willingly what I behold with calmness.</p> +<h4><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—An Audience Room in +the Sultan’s Palace.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sittah</span>: +<span class="smcap">Saladin</span> <i>giving directions at the +door</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Here, introduce the Jew, whene’er he +comes—<br /> +He seems in no great haste.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> May be at +first<br /> +He was not in the way.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ah, sister, sister!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You seem as if a combat were impending.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">With weapons that I have not learnt to +wield.<br /> +Must I disguise myself? I use precautions?<br /> +I lay a snare? When, where gained I that knowledge?<br /> +And this, for what? To fish for money—money—<br +/> +For money from a Jew—and to such arts<br /> +Must Saladin descend at last to come at<br /> +The least of little things?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Each little +thing<br /> +Despised too much finds methods of revenge.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis but too true. And if this Jew +should prove<br /> +The fair good man, as once the dervis painted—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Then difficulties cease. A snare +concerns<br /> +The avaricious, cautious, fearful Jew;<br /> +And not the good wise man: for he is ours<br /> +Without a snare. Then the delight of hearing<br /> +How such a man speaks out; with what stern strength<br /> +He tears the net, or with what prudent foresight<br /> +He one by one undoes the tangled meshes;<br /> +That will be all to boot—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That I +shall joy in.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What then should trouble thee? For if he +be<br /> +One of the many only, a mere Jew,<br /> +You will not blush to such a one to seem<br /> +A man, as he thinks all mankind to be.<br /> +One, that to him should bear a better aspect,<br /> +Would seem a fool—a dupe.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So that I +must<br /> +Act badly, lest the bad think badly of me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, if you call it acting badly, brother,<br +/> +To use a thing after its kind.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> There’s nothing<br /> +That woman’s wit invents it can’t embellish.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Embellish—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But their fine-wrought +filligree<br /> +In my rude hand would break. It is for those<br /> +That can contrive them to employ such weapons:<br /> +They ask a practised wrist. But chance what may,<br /> +Well as I can—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Trust not yourself too +little.<br /> +I answer for you, if you have the will.<br /> +Such men as you would willingly persuade us<br /> +It was their swords, their swords alone that raised them.<br /> +The lion’s apt to be ashamed of hunting<br /> +In fellowship of the fox—’tis of his fellow<br /> +Not of the cunning that he is ashamed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You women would so gladly level man<br /> +Down to yourselves. Go, I have got my lesson.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What—<i>must</i> I go?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Had you the +thought of staying?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">In your immediate presence not indeed,<br /> +But in the by-room.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You could +like to listen.<br /> +Not that, my sister, if I may insist.<br /> +Away! the curtain rustles—he is come.<br /> +Beware of staying—I’ll be on the watch.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>While Sittah retires through one +door</i>, <i>Nathan enters at another</i>, <i>and Saladin seats +himself</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Saladin</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Nathan</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Draw nearer, Jew, yet nearer; here, quite by +me,<br /> +Without all fear.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Remain that for thy foes!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Your name is Nathan?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Nathan the +wise?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> If not thou, the people calls +thee so.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">May be, the people.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Fancy not +that I<br /> +Think of the people’s voice contemptuously;<br /> +I have been wishing much to know the man<br /> +Whom it has named the wise.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And if it +named<br /> +Him so in scorn. If wise meant only prudent.<br /> +And prudent, one who knows his interest well.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Who knows his real interest, thou must +mean.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Then were the interested the most prudent,<br +/> +Then wise and prudent were the same.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> I +hear<br /> +You proving what your speeches contradict.<br /> +You know man’s real interests, which the people<br /> +Knows not—at least have studied how to know them.<br /> +That alone makes the sage.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Which each imagines<br /> +Himself to be.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Of modesty enough!<br /> +Ever to meet it, where one seeks to hear<br /> +Dry truth, is vexing. Let us to the purpose—<br /> +But, Jew, sincere and open—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I will serve thee<br /> +So as to merit, prince, thy further notice.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Serve me—how?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou shalt have the best I +bring.<br /> +Shalt have them cheap.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What speak you of?—your +wares?<br /> +My sister shall be called to bargain with you<br /> +For them (so much for the sly listener), I<br /> +Have nothing to transact now with the merchant.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Doubtless then you would learn, what, on my +journey,<br /> +I noticed of the motions of the foe,<br /> +Who stirs anew. If unreserved I may—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Neither was that the object of my sending:<br +/> +I know what I have need to know already.<br /> +In short I willed your presence—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Sultan, +order.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">To gain instruction quite on other points.<br +/> +Since you are a man so wise, tell me which law,<br /> +Which faith appears to you the better?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Sultan,<br +/> +I am a Jew.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And I a Mussulman:<br /> +The Christian stands between us. Of these three<br /> +Religions only one came be the true.<br /> +A man, like you, remains not just where birth<br /> +Has chanced to cast him, or, if he remains there,<br /> +Does it from insight, choice, from grounds of preference.<br /> +Share then with me your insight—let me hear<br /> +The grounds of preference, which I have wanted<br /> +The leisure to examine—learn the choice,<br /> +These grounds have motived, that it may be mine.<br /> +In confidence I ask it. How you startle,<br /> +And weigh me with your eye! It may well be<br /> +I’m the first sultan to whom this caprice,<br /> +Methinks not quite unworthy of a sultan,<br /> +Has yet occurred. Am I not? Speak +then—Speak.<br /> +Or do you, to collect yourself, desire<br /> +Some moments of delay—I give them you—<br /> +(Whether she’s listening?—I must know of her<br /> +If I’ve done right.) Reflect—I’ll soon +return—</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Saladin steps into the room to +which Sittah had retired</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Strange! how is this? what wills the sultan of +me?<br /> +I came prepared with cash—he asks truth. Truth?<br /> +As if truth too were cash—a coin disused<br /> +That goes by weight—indeed ’tis some such +thing—<br /> +But a new coin, known by the stamp at once,<br /> +To be flung down and told upon the counter,<br /> +It is not that. Like gold in bags tied up,<br /> +So truth lies hoarded in the wise man’s head<br /> +To be brought out.—Which now in this transaction<br /> +Which of us plays the Jew; he asks for truth,<br /> +Is truth what he requires, his aim, his end?<br /> +That this is but the glue to lime a snare<br /> +Ought not to be suspected, ’twere too little,<br /> +Yet what is found too little for the great—<br /> +In fact, through hedge and pale to stalk at once<br /> +Into one’s field beseems not—friends look round,<br +/> +Seek for the path, ask leave to pass the gate—<br /> +I must be cautious. Yet to damp him back,<br /> +And be the stubborn Jew is not the thing;<br /> +And wholly to throw off the Jew, still less.<br /> +For if no Jew he might with right inquire—<br /> +Why not a Mussulman—Yes—that may serve me.<br /> +Not children only can be quieted<br /> +With stories. Ha! he comes—well, let him come.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>returning</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">So, there, the field is clear, I’m not +too quick,<br /> +Thou hast bethought thyself as much as need is,<br /> +Speak, no one hears.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Might the whole world but +hear us.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Is Nathan of his cause so confident?<br /> +Yes, that I call the sage—to veil no truth,<br /> +For truth to hazard all things, life and goods.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Aye, when ’tis necessary and when +useful.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Henceforth I hope I shall with reason bear<br +/> +One of my titles—“Betterer of the world<br /> +And of the law.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> In truth a noble title.<br /> +But, sultan, e’er I quite unfold myself<br /> +Allow me to relate a tale.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why not?<br +/> +I always was a friend of tales well told.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well told, that’s not precisely my +affair.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Again so proudly modest, come begin.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">In days of yore, there dwelt in east a man<br +/> +Who from a valued hand received a ring<br /> +Of endless worth: the stone of it an opal,<br /> +That shot an ever-changing tint: moreover,<br /> +It had the hidden virtue him to render<br /> +Of God and man beloved, who in this view,<br /> +And this persuasion, wore it. Was it strange<br /> +The eastern man ne’er drew it off his finger,<br /> +And studiously provided to secure it<br /> +For ever to his house. Thus—He bequeathed it;<br /> +First, to the <i>most beloved</i> of his sons,<br /> +Ordained that he again should leave the ring<br /> +To the <i>most dear</i> among his children—and<br /> +That without heeding birth, the <i>favourite</i> son,<br /> +In virtue of the ring alone, should always<br /> +Remain the lord o’ th’ house—You hear me, +Sultan?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I understand thee—on.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> From son to son,<br /> +At length this ring descended to a father,<br /> +Who had three sons, alike obedient to him;<br /> +Whom therefore he could not but love alike.<br /> +At times seemed this, now that, at times the third,<br /> +(Accordingly as each apart received<br /> +The overflowings of his heart) most worthy<br /> +To heir the ring, which with good-natured weakness<br /> +He privately to each in turn had promised.<br /> +This went on for a while. But death approached,<br /> +And the good father grew embarrassed. So<br /> +To disappoint two sons, who trust his promise,<br /> +He could not bear. What’s to be done. He +sends<br /> +In secret to a jeweller, of whom,<br /> +Upon the model of the real ring,<br /> +He might bespeak two others, and commanded<br /> +To spare nor cost nor pains to make them like,<br /> +Quite like the true one. This the artist managed.<br /> +The rings were brought, and e’en the father’s eye<br +/> +Could not distinguish which had been the model.<br /> +Quite overjoyed he summons all his sons,<br /> +Takes leave of each apart, on each bestows<br /> +His blessing and his ring, and dies—Thou hearest me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I hear, I hear, come finish with thy tale;<br +/> +Is it soon ended?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> It is +ended, Sultan,<br /> +For all that follows may be guessed of course.<br /> +Scarce is the father dead, each with his ring<br /> +Appears, and claims to be the lord o’ th’ house.<br +/> +Comes question, strife, complaint—all to no end;<br /> +For the true ring could no more be distinguished<br /> +Than now can—the true faith.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How, how, +is that<br /> +To be the answer to my query?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No,<br /> +But it may serve as my apology;<br /> +If I can’t venture to decide between<br /> +Rings, which the father got expressly made,<br /> +That they might not be known from one another.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The rings—don’t trifle with me; I +must think<br /> +That the religions which I named can be<br /> +Distinguished, e’en to raiment, drink and food,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And only not as to their grounds of proof.<br +/> +Are not all built alike on history,<br /> +Traditional, or written. History<br /> +Must be received on trust—is it not so?<br /> +In whom now are we likeliest to put trust?<br /> +In our own people surely, in those men<br /> +Whose blood we are, in them, who from our childhood<br /> +Have given us proofs of love, who ne’er deceived us,<br /> +Unless ’twere wholesomer to be deceived.<br /> +How can I less believe in my forefathers<br /> +Than thou in thine. How can I ask of thee<br /> +To own that thy forefathers falsified<br /> +In order to yield mine the praise of truth.<br /> +The like of Christians.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> By the living God,<br /> +The man is in the right, I must be silent.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Now let us to our rings return once more.<br /> +As said, the sons complained. Each to the judge<br /> +Swore from his father’s hand immediately<br /> +To have received the ring, as was the case;<br /> +After he had long obtained the father’s promise,<br /> +One day to have the ring, as also was.<br /> +The father, each asserted, could to him<br /> +Not have been false, rather than so suspect<br /> +Of such a father, willing as he might be<br /> +With charity to judge his brethren, he<br /> +Of treacherous forgery was bold t’ accuse them.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, and the judge, I’m eager now to +hear<br /> +What thou wilt make him say. Go on, go on.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The judge said, If ye summon not the father<br +/> +Before my seat, I cannot give a sentence.<br /> +Am I to guess enigmas? Or expect ye<br /> +That the true ring should here unseal its lips?<br /> +But hold—you tell me that the real ring<br /> +Enjoys the hidden power to make the wearer<br /> +Of God and man beloved; let that decide.<br /> +Which of you do two brothers love the best?<br /> +You’re silent. Do these love-exciting rings<br /> +Act inward only, not without? Does each<br /> +Love but himself? Ye’re all deceived deceivers,<br /> +None of your rings is true. The real ring<br /> +Perhaps is gone. To hide or to supply<br /> +Its loss, your father ordered three for one.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">O charming, charming!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And (the judge continued)<br +/> +If you will take advice in lieu of sentence,<br /> +This is my counsel to you, to take up<br /> +The matter where it stands. If each of you<br /> +Has had a ring presented by his father,<br /> +Let each believe his own the real ring.<br /> +’Tis possible the father chose no longer<br /> +To tolerate the one ring’s tyranny;<br /> +And certainly, as he much loved you all,<br /> +And loved you all alike, it could not please him<br /> +By favouring one to be of two the oppressor.<br /> +Let each feel honoured by this free affection.<br /> +Unwarped of prejudice; let each endeavour<br /> +To vie with both his brothers in displaying<br /> +The virtue of his ring; assist its might<br /> +With gentleness, benevolence, forbearance,<br /> +With inward resignation to the godhead,<br /> +And if the virtues of the ring continue<br /> +To show themselves among your children’s children,<br /> +After a thousand thousand years, appear<br /> +Before this judgment-seat—a greater one<br /> +Than I shall sit upon it, and decide.<br /> +So spake the modest judge.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> God!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Saladin,<br +/> +Feel’st thou thyself this wiser, promised man?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I dust, I nothing, God!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Precipitates himself upon +Nathan</i>, <i>and takes hold of his hand</i>, <i>which he does +not quit the remainder of the scene</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What moves thee, Sultan?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Nathan, my dearest Nathan, ’tis not +yet<br /> +The judge’s thousand thousand years are past,<br /> +His judgment-seat’s not mine. Go, go, but love +me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Has Saladin then nothing else to order?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Nothing?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Nothing in +the least, and wherefore?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I could have wished an opportunity<br /> +To lay a prayer before you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Is there +need<br /> +Of opportunity for that? Speak freely.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I come from a long journey from collecting<br +/> +Debts, and I’ve almost of hard cash too much;<br /> +The times look perilous—I know not where<br /> +To lodge it safely—I was thinking thou,<br /> +For coming wars require large sums, couldst use it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>fixing Nathan</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Nathan, I ask not if thou sawst Al-Hafi,<br /> +I’ll not examine if some shrewd suspicion<br /> +Spurs thee to make this offer of thyself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Suspicion—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I deserve this offer. +Pardon,<br /> +For what avails concealment, I acknowledge<br /> +I was about—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> To ask the same of me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Then ’tis well +we’re both accommodated.<br /> +That I can’t send thee all I have of treasure<br /> +Arises from the templar; thou must know him,<br /> +I have a weighty debt to pay to him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">A templar! How, thou dost not with thy +gold<br /> +Support my direst foes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I speak of him<br /> +Whose life the sultan—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What art thou recalling?<br +/> +I had forgot the youth, whence is he, knowest thou?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Hast thou not heard then how thy clemency<br /> +To him has fallen on me. He at the risk<br /> +Of his new-spared existence, from the flames<br /> +Rescued my daughter.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ha! Has he done +that;<br /> +He looked like one that would—my brother too,<br /> +Whom he’s so like, bad done it. Is he here still?<br +/> +Bring him to me—I have so often talked<br /> +To Sittah of this brother, whom she knew not,<br /> +That I must let her see his counterfeit.<br /> +Go fetch him. How a single worthy action,<br /> +Though but of whim or passion born, gives rise<br /> +To other blessings! Fetch him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> In an +instant.<br /> +The rest remains as settled.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O, I wish<br /> +I had let my sister listen. Well, I’ll to her.<br /> +How shall I make her privy to all this?</p> +<h4><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—The Place of +Palms.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">The <span +class="smcap">Templar</span> <i>walking and agitated</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Here let the weary victim pant +awhile.—<br /> +Yet would I not have time to ascertain<br /> +What passes in me; would not snuff beforehand<br /> +The coming storm. ’Tis sure I fled in vain;<br /> +But more than fly I could not do, whatever<br /> +Comes of it. Ah! to ward it off—the blow<br /> +Was given so suddenly. Long, much, I strove<br /> +To keep aloof; but vainly. Once to see her—<br /> +Her, whom I surely did not court the sight of,<br /> +To see her, and to form the resolution,<br /> +Never to lose sight of her here again,<br /> +Was one—The resolution?—Not ’tis will,<br /> +Fixt purpose, made (for I was passive in it)<br /> +Sealed, doomed. To see her, and to feel myself<br /> +Bound to her, wove into her very being,<br /> +Was one—remains one. Separate from her<br /> +To live is quite unthinkable—is death.<br /> +And wheresoever after death we be,<br /> +There too the thought were death. And is this love?<br /> +Yet so in troth the templar loves—so—so—<br /> +The Christian loves the Jewess. What of that?<br /> +Here in this holy land, and therefore holy<br /> +And dear to me, I have already doffed<br /> +Some prejudices.—Well—what says my vow?<br /> +As templar I am dead, was dead to that<br /> +From the same hour which made me prisoner<br /> +To Saladin. But is the head he gave me<br /> +My old one? No. It knows no word of what<br /> +Was prated into yon, of what had bound it.<br /> +It is a better; for its patrial sky<br /> +Fitter than yon. I feel—I’m conscious of it,<br +/> +With this I now begin to think, as here<br /> +My father must have thought; if tales of him<br /> +Have not been told untruly. Tales—why tales?<br /> +They’re credible—more credible than ever—<br /> +Now that I’m on the brink of stumbling, where<br /> +He fell. He fell? I’d rather fall with men,<br +/> +Than stand with children. His example pledges<br /> +His approbation, and whose approbation<br /> +Have I else need of? Nathan’s? Surely of his<br +/> +Encouragement, applause, I’ve little need<br /> +To doubt—O what a Jew is he! yet easy<br /> +To pass for the mere Jew. He’s +coming—swiftly—<br /> +And looks delighted—who leaves Saladin<br /> +With other looks? Hoa, Nathan!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Templar</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Are you +there?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Your visit to the sultan has been long.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Not very long; my going was indeed<br /> +Too much delayed. Troth, Conrade, this man’s fame<br +/> +Outstrips him not. His fame is but his shadow.<br /> +But before all I have to tell you—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That he would speak with you, and that +directly.<br /> +First to my house, where I would give some orders,<br /> +Then we’ll together to the sultan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Nathan,<br /> +I enter not thy doors again before—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Then you’ve been there this +while—have spoken with her.<br /> +How do you like my Recha?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Words cannot tell—<br +/> +Gaze on her once again—I never will—<br /> +Never—no never: unless thou wilt promise<br /> +That I for ever, ever, may behold her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How should I take this?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>falling suddenly upon his +neck</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Nathan—O my father!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Young man!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>quitting him as +suddenly</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Not son?—I pray thee, +Nathan—ha!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Thou dear young man!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Not +son?—I pray thee, Nathan,<br /> +Conjure thee by the strongest bonds of nature,<br /> +Prefer not those of later date, the weaker.—<br /> +Be it enough to thee to be a man!<br /> +Push me not from thee!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Dearest, +dearest friend!—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Not son? Not son? Not +even—even if<br /> +Thy daughter’s gratitude had in her bosom<br /> +Prepared the way for love—not even if<br /> +Both wait thy nod alone to be but one?—<br /> +You do not speak?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Young knight, you have +surprised me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Do I surprise thee—thus surprise thee, +Nathan,<br /> +With thy own thought? Canst thou not in my mouth<br /> +Know it again? Do I surprise you?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ere<br /> +I know, which of the Stauffens was your father?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What say you, Nathan?—And in such a +moment<br /> +Is curiosity your only feeling?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">For see, once I myself well knew a Stauffen,<br +/> +Whose name was Conrade.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Well, and +if my father<br /> +Was bearer of that name?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Indeed?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> My name<br +/> +Is from my father’s, Conrade.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Then thy +father<br /> +Was not my Conrade. He was, like thyself,<br /> +A templar, never wedded.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> For all that—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> For all that he may have been +my father.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You joke.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And you are captious. +Boots it then<br /> +To be true-born? Does bastard wound thine ear?<br /> +The race is not to be despised: but hold,<br /> +Spare me my pedigree; I’ll spare thee thine.<br /> +Not that I doubt thy genealogic tree.<br /> +O, God forbid! You may attest it all<br /> +As far as Abraham back; and backwarder<br /> +I know it to my heart—I’ll swear to it also.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Knight, you grow bitter. Do I merit +this?<br /> +Have I refused you ought? I’ve but forborne<br /> +To close with you at the first word—no more.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Indeed—no more? O then +forgive—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis +well.<br /> +Do but come with me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Whither? To thy +house?<br /> +No? there not—there not: ’tis a burning soil.<br /> +Here I await thee, go. Am I again<br /> +To see her, I shall see her times enough:<br /> +If not I have already gazed too much.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I’ll try to be soon back.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Too much indeed—<br /> +Strange that the human brain, so infinite<br /> +Of comprehension, yet at times will fill<br /> +Quite full, and all at once, of a mere trifle—<br /> +No matter what it teems with. Patience! Patience!<br +/> +The soul soon calms again, th’ upboiling stuff<br /> +Makes itself room and brings back light and order.<br /> +Is this then the first time I love? Or was<br /> +What by that name I knew before, not love—<br /> +And this, this love alone that now I feel?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Daya</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Templar</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Sir knight, sir knight.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who calls? ha, Daya, you?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I managed to slip by him. No, come +here<br /> +(He’ll see us where you stand) behind this tree.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why so mysterious? What’s the +matter, Daya?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, ’tis a secret that has brought me to +you<br /> +A twofold secret. One I only know,<br /> +The other only you. Let’s interchange,<br /> +Intrust yours first to me, then I’ll tell mine.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">With pleasure when I’m able to +discover<br /> +What you call me. But that yours will explain. <br /> +Begin—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That is not fair, yours first, sir knight;<br +/> +For be assured my secret serves you not<br /> +Unless I have yours first. If I sift it out<br /> +You’ll not have trusted me, and then my secret<br /> +Is still my own, and yours lost all for nothing.<br /> +But, knight, how can you men so fondly fancy<br /> +You ever hide such secrets from us women.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Secrets we often are unconscious of.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">May be—So then I must at last be +friendly,<br /> +And break it to you. Tell me now, whence came it<br /> +That all at once you started up abruptly<br /> +And in the twinkling of an eye were fled?<br /> +That you left us without one civil speech!<br /> +That you return no more with Nathan to us—<br /> +Has Recha then made such a slight impression,<br /> +Or made so deep a one? I penetrate you.<br /> +Think you that on a limed twig the poor bird<br /> +Can flutter cheerfully, or hop at ease<br /> +With its wing pinioned? Come, come, in one word<br /> +Acknowledge to me plainly that you love her,<br /> +Love her to madness, and I’ll tell you what.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">To madness, oh, you’re very +penetrating.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Grant me the love, and I’ll give up the +madness.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Because that must be understood of +course—<br /> +A templar love a Jewess—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Seems +absurd,<br /> +But often there’s more fitness in a thing<br /> +Than we at once discern; nor were this time<br /> +The first, when through an unexpected path<br /> +The Saviour drew his children on to him<br /> +Across the tangled maze of human life.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So solemn that—(and yet if in the +stead<br /> +Of Saviour, I were to say Providence,<br /> +It would sound true) you make me curious, Daya,<br /> +Which I’m unwont to be.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> This is the +place<br /> +For miracles</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> For wonders—well and +good—<br /> +Can it be otherwise, where the whole world<br /> +Presses as toward a centre. My dear Daya,<br /> +Consider what you asked of me as owned;<br /> +That I do love her—that I can’t imagine<br /> +How I should live without her—that</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Indeed!<br /> +Then, knight, swear to me you will call her yours,<br /> +Make both her present and eternal welfare.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And how, how can I, can I swear to do<br /> +What is not in my power?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis +in your power,<br /> +A single word will put it in your power.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So that her father shall not be against it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Her father—father? he shall be +compelled.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">As yet he is not fallen among thieves—<br +/> +Compelled?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Aye to be willing that you +should.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Compelled and willing—what if I inform +thee<br /> +That I have tried to touch this string already,<br /> +It vibrates not responsive.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He refused +thee?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He answered in a tone of such discordance<br /> +That I was hurt.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What do you say? How, +you<br /> +Betrayed the shadow of a wish for Recha,<br /> +And he did not spring up for joy, drew back,<br /> +Drew coldly back, made difficulties?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Almost.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well then I’ll not deliberate a +moment.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And yet you are deliberating still.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That man was always else so good, so kind,<br +/> +I am so deeply in his debt. Why, why<br /> +Would he not listen to you? God’s my witness<br /> +That my heart bleeds to come about him thus.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I pray you, Daya, once for all, to end<br /> +This dire uncertainty. But if you doubt<br /> +Whether what ’tis your purpose to reveal<br /> +Be right or wrong, be praiseworthy or shameful,<br /> +Speak not—I will forget that you have had<br /> +Something to hide.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That spurs me on still +more.<br /> +Then learn that Recha is no Jewess, that<br /> +She is a Christian.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I congratulate you,<br /> +’Twas a hard labour, but ’tis out at last;<br /> +The pangs of the delivery won’t hurt you.<br /> +Go on with undiminished zeal, and people<br /> +Heaven, when no longer fit to people earth.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How, knight, does my intelligence deserve<br /> +Such bitter scorn? That Recha is a Christian<br /> +On you a Christian templar, and her lover,<br /> +Confers no joy.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Particularly as<br /> +She is a Christian of your making, Daya.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">O, so you understand it—well and +good—<br /> +I wish to find out him that might convert her.<br /> +It is her fate long since to have been that<br /> +Which she is spoiled for being.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Do +explain—<br /> +Or go.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> She is a Christian +child—of Christian<br /> +Parents was born and is baptised.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>hastily</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> And +Nathan—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Is not her father.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Nathan not her +father—<br /> +And are you sure of what you say?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I am,<br /> +It is a truth has cost me tears of blood.<br /> +No, he is not her father.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And has only<br /> +Brought her up as his daughter, educated<br /> +The Christian child a Jewess.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Certainly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And she is unacquainted with her birth?<br /> +Has never learnt from him that she was born<br /> +A Christian, and no Jewess?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Never yet.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And he not only let the child grow up<br /> +In this mistaken notion, but still leaves<br /> +The woman in it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Aye, alas!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How, +Nathan,<br /> +The wise good Nathan thus allow himself<br /> +To stifle nature’s voice? Thus to misguide<br /> +Upon himself th’ effusions of a heart<br /> +Which to itself abandoned would have formed<br /> +Another bias, Daya—yes, indeed<br /> +You have intrusted an important secret<br /> +That may have consequences—it confounds me,<br /> +I cannot tell what I’ve to do at present,<br /> +Therefore go, give me time, he may come by<br /> +And may surprise us.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I should drop for fright.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I am not able now to talk, farewell;<br /> +And if you chance to meet him, only say<br /> +That we shall find each other at the sultan’s.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Let him not see you’ve any grudge against +him.<br /> +That should be kept to give the proper impulse<br /> +To things at last, and may remove your scruples<br /> +Respecting Recha. But then, if you take her<br /> +Back with you into Europe, let not me<br /> +Be left behind.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That we’ll soon settle, +go.</p> +<h3>ACT IV.</h3> +<h4><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—The Cloister of a +Convent.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The</i> <span +class="smcap">Friar</span> <i>alone</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Aye—aye—he’s very +right—the patriarch is—<br /> +In fact of all that he has sent me after<br /> +Not much turns out his way—Why put on me<br /> +Such business and no other? I don’t care<br /> +To coax and wheedle, and to run my nose<br /> +Into all sorts of things, and have a hand<br /> +In all that’s going forward. I did not<br /> +Renounce the world, for my own part, in order<br /> +To be entangled with ’t for other people.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">FRIAR <i>and</i> TEMPLAR.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>abruptly entering</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Good brother, are you there? I’ve +sought you long.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Me, sir?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What, don’t you +recollect me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh,<br /> +I thought I never in my life was likely<br /> +To see you any more. For so I hoped<br /> +In God. I did not vastly relish the proposal<br /> +That I was bound to make you. Yes, God knows,<br /> +How little I desired to find a hearing,<br /> +Knows I was inly glad when you refused<br /> +Without a moment’s thought, what of a knight<br /> +Would be unworthy. Are your second thoughts—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So, you already know my purpose, I<br /> +Scarce know myself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Have you by this reflected<br +/> +That our good patriarch is not so much out,<br /> +That gold and fame in plenty may be got<br /> +By his commission, that a foe’s a foe<br /> +Were he our guardian angel seven times over.<br /> +Have you weighed this ’gainst flesh and blood, and come<br +/> +To strike the bargain he proposed. Ah, God.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">My dear good man, set your poor heart at +ease.<br /> +Not therefore am I come, not therefore wish<br /> +To see the patriarch in person. Still<br /> +On the first point I think as I then thought,<br /> +Nor would I for aught in the world exchange<br /> +That good opinion, which I once obtained<br /> +From such a worthy upright man as thou art,<br /> +I come to ask your patriarch’s advice—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">FRIAR</span> +(<i>looking round with timidity</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Our patriarch’s—you? a knight ask +priest’s advice?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Mine is a priestly business.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet the +priests<br /> +Ask not the knights’ advice, be their affair<br /> +Ever so knightly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Therefore one allows them<br +/> +To overshoot themselves, a privilege<br /> +Which such as I don’t vastly envy them.<br /> +Indeed if I were acting for myself,<br /> +Had not t’ account with others, I should care<br /> +But little for his counsel. But some things<br /> +I’d rather do amiss by others’ guidance<br /> +Than by my own aright. And then by this time<br /> +I see religion too is party, and<br /> +He, who believes himself the most impartial,<br /> +Does but uphold the standard of his own,<br /> +Howe’er unconsciously. And since ’tis so,<br /> +So must be well.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I rather shall not answer,<br +/> +For I don’t understand exactly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet<br /> +Let me consider what it is precisely<br /> +That I have need of, counsel or decision,<br /> +Simple or learned counsel.—Thank you, brother,<br /> +I thank you for your hint—A patriarch—why?<br /> +Be thou my patriarch; for ’tis the plain Christian,<br /> +Whom in the patriarch I have to consult,<br /> +And not the patriarch in the Christian.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh,<br /> +I beg no further—you must quite mistake me;<br /> +He that knows much hath learnt much care, and I<br /> +Devoted me to only one. ’Tis well,<br /> +Most luckily here comes the very man,<br /> +Wait here, stand still—he has perceived you, knight.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I’d rather shun him, he is not my man.<br +/> +A thick red smiling prelate—and as stately—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But you should see him on a gala-day;<br /> +He only comes from visiting the sick.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Great Saladin must then be put to shame.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>The Patriarch</i>, <i>after +marching up one of the aisles in great pomp</i>, <i>draws +near</i>, <i>and makes signs to the Friar</i>, <i>who approaches +him</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Patriarch</span>, <span class="smcap">Friar</span>, +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Templar</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Hither—was that the templar? What +wants he?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I know not.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH</span> (<i>approaches the templar</i>, +<i>while the friar and the rest of his train draw back</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> So, sir knight, I’m +truly happy<br /> +To meet the brave young man—so very young too—<br /> +Something, God helping, may come of him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> More<br /> +Than is already hardly will come of him,<br /> +But less, my reverend father, that may chance.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">It is my prayer at least a knight so pious<br +/> +May for the cause of Christendom and God<br /> +Long be preserved; nor can that fail, so be<br /> +Young valour will lend ear to aged counsel.<br /> +With what can I be useful any way?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">With that which my youth is without, with +counsel.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Most willingly, but counsel should be +followed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Surely not blindly?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who says that? +Indeed<br /> +None should omit to make use of the reason<br /> +Given him by God, in things where it belongs,<br /> +But it belongs not everywhere; for instance,<br /> +If God, by some one of his blessed angels,<br /> +Or other holy minister of his word,<br /> +Deign’d to make known a mean, by which the welfare<br /> +Of Christendom, or of his holy church,<br /> +In some peculiar and especial manner<br /> +Might be promoted or secured, who then<br /> +Shall venture to rise up, and try by reason<br /> +The will of him who has created reason,<br /> +Measure th’ eternal laws of heaven by<br /> +The little rules of a vain human honour?—<br /> +But of all this enough. What is it then<br /> +On which our counsel is desired?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Suppose,<br /> +My reverend father, that a Jew possessed<br /> +An only child, a girl we’ll say, whom he<br /> +With fond attention forms to every virtue,<br /> +And loves more than his very soul; a child<br /> +Who by her pious love requites his goodness.<br /> +And now suppose it whispered—say to me—<br /> +This girl is not the daughter of the Jew,<br /> +He picked up, purchased, stole her in her childhood—<br /> +That she was born of Christians and baptised,<br /> +But that the Jew hath reared her as a Jewess,<br /> +Allows her to remain a Jewess, and<br /> +To think herself his daughter. Reverend father<br /> +What then ought to be done?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I +shudder! But<br /> +First will you please explain if such a case<br /> +Be fact, or only an hypothesis?<br /> +That is to say, if you, of your own head,<br /> +Invent the case, or if indeed it happened,<br /> +And still continues happening?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I had +thought<br /> +That just to learn your reverence’s opinion<br /> +This were all one.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> All one—now see how +apt<br /> +Proud human reason is in spiritual things<br /> +To err: ’tis not all one; for, if the point<br /> +In question be a mere sport of the wit,<br /> +’Twill not be worth our while to think it through<br /> +But I should recommend the curious person<br /> +To theatres, where oft, with loud applause,<br /> +Such pro and contras have been agitated.<br /> +But if the object should be something more<br /> +Than by a school-trick—by a sleight of logic<br /> +To get the better of me—if the case<br /> +Be really extant, if it should have happened<br /> +Within our diocese, or—or perhaps<br /> +Here in our dear Jerusalem itself,<br /> +Why then—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What then?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Then were +it proper<br /> +To execute at once upon the Jew<br /> +The penal laws in such a case provided<br /> +By papal and imperial right, against<br /> +So foul a crime—such dire abomination.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And the laws forementioned +have decreed,<br /> +That if a Jew shall to apostacy<br /> +Seduce a Christian, he shall die by fire.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How much more the Jew, who +forcibly<br /> +Tears from the holy font a Christian child,<br /> +And breaks the sacramental bond of baptism;<br /> +For all what’s done to children is by force—<br /> +I mean except what the church does to children.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What if the child, but for this fostering +Jew,<br /> +Must have expired in misery?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> That’s +nothing,<br /> +The Jew has still deserved the faggot—for<br /> +’Twere better it here died in misery<br /> +Than for eternal woe to live. Besides,<br /> +Why should the Jew forestall the hand of God?<br /> +God, if he wills to save, can save without him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And spite of him too save eternally.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That’s nothing! Still the Jew is to +be burnt.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That hurts me—more particularly as<br /> +’Tis said he has not so much taught the maid<br /> +His faith, as brought her up with the mere knowledge<br /> +Of what our reason teaches about God.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That’s nothing! Still the Jew is to +be burnt—<br /> +And for this very reason would deserve<br /> +To be thrice burnt. How, let a child grow up<br /> +Without a faith? Not even teach a child<br /> +The greatest of its duties, to believe?<br /> +’Tis heinous! I am quite astonished, knight,<br /> +That you yourself—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> The rest, right reverend +sir,<br /> +In the confessional, but not before.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Offers to go</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What off—not stay for my +interrogation—<br /> +Not name to me this infidel, this Jew—<br /> +Not find him up for me at once? But hold,<br /> +A thought occurs, I’ll straightway to the sultan<br /> +Conformably to the capitulation,<br /> +Which Saladin has sworn, he must support us<br /> +In all the privileges, all the doctrines<br /> +Which appertain to our most holy faith,<br /> +Thank God, we’ve the original in keeping,<br /> +We have his hand and seal to it—we—<br /> +And I shall lead him easily to think<br /> +How very dangerous for the state it is<br /> +Not to believe. All civic bonds divide,<br /> +Like flax fire-touched, where subjects don’t believe.<br /> +Away with foul impiety!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> It +happens<br /> +Somewhat unlucky that I want the leisure<br /> +To enjoy this holy sermon. I am sent for<br /> +To Saladin.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why +then—indeed—if so—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And will prepare the sultan, if agreeable.<br +/> +For your right reverend visit.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I have +heard<br /> +That you found favour in the sultan’s sight,<br /> +I beg with all humility to be<br /> +Remembered to him. I am purely motived<br /> +By zeal in th’ cause of God. What of too much<br /> +I do, I do for him—weigh that in goodness.<br /> +’Twas then, most noble sir—what you were starting<br +/> +About the Jew—a problem merely!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Problem!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">PATRIARCH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Of whose foundation I’ll have nearer +knowledge.<br /> +Another job for brother Bonafides.<br /> +Hither, my son!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Converses with the Friar as he +walks off</i>.</p> +<h4><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—A Room in the +Palace.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Slaves</span> <i>bring in a number of +purses and pile them on the floor</i>. <span +class="smcap">Saladin</span> <i>is present</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">In troth this has no end. And is there +much<br /> +Of this same thing behind?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SLAVE.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> About one half.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Then take the rest to Sittah. +Where’s Al-Hafi?<br /> +What’s here Al-Hafi shall take charge of straight.<br /> +Or shan’t I rather send it to my father;<br /> +Here it slips through one’s fingers. Sure in time<br +/> +One may grow callous; it shall now cost labour<br /> +To come at much from me—at least until<br /> +The treasures come from Ægypt, poverty<br /> +Must shift as ’t can—yet at the sepulchre<br /> +The charges must go on—the Christian pilgrims<br /> +Shall not go back without an alms.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Saladin</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Sittah</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH</span> (<i>entering</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Why +this?<br /> +Wherefore the gold to me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Pay thyself with it,<br /> +And if there’s something left ’twill be in store.<br +/> +Are Nathan and the templar not yet come?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He has been seeking for him +everywhere—<br /> +Look what I met with when the plate and jewels<br /> +Were passing through my hands—</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Showing a small +portrait</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ha! What, my +brother?<br /> +’Tis he, ’tis he, <i>was</i> he, <i>was</i> he +alas!<br /> +Thou dear brave youth, and lost to me so early;<br /> +What would I not with thee and at thy side<br /> +Have undertaken? Let me have the portrait,<br /> +I recollect it now again; he gave it<br /> +Unto thy elder sister, to his Lilah,<br /> +That morning that she would not part with him,<br /> +But clasped him so in tears. It was the last<br /> +Morning that he rode out; and I—I let him<br /> +Ride unattended. Lilah died for grief,<br /> +And never could forgive me that I let him<br /> +Then ride alone. He came not back.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Poor +brother—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Time shall be when none of us will come +back,<br /> +And then who knows? It is not death alone<br /> +That balks the hopes of young men of his cast,<br /> +Such have far other foes, and oftentimes<br /> +The strongest like the weakest is o’ercome.<br /> +Be as it may—I must compare this picture<br /> +With our young templar, to observe how much<br /> +My fancy cheated me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I therefore brought it;<br /> +But give it me, I’ll tell thee if ’tis like.<br /> +We women see that best.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>to a slave at the +door</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Ah, who is +there?<br /> +The templar? let him come.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH</span> (<i>throws herself on a sofa apart +and drops her veil</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Not to +interfere,<br /> +Or with my curiosity disturb you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That’s right. And then his voice, +will that be like?<br /> +The tone of Assad’s voice, sleeps somewhere yet—<br +/> +So—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Templar</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Saladin</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I thy prisoner, sultan,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou my +prisoner—<br /> +And shall I not to him whose life I gave<br /> +Also give freedom?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What ’twere worthy +thine<br /> +To do, it is my part to hear of thee,<br /> +And not to take for granted. But, O Sultan,<br /> +To lay loud protestations at thy feet<br /> +Of gratitude for a life spared, agrees<br /> +Not with my station or my character.<br /> +At all times, ’tis once more, prince, at thy service.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Only forbear to use it against me.<br /> +Not that I grudge my enemy one pair more<br /> +Of hands—but such a heart, it goes against me<br /> +To yield him. I have been deceived with thee,<br /> +Thou brave young man, in nothing. Yes, thou art<br /> +In soul and body Assad. I could ask thee,<br /> +Where then hast thou been lurking all this time?<br /> +Or in what cavern slept? What Ginnistan<br /> +Chose some kind Perie for thy hiding-place,<br /> +That she might ever keep the flower thus fresh?<br /> +Methinks I could remind thee here and yonder<br /> +Of what we did together—could abuse thee<br /> +For having had one secret, e’en to me—<br /> +Cheat me of one adventure—yes, I could,<br /> +If I saw thee alone, and not myself.<br /> +Thanks that so much of this fond sweet illusion<br /> +At least is true, that in my sear of life<br /> +An Assad blossoms for me. Thou art willing?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">All that from thee comes to me, whatsoever<br +/> +It chance to prove, lies as a wish already<br /> +Within my soul.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> We’ll try the +experiment.<br /> +Wilt thou stay with me? dwell about me? boots not<br /> +As Mussulman or Christian, in a turban<br /> +Or a white mantle—I have never wished<br /> +To see the same bark grow about all trees.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Else, Saladin, thou hardly hadst become<br /> +The hero that thou art, alike to all<br /> +The gardener of the Lord.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> If thou think not<br /> +The worse of me for this, we’re half right.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Quite +so.<br /> +One word.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>holds out his hand</i>).</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>takes it</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> One man—and with this +receive more<br /> +Than thou canst take away again—thine wholly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis for one day too great a +gain—too great.<br /> +Came he not with thee?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who? +Nathan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>coldly</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> No,<br /> +I came alone.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O, what a deed of thine!<br +/> +And what a happiness, a blessing to thee,<br /> +That such a deed was serving such a man.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, yes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So cold—no, my young +friend—when God<br /> +Does through our means a service, we ought not<br /> +To be so cold, not out of modesty<br /> +Wish to appear so cold.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> In this same world<br /> +All things have many sides, and ’tis not easy<br /> +To comprehend how they can fit each other.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Cling ever to the best—Give praise to +God,<br /> +Who knows how they can fit. But, my young man,<br /> +If thou wilt be so difficult, I must<br /> +Be very cautious with thee, for I too<br /> +Have many sides, and some of them perhaps<br /> +Such as mayn’t always seem to fit.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That wounds +me;<br /> +Suspicion usually is not my failing.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Say then of whom thou harbour’st it, of +Nathan?<br /> +So should thy talk imply—canst thou suspect him?<br /> +Give me the first proof of thy confidence.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I’ve nothing against Nathan, I am +angry<br /> +With myself only.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And for what?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> For +dreaming<br /> +That any Jew could learn to be no Jew—<br /> +For dreaming it awake.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Out with this dream.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Thou know’st of Nathan’s daughter, +sultan. What<br /> +I did for her I did—because I did it;<br /> +Too proud to reap thanks which I had not sown for,<br /> +I shunned from day to day her very sight.<br /> +The father was far off. He comes, he hears,<br /> +He seeks me, thanks me, wishes that his daughter<br /> +May please me; talks to me of dawning prospects—<br /> +I listen to his prate, go, see, and find<br /> +A girl indeed. O, sultan, I am ashamed—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">A shamed that a Jew girl knew how to make<br /> +Impression on thee, surely not.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But that<br +/> +To this impression my rash yielding heart,<br /> +Trusting the smoothness of the father’s prate,<br /> +Opposed no more resistance. Fool—I sprang<br /> +A second time into the flame, and then<br /> +I wooed, and was denied.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Denied! Denied!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The prudent father does not flatly say<br /> +No to my wishes, but the prudent father<br /> +Must first inquire, and look about, and think.<br /> +Oh, by all means. Did not I do the same?<br /> +Did not I look about and ask who ’twas<br /> +While she was shrieking in the flame? Indeed,<br /> +By God, ’tis something beautifully wise<br /> +To be so circumspect.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Come, come, forgive<br /> +Something to age. His lingerings cannot last.<br /> +He is not going to require of thee<br /> +First to turn Jew.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who knows?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who? +I, who know<br /> +This Nathan better.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet the superstition<br /> +In which we have grown up, not therefore loses<br /> +When we detect it, all its influence on us.<br /> +Not all are free that can bemock their fetters.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Maturely said—but Nathan, surely +Nathan—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The worst of superstitions is to think<br /> +One’s own most bearable.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> May be, but Nathan—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Must Nathan be the mortal, who unshrinking<br +/> +Can face the moon-tide ray of truth, nor there<br /> +Betray the twilight dungeon which he crawled from.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, Nathan is that man.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I thought so too,<br /> +But what if this picked man, this chosen sage,<br /> +Were such a thorough Jew that he seeks out<br /> +For Christian children to bring up as Jews—<br /> +How then?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who says this of him?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> E’en +the maid<br /> +With whom he frets me—with the hope of whom<br /> +He seemed to joy in paying me the service,<br /> +Which he would not allow me to do gratis—<br /> +This very maid is not his daughter—no,<br /> +She is a kidnapped Christian child.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Whom he<br +/> +Has, notwithstanding, to thy wish refused?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>with vehemence</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Refused or not, I know him now. There +lies<br /> +The prating tolerationist unmasked—<br /> +And I’ll halloo upon this Jewish wolf,<br /> +For all his philosophical sheep’s clothing,<br /> +Dogs that shall touze his hide.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>earnestly</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Peace, +Christian!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> What!<br +/> +Peace, Christian—and may Jew and Mussulman<br /> +Stickle for being Jew and Mussulman,<br /> +And must the Christian only drop the Christian?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>more solemnly</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Peace, Christian!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>calmly</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes, I feel what weight of +blame<br /> +Lies in that word of thine pent up. O that<br /> +I knew how Assad in my place would act.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He—not much better, probably as fiery.<br +/> +Who has already taught thee thus at once<br /> +Like him to bribe me with a single word?<br /> +Indeed, if all has past as thou narratest,<br /> +I scarcely can discover Nathan in it.<br /> +But Nathan is my friend, and of my friends<br /> +One must not bicker with the other. Bend—<br /> +And be directed. Move with caution. Do not<br /> +Loose on him the fanatics of thy sect.<br /> +Conceal what all thy clergy would be claiming<br /> +My hand to avenge upon him, with more show<br /> +Of right than is my wish. Be not from spite<br /> +To any Jew or Mussulman a Christian.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Thy counsel is but on the brink of coming<br /> +Somewhat too late, thanks to the patriarch’s<br /> +Bloodthirsty rage, whose instrument I shudder<br /> +To have almost become.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How! how! thou wentest<br /> +Still earlier to the patriarch than to me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, in the storm of passion, in the eddy<br /> +Of indecision—pardon—oh! thou wilt<br /> +No longer care, I fear, to find in me<br /> +One feature of thy Assad.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes, that fear.<br /> +Methinks I know by this time from what failings<br /> +Our virtue springs—this do thou cultivate,<br /> +Those shall but little harm thee in my sight.<br /> +But go, seek Nathan, as he sought for thee,<br /> +And bring him hither: I must reconcile you.<br /> +If thou art serious about the maid—<br /> +Be calm, she shall be thine—Nathan shall feel<br /> +That without swine’s flesh one may educate<br /> +A Christian child, Go.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Templar withdraws</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH</span> (<i>rising from the sofa</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Very strange indeed!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, Sittah, must my Assad not have been<br /> +A gallant handsome youth?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> If he was +thus,<br /> +And ’twasn’t the templar who sat to the painter.<br +/> +But how couldst thou be so forgetful, brother,<br /> +As not to ask about his parents?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And<br /> +Particularly too about his mother.<br /> +Whether his mother e’er was in this country,<br /> +That is your meaning, isn’t it?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You run +on—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, nothing is more possible, for Assad<br /> +’Mong handsome Christian ladies was so welcome,<br /> +To handsome Christian ladies so attached,<br /> +That once a report spread—but ’tis not pleasant<br /> +To bring that up. Let us be satisfied<br /> +That we have got him once again—have got him<br /> +With all the faults and freaks, the starts and wildness<br /> +Of his warm gentle heart—Oh, Nathan must<br /> +Give him the maid—Dost think so?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Give—give +up!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Aye, for what right has Nathan with the girl<br +/> +If he be not her father? He who saved<br /> +Her life so lately has a stronger claim<br /> +To heir their rights who gave it her at first.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What therefore, Saladin, if you withdraw<br /> +The maid at once from the unrightful owner?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">There is no need of that.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Need, not precisely;<br /> +But female curiosity inspires<br /> +Me with that counsel. There are certain men<br /> +Of whom one is irresistibly impatient<br /> +To know what women they can be in love with.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well then you may send for her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> May I, +brother?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But hurt not Nathan, he must not imagine<br /> +That we propose by violence to part them.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Be without apprehension.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Fare you well,<br /> +I must make out where this Al-Hafi is.</p> +<h4>SCENE.—The Hall in Nathan’s House, as in the +first scene; the things there mentioned unpacked and +displayed.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Daya</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Nathan</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">O how magnificent, how tasty, +charming—<br /> +All such as only you could give—and where<br /> +Was this thin silver stuff with sprigs of gold<br /> +Woven? What might it cost? Yes, this is worthy<br /> +To be a wedding-garment. Not a queen<br /> +Could wish a handsomer.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why wedding-garment?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Perhaps of that you thought not when you bought +it;<br /> +But Nathan, it must be so, must indeed.<br /> +It seems made for a bride—the pure white ground,<br /> +Emblem of innocence—the branching gold,<br /> +Emblem of wealth—Now is not it delightful?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What’s all this ingenuity of speech +for?<br /> +Over whose wedding-gown are you displaying<br /> +Your emblematic learning? Have you found<br /> +A bridegroom?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who +then?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> I—Gracious +God!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Who then? Whose wedding-garment do you +speak of?<br /> +For this is all your own and no one’s else.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Mine—is’t for me and not for +Recha?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What<br /> +I brought for Recha is in another bale.<br /> +Come, clear it off: away with all your rubbish.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You tempter—No—Were they the +precious things<br /> +Of the whole universe, I will not touch them<br /> +Until you promise me to seize upon<br /> +Such an occasion as heaven gives not twice.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Seize upon what occasion? For what +end?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">There, do not act so strange. You must +perceive<br /> +The templar loves your Recha—Give her to him;<br /> +Then will your sin, which I can hide no longer,<br /> +Be at an end. The maid will come once more<br /> +Among the Christians, will be once again<br /> +What she was born to, will be what she was;<br /> +And you, by all the benefits, for which<br /> +We cannot thank you enough, will not have heaped<br /> +More coals of fire upon your head.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Again<br /> +Harping on the old string, new tuned indeed,<br /> +But so as neither to accord nor hold.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How so?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> The templar pleases me +indeed,<br /> +I’d rather he than any one had Recha;<br /> +But—do have patience.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Patience—and is that<br +/> +Not the old string you harp on?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Patience, +patience,<br /> +For a few days—no more. Ha! who comes here?<br /> +A friar—ask what he wants.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">DAYA</span> +(<i>going</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> What can he +want?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Give, give before he begs. O could I +tell<br /> +How to come at the templar, not betraying<br /> +The motive of my curiosity—<br /> +For if I tell it, and if my suspicion<br /> +Be groundless, I have staked the father idly.<br /> +What is the matter?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">DAYA</span> +(<i>returning</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> He must speak to you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Then let him come to me. Go you +meanwhile.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Daya goes</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">How gladly would I still remain my +Recha’s<br /> +Father. And can I not remain so, though<br /> +I cease to wear the name. To her, to her<br /> +I still shall wear it, when she once perceives</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Friar enters</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">How willingly I were so. Pious +brother,<br /> +What can be done to serve you?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Friar</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O not +much;<br /> +And yet I do rejoice to see you yet<br /> +So well.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You know me then—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who knows +you not?<br /> +You have impressed your name in many a hand,<br /> +And it has been in mine these many years.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN</span> (<i>feeling for his +purse</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Here, brother, I’ll refresh it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Thank you, +thank you—<br /> +From poorer men I’d steal—but nothing now!<br /> +Only allow me to refresh my name<br /> +In your remembrance; for I too may boast<br /> +To have of old put something in your hand<br /> +Not to be scorned.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Excuse me, I’m +ashamed,<br /> +What was it? Claim it of me sevenfold,<br /> +I’m ready to atone for my forgetting.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But before all, hear how this very day<br /> +I was reminded of the pledge I brought you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">A pledge to me intrusted?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Some time +since,<br /> +I dwelt as hermit on the Quarantana,<br /> +Not far from Jericho, but Arab robbers<br /> +Came and broke up my cell and oratory,<br /> +And dragged me with them. Fortunately I<br /> +Escaped, and with the patriarch sought a refuge,<br /> +To beg of him some other still retreat,<br /> +Where I may serve my God in solitude<br /> +Until my latter end.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I stand on coals—<br /> +Quick, my good brother, let me know what pledge<br /> +You once intrusted to me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Presently,<br +/> +Good Nathan, presently. The patriarch<br /> +Has promised me a hermitage on Thabor,<br /> +As soon as one is vacant, and meanwhile<br /> +Employs me as lay-brother in the convent,<br /> +And there I am at present: and I pine<br /> +A hundred times a day for Thabor; for<br /> +The patriarch will set me about all work,<br /> +And some that I can’t brook—as for example—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Be speedy, I beseech you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Now it happens<br /> +That some one whispered in his ear to-day,<br /> +There lives hard by a Jew, who educates<br /> +A Christian child as his own daughter.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN</span> (<i>startled</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> How</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Hear me quite out. So he commissions +me,<br /> +If possible to track him out this Jew:<br /> +And stormed most bitterly at the misdeed;<br /> +Which seems to him to be the very sin<br /> +Against the Holy Ghost—That is, the sin<br /> +Of all most unforgiven, most enormous;<br /> +But luckily we cannot tell exactly<br /> +What it consists in—All at once my conscience<br /> +Was roused, and it occurred to me that I<br /> +Perhaps had given occasion to this sin.<br /> +Now do not you remember a knight’s squire,<br /> +Who eighteen years ago gave to your hands<br /> +A female child a few weeks old?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How +that?<br /> +In fact such was—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Now look with heed at me,<br +/> +And recollect. I was the man on horseback<br /> +Who brought the child.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Was you?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And he from +whom<br /> +I brought it was methinks a lord of Filnek—<br /> +Leonard of Filnek.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Right!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Because the +mother.<br /> +Died a short time before; and he, the father,<br /> +Had on a sudden to make off to Gazza,<br /> +Where the poor helpless thing could not go with him;<br /> +Therefore he sent it you—that was my message.<br /> +Did not I find you out at Darun? there<br /> +Consign it to you?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> It were no +wonder<br /> +My memory deceived me. I have had<br /> +Many a worthy master, and this one<br /> +I served not long. He fell at Askalon—<br /> +But he was a kind lord.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O yes, indeed;<br /> +For much have I to thank him, very much—<br /> +He more than once preserved me from the sword.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">O brave—you therefore will with double +pleasure<br /> +Have taken up this daughter.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You have +said it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Where is she then? She is not dead, I +hope—<br /> +I would not have her dead, dear pretty creature.<br /> +If no one else know anything about it<br /> +All is yet safe.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Aye all!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes, trust +me, Nathan,<br /> +This is my way of thinking—if the good<br /> +That I propose to do is somehow twined<br /> +With mischief, then I let the good alone;<br /> +For we know pretty well what mischief is,<br /> +But not what’s for the best. ’Twas natural<br +/> +If you meant to bring up the Christian child<br /> +Right well, that you should rear it as your own;<br /> +And to have done this lovingly and truly,<br /> +For such a recompense—were horrible.<br /> +It might have been more prudent to have had it<br /> +Brought up at second hand by some good Christian<br /> +In her own faith. But your friend’s orphan child<br +/> +You would not then have loved. Children need love,<br /> +Were it the mute affection of a brute,<br /> +More at that age than Christianity.<br /> +There’s always time enough for that—and if<br /> +The maid have but grown up before your eyes<br /> +With a sound frame and pious—she remains<br /> +Still in her maker’s eye the same. For is not<br /> +Christianity all built on Judaism?<br /> +Oh, it has often vexed me, cost me tears,<br /> +That Christians will forget so often that<br /> +Our Saviour was a Jew.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You, my good brother,<br /> +Shall be my advocate, when bigot hate<br /> +And hard hypocrisy shall rise upon me—<br /> +And for a deed—a deed—thou, thou shalt know +it—<br /> +But take it with thee to the tomb. As yet<br /> +Has vanity ne’er tempted me to tell it<br /> +To living soul—only to thee I tell it,<br /> +To simple piety alone; for it<br /> +Alone can feel what deeds the man who trusts<br /> +In God can gain upon himself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You seem<br +/> +Affected, and your eye-balls swim in water.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas at Darun you met me with the +child;<br /> +But you will not have known that a few days<br /> +Before, the Christians murdered every Jew in Gath,<br /> +Woman and child; that among these, my wife<br /> +With seven hopeful sons were found, who all<br /> +Beneath my brother’s roof which they had fled to,<br /> +Were burnt alive.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Just God!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And when +you came,<br /> +Three nights had I in dust and ashes lain<br /> +Before my God and wept—aye, and at times<br /> +Arraigned my maker, raged, and cursed myself<br /> +And the whole world, and to Christianity<br /> +Swore unrelenting hate.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ah, I believe you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But by degrees returning reason came,<br /> +She spake with gentle voice—And yet God is,<br /> +And this was his decree—now exercise<br /> +What thou hast long imagined, and what surely<br /> +Is not more difficult to exercise<br /> +Than to imagine—if thou will it once.<br /> +I rose and called out—God, I will—I will,<br /> +So thou but aid my purpose—And behold<br /> +You was just then dismounted, and presented<br /> +To me the child wrapt in your mantle. What<br /> +You said, or I, occurs not to me now—<br /> +Thus much I recollect—I took the child,<br /> +I bore it to my couch, I kissed it, flung<br /> +Myself upon my knees and sobbed—my God,<br /> +Now have I one out of the seven again!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Nathan, you are a Christian! Yes, by +God<br /> +You are a Christian—never was a better.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Heaven bless us! What makes me to you a +Christian<br /> +Makes you to me a Jew. But let us cease<br /> +To melt each other—time is nigh to act,<br /> +And though a sevenfold love had bound me soon<br /> +To this strange only girl, though the mere thought,<br /> +That I shall lose in her my seven sons<br /> +A second time distracts me—yet I will,<br /> +If providence require her at my hands,<br /> +Obey.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> The very thing I should +advise you;<br /> +But your good genius has forestalled my thought.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The first best claimant must not seek to +tear<br /> +Her from me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No most surely not.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And he,<br +/> +That has not stronger claims than I, at least<br /> +Ought to have earlier.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Certainly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> By +nature<br /> +And blood conferred.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I mean so too.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Then +name<br /> +The man allied to her as brother, uncle,<br /> +Or otherwise akin, and I from him<br /> +Will not withhold her—she who was created<br /> +And was brought up to be of any house,<br /> +Of any faith, the glory—I, I hope,<br /> +That of your master and his race you knew<br /> +More than myself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I hardly think that, +Nathan;<br /> +For I already told you that I passed<br /> +A short time with him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Can you +tell at least<br /> +The mother’s family name? She was, I think,<br /> +A Stauffen.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> May be—yes, in fact, +you’re right.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Conrade of Stauffen was her brother’s +name—<br /> +He was a templar.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I am clear +it was.<br /> +But stay, I recollect I’ve yet a book,<br /> +’Twas my dead lord’s—I drew it from his +bosom,<br /> +While we were burying him at Askalon.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> There are prayers in’t, +’tis what we call<br /> +A breviary. This, thought I, may yet serve<br /> +Some Christian man—not me indeed, for I<br /> +Can’t read.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No matter, to the thing.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">This book is written at both ends quite +full,<br /> +And, as I’m told, contains, in his hand-writing<br /> +About both him and her what’s most material.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Go, run and fetch the book—’tis +fortunate;<br /> +I am ready with its weight in gold to pay it,<br /> +And thousand thanks beside—Go, run.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Most +gladly;<br /> +But ’tis in Arabic what he has written.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No matter—that’s all one—do +fetch it—Oh!<br /> +If by its means I may retain the daughter,<br /> +And purchase with it such a son-in-law;<br /> +But that’s unlikely—well, chance as it may.<br /> +Who now can have been with the patriarch<br /> +To tell this tale? That I must not forget<br /> +To ask about. If ’t were of Daya’s?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Daya</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">DAYA</span> +(<i>anxiously breaks in</i>).</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Nathan!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Only think, she was quite +frightened at it,<br /> +Poor child, a message—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> From the patriarch?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> No—<br +/> +The sultan’s sister, princess Sittah, sends.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And not the patriarch?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Can’t you hear? +The princess<br /> +Has sent to see your Recha.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Sent for Recha<br /> +Has Sittah sent for Recha? Well, if Sittah,<br /> +And not the patriarch, sends.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Why think +of him?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Have you heard nothing from him +lately—really<br /> +Seen nothing of him—whispered nothing to him?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How, I to him?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Where are the messengers?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">There, just before you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I will talk with them<br /> +Out of precaution. If there’s nothing lurking<br /> +Beneath this message of the patriarch’s doing—</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">DAYA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And I—I’ve other fears. The +only daughter,<br /> +As they suppose, of such a rich, rich Jew,<br /> +Would for a Mussulman be no bad thing;<br /> +I bet the templar will be choused, unless<br /> +I risk the second step, and to herself<br /> +Discover who she is. Let me for this<br /> +Employ the first short moments we’re alone;<br /> +And that will be—oh, as I am going with her.<br /> +A serious hint upon the road I think<br /> +Can’t be amiss—yes, now or never—yes.</p> +<h3>ACT V.</h3> +<h4><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—A Room in the Palace; +the Purses still in a pile.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Saladin</span>, <i>and</i>, <i>soon +after</i>, <i>several</i> <span +class="smcap">Mamalukes</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Saladin</span> +(<i>as he comes in</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Here lies the money still, and no one finds<br +/> +The dervis yet—he’s probably got somewhere<br /> +Over a chess-board. Play would often make<br /> +The man forget himself, and why not, me.<br /> +Patience—Ha! what’s the matter.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Saladin</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Ibrahim</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">IBRAHIM.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Happy +news—<br /> +Joy, sultan, joy, the caravan from Cairo<br /> +Is safe arrived and brings the seven years’ tribute<br /> +Of the rich Nile.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Bravo, my Ibrahim,<br /> +Thou always wast a welcome messenger,<br /> +And now at length—at length—accept my thanks<br /> +For the good tidings.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">IBRAHIM</span> (<i>waiting</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Hither with them, sultan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What art thou waiting for? Go.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">IBRAHIM.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Nothing +further<br /> +For my glad news?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What further?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">IBRAHIM.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Errand +boys<br /> +Earn hire—and when their message smiles i’ the +telling,<br /> +The sender’s hire by the receiver’s bounty<br /> +Is oft outweighed. Am I to be the first<br /> +Whom Saladin at length has learnt to pay<br /> +In words? The first about whose recompense<br /> +The sultan higgled?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Go, pick up a purse.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">IBRAHIM.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No, not now—you might give them all +away</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">All—hold, man. Here, come hither, +take these two—<br /> +And is he really going—shall he conquer<br /> +Me then in generosity? for surely<br /> +’Tis harder for this fellow to refuse<br /> +Than ’tis for me to give. Here, Ibrahim—<br /> +Shall I be tempted, just before my exit,<br /> +To be a different man—small Saladin<br /> +Not die like Saladin, then wherefore live so?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Abdallah</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Saladin</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">ABDALLAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Hail, Sultan!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> If thou comest to inform +me<br /> +That the whole convoy is arrived from Egypt,<br /> +I know it already.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">ABDALLAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Do I come too late?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Too late, and why too late? There for thy +tidings<br /> +Pick up a purse or two.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">ABDALLAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Does that +make three?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So thou wouldst reckon—well, well, take +them, take them.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">ABDALLAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">A third will yet be here if he be able.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How so?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">ABDALLAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He may perhaps have broke his +neck.<br /> +We three, as soon as certain of the coming<br /> +Of the rich caravan, each crossed our horses,<br /> +And galloped hitherward. The foremost fell,<br /> +Then I was foremost, and continued so<br /> +Into the city, but sly Ibrahim,<br /> +Who knows the streets—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But he that +fell, go, seek him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">ABDALLAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That will I quickly—if he lives, the +half<br /> +Of what I’ve got is his.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What a fine fellow!<br /> +And who can boast such mamalukes as these;<br /> +And is it not allowed me to imagine<br /> +That my example helped to form them. Hence<br /> +With the vile thought at last to turn another.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>A third</i> <span +class="smcap">Courier</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sultan—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Was’t thou who +fell?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">COURIER.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, +I’ve to tell thee<br /> +That Emir Mansor, who conducts the convoy,<br /> +Alights.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O bring him to me—Ah, +he’s there—<br /> +Be welcome, Emir. What has happened to thee?<br /> +For we have long expected thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Saladin</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Emir</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">EMIR</span> +(<i>after the wont obeisance</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> This +letter<br /> +Will show, that, in Thebais, discontents<br /> +Required thy Abulkassem’s sabred hand,<br /> +Ere we could march. Since that, our progress, sultan,<br /> +My zeal has sped most anxiously.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I trust +thee—<br /> +But my good Mansor take without delay—<br /> +Thou art not loth to go further—fresh protection,<br /> +And with the treasure on to Libanon;<br /> +The greater part at least I have to lodge<br /> +With my old father.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">EMIR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O, most willingly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And take not a slight escort. Libanon<br +/> +Is far from quiet, as thou wilt have heard;<br /> +The templars stir afresh, be therefore cautious.<br /> +Come, I must see thy troop, and give the orders.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>To a slave</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Say I shall be with Sittah when I’ve +finished.</p> +<h4>SCENE—A Place of Palms.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The</i> <span +class="smcap">Templar</span> <i>walking to and fro</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Into this house I go not—sure at last<br +/> +He’ll show himself—once, once they used to see me<br +/> +So instantly, so gladly—time will come<br /> +When he’ll send out most civilly to beg me<br /> +Not to pace up and down before his door.<br /> +Psha—and yet I’m a little nettled too;<br /> +And what has thus embittered me against him?<br /> +He answered yes. He has refused me nothing<br /> +As yet. And Saladin has undertaken<br /> +To bring him round. And does the Christian nestle<br /> +Deeper in me than the Jew lurks in him?<br /> +Who, who can justly estimate himself?<br /> +How comes it else that I should grudge him so<br /> +The little booty that he took such pains<br /> +To rob the Christians of? A theft, no less<br /> +Than such a creature tho’—but whose, whose +creature?<br /> +Sure not the slave’s who floated the mere block<br /> +On to life’s barren strand, and then ran off;<br /> +But his the artist’s, whose fine fancy moulded<br /> +Upon the unowned block a godlike form,<br /> +Whose chisel graved it there. Recha’s true father,<br +/> +Spite of the Christian who begot her, is,<br /> +Must ever be, the Jew. Alas, were I<br /> +To fancy her a simple Christian wench,<br /> +And without all that which the Jew has given,<br /> +Which only such a Jew could have bestowed—<br /> +Speak out my heart, what had she that would please thee?<br /> +No, nothing! Little! For her very smile<br /> +Shrinks to a pretty twisting of the muscles—<br /> +Be that, which makes her smile, supposed unworthy<br /> +Of all the charms in ambush on her lips?<br /> +No, not her very smile—I’ve seen sweet smiles<br /> +Spent on conceit, on foppery, on slander,<br /> +On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent,<br /> +And did they charm me then? then wake the wish<br /> +To flutter out a life beneath their sunshine?<br /> +Indeed not—Yet I’m angry with the man<br /> +Who alone gave this higher value to her.<br /> +How this, and why? Do I deserve the taunt<br /> +With which I was dismissed by Saladin?<br /> +’Tis bad enough that Saladin should think so;<br /> +How little, how contemptible must I<br /> +Then have appeared to him—all for a girl.<br /> +Conrade, this will not do—back, back—And if<br /> +Daya to boot had prated matter to me<br /> +Not easy to be proved—At last he’s coming,<br /> +Engaged in earnest converse—and with whom?<br /> +My friar in Nathan’s house! then he knows all—<br /> +Perhaps has to the patriarch been betrayed.<br /> +O Conrade, what vile mischiefs thou hast brooded<br /> +Out of thy cross-grained head, that thus one spark<br /> +Of that same passion, love, can set so much<br /> +O’ th’ brain in flame? Quick, then, determine, +wretch,<br /> +What shalt thou say or do? Step back a moment<br /> +And see if this good friar will please to quit him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span> +<i>and the</i> <span class="smcap">Friar</span> <i>come together +out of Nathan’s house</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Once more, good brother, thanks.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> The like to +you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">To me, and why; because I’m +obstinate—<br /> +Would force upon you what you have no use for?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The book besides was none of mine. +Indeed<br /> +It must at any rate belong to th’ daughter;<br /> +It is her whole, her only patrimony—<br /> +Save she has you. God grant you ne’er have reason<br +/> +To sorrow for the much you’ve done for her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How should I? that can never be; fear +nothing.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Patriarchs and templars—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Have not in their power<br /> +Evil enough to make me e’er repent.<br /> +And then—But are you really well assured<br /> +It is a templar who eggs on your patriarch?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">It scarcely can be other, for a templar<br /> +Talked with him just before, and what I heard<br /> +Agreed with this.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But there is only one<br /> +Now in Jerusalem; and him I know;<br /> +He is my friend, a noble open youth.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The same. But what one is at heart, and +what<br /> +One gets to be in active life, mayn’t always<br /> +Square well together.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, alas, they do not.<br /> +Therefore unangered I let others do<br /> +Their best or worst. O brother, with your book<br /> +I set all at defiance, and am going<br /> +Straight with it to the Sultan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> God be with +you!<br /> +Here I shall take my leave.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And have +not seen her—<br /> +Come soon, come often to us. If to-day<br /> +The patriarch make out nothing—but no matter,<br /> +Tell him it all to-day, or when you will.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">FRIAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Not I—farewell!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Do not forget us, brother<br +/> +My God, why may I not beneath thy sky<br /> +Here drop upon my knees; now the twined knot,<br /> +Which has so often made my thinkings anxious,<br /> +Untangles of itself—God, how I am eased,<br /> +Now that I’ve nothing in the world remaining<br /> +That I need hide—now that I can as freely<br /> +Walk before man as before thee, who only<br /> +Need’st not to judge a creature by his deeds—<br /> +Deeds which so seldom are his own—O God!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Nathan</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Templar</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>coming forward</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Hoa, Nathan, take me with you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ha! +Who calls?<br /> +Is it you, knight? And whither have you been<br /> +That you could not be met with at the Sultan’s?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">We missed each other—take it not +amiss.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I, no, but Saladin.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You was just gone.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">O, then you spoke with him; I’m +satisfied.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes—but he wants to talk with us +together.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So much the better. Come with me, my +step<br /> +Was eitherwise bent thither.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> May I ask,<br /> +Nathan, who ’twas now left you?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Did you +know him?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Was’t that good-hearted creature the +lay-brother,<br /> +Whom the hoar patriarch has a knack of using<br /> +To feel his way out?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That may be. In fact<br +/> +He’s at the patriarch’s.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis no awkward hit<br +/> +To make simplicity the harbinger<br /> +Of craft.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> If the simplicity of +dunces,<br /> +But if of honest piety?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> This +last<br /> +No patriarch can believe in.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I’ll be bound for’t<br /> +This last belongs to him who quitted me.<br /> +He’ll not assist his patriarch to accomplish<br /> +A vile or cruel purpose.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Such, at least,<br /> +He would appear—but has he told you then<br /> +Something of me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Of you? No—not by +name,<br /> +He can’t well be acquainted with your name.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No, that not.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He indeed spoke of a +templar,<br /> +Who—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But by this +templar could not mean<br /> +To point out you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Stay, stay, who knows? +Let’s hear.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Who has accused me to his patriarch.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Accused thee, no, that by his leave is +false.<br /> +Nathan do hear me—I am not the man<br /> +Who would deny a single of his actions;<br /> +What I have done, I did. Nor am I one<br /> +Who would defend all he has done as right—<br /> +Why be ashamed of failing? Am I not<br /> +Firmly resolved on better future conduct?<br /> +And am I not aware how much the man<br /> +That’s willing can improve? O, hear me, +Nathan—<br /> +I am the templar your lay-brother talked of—<br /> +Who has accused—You know what made me angry,<br /> +What set the blood in all my veins on fire,<br /> +The mad-cap that I was—I had drawn nigh<br /> +To fling myself with soul and body whole<br /> +Into your arms—and you received me, Nathan—<br /> +How cold, how lukewarm, for that’s worse than +cold.—<br /> +How with words weighed and measured, you took care<br /> +To put me off; and with what questioning<br /> +About my parentage, and God knows what,<br /> +You seemed to answer me—I must not think on’t<br /> +If I would keep my temper—Hear me, Nathan—<br /> +While in this ferment—Daya steps behind me,<br /> +Bolts out a secret in my ear, which seemed<br /> +At once to lend a clue to your behaviour.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How so?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Do hear me to the end. +I fancied<br /> +That what you from the Christians had purloined<br /> +You wasn’t content to let a Christian have;<br /> +And so the project struck me short and good,<br /> +To hold the knife to your throat till—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Short and +good;<br /> +And good—but where’s the good?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet hear me, Nathan,<br /> +I own I did not right—you are unguilty,<br /> +No doubt. The prating Daya does not know<br /> +What she reported—has a grudge against you—<br /> +Seeks to involve you in an ugly business—<br /> +May be, may be, and I’m a crazy looby,<br /> +A credulous enthusiast—both ways mad—<br /> +Doing ever much too much, or much too little—<br /> +That too may be—forgive me, Nathan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> If<br /> +Such be the light in which you view—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> In short<br +/> +I to the patriarch went. I named you not.<br /> +That, as I said, was false. I only stated<br /> +In general terms, the case, to learn his notion,<br /> +That too might have been let alone—assuredly.<br /> +For knew I not the patriarch then to be<br /> +A knave? And might I not have talked with you?<br /> +And ought I to have exposed the poor girl—ha!<br /> +To part with such a father? Now what happens?<br /> +The patriarch’s villainy consistent ever<br /> +Restored me to myself—O, hear me out—<br /> +Suppose he was to ferret out your name,<br /> +What then? What then? He cannot seize the maid,<br /> +Unless she still belong to none but you.<br /> +’Tis from your house alone that he could drag her<br /> +Into a convent; therefore grant her me—<br /> +Grant her to me, and let him come. By God—<br /> +Sever my wife from me—he’ll not be rash<br /> +Enough to think about it. Give her to me,<br /> +Be she or no thy daughter, Christian, Jewess,<br /> +Or neither, ’tis all one, all one—I’ll never<br +/> +In my whole life ask of thee which she is,<br /> +Be’t as it may.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You may perhaps imagine<br /> +That I’ve an interest to conceal the truth.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Be’t as it may.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I neither have to you<br /> +Nor any one, whom it behooved to know it,<br /> +Denied that she’s a Christian, and no more<br /> +Than my adopted daughter. Why, to her<br /> +I have not yet betrayed it—I am bound<br /> +To justify only to her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Of that<br +/> +Shall be no need. Indulge, indulge her with<br /> +Never beholding you with other eyes—<br /> +Spare, spare her the discovery. As yet<br /> +You have her to yourself, and may bestow her;<br /> +Give her to me—oh, I beseech thee, Nathan,<br /> +Give her to me, I, only I can save her<br /> +A second time, and will.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes, could have saved her.<br +/> +But ’tis all over now—it is too late.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How so, too late.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Thanks to the patriarch.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How<br /> +Thanks to the patriarch, and for what? Can he<br /> +Earn thanks of us. For what?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That now we know<br /> +To whom she is related—to whose hands<br /> +She may with confidence be now delivered.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He thank him who has more to thank him for.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">From theirs you now have to obtain her, not<br +/> +From mine.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Poor Recha—what befalls +thee? Oh,<br /> +Poor Recha—what had been to other orphans<br /> +A blessing, is to thee a curse. But, Nathan,<br /> +Where are they, these new kinsmen?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Where they +are?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who are they?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who—a brother is found +out<br /> +To whom you must address yourself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A +brother!<br /> +And what is he, a soldier or a priest?<br /> +Let’s hear what I’ve to hope.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> As I +believe<br /> +He’s neither of the two—or both. Just now <br +/> +I cannot say exactly.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And besides<br /> +He’s—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> A brave fellow, and with whom +my Recha<br /> +Will not be badly placed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But he’s a +Christian.<br /> +At times I know not what to make of you—<br /> +Take it not ill of me, good Nathan. Will she<br /> +Not have to play the Christian among Christians;<br /> +And when she has been long enough the actress<br /> +Not turn so? Will the tares in time not stifle<br /> +The pure wheat of your setting—and does that<br /> +Affect you not a whit—you yet declare<br /> +She’ll not be badly placed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I think, I hope so.<br /> +And should she there have need of any thing<br /> +Has she not you and me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Need at her +brother’s—<br /> +What should she need when there? Won’t he provide<br +/> +His dear new sister with all sorts of dresses,<br /> +With comfits and with toys and glittering jewels?<br /> +And what needs any sister wish for else—<br /> +Only a husband? And he comes in time.<br /> +A brother will know how to furnish that,<br /> +The Christianer the better. Nathan, Nathan,<br /> +O what an angel you had formed, and how<br /> +Others will mar it now!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Be not so +downcast,<br /> +Believe me he will ever keep himself<br /> +Worthy our love.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, say not that of mine.<br +/> +My love allows of no refusal—none.<br /> +Were it the merest trifle—but a name.<br /> +Hold there—has she as yet the least suspicion<br /> +Of what is going forward?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That may +be,<br /> +And yet I know not whence.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> It matters +not,<br /> +She shall, she must in either case from me<br /> +First learn what fate is threatening. My fixed purpose<br +/> +To see her not again, nor speak to her,<br /> +Till I might call her mine, is gone. I hasten—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Stay, whither would you go?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> To her, to +learn<br /> +If this girl’s soul be masculine enough<br /> +To form the only resolution worthy<br /> +Herself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What resolution?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> This—to +ask<br /> +No more about her brother and her father,<br /> +And—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> To follow +me. E’en if she were<br /> +So doing to become a Moslem’s wife.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Stay, you’ll not find her—she is +now with Sittah,<br /> +The Sultan’s sister.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How long since, and +wherefore?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And would you there behold her brother, come<br +/> +Thither with me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Her brother, whose +then? Sittah’s<br /> +Or Recha’s do you mean?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Both, both, perchance.<br /> +Come this way—I beseech you, come with me.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Leads off the Templar with +him</i>.</p> +<h4><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—The Sultan’s +Palace. A Room in Sittah’s Apartment.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Sittah</span> +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Recha</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How I am pleased with thee, sweet girl! +But do<br /> +Shake off this perturbation, be not anxious,<br /> +Be not alarmed, I want to hear thee talk—<br /> +Be cheerful.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Princess!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No, not +princess, child.<br /> +Call me thy friend, or Sittah, or thy sister,<br /> +Or rather aunt, for I might well be thine;<br /> +So young, so good, so prudent, so much knowledge,<br /> +You must have read a great deal to be thus.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I read—you’re laughing, Sittah, at +your sister,<br /> +I scarce can read.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Scarce can, you little +fibber.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">My father’s hand or so—I thought +you spoke<br /> +Of books.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Aye, surely so I did, of +books.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well really now it puzzles me to read them.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">In earnest?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes, in earnest, for my +father<br /> +Hates cold book-learning, which makes an impression<br /> +With its dead letters only on the brain.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What say you? Aye, he’s not unright +in that.<br /> +So then the greater part of what you know—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I know but from his mouth—of most of +it<br /> +I could relate to you, the how, the where,<br /> +The why he taught it me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So it clings closer,<br /> +And the whole soul drinks in th’ instruction.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Yes,<br /> +And Sittah certainly has not read much.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">How so? Not that I’m vain of having +read;<br /> +But what can be thy reason? Speak out boldly,<br /> +Thy reason for it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> She is so right down,<br /> +Unartificial—only like herself<br /> +And books do seldom leave us so; my father<br /> +Says.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What a man thy father is, my +Recha.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Is not he?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How he always hits the +mark.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Does not he? And this father—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Love, what +ails thee?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">This father—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> God, thou’rt +weeping</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And this +father—<br /> +It must have vent, my heart wants room, wants room.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Child, child, what ails you, Recha?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And this +father<br /> +I am to lose.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou lose him, O no, +never:<br /> +Arise, be calm, how so? It must not be.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So shall thy offer not have been in vain,<br /> +To be my friend, my sister.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Maid, I +am.<br /> +Rise then, or I must call for help.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Forgive,<br +/> +My agony made me awhile forgetful<br /> +With whom I am. Tears, sobbing, and despair,<br /> +Can not avail with Sittah. Cool calm reason<br /> +Alone is over her omnipotent;<br /> +Whose cause that pleads before her, he has conquered.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Well, then!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">My friend, my sister, suffer not<br /> +Another father to be forced upon me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Another father to be forced upon thee—<br +/> +Who can do that, or wish to do it, Recha?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Who? Why my good, my evil genius, +Daya,<br /> +She, she can wish it, will it—and can do it.<br /> +You do not know this dear good evil Daya.<br /> +God, God forgive it her—reward her for it;<br /> +So much good she has done me, so much evil.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Evil to thee—much goodness she +can’t have.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">O yes, she has indeed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who is she?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who?<br /> +A Christian, who took care of all my childhood.<br /> +You cannot think how little she allowed me<br /> +To miss a mother—God reward her for it—<br /> +But then she has so teased, so tortured me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">And about what? Why, how, when?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> The poor +woman,<br /> +I tell thee, is a Christian—and she must<br /> +From love torment—is one of those enthusiasts<br /> +Who think they only know the one true road<br /> +To God.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I comprehend thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And who feel<br /> +Themselves in duty bound to point it out<br /> +To every one who is not in this path,<br /> +To lead, to drag them into it. And indeed<br /> +They can’t do otherwise consistently;<br /> +For if theirs really be the only road<br /> +On which ’tis safe to travel—they cannot<br /> +With comfort see their friends upon another<br /> +Which leads to ruin, to eternal ruin:<br /> +Else were it possible at the same instant<br /> +To love and hate the same man. Nor is ’t this<br /> +Which forces me to be aloud complainant.<br /> +Her groans, her prayers, her warnings, and her threats,<br /> +I willingly should have abided longer—<br /> +Most willingly—they always called up thoughts<br /> +Useful and good; and whom does it not flatter<br /> +To be by whomsoever held so dear,<br /> +So precious, that they cannot bear the thought<br /> +Of parting with us at some time for ever?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Most true.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> But—but—at last +this goes too far;<br /> +I’ve nothing to oppose to it, neither patience,<br /> +Neither reflection—nothing.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How, to +what?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">To what she has just now, as she will have it, +<br /> +Discovered to me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How discovered to thee?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, just this instant. Coming +hitherward<br /> +We past a fallen temple of the Christians—<br /> +She all at once stood still, seemed inly struggling,<br /> +Turned her moist eyes to heaven, and then on me.<br /> +Come, says she finally, let us to the right<br /> +Thro’ this old fane—she leads the way, I follow.<br +/> +My eyes with horror overran the dim<br /> +And tottering ruin—all at once she stops<br /> +By the sunk steps of a low Moorish altar.—<br /> +O how I felt, when there, with streaming tears<br /> +And wringing hands, prostrate before my feet<br /> +She fell</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Good child—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And by the +holy Virgin,<br /> +Who there had hearkened many a prayer, and wrought<br /> +Many a wonder, she conjured, intreated,<br /> +With looks of heartfelt sympathy and love,<br /> +I would at length take pity of myself—<br /> +At least forgive, if she must now unfold<br /> +What claims her church had on me.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ah! I +guessed it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">That I am sprung of Christian +blood—baptised—<br /> +Not Nathan’s daughter—and he not my father.<br /> +God, God, he not my father! Sittah, Sittah,<br /> +See me once more low at thy feet.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> O Recha,<br +/> +Not so; arise, my brother’s coming, rise.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Saladin</span>, +<span class="smcap">Sittah</span>, <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Recha</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>entering</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">What is the matter, Sittah?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> She is +swooned—<br /> +God—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> You know +sure.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What, our +Nathan’s daughter?<br /> +What ails her?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Child, come to thyself, the +sultan.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No, I’ll not rise, not rise, not look +upon<br /> +The Sultan’s countenance—I’ll not admire<br /> +The bright reflection of eternal justice<br /> +And mercy on his brow, and in his eye,<br /> +Before—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Rise, rise.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Before he +shall have promised—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Come, come, I promise whatsoe’er thy +prayer.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Nor more nor less than leave my father to +me,<br /> +And me to him. As yet I cannot tell<br /> +What other wants to be my father. Who<br /> +Can want it, care I not to inquire. Does blood<br /> +Alone then make the father? blood alone?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>raising her</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Who was so cruel in thy breast to shed<br /> +This wild suspicion? Is it proved, made clear?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">It must, for Daya had it from my nurse,<br /> +Whose dying lips intrusted it to her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Dying, perhaps delirious; if ’twere +true,<br /> +Blood only does not make by much the father,<br /> +Scarcely the father of a brute, scarce gives<br /> +The first right to endeavour at deserving<br /> +The name of father. If there be two fathers<br /> +At strife for thee, quit both, and take a third,<br /> +And take me for thy father.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Do it, do it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I will be a kind father—but methinks<br +/> +A better thought occurs, what hast thou need<br /> +Of father upon father? They will die,<br /> +So that ’tis better to look out by times<br /> +For one that starts fair, and stakes life with life<br /> +On equal terms. Knowst thou none such?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> My +brother,<br /> +Don’t make her blush.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Why that was half my project.<br /> +Blushing so well becomes the ugly, that<br /> +The fair it must make charming—I have ordered<br /> +Thy father Nathan hither, and another,<br /> +Dost guess who ’tis? one other.—Sittah, you<br /> +Will not object?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Brother—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And when he +comes,<br /> +Sweet girl, then blush to crimson.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Before +whom—<br /> +Blush?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Little hypocrite—or +else grow pale,<br /> +Just as thou willst and canst. Already there?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH</span> (<i>to a female slave who comes +in</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Well, be they ushered in. Brother, +’tis they.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Saladin</span>, +<span class="smcap">Sittah</span>, <span +class="smcap">Recha</span>, <span class="smcap">Nathan</span>, +<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Templar</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Welcome, my dear good friends. Nathan, to +you<br /> +I’ve first to mention, you may send and fetch<br /> +Your monies when you will.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Sultan—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And now<br +/> +I’m at your service.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Sultan—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> For my +treasures<br /> +Are all arrived. The caravan is safe.<br /> +I’m richer than I’ve been these many years.<br /> +Now tell me what you wish for, to achieve<br /> +Some splendid speculation—you in trade<br /> +Like us, have never too much ready cash.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN</span> (<i>going towards Recha</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Why first about this trifle?—I behold<br +/> +An eye in tears, which ’tis far more important<br /> +To me to dry. My Recha thou hast wept,<br /> +What hast thou lost? Thou art still, I trust, my +daughter.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">My father!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That’s enough, we are +understood<br /> +By one another; but be calm, be cheerful.<br /> +If else thy heart be yet thy own—if else<br /> +No threatened loss thy trembling bosom wring<br /> +Thy father shall remain to thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> None, +none.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">None, none—then I’m deceived. +What we don’t fear<br /> +To lose, we never fancied, never wished<br /> +Ourselves possessed of. But ’tis well, ’tis +well.<br /> +Nathan, this changes all—all. Saladin,<br /> +At thy command we came, but I misled thee,<br /> +Trouble thyself no further.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Always headlong;<br /> +Young man, must every will then bow to thine,<br /> +Interpret all thy meanings?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou hast +heard,<br /> +Sultan, hast seen.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Aye, ’twas a little +awkward<br /> +Not to be certain of thy cause.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I now<br /> +Do know my doom,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Pride in an act of service<br +/> +Revokes the benefit. What thou hast saved<br /> +Is therefore not thy own, or else the robber,<br /> +Urged by his avarice thro’ fire-crumbling halls,<br /> +Were like thyself a hero. Come, sweet maid,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Advances toward Recha in order +to lead her up to the Templar</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, stickle not for niceties with him.<br /> +Other—he were less warm and proud, and had<br /> +Paused, and not saved thee. Balance then the one<br /> +Against the other, and put him to the blush,<br /> +Do what he should have done—own thou thy love—<br /> +Make him thy offer, and if he refuse,<br /> +Or o’er forgot how infinitely more<br /> +By this thou do for him than he for thee—<br /> +What, what in fact has he then done for thee<br /> +But make himself a little sooty? That<br /> +(Else he has nothing of my Assad in him,<br /> +But only wears his mask) that was mere sport,<br /> +Come, lovely girl.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Go, go, my love, this step<br +/> +Is for thy gratitude too short, too trifling.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>They are each taking one of +Recha’s hands when Nathan with a solemn gesture of +prohibition says</i>,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Hold, Saladin—hold, Sittah.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Ha! thou +too?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">One other has to speak.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who denies that?<br /> +Unquestionably, Nathan, there belongs<br /> +A vote to such a foster-father—and<br /> +The first, if you require it. You perceive<br /> +I know how all the matter lies.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Not all—<br /> +I speak not of myself. There is another,<br /> +A very different man, whom, Saladin,<br /> +I must first talk with.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Her brother.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Recha’s?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, her’s.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> My brother—have I then +a brother?</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>The templar starts from his +silent and sullen inattention</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Where is this brother? Not yet +here? ’Twas here<br /> +I was to find him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Patience yet a while.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>very bitterly</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">He has imposed a father on the girl,<br /> +He’ll find her up a brother.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> That was wanting!<br /> +Christian, this mean suspicion ne’er had past<br /> +The lips of Assad. Go but on—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Forgive +him,<br /> +I can forgive him readily. Who knows<br /> +What in his place, and at his time of life,<br /> +We might have thought ourselves? Suspicion, knight,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Approaching the templar in a +friendly manner</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Succeeds soon to mistrust. Had you at +first<br /> +Favoured me with your real name.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How? +what?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You are no Stauffen.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Who then am I? +Speak.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Conrade of Stauffen is no name of yours.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What is my name then?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Guy of Filnek.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> How?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You startle—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And with reason. Who +says that?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I, who can tell you more. Meanwhile, +observe<br /> +I do not tax you with a falsehood.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> No?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">May be you with propriety can wear<br /> +Yon name as well.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I think so too. +(God—God<br /> +Put that speech on his tongue.)</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> In fact your mother—<br +/> +She was a Stauffen: and her brother’s name,<br /> +(The uncle to whose care you were resigned,<br /> +When by the rigour of the climate chased,<br /> +Your parents quitted Germany to seek<br /> +This land once more) was Conrade. He perhaps<br /> +Adopted you as his own son and heir.<br /> +Is it long since you hither travelled with him?<br /> +Is he alive yet?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> So in fact it stands.<br /> +What shall I say? Yes, Nathan, ’tis all right:<br /> +Tho’ he himself is dead. I came to Syria<br /> +With the last reinforcement of our order,<br /> +But—but what has all this long tale to do<br /> +With Recha’s brother, whom—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Your father—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Him,<br /> +Him did you know?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">He was my friend.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Your +friend?<br /> +And is that possible?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He called himself<br /> +Leonard of Filnek, but he was no German.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You know that too?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He had espoused a German,<br +/> +And followed for a time your mother thither.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No more I beg of you—But Recha’s +brother—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Art thou</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I, I her brother—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RECHA.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He, my +brother?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">So near akin—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">RECHA</span> +(<i>offers to clasp him</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> My brother!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>steps back</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Brother to +her—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">RECHA</span> +(<i>turning to Nathan</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">It cannot be, his heart knows nothing of it.<br +/> +We are deceivers, God.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>to the templar</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Deceivers, yes;<br /> +All is deceit in thee, face, voice, walk, gesture,<br /> +Nothing belongs to thee. How, not acknowledge<br /> +A sister such as she? Go.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR</span> (<i>modestly approaching +him</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sultan, Sultan<br /> +O do not misinterpret my amazement—<br /> +Thou never saw’st in such a moment, prince,<br /> +Thy Assad’s heart—mistake not him and me.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Hastening towards +Nathan</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O Nathan, you have taken, you have given,<br /> +Both with full hands indeed; and now—yes—yes,<br /> +You give me more than you have taken from me,<br /> +Yes, infinitely more—my sister—sister.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Embraces Recha</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Blanda of Filnek.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Blanda, ha! not Recha,<br /> +Your Recha now no longer—you resign her,<br /> +Give her her Christian name again, and then<br /> +For my sake turn her off. Why Nathan, Nathan,<br /> +Why must she suffer for it? she for me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What mean you? O my children, both my +children—<br /> +For sure my daughter’s brother is my child,<br /> +So soon as he but will it!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>While they embrace Nathan by +turns</i>, <i>Saladin draws nigh to Sittah</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> What sayst thou<br /> +Sittah to this?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I’m deeply moved.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> And I<br /> +Half tremble at the thought of the emotion<br /> +Still greater, still to come. Nathan, a word</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>While he converses with +Nathan</i>, <i>Sittah goes to express her sympathy to the +others</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">With thee apart. Wast thou not saying +also<br /> +That her own father was no German born?<br /> +What was he then? Whence was he?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> He +himself<br /> +Never intrusted me with that. From him<br /> +I knew it not.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">You say he was no Frank?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">No, that he owned: he loved to talk the +Persian.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The Persian—need I more? ’Tis +he—’twas he!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Who?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> Assad certainly, my brother +Assad.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">If thou thyself perceive it, be assured;<br /> +Look in this book—</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Gives the breviary</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>eagerly looking</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> O ’tis his hand, his +hand,<br /> +I recollect it well.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">NATHAN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> They know it not;<br /> +It rests with thee what they shall learn of this.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>turning over the +breviary</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry">I not acknowledge my own brother’s +children,<br /> +Not own my nephew—not my children—I<br /> +Leave them to thee? Yes, Sittah, it is they,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Aloud</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">They are my brother’s and thy +brother’s children.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Rushes to embrace them</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">What do I hear? Could it be +otherwise?</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>The like</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>to the templar</i>).</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, proud boy, thou shalt love me, thou must +love me,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>To Recha</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">And I am, what I offered to become,<br /> +With or without thy leave.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SITTAH.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"> I too—I too.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>to the templar</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry">My son—my Assad—my lost +Assad’s son.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TEMPLAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">I of thy blood—then those were more than +dreams<br /> +With which they used to lull my infancy—<br /> +Much more.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Falls at the Sultan’s +feet</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SALADIN</span> (<i>raising him</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now mark his malice. +Something of it<br /> +He knew, yet would have let me butcher him—<br /> +Boy, boy!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>During the silent continuance of +reciprocal embraces the curtain falls</i>.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NATHAN THE WISE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 3820-h.htm or 3820-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/8/2/3820 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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As a school-boy he +read much Greek and Latin that formed no part of the school course; +read also the German poets of his time, wrote a "History of Ancient +Mathematics," and began a poem of his own on the "Plurality of Worlds." + +In 1746, at the age of seventeen, Lessing was sent to the University +of Leipsic. There he studied with energy, and was attracted +strongly by the theatre. His artistic interest in the drama caused +him to be put on the free list of the theatre, in exchange for some +translations of French pieces. Then he produced, also for the +Leipsic stage, many slight pieces of his own, and he had serious +thought of turning actor, which excited alarm in the parsonage at +Camenz and caused his recall home in January, 1747. It was found, +however, that although he could not be trained to follow his +father's profession, he had been studying to such good purpose, and +developing, in purity of life, such worth of character, that after +Easter he was sent back to Leipsic, with leave to transfer his +studies from theology to medicine. + +Lessing went back, continued to work hard, but still also gave all +his leisure to the players. For the debts of some of them he had +incautiously become surety, and when the company removed to Vienna, +there were left behind them unpaid debts for which young Lessing was +answerable. The creditors pressed, and Lessing moved to Wittenberg; +but he fell ill, and was made so miserable by pressure for +impossible payments, that he resolved to break off his studies, go +to Berlin, and begin earning by his pen, his first earnings being +for the satisfaction of these Leipsic creditors. Lessing went first +to Berlin to seek his fortune in December, 1748, when he was +nineteen years old. He was without money, without decent clothes, +and with but one friend in Berlin, Mylius, who was then editing a +small journal, the Rudigersche Zeitung. Much correspondence brought +him a little money from the overburdened home, and with addition of +some small earning from translations, this enabled him to obtain a +suit of clothes, in which he might venture to present himself to +strangers in his search for fortune. A new venture with Mylius, a +quarterly record of the history of the theatre, was not successful; +but having charge committed to him of the library part of Mylius's +journal, Lessing had an opportunity of showing his great critical +power. Gottsched, at Leipsic, was then leader of the war on behalf +of classicism in German literature. Lessing fought on the National +side, and opposed also the beginning of a new French influence then +rising, which was to have its chief apostle in Rousseau. + +In 1752 Lessing went back to Wittenberg for another year, that he +might complete the work for graduation; graduated in December of +that year as Master of Arts, and then returned to his work in +Berlin. He worked industriously, not only as critic, but also in +translation from the classics, from French, English, and Italian; +and he was soon able to send help towards providing education for +the youngest of the household of twelve children in the Camenz +parsonage. In 1753 he gave himself eight weeks of withdrawal from +other work to write, in a garden-house at Potsdam, his tragedy of +"Miss Sarah Sampson." It was produced with great success at +Frankfort on the Oder, and Lessing's ruling passion for dramatic +literature became the stronger for this first experience of what he +might be able to achieve. In literature, Frederick the Great cared +only for what was French. A National drama, therefore, could not +live in Berlin. In the autumn of 1755, Lessing suddenly moved to +Leipsic, where an actor whom he had befriended was establishing a +theatre. Here he was again abandoning himself to the cause of a +National drama, when a rich young gentleman of Leipsic invited his +companionship upon a tour in Europe. Terms were settled, and they +set out together. They saw much of Holland, and were passing into +England, when King Frederick's attack on Saxony recalled the young +Leipsiger, and caused breach of what had been a contract for a three +years' travelling companionship. In May, 1758, Lessing, aged +twenty-nine, returned to his old work in Berlin. Again he +translated, edited, criticised. He wrote a tragedy, "Philotas," and +began a "Faust." He especially employed his critical power in +"Letters upon the Latest Literature," known as his Literatur briefe. +Dissertations upon fable, led also to Lessing's "Fables," produced +in this period of his life. + +In 1760 Lessing was tempted by scarcity of income to serve as a +Government secretary at Breslau. He held that office for five +years, and then again returned to his old work in Berlin. During +the five years in Breslau, Lessing had completed his play of "Minna +von Barnhelm," and the greatest of his critical works, "Laocoon," a +treatise on the "Boundary Lines of Painting and Poetry." All that +he might then have saved from his earnings went to the buying of +books and to the relief of the burdens in the Camenz parsonage. At +Berlin the office of Royal Librarian became vacant. The claims of +Lessing were urged, but Frederick appointed an insignificant +Frenchman. In 1767 Lessing was called to aid an unsuccessful +attempt to establish a National Theatre in Hamburg. + +Other troubles followed. Lessing gave his heart to a widow, Eva +Konig, and was betrothed to her. But the involvements of her +worldly affairs, and of his, delayed the marriage for six years. To +secure fixed income he took a poor office as Librarian at +Wolfenbuttel. In his first year at Wolfenbuttel, he wrote his play +of "Emilia Galotti." Then came a long-desired journey to Italy; but +it came in inconvenient form, for it had to be made with Prince +Leopold, of Brunswick, hurriedly, for the sake of money, at the time +when Lessing was at last able to marry. + +The wife, long waited for, and deeply loved, died at the birth of +her first child. This was in January, 1778, when Lessing's age was +49. Very soon afterwards he was attacked by a Pastor Goeze, in +Hamburg, and other narrow theologians, for having edited papers that +contained an attack on Christianity, which Lessing himself had said +that he wished to see answered before he died. The uncharitable +bitterness of these attacks, felt by a mind that had been touched to +the quick by the deepest of sorrows, helped to the shaping of +Lessing's calm, beautiful lesson of charity, this noblest of his +plays--"Nathan the Wise." But Lessing's health was shattered, and +he survived his wife only three years. He died in 1781, leaving +imperishable influence for good upon the minds of men, but so poor +in what the world calls wealth, that his funeral had to be paid for +by a Duke of Brunswick. + +William Taylor, the translator of Lessing's "Nathan the Wise;" was +born in 1765, the son of a rich merchant at Norwich, from whose +business he was drawn away by his strong bent towards literature. +His father yielded to his wishes, after long visits to France and to +Germany, in days astir with the new movements of thought, that +preceded and followed the French Revolution. He formed a close +friendship with Southey, edited for a little time a "Norwich Iris," +and in his later years became known especially for his Historic +Survey of German Poetry, which included his translations, and among +them this of "Nathan the Wise." It was published in 1830, Taylor +died in 1836. Thomas Carlyle, in reviewing William Taylor's Survey +of German Poetry, said of the author's own translations in it +"compared with the average of British translations, they may be +pronounced of almost ideal excellence; compared with the best +translations extant, for example, the German Shakespeare, Homer, +Calderon, they may still be called better than indifferent. One +great merit Mr. Taylor has: rigorous adherence to his original; he +endeavours at least to copy with all possible fidelity the term of +praise, the tone, the very metre, whatever stands written for him." + +H. M. + + + +NATHAN THE WISE. + + + +"Introite nam et heic Dii sunt!"--APUD GELLIUM. + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + +SALADIN, the Sultan. +SITTAH, his Sister. +NATHAN, a rich Jew. +RECHA, his adopted Daughter. +DAYA, a Christian Woman dwelling with the Jew a companion to Recha. +CONRADE, a young Templar. +HAFI, a Dervis. +ATHANASIOS, the Patriarch of Palestine. +BONAFIDES, a Friar. +An Emir, sundry Mamalukes, Slaves, &c. + +The Scene is at Jerusalem. + + + +ACT I. + + + +SCENE--A Hall in Nathan's House. + +NATHAN, in a travelling dress, DAYA meeting him. + +DAYA. + +'Tis he, 'tis Nathan! Thanks to the Almighty, +That you're at last returned. + +NATHAN. + + Yes, Daya, thanks, +That I have reached Jerusalem in safety. +But wherefore this AT LAST? Did I intend, +Or was it possible to come back sooner? +As I was forced to travel, out and in, +'Tis a long hundred leagues to Babylon; +And to get in one's debts is no employment, +That speeds a traveller. + +DAYA. + + O Nathan, Nathan, +How miserable you had nigh become +During this little absence; for your house - + +NATHAN, + +Well, 'twas on fire; I have already heard it. +God grant I may have heard the whole, that chanced! + +DAYA. + +'Twas on the point of burning to the ground. + +NATHAN. + +Then we'd have built another, and a better. + +DAYA. + +True!--But thy Recha too was on the point +Of perishing amid the flames. + +NATHAN. + + Of perishing? +My Recha, saidst thou? She? I heard not that. +I then should not have needed any house. +Upon the point of perishing--perchance +She's gone?--Speak out then--out--torment me not +With this suspense.--Come, tell me, tell me all. + +DAYA. + +Were she no more, from me you would not hear it. + +NATHAN. + +Why then alarm me?--Recha, O my Recha! + +DAYA. + +Your Recha? Yours? + +NATHAN. + + What if I ever were +Doomed to unlearn to call this child, MY child, + +DAYA. + +Is all you own yours by an equal title? + +NATHAN, + +Nought by a better. What I else enjoy +Nature and Fortune gave--this treasure, Virtue. + +DAYA. + +How dear you make me pay for all your goodness! - +If goodness, exercised with such a view, +Deserves the name. - + +NATHAN. + +With such a view? With what? + +DAYA. + +My conscience - + +NATHAN. + +Daya, let me tell you first - + +DAYA. + +I say, my conscience - + +NATHAN. + + What a charming silk +I bought for you in Babylon! 'Tis rich, +Yet elegantly rich. I almost doubt +If I have brought a prettier for Recha. + +DAYA. + +And what of that--I tell you that my conscience +Will no be longer hushed. + +NATHAN. + + And I have bracelets, +And earrings, and a necklace, which will charm you. +I chose them at Damascus. + +DAYA. + + That's your way:- +If you can but make presents--but make presents. - + +NATHAN. + +Take you as freely as I give--and cease. + +DAYA. + +And cease?--Who questions, Nathan, but that you are +Honour and generosity in person; - +Yet - + +NATHAN. + + Yet I'm but a Jew.--That was your meaning. + +DAYA. + +You better know what was my meaning, Nathan. + +NATHAN. + +Well, well, no more of this, + +DAYA. + + I shall be silent; +But what of sinful in the eye of heaven +Springs out of it--not I, not I could help; +It falls upon thy head. + +NATHAN. + + So let it, Daya. +Where is she then? What stays her? Surely, surely, +You're not amusing me--And does she know +That I'm arrived? + +DAYA. + + That you yourself must speak to, +Terror still vibrates in her every nerve. +Her fancy mingles fire with all she thinks of. +Asleep, her soul seems busy; but awake, +Absent: now less than brute, now more than angel. + +NATHAN. + +Poor thing! What are we mortals - + +DAYA. + + As she lay +This morning sleeping, all at once she started +And cried: "list, list! there come my father's camels!" +And then she drooped again upon her pillow +And I withdrew--when, lo! you really came. +Her thoughts have only been with you--and him. + +NATHAN. + +And HIM? What him? + +DAYA. + + With him, who from the fire +Preserved her life, + +NATHAN. + + Who was it? Where is he, +That saved my Recha for me? + +DAYA. + + A young templar, +Brought hither captive a few days ago, +And pardoned by the Sultan. + +NATHAN. + + How, a TEMPLAR +Dismissed with life by Saladin. In truth, +Not a less miracle was to preserve her, +God!--God! - + +DAYA. + + Without this man, who risked afresh +The Sultan's unexpected boon, we'd lost her. + +NATHAN. + +Where is he, Daya, where's this noble youth? +Do, lead me to his feet. Sure, sure you gave him +What treasures I had left you--gave him all, +Promised him more--much more? + +DAYA. + + How could we? + +NATHAN. + + Not? + +DAYA. + +He came, he went, we know not whence, or whither. +Quite unacquainted with the house, unguided +But by his ear, he prest through smoke and flame, +His mantle spread before him, to the room +Whence pierced the shrieks for help; and we began +To think him lost--and her; when, all at once, +Bursting from flame and smoke, he stood before us, +She in his arm upheld. Cold and unmoved +By our loud warmth of thanks, he left his booty, +Struggled into the crowd, and disappeared. + +NATHAN. + +But not for ever, Daya, I would hope. + +DAYA. + +For some days after, underneath you palms, +That shade his grave who rose again from death, +We saw him wandering up and down. I went, +With transport went to thank him. I conjured, +Intreated him to visit once again +The dear sweet girl he saved, who longed to shed +At her preserver's feet the grateful tear - + +NATHAN. + +Well? + +DAYA. + + But in vain. Deaf to our warmest prayers, +On me he flung such bitter mockery - + +NATHAN. + +That hence rebuffed - + +DAYA. + + Oh, no, oh, no, indeed not, +Daily I forced myself upon him, daily +Afresh encountered his dry taunting speeches. +Much I have borne, and would have borne much more: +But he of late forbears his lonely walk +Under the scattered palms, which stand about +Our holy sepulchre: nor have I learnt +Where he now is. You seem astonished--thoughtful - + +NATHAN. + +I was imagining what strange impressions +This conduct makes on such a mind as Recha's. +Disdained by one whom she must feel compelled +To venerate and to esteem so highly. +At once attracted and repelled--the combat +Between her head and heart must yet endure, +Regret, Resentment, in unusual struggle. +Neither, perhaps, obtains the upper hand, +And busy fancy, meddling in the fray, +Weaves wild enthusiasms to her dazzled spirit, +Now clothing Passion in the garb of Reason, +And Reason now in Passion's--do I err? +This last is Recha's fate--Romantic notions - + +DAYA. + +Aye; but such pious, lovely, sweet, illusions. + +NATHAN. + +Illusions though. + +DAYA. + + Yes: and the one, her bosom +Clings to most fondly, is, that the brave templar +Was but a transient inmate of the earth, +A guardian angel, such as from her childhood +She loved to fancy kindly hovering round her, +Who from his veiling cloud amid the fire +Stepped forth in her preserver's form. You smile - +Who knows? At least beware of banishing +So pleasing an illusion--if deceitful +Christian, Jew, Mussulman, agree to own it, +And 'tis--at least to her--a dear illusion. + +NATHAN. + +Also to me. Go, my good Daya, go, +See what she's after. Can't I speak with her? +Then I'll find out our untamed guardian angel, +Bring him to sojourn here awhile among us - +We'll pinion his wild wing, when once he's taken. + +DAYA. + +You undertake too much. + +NATHAN. + + And when, my Daya, +This sweet illusion yields to sweeter truth, +(For to a man a man is ever dearer +Than any angel) you must not be angry +To see our loved enthusiast exercised. + +DAYA. + +You are so good--and yet so sly. I'll seek her, +But listen,--yes! she's coming of herself. + +NATHAN, DAYA, and RECHA. + +RECHA. + +And you are here, your very self, my father, +I thought you'd only sent your voice before you. +Where are you then? What mountains, deserts, torrents, +Divide us now? You see me, face to face, +And do not hasten to embrace your Recha. +Poor Recha! she was almost burnt alive, +But only--only--almost. Do not shudder! +O 'tis a horrid end to die in fire! + +NATHAN (embracing her). + +My child, my darling child! + +RECHA. + + You had to cross +The Jordan, Tigris, and Euphrates, and +Who knows what rivers else. I used to tremble +And quake for you, till the fire came so nigh me; +Since then, methinks 'twere comfort, balm, refreshment, +To die by water. But you are not drowned - +I am not burnt alive.--We will rejoice - +We will praise God--the kind good God, who bore thee, +Upon the buoyant wings of UNSEEN angels, +Across the treacherous stream--the God who bade +My angel VISIBLY on his white wing +Athwart the roaring flame - + +NATHAN (aside). + + White wing?--oh, aye +The broad white fluttering mantle of the templar. + +RECHA. + +Yes, visibly he bore me through the fire, +O'ershadowed by his pinions.--Face to face +I've seen an angel, father, my own angel. + +NATHAN. + +Recha deserves it, and would see in him +No fairer form than he beheld in her, + +RECHA. + +Whom are you flattering, father--tell me now - +The angel, or yourself? + +NATHAN. + + Yet had a man, +A man of those whom Nature daily fashions, +Done you this service, he to you had seemed, +Had been an angel. + +RECHA. + + No, not such a one. +Indeed it was a true and real angel. +And have not you yourself instructed me +How possible it is there may be angels; +That God for those who love him can work miracles - +And I do love him, father - + +NATHAN. + + And he thee; +And both for thee, and all like thee, my child, +Works daily wonders, from eternity +Has wrought them for you. + +RECHA. + + That I like to hear. + +NATHAN. + +Well, and although it sounds quite natural, +An every day event, a simple story, +That you was by a real templar saved, +Is it the less a miracle? The greatest +Of all is this, that true and real wonders +Should happen so perpetually, so daily. +Without this universal miracle +A thinking man had scarcely called those such, +Which only children, Recha, ought to name so, +Who love to gape and stare at the unusual +And hunt for novelty - + +DAYA. + + Why will you then +With such vain subtleties, confuse her brain +Already overheated? + +NATHAN. + + Let me manage. - +And is it not enough then for my Recha +To owe her preservation to a man, +Whom no small miracle preserved himself. +For whoe'er heard before that Saladin +Let go a templar; that a templar wished it, +Hoped it, or for his ransom offered more +Than taunts, his leathern sword-belt, or his dagger? + +RECHA. + +That makes for me; these are so many reasons +He was no real knight, but only seemed it. +If in Jerusalem no captive templar, +Appears alive, or freely wanders round, +How could I find one, in the night, to save me? + +NATHAN. + +Ingenious! dextrous! Daya, come in aid. +It was from you I learnt he was a prisoner; +Doubtless you know still more about him, speak. + +DAYA. + +'Tis but report indeed, but it is said +That Saladin bestowed upon this youth +His gracious pardon for the strong resemblance +He bore a favourite brother--dead, I think +These twenty years--his name, I know it not - +He fell, I don't know where--and all the story +Sounds so incredible, that very likely +The whole is mere invention, talk, romance. + +NATHAN. + +And why incredible? Would you reject +This story, tho' indeed, it's often done, +To fix on something more incredible, +And give that faith? Why should not Saladin, +Who loves so singularly all his kindred, +Have loved in early youth with warmer fondness +A brother now no more. Do we not see +Faces alike, and is an old impression +Therefore a lost one? Do resembling features +Not call up like emotions. Where's th' incredible? +Surely, sage Daya, this can be to thee +No miracle, or do THY wonders only +Demand--I should have said DESERVE belief? + +DAYA. + +You're on the bite. + +NATHAN. + + Were you quite fair with me? +Yet even so, my Recha, thy escape +Remains a wonder, only possible +To Him, who of the proud pursuits of princes +Makes sport--or if not sport--at least delights +To head and manage them by slender threads. + +RECHA. + +If I do err, it is not wilfully, +My father. + +NATHAN. + + No, you have been always docile. +See now, a forehead vaulted thus, or thus - +A nose bow'd one way rather than another - +Eye-brows with straiter, or with sharper curve - +A line, a mole, a wrinkle, a mere nothing +I' th' countenance of an European savage - +And thou--art saved, in Asia, from the fire. +Ask ye for signs and wonders after that? +What need of calling angels into play? + +DAYA. + +But Nathan, where's the harm, if I may speak, +Of fancying one's self by an angel saved, +Rather than by a man? Methinks it brings us +Just so much the nearer the incomprehensive +First cause of preservation. + +NATHAN. + + Pride, rank pride! +The iron pot would with a silver prong +Be lifted from the furnace--to imagine +Itself a silver vase. Paha! Where's the harm? +Thou askest. Where's the good? I might reply. +For thy IT BRINGS US NEARER TO THE GODHEAD +Is nonsense, Daya, if not blasphemy. +But it does harm: yes, yes, it does indeed. +Attend now. To the being, who preserved you, +Be he an angel or a man, you both, +And thou especially wouldst gladly show +Substantial services in just requital. +Now to an angel what great services +Have ye the power to do? To sing his praise - +Melt in transporting contemplation o'er him - +Fast on his holiday--and squander alms - +What nothingness of use! To me at least +It seems your neighbour gains much more than he +By all this pious glow. Not by your fasting +Is he made fat; not by your squandering, rich; +Nor by your transports is his glory exalted; +Nor by your faith his might. But to a man - + +DAYA. + +Why yes; a man indeed had furnished us +With more occasions to be useful to him. +God knows how readily we should have seized them. +But then he would have nothing--wanted nothing - +Was in himself wrapped up, and self-sufficient, +As angels are. + +RECHA. + + And when at last he vanished - + +NATHAN. + +Vanished? How vanished? Underneath the palms +Escaped your view, and has returned no more. +Or have you really sought for him elsewhere? + +DAYA. + +No, that indeed we've not. + +NATHAN. + + Not, Daya, not? +See it does harm, hard-hearted, cold enthusiasts, +What if this angel on a bed of illness - + +RECHA. + +Illness? + +DAYA. + + Ill! sure he is not. + +RECHA. + + A cold shudder +Creeps over me; O Daya, feel my forehead, +It was so warm, 'tis now as chill as ice. + +NATHAN. + +He is a Frank, unused to this hot climate, +Is young, and to the labours of his calling, +To fasting, watching, quite unused - + +RECHA. + + Ill--ill! + +DAYA. + +Thy father only means 'twere possible. + +NATHAN. + +And there he lies, without a friend, or money +To buy him friends - + +RECHA. + + Alas! my father. + +NATHAN. + + Lies +Without advice, attendance, converse, pity, +The prey of agony, of death - + +RECHA. + + Where--where? + +NATHAN. + +He, who, for one he never knew, or saw - +It is enough for him he is a man - +Plunged into fire. + +DAYA. + + O Nathan, Nathan, spare her. + +NATHAN. + +Who cared not to know aught of her he saved, +Declined her presence to escape her thanks - + +DAYA. + +Do, spare her! + +NATHAN. + + Did not wish to see her more +Unless it were a second time to save her - +Enough for him he is a man - + +DAYA. + + Stop, look! + +NATHAN. + +He--he, in death, has nothing to console him, +But the remembrance of this deed. + +DAYA. + + You kill her! + +NATHAN. + +And you kill him--or might have done at least - +Recha 'tis medicine I give, not poison. +He lives--come to thyself--may not be ill - +Not even ill - + +RECHA. + + Surely not dead, not dead. + +NATHAN. + +Dead surely not--for God rewards the good +Done here below, here too. Go; but remember +How easier far devout enthusiasm is +Than a good action; and how willingly +Our indolence takes up with pious rapture, +Tho' at the time unconscious of its end, +Only to save the toil of useful deeds. + +RECHA. + +Oh never leave again thy child alone! - +But can he not be only gone a journey? + +NATHAN. + +Yes, very likely. There's a Mussulman +Numbering with curious eye my laden camels, +Do you know who he is? + +DAYA. + + Oh, your old dervis. + +NATHAN. + +Who--who? + +DAYA. + + Your chess companion. + +NATHAN. + + That, Al-Hafi? + +DAYA. + +And now the treasurer of Saladin. + +NATHAN. + +Al-Hafi? Are you dreaming? How was this? +In fact it is so. He seems coming hither. +In with you quick.--What now am I to hear? + +NATHAN and HAFI. + +HAFI. + +Aye, lift thine eyes in wonder. + +NATHAN. + + Is it you? +A dervis so magnificent! - + +HAFI. + + Why not? +Can nothing then be made out of a dervis? + +NATHAN. + +Yes, surely; but I have been wont to think +A dervis, that's to say a thorough dervis, +Will allow nothing to be made of him. + +HAFI. + +May-be 'tis true that I'm no thorough dervis; +But by the prophet, when we must - + +NATHAN. + + Must, Hafi? +Needs must--belongs to no man: and a dervis - + +HAFI. + +When he is much besought, and thinks it right, +A dervis must. + +NATHAN. + + Well spoken, by our God! +Embrace me, man, you're still, I trust, my friend. + +HAFI. + +Why not ask first what has been made of me? + +NATHAN. + +Ask climbers to look back! + +HAFI. + + And may I not +Have grown to such a creature in the state +That my old friendship is no longer welcome? + +NATHAN. + +If you still bear your dervis-heart about you +I'll run the risk of that. Th' official robe +Is but your cloak. + +HAFI. + + A cloak, that claims some honour. +What think'st thou? At a court of thine how great +Had been Al-Hafi? + +NATHAN. + + Nothing but a dervis. +If more, perhaps--what shall I say--my cook. + +HAFI. + +In order to unlearn my native trade. +Thy cook--why not thy butler too? The Sultan, +He knows me better, I'm his treasurer. + +NATHAN. + +You, you? + +HAFI. + + Mistake not--of the lesser purse - +His father manages the greater still - +The purser of his household. + +NATHAN. + + That's not small. + +HAFI. + +'Tis larger than thou think'st; for every beggar +Is of his household. + +NATHAN. + + He's so much their foe - + +HAFI. + +That he'd fain root them out--with food and raiment - +Tho' he turn beggar in the enterprize. + +NATHAN. + +Bravo, I meant so. + +HAFI. + + And he's almost such. +His treasury is every day, ere sun-set, +Poorer than empty; and how high so e'er +Flows in the morning tide, 'tis ebb by noon. + +NATHAN. + +Because it circulates through such canals +As can be neither stopped, nor filled. + +HAFI. + + Thou hast it. + +NATHAN. + +I know it well. + +HAFI. + + Nathan, 'tis woeful doing +When kings are vultures amid caresses: +But when they're caresses amid the vultures +'Tis ten times worse. + +NATHAN. + + No, dervis, no, no, no. + +HAFI. + +Thou mayst well talk so. Now then, let me hear +What wouldst thou give me to resign my office? + +NATHAN. + +What does it bring you in? + +HAFI. + + To me, not much; +But thee, it might indeed enrich: for when, +As often happens, money is at ebb, +Thou couldst unlock thy sluices, make advances, +And take in form of interest all thou wilt. + +NATHAN. + +And interest upon interest of the interest - + +HAFI. + +Certainly. + +NATHAN. + + Till my capital becomes +All interest. + +HAFI. + + How--that does not take with thee? +Then write a finis to our book of friendship; +For I have reckoned on thee. + +NATHAN. + + How so, Hafi? + +HAFI. + +That thou wouldst help me to go thro' my office +With credit, grant me open chest with thee - +Dost shake thy head? + +NATHAN. + + Let's understand each other. +Here's a distinction to be made. To you, +To dervis Hafi, all I have is open; +But to the defterdar of Saladin, +To that Al-Hafi - + +HAFI. + + Spoken like thyself! +Thou hast been ever no less kind than cautious. +The two Al-Hafis thou distinguishest +Shall soon be parted. See this coat of honour, +Which Saladin bestowed--before 'tis worn +To rags, and suited to a dervis' back, - +Will in Jerusalem hang upon the hook; +While I along the Ganges scorching strand, +Amid my teachers shall be wandering barefoot. + +NATHAN. + +That's like you. + +HAFI. + + Or be playing chess among them. + +NATHAN. + +Your sovereign good. + +HAFI. + + What dost thou think seduced me. +The wish of having not to beg in future - +The pride of acting the rich man to beggars - +Would these have metamorphosed a rich beggar +So suddenly into a poor rich man? + +NATHAN. + +No, I think not. + +HAFI. + + A sillier, sillier weakness, +For the first time my vanity was tempter, +Flattered by Saladin's good-hearted notion - + +NATHAN. + +Which was? + +HAFI. + + That all a beggar's wants are only +Known to a beggar: such alone can tell +How to relieve them usefully and wisely. +"Thy predecessor was too cold for me, +(He said) and when he gave, he gave unkindly; +Informed himself with too precautious strictness +Concerning the receiver, not content +To leant the want, unless he knew its cause, +And measuring out by that his niggard bounty. +Thou wilt not thus bestow. So harshly kind +Shall Saladin not seem in thee. Thou art not +Like the choked pipe, whence sullied and by spurts +Flow the pure waters it absorbs in silence. +Al-Hafi thinks and feels like me." So nicely +The fowler whistled, that at last the quail +Ran to his net. Cheated, and by a cheat - + +NATHAN. + +Tush! dervis, gently. + +HAFI. + + What! and is't not cheating, +Thus to oppress mankind by hundred thousands, +To squeeze, grind, plunder, butcher, and torment, +And act philanthropy to individuals? - +Not cheating--thus to ape from the Most High +The bounty, which alike on mead and desert, +Upon the just and the unrighteous, falls +In sunshine or in showers, and not possess +The never-empty hand of the Most High? - +Not cheating - + +NATHAN. + + Cease! + +HAFI. + + Of my own cheating sure +It is allowed to speak. Were it not cheating +To look for the fair side of these impostures, +In order, under colour of its fairness, +To gain advantage from them--ha? + +NATHAN. + + Al-Hafi, +Go to your desert quickly. Among men +I fear you'll soon unlearn to be a man. + +HAFI. + +And so do I--farewell. + +NATHAN. + + What, so abruptly? +Stay, stay, Al-Hafi; has the desert wings? +Man, 'twill not run away, I warrant you - +Hear, hear, I want you--want to talk with you - +He's gone. I could have liked to question him +About our templar. He will likely know him. + +NATHAN and DAYA. +DAYA (bursting in). + +O Nathan, Nathan! + +NATHAN. + + Well, what now? + +DAYA. + + He's there. +He shows himself again. + +NATHAN. + + Who, Daya, who? + +DAYA. + +He! he! + +NATHAN. + + When cannot He be seen? Indeed +Your He is only one; that should not be, +Were he an angel even. + +DAYA. + + 'Neath the palms +He wanders up and down, and gathers dates. + +NATHAN. + +And eats?--and as a templar? + +DAYA. + + How you tease us! +Her eager eye espied him long ago, +While he scarce gleamed between the further stems, +And follows him most punctually. Go, +She begs, conjures you, go without delay; +And from the window will make signs to you +Which way his rovings bend. Do, do make haste. + +NATHAN. + +What! thus, as I alighted from my camel, +Would that be decent? Swift, do you accost him, +Tell him of my return. I do not doubt, +His delicacy in the master's absence +Forbore my house; but gladly will accept +The father's invitation. Say, I ask him, +Most heartily request him - + +DAYA. + + All in vain! +In short, he will not visit any Jew. + +NATHAN. + +Then do thy best endeavours to detain him, +Or with thine eyes to watch his further haunt, +Till I rejoin you. I shall not be long. + + +SCENE--A Place of Palms. + + +The TEMPLAR walking to and fro, a FRIAR following him at some +distance, as if desirous of addressing him. + +TEMPLAR. + +This fellow does not follow me for pastime. +How skaunt he eyes his hands! Well, my good brother - +Perhaps I should say, father; ought I not? + +FRIAR. + +No--brother--a lay-brother at your service. + +TEMPLAR. + +Well, brother, then; if I myself had something - +But--but, by God, I've nothing. + +FRIAR. + + Thanks the same; +And God reward your purpose thousand-fold! +The will, and not the deed, makes up the giver. +Nor was I sent to follow you for alms - + +TEMPLAR. + +Sent then? + +FRIAR. + + Yes, from the monastery. + +TEMPLAR. + + Where +I was just now in hopes of coming in +For pilgrims' fare. + +FRIAR. + + They were already at table: +But if it suit with you to turn directly - + +TEMPLAR. + +Why so? 'Tis true, I have not tasted meat +This long time. What of that? The dates are ripe. + +FRIAR. + +O with that fruit go cautiously to work. +Too much of it is hurtful, sours the humours, +Makes the blood melancholy. + +TEMPLAR. + + And if I +Choose to be melancholy--For this warning +You were not sent to follow me, I ween. + +FRIAR. + +Oh, no: I only was to ask about you, +And feel your pulse a little. + +TEMPLAR. + + And you tell me +Of that yourself? + +FRIAR. + + Why not? + +TEMPLAR. + + A deep one! troth: +And has your cloister more such? + +FRIAR. + + I can't say. +Obedience is our bounden duty. + +TEMPLAR. + + So - +And you obey without much scrupulous questioning? + +FRIAR. + +Were it obedience else, good sir? + +TEMPLAR. + + How is it +The simple mind is ever in the right? +May you inform me who it is that wishes +To know more of me? 'Tis not you yourself, +I dare be sworn. + +FRIAR. + + Would it become me, sir, +Or benefit me? + +TEMPLAR. + + Whom can it become, +Whom can it benefit, to be so curious? + +FRIAR. + +The patriarch, I presume--'twas he that sent me. + +TEMPLAR. + +The patriarch? Knows he not my badge, the cross +Of red on the white mantle? + +FRIAR. + + Can I say? + +TEMPLAR. + +Well, brother, well! I am a templar, taken +Prisoner at Tebnin, whose exalted fortress, +Just as the truce expired, we sought to climb, +In order to push forward next to Sidon. +I was the twentieth captive, but the only +Pardoned by Saladin--with this, the patriarch +Knows all, or more than his occasions ask. + +FRIAR. + +And yet no more than he already knows, +I think. But why alone of all the captives +Thou hast been spared, he fain would learn - + +TEMPLAR. + + Can I +Myself tell that? Already, with bare neck, +I kneeled upon my mantle, and awaited +The blow--when Saladin with steadfast eye +Fixed me, sprang nearer to me, made a sign - +I was upraised, unbound, about to thank him - +And saw his eye in tears. Both stand in silence. +He goes. I stay. How all this hangs together, +Thy patriarch may unriddle. + +FRIAR. + + He concludes, +That God preserved you for some mighty deed. + +TEMPLAR. + +Some mighty deed? To save out of the fire +A Jewish girl--to usher curious pilgrims +About Mount Sinai--to - + +FRIAR. + + The time may come - +And this is no such trifle--but perhaps +The patriarch meditates a weightier office. + +TEMPLAR. + +Think you so, brother? Has he hinted aught? + +FRIAR. + +Why, yes; I was to sift you out a little, +And hear if you were one to - + +TEMPLAR. + + Well--to what? +I'm curious to observe how this man sifts. + +FRIAR. + +The shortest way will be to tell you plainly +What are the patriarch's wishes. + +TEMPLAR. + + And they are - + +FRIAR. + +To send a letter by your hand. + +TEMPLAR. + + By me? +I am no carrier. And were that an office +More meritorious than to save from burning +A Jewish maid? + +FRIAR. + + So it should seem; must seem - +For, says the patriarch, to all Christendom +This letter is of import; and to bear it +Safe to its destination, says the patriarch, +God will reward with a peculiar crown +In heaven; and of this crown, the patriarch says, +No one is worthier than you - + +TEMPLAR. + + Than I? + +FRIAR. + +For none so able, and so fit to earn +This crown, the patriarch says, as you. + +TEMPLAR. + + As I? + +FRIAR. + +The patriarch here is free, can look about him, +And knows, he says, how cities may be stormed, +And how defended; knows, he says, the strengths +And weaknesses of Saladin's new bulwark, +And of the inner rampart last thrown up; +And to the warriors of the Lord, he says, +Could clearly point them out; - + +TEMPLAR. + + And can I know +Exactly the contents of this same letter? + +FRIAR. + +Why, that I don't pretend to vouch exactly - +'Tis to King Philip: and our patriarch - +I often wonder how this holy man, +Who lives so wholly to his God and heaven, +Can stoop to be so well informed about +Whatever passes here--'Tis a hard task! + +TEMPLAR. + +Well--and your patriarch - + +FRIAR. + + Knows, with great precision, +And from sure hands, how, when, and with what force, +And in which quarter, Saladin, in case +The war breaks out afresh, will take the field. + +TEMPLAR. + +He knows that? + +FRIAR. + + Yes; and would acquaint King Philip, +That he may better calculate, if really +The danger be so great as to require +Him to renew at all events the truce +So bravely broken by your body. + +TEMPLAR. + + So? +This is a patriarch indeed! He wants +No common messenger; he wants a spy. +Go tell your patriarch, brother, I am not, +As far as you can sift, the man to suit him. +I still esteem myself a prisoner, and +A templar's only calling is to fight, +And not to ferret out intelligence. + +FRIAR. + +That's much as I supposed, and, to speak plainly, +Not to be blamed. The best is yet behind. +The patriarch has made out the very fortress, +Its name, and strength, and site on Libanon, +Wherein the mighty sums are now concealed, +With which the prudent father of the sultan +Provides the cost of war, and pays the army. +He knows that Saladin, from time to time, +Goes to this fortress, through by-ways and passe +With few attendants. + +TEMPLAR. + + Well - + +FRIAR. + + How easy 'twere +To seize his person in these expeditions, +And make an end of all! You shudder, sir - +Two Maronites, who fear the Lord, have offer +To share the danger of the enterprise, +Under a proper leader. + +TEMPLAR. + + And the patriarch +Had cast his eye on me for this brave office? + +FRIAR. + +He thinks King Philip might from Ptolemais +Best second such a deed. + +TEMPLAR. + + On me? on me? +Have you not heard then, just now heard, the favour +Which I received from Saladin? + +FRIAR. + + Oh, yes! + +TEMPLAR. + +And yet? + +FRIAR. + + The patriarch thinks--that's mighty well - +God, and the order's interest - + +TEMPLAR. + + Alter nothing, +Command no villainies. + +FRIAR. + + No, that indeed not; +But what is villainy in human eyes +May in the sight of God, the patriarch thinks, +Not be - + +TEMPLAR. + + I owe my life to Saladin, +And might take his? + +FRIAR. + + That--fie! But Saladin, +The patriarch thinks, is yet the common foe +Of Christendom, and cannot earn a right +To be your friend. + +TEMPLAR. + + My friend--because I will not +Behave like an ungrateful scoundrel to him. + +FRIAR. + +Yet gratitude, the patriarch thinks, is not +A debt before the eye of God or man, +Unless for our own sakes the benefit +Had been conferred; and, it has been reported, +The patriarch understands that Saladin +Preserved your life merely because your voice, +Your air, or features, raised a recollection +Of his lost brother. + +TEMPLAR. + + He knows this? and yet - +If it were sure, I should--ah, Saladin! +How! and shall nature then have formed in me +A single feature in thy brother's likeness, +With nothing in my soul to answer to it? +Or what does correspond shall I suppress +To please a patriarch? So thou dost not cheat us, +Nature--and so not contradict Thyself, +Kind God of all.--Go, brother, go away: +Do not stir up my anger. + +FRIAR. + + I withdraw +More gladly than I came. We cloister-folk +Are forced to vow obedience to superiors. +[Goes + +TEMPLAR and DAYA. +DAYA. + +The monk, methinks, left him in no good mood: +But I must risk my message. + +TEMPLAR. + + Better still +The proverb says that monks and women are +The devil's clutches; and I'm tossed to-day +From one to th' other. + +DAYA. + + Whom do I behold? - +Thank God! I see you, noble knight, once more. +Where have you lurked this long, long space? You've not +Been ill? + +TEMPLAR. + + No. + +DAYA. + + Well, then? + +TEMPLAR. + + Yes. + +DAYA. + + We've all been anxious +Lest something ailed you. + +TEMPLAR. + + So? + +DAYA. + + Have you been journeying? + +TEMPLAR. + +Hit off! + +DAYA. + + How long returned? + +TEMPLAR. + + Since yesterday. + +DAYA. + +Our Recha's father too is just returned, +And now may Recha hope at last - + +TEMPLAR. + + For what? + +DAYA. + +For what she often has requested of you. +Her father pressingly invites your visit. +He now arrives from Babylon, with twenty +High-laden camels, brings the curious drugs, +And precious stones, and stuffs, he has collected +From Syria, Persia, India, even China. + +TEMPLAR. + +I am no chap. + +DAYA. + + His nation honours him, +As if he were a prince, and yet to hear him +Called the WISE Nathan by them, not the RICH, +Has often made me wonder. + +TEMPLAR. + + To his nation +Are RICH and WISE perhaps of equal import. + +DAYA. + +But above all he should be called the GOOD. +You can't imagine how much goodness dwells +Within him. Since he has been told the service +You rendered to his Recha, there is nothing +That he would grudge you. + +TEMPLAR. + + Aye? + +DAYA. + + Do--see him, try him. + +TEMPLAR. + +A burst of feeling soon is at an end. + +DAYA. + +And do you think that I, were he less kind, +Less bountiful, had housed with him so long: +That I don't feel my value as a Christian: +For 'twas not o'er my cradle said, or sung, +That I to Palestina should pursue +My husband's steps, only to educate +A Jewess. My husband was a noble page +In Emperor Frederic's army. + +TEMPLAR. + + And by birth +A Switzer, who obtained the gracious honour +Of drowning in one river with his master. +Woman, how often you have told me this! +Will you ne'er leave off persecuting me? + +DAYA. + +My Jesus! persecute - + +TEMPLAR. + + Aye, persecute. +Observe then, I henceforward will not see, +Not hear you, nor be minded of a deed +Over and over, which I did unthinking, +And which, when thought about, I wonder at. +I wish not to repent it; but, remember, +Should the like accident occur again, +'Twill be your fault if I proceed more coolly, +Ask a few questions, and let burn what's burning. + +DAYA. + +My God forbid! + +TEMPLAR. + + From this day forth, good woman, +Do me at least the favour not to know me: +I beg it of you; and don't send the father. +A Jew's a Jew, and I am rude and bearish. +The image of the maid is quite erased +Out of my soul--if it was ever there - + +DAYA. + +But yours remains with her. + +TEMPLAR. + + Why so--what then - +Wherefore give harbour to it? - + +DAYA. + + Who knows wherefore? +Men are not always what they seem to be. + +TEMPLAR. + +They're seldom better than they seem to be. + +DAYA. + +Ben't in this hurry. + +TEMPLAR. + + Pray, forbear to make +These palm-trees odious. I have loved to walk here. + +DAYA. + +Farewell then, bear. Yet I must track the savage. + + + +ACT II. + + + +SCENE--The Sultan's Palace.--An outer room of Sittah's apartment. + +SALADIN and SITTAH, playing chess. + +SITTAH. + +Wherefore so absent, brother? How you play! + +SALADIN. + +Not well? I thought - + +SITTAH. + + Yes; very well for me, +Take back that move. + +SALADIN. + + Why? + +SITTAH. + + Don't you see the knight +Becomes exposed? + +SALADIN. + + 'Tis true: then so. + +SITTAH. + + And so +I take the pawn. + +SALADIN. + + That's true again. Then, check! + +SITTAH. + +That cannot help you. When my king is castled +All will be safe. + +SALADIN. + + But out of my dilemma +'Tis not so easy to escape unhurt. +Well, you must have the knight. + +SITTAH. + + I will not have him, +I pass him by. + +SALADIN. + + In that, there's no forbearance: +The place is better than the piece. + +SITTAH. + + Maybe. + +SALADIN. + +Beware you reckon not without your host: +This stroke you did not think of. + +SITTAH. + + No, indeed; +I did not think you tired of your queen. + +SALADIN. + +My queen? + +SITTAH. + + Well, well! I find that I to-day +Shall earn a thousand dinars to an asper. + +SALADIN. + +How so, my sister? + +SITTAH. + + Play the ignorant - +As if it were not purposely thou losest. +I find not my account in 't; for, besides +That such a game yields very little pastime, +When have I not, by losing, won with thee? +When hast thou not, by way of comfort to me +For my lost game, presented twice the stake? + +SALADIN. + +So that it may have been on purpose, sister, +That thou hast lost at times. + +SITTAH. + + At least, my brother's +Great liberality may be one cause +Why I improve no faster. + +SALADIN. + + We forget +The game before us: lot us make an end of it. + +SITTAH. + +I move--so--now then--check! and check again! + +SALADIN. + +This countercheck I wasn't aware of, Sittah; +My queen must fall the sacrifice. + +SITTAH. + + Let's see - +Could it be helped? + +SALADIN. + + No, no, take off the queen! +That is a piece which never thrives with me. + +SITTAH. + +Only that piece? + +SALADIN. + + Off with it! I shan't miss it. +Thus I guard all again. + +SITTAH. + + How civilly +We should behave to queens, my brother's lessons +Have taught me but too well. + +SALADIN. + + Take her, or not, +I stir the piece no more. + +SITTAH. + + Why should I take her? +Check! + +SALADIN. + + Go on. + +SITTAH. + + Check! - + +SALADIN. + + And check-mate? + +SITTAH. + + Hold! not yet. +You may advance the knight, and ward the danger, +Or as you will--it is all one. + +SALADIN. + + It is so. +You are the winner, and Al-Hafi pays. +Let him be called. Sittah, you was not wrong; +I seem to recollect I was unmindful - +A little absent. One isn't always willing +To dwell upon some shapeless bits of wood +Coupled with no idea. Yet the Imam, +When I play with him, bends with such abstraction - +The loser seeks excuses. Sittah, 'twas not +The shapeless men, and the unmeaning squares, +That made me heedless--your dexterity, +Your calm sharp eye. + +SITTAH. + + And what of that, good brother, +Is that to be th' excuse for your defeat? +Enough--you played more absently than I. + +SALADIN. + +Than you! What dwells upon your mind, my Sittah? +Not your own cares, I doubt - + +SITTAH. + + O Saladin, +When shall we play again so constantly? + +SALADIN. + +An interruption will but whet our zeal. +You think of the campaign. Well, let it come. +It was not I who first unsheathed the sword. +I would have willingly prolonged the truce, +And willingly have knit a closer bond, +A lasting one--have given to my Sittah +A husband worthy of her, Richard's brother. + +SITTAH. + +You love to talk of Richard. + +SALADIN. + + Richard's sister +Might then have been allotted to our Melek. +O what a house that would have formed--the first - +The best--and what is more--of earth the happiest! +You know I am not loth to praise myself; +Why should I?--Of my friends am I not worthy? +O we had then led lives! + +SITTAH. + + A pretty dream. +It makes me smile. You do not know the Christians. +You will not know them. 'Tis this people's pride +Not to be men, but to be Christians. Even +What of humane their Founder felt, and taught, +And left to savour their found superstition, +They value not because it is humane, +Lovely, and good for man; they only prize it +Because 'twas Christ who taught it, Christ who did it. +'Tis well for them He was so good a man: +Well that they take His goodness all for granted, +And in His virtues put their trust. His virtues - +'Tis not His virtues, but His name alone +They wish to thrust upon us--'Tis His name +Which they desire should overspread the world, +Should swallow up the name of all good men, +And put the best to shame. 'Tis His mere name +They care for - + +SALADIN. + + Else, my Sittah, as thou sayst, +They would not have required that thou, and Melek, +Should be called Christians, ere you might be suffered +To feel for Christians conjugal affection. + +SITTAH. + +As if from Christians only, and as Christians, +That love could be expected which our Maker +In man and woman for each other planted. + +SALADIN. + +The Christians do believe such idle notions, +They well might fancy this: and yet thou errest. +The templars, not the Christians, are in fault. +'Tis not as Christians, but as templars, that +They thwart my purpose. They alone prevent it. +They will on no account evacuate Acca, +Which was to be the dower of Richard's sister, +And, lest their order suffer, use this cant - +Bring into play the nonsense of the monk - +And scarcely would await the truce's end +To fall upon us. Go on so--go on, +To me you're welcome, sirs. Would all things else +Went but as right! + +SITTAH. + + What else should trouble thee, +If this do not? + +SALADIN. + + Why, that which ever has. +I've been on Libanon, and seen our father. +He's full of care. + +SITTAH. + + Alas! + +SALADIN. + + He can't make shift, +Straitened on all sides, put off, disappointed; +Nothing comes in. + +SITTAH. + + What fails him, Saladin? + +SALADIN. + +What? but the thing I scarcely deign to name, +Which, when I have it, so superfluous seems, +And, when I have it not, so necessary. +Where is Al-Hafi then--this fatal money - +O welcome, Hafi! + +HAFI, SALADIN, and SITTAH. + +HAFI. + + I suppose the gold +From Egypt is arrived. + +SALADIN. + + Hast tidings of it? + +HAFI. + +I? no, not I. I thought to have ta'en it here. + +SALADIN. + +To Sittah pay a thousand dinars. + +HAFI. + + Pay? +And not receive--that's something less than nothing. +To Sittah and again to Sittah--and +Once more for loss at chess? Is this your game? + +SITTAH. + +Dost grudge me my good fortune? + +HAFI (examining the board). + + Grudge! you know - + +SITTAH (making signs to Hafi). + +Hush, Hafi, hush! + +HAFI. + + And were the white men yours? +You gave the check? + +SITTAH. + + 'Tis well he does not hear. + +HAFI. + +And he to move? + +SITTAH (approaching Hafi). + + Say then aloud that I +Shall have my money. + +HAFI (still considering the game). + + Yes, yes! you shall have it - +As you have always had it. + +SITTAH. + + Are you crazy? + +HAFI. + +The game is not decided; Saladin, +You have not lost. + +SALADIN (scarcely hearkening). + + Well, well!--pay, pay. + +HAFI. + + Pay, pay - +There stands your queen. + +SALADIN (still walking about). + + It boots not, she is useless. + +SITTAH (low to Hafi). + +Do say that I may send and fetch the gold. + +HAFI. + +Aye, aye, as usual--But although the queen +Be useless, you are by no means check-mate. + +SALADIN (dashes down the board). + +I am. I will then - + +HAFI. + + So! small pains, small gains; +As got, so spent. + +SALADIN (to Sittah). + + What is he muttering there? + +SITTAH (to Saladin, winking meanwhile to Hafi). + +You know him well, and his unyielding way. +He chooses to be prayed to--maybe he's envious - + +SALADIN. + +No, not of thee, not of my sister, surely. +What do I hear, Al-Hafi, are you envious? + +HAFI. + +Perhaps. I'd rather have her head than mine, +Or her heart either. + +SITTAH. + + Ne'ertheless, my brother, +He pays me right, and will again to-day. +Let him alone. There, go away, Al-Hafi; +I'll send and fetch my dinars. + +HAFI. + + No, I will not; +I will not act this farce a moment longer: +He shall, must know it. + +SALADIN. + + Who? what? + +SITTAH. + + O Al-Hafi, +Is this thy promise, this thy keeping word? + +HAFI. + +How could I think it was to go so far? + +SALADIN. + +Well, what am I to know? + +SITTAH. + + I pray thee, Hafi, +Be more discreet. + +SALADIN. + + That's very singular. +And what can Sittah then so earnestly, +So warmly have to sue for from a stranger, +A dervis, rather than from me, her brother? +Al-Hafi, I command. Dervis, speak out. + +SITTAH. + +Let not a trifle, brother, touch you nearer +Than is becoming. You know I have often +Won the same sum of you at chess, and, as +I have not just at present need of money, +I've left the sum at rest in Hafi's chest, +Which is not over-full; and thus the stakes +Are not yet taken out--but, never fear, +It is not my intention to bestow them +On thee, or Hafi. + +HAFI. + + Were it only this - + +SITTAH. + +Some more such trifles are perhaps unclaimed; +My own allowance, which you set apart, +Has lain some months untouched. + +HAFI. + + Nor is that all - + +SALADIN. + +Nor yet--speak then! + +HAFI. + + Since we have been expecting +The treasure out of Egypt, she not only - + +SITTAH. + +Why listen to him? + +HAFI. + + Has not had an asper; - + +SALADIN. + +Good creature--but has been advancing to thee - + +HAFI. + +Has at her sole expense maintained thy state. + +SALADIN (embracing her). + +My sister--ah! + +SITTAH. + + And who but you, my brother, +Could make me rich enough to have the power? + +HAFI. + +And in a little time again will leave thee +Poor as himself. + +SALADIN. + + I, poor--her brother, poor? +When had I more, when less than at this instant? +A cloak, a horse, a sabre, and a God! - +What need I else? With them what can be wanting? +And yet, Al-Hafi, I could quarrel with thee +For this. + +SITTAH. + + A truce to that, my brother. Were it +As easy to remove our father's cares! + +SALADIN. + +Ah! now my joy thou hast at once abated: +To me there is, there can be, nothing wanting; +But--but to him--and, in him, to us all. +What shall I do? From Egypt maybe nothing +Will come this long time. Why--God only knows. +We hear of no stir. To reduce, to spare, +I am quite willing for myself to stoop to, +Were it myself, and only I, should suffer - +But what can that avail? A cloak, a horse, +A sword I ne'er can want;--as to my God, +He is not to be bought; He asks but little, +Only my heart. I had relied, Al-Hafi, +Upon a surplus in my chest. + +HAFI. + + A surplus? +And tell me, would you not have had me impaled, +Or hanged at least, if you had found me out +In hoarding up a surplus? Deficits - +Those one may venture on. + +SALADIN. + + Well, but how next? +Could you have found out no one where to borrow +Unless of Sittah? + +SITTAH. + + And would I have borne +To see the preference given to another? +I still lay claim to it. I am not as yet +Entirely bare. + +SALADIN. + + Not yet entirely--This +Was wanting still. Go, turn thyself about; +Take where, and as, thou canst; be quick, Al-Hafi. +Borrow on promise, contract, anyhow; +But heed me--not of those I have enriched - +To borrow there might seem to ask it back. +Go to the covetous. They'll gladliest lend - +They know how well their money thrives with me - + +HAFI. + +I know none such. + +SITTAH. + + I recollect just now +I heard, Al-Hafi, of thy friend's return. + +HAFI (startled). + +Friend--friend of mine--and who should that be? + +SITTAH. + + Who? +Thy vaunted Jew! + +HAFI. + + A Jew, and praised by me? + +SITTAH. + +To whom his God (I think I still retain +Thy own expression used concerning him) +To whom, of all the good things of this world, +His God in full abundance has bestowed +The greatest and the least. + +HAFI. + + What could I mean +When I said so? + +SITTAH. + + The least of good things, riches; +The greatest, wisdom. + +HAFI. + + How--and of a Jew +Could I say that? + +SITTAH. + + Didst thou not--of thy Nathan? + +HAFI. + +Hi ho! of him--of Nathan? At that moment +He did not come across me. But, in fact, +He is at length come home; and, I suppose, +Is not ill off. His people used to call him +The wise--also the rich. + +SITTAH. + + The rich he's named +Now more than ever. The whole town resounds +With news of jewels, costly stuffs, and stores, +That he brings back. + +HAFI. + + Is he the rich again - +He'll be, no fear of it, once more the wise. + +SITTAH. + +What thinkst thou, Hafi, of a call on him? + +HAFI. + +On him--sure not to borrow--why, you know him - +He lend? Therein his very wisdom lies, +That he lends no one. + +SITTAH. + + Formerly thon gav'st +A very different picture of this Nathan. + +HAFI. + +In case of need he'll lend you merchandise, +But money, money, never. He's a Jew, +There are but few such! he has understanding, +Knows life, plays chess; but is in bad notorious +Above his brethren, as he is in good. +On him rely not. To the poor indeed +He vies perhaps with Saladin in giving: +Though he distributes less, he gives as freely, +As silently, as nobly, to Jew, Christian, +Mahometan, or Parsee--'tis all one. + +SITTAH. + +And such a man should be - + +SALADIN. + + How comes it then +I never heard of him? + +SITTAH. + + Should be unwilling +To lend to Saladin, who wants for others, +Not for himself. + +HAFI. + + Aye, there peeps out the Jew, +The ordinary Jew. Believe me, prince, +He's jealous, really envious of your giving. +To earn God's favour seems his very business. +He lends not that he may always have to give. +The law commandeth mercy, not compliance: +And thus for mercy's sake he's uncomplying. +'Tis true, I am not now on the best terms +With Nathan, but I must entreat you, think not +That therefore I would do injustice to him. +He's good in everything, but not in that - +Only in that. I'll knock at other doors. +I just have recollected an old Moor, +Who's rich and covetous--I go--I go. + +SITTAH. + +Why in such hurry, Hafi? + +SALADIN. + + Let him go. + +SALADIN and SITTAH. + +SITTAH. + +He hastens like a man who would escape me; +Why so? Was he indeed deceived in Nathan, +Or does he play upon us? + +SALADIN. + + Can I guess? +I scarcely know of whom you have been talking, +And hear to-day, for the first time, of Nathan. + +SITTAH. + +Is't possible the man were hid from thee, +Of whom 'tis said, he has found out the tombs +Of Solomon and David, knows the word +That lifts their marble lids, and thence obtains +The golden oil that feeds his shining pomp? + +SALADIN. + +Were this man's wealth by miracle created, +'Tis not at David's tomb, or Solomon's, +That 'twould be wrought. Not virtuous men lie there. + +SITTAH. + +His source of opulence is more productive +And more exhaustless than a cave of Mammon. + +SALADIN. + +He trades, I hear. + +SITTAH. + + His ships fill every harbour; +His caravans through every desert toil. +This has Al-Hafi told me long ago: +With transport adding then--how nobly Nathan +Bestows what he esteems it not a meanness +By prudent industry to have justly earned - +How free from prejudice his lofty soul - +His heart to every virtue how unlocked - +With every lovely feeling how familiar. + +SALADIN. + +Yet Hafi spake just now so coldly of him. + +SITTAH. + +Not coldly; but with awkwardness, confusion, +As if he thought it dangerous to praise him, +And yet knew not to blame him undeserving, +Or can it really be that e'en the best +Among a people cannot quite escape +The tinges of the tribe; and that, in fact, +Al-Hafi has in this to blush for Nathan? +Be that as't may--be he the Jew or no - +Is he but rich--that is enough for us. + +SALADIN. + +You would not, sister, take his wealth by force. + +SITTAH. + +What do you mean by force--fire, sword? Oh no! +What force is necessary with the weak +But their own weakness? Come awhile with me +Into my harem: I have bought a songstress, +You have not heard her, she came yesterday: +Meanwhile I'll think somewhat about a project +I have upon this Nathan. Follow, brother. + + +SCENE--The Place of Palms, close to Nathan's House. +NATHAN, attired, comes out with RECHA. + + +RECHA. + +You have been so very slow, my dearest father, +You now will hardly be in time to find him. + +NATHAN. + +Well, if not here beneath the palms; yet, surely, +Elsewhere. My child, be satisfied. See, see, +Is not that Daya making towards us? + +RECHA. + +She certainly has lost him then. + +NATHAN. + + Why so? + +RECHA. + +Else she'd walk quicker. + +NATHAN. + + She may not have seen us. + +RECHA. + +There, now she sees us. + +NATHAN. + + And her speed redoubles, +Be calm, my Recha. + +RECHA. + + Would you have your daughter +Be cool and unconcerned who 'twas that saved her, +Heed not to whom is due the life she prizes +Chiefly because she owed it first to thee? + +NATHAN. + +I would not wish thee other than thou art, +E'en if I knew that in thy secret soul +A very different emotion throbs. + +RECHA. + +Why--what my father? + +NATHAN. + + Dost thou ask of me, +So tremblingly of me, what passes in thee? +Whatever 'tis, 'tis innocence and nature. +Be not alarmed, it gives me no alarm; +But promise me that, when thy heart shall speak +A plainer language, thou wilt not conceal +A single of thy wishes from my fondness. + +RECHA. + +Oh the mere possibility of wishing +Rather to veil and hide them makes me shudder. + +NATHAN. + +Let this be spoken once for all. Well, Daya - + +NATHAN, RECHA, and DAYA. + +DAYA. + +He still is here beneath the palms, and soon +Will reach yon wall. See, there he comes. + +RECHA. + + And seems +Irresolute where next; if left or right. + +DAYA. + +I know he mostly passes to the convent, +And therefore comes this path. What will you lay me? + +RECHA. + +Oh yes he does. And did you speak to him? +How did he seem to-day? + +DAYA. + + As heretofore. + +NATHAN. + +Don't let him see you with me: further back; +Or rather to the house. + +RECHA. + + Just one peep more. +Now the hedge steals him from me. + +DAYA. + + Come away. +Your father's in the right--should he perceive us, +'Tis very probable he'll tack about. + +RECHA. + +But for the hedge - + +NATHAN. + + Now he emerges from it. +He can't but see you: hence--I ask it of you. + +DAYA. + +I know a window whence we yet may - + +RECHA. + + Ay. + +[Goes in with Daya. + +NATHAN. + +I'm almost shy of this strange fellow, almost +Shrink back from his rough virtue. That one man +Should ever make another man feel awkward! +And yet--He's coming--ha!--by God, the youth +Looks like a man. I love his daring eye, +His open gait. May be the shell is bitter; +But not the kernel surely. I have seen +Some such, methinks. Forgive me, noble Frank. + +NATHAN and TEMPLAR. + +TEMPLAR. + +What? + +NATHAN. + + Give me leave. + +TEMPLAR. + + Well, Jew, what wouldst thou have? + +NATHAN. + +The liberty of speaking to you! + +TEMPLAR. + + So - +Can I prevent it? Quick then, what's your business? + +NATHAN. + +Patience--nor hasten quite so proudly by +A man, who has not merited contempt, +And whom, for evermore, you've made your debtor. + +TEMPLAR. + +How so? Perhaps I guess--No--Are you then - + +NATHAN. + +My name is Nathan, father to the maid +Your generous courage snatched from circling flames, +And hasten - + +TEMPLAR. + + If with thanks, keep, keep them all. +Those little things I've had to suffer much from: +Too much already, far. And, after all, +You owe me nothing. Was I ever told +She was your daughter? 'Tis a templar's duty +To rush to the assistance of the first +Poor wight that needs him; and my life just then +Was quite a burden. I was mighty glad +To risk it for another; tho' it were +That of a Jewess. + +NATHAN. + + Noble, and yet shocking! +The turn might be expected. Modest greatness +Wears willingly the mask of what is shocking +To scare off admiration: but, altho' +She may disdain the tribute, admiration, +Is there no other tribute she can bear with? +Knight, were you here not foreign, not a captive +I would not ask so freely. Speak, command, +In what can I be useful? + +TEMPLAR. + + You--in nothing. + +NATHAN. + +I'm rich. + +TEMPLAR. + + To me the richer Jew ne'er seemed +The bettor Jew. + +NATHAN. + + Is that a reason why +You should not use the better part of him, +His wealth? + +TEMPLAR. + + Well, well, I'll not refuse it wholly, +For my poor mantle's sake--when that is threadbare, +And spite of darning will not hold together, +I'll come and borrow cloth, or money of thee, +To make me up a new one. Don't look solemn; +The danger is not pressing; 'tis not yet +At the last gasp, but tight and strong and good, +Save this poor corner, where an ugly spot +You see is singed upon it. It got singed +As I bore off your daughter from the fire. + +NATHAN (taking hold of the mantle). + +'Tis singular that such an ugly spot +Bears better testimony to the man +Than his own mouth. This brand--Oh I could kiss it! +Your pardon--that I meant not. + +TEMPLAR. + + What? + +NATHAN. + + A tear +Fell on the spot. + +TEMPLAR. + + You'll find up more such tears - +(This Jew methinks begins to work upon me). + +NATHAN. + +Would you send once this mantle to my daughter? + +TEMPLAR. + +Why? + +NATHAN. + + That her lips may cling to this dear speck; +For at her benefactor's feet to fall, +I find, she hopes in vain. + +TEMPLAR. + + But, Jew, your name +You said was Nathan--Nathan, you can join +Your words together cunningly--right well - +I am confused--in fact--I would have been - + +NATHAN. + +Twist, writhe, disguise you, as you will, I know you, +You were too honest, knight, to be more civil; +A girl all feeling, and a she-attendant +All complaisance, a father at a distance - +You valued her good name, and would not see her. +You scorned to try her, lest you should be victor; +For that I also thank you. + +TEMPLAR. + + I confess, +You know how templars ought to think. + +NATHAN. + + Still templars - +And only OUGHT to think--and all because +The rules and vows enjoin it to the ORDER - +I know how good men think--know that all lands +Produce good men. + +TEMPLAR. + + But not without distinction. + +NATHAN. + +In colour, dress, and shape, perhaps, distinguished. + +TEMPLAR. + +Here more, there fewer sure? + +NATHAN. + + That boots not much, +The great man everywhere has need of room. +Too many set together only serve +To crush each others' branches. Middling good, +As we are, spring up everywhere in plenty. +Only let one not scar and bruise the other; +Let not the gnarl be angry with the stump; +Let not the upper branch alone pretend +Not to have started from the common earth. + +TEMPLAR. + +Well said: and yet, I trust, you know the nation, +That first began to strike at fellow men, +That first baptised itself the chosen people - +How now if I were--not to hate this people, +Yet for its pride could not forbear to scorn it, +The pride which it to Mussulman and Christian +Bequeathed, as were its God alone the true one, +You start, that I, a Christian and a templar, +Talk thus. Where, when, has e'er the pious rage +To own the better god--on the whole world +To force this better, as the best of all - +Shown itself more, and in a blacker form, +Than here, than now? To him, whom, here and now, +The film is not removing from his eye - +But be he blind that wills! Forget my speeches +And leave me. + +NATHAN. + + Ah! indeed you do not know +How closer I shall cling to you henceforth. +We must, we will be friends. Despise my nation - +We did not choose a nation for ourselves. +Are we our nations? What's a nation then? +Were Jews and Christians such, e'er they were men? +And have I found in thee one more, to whom +It is enough to be a man? + +TEMPLAR. + + That hast thou. +Nathan, by God, thou hast. Thy hand. I blush +To have mistaken thee a single instant. + +NATHAN. + +And I am proud of it. Only common souls +We seldom err in. + +TEMPLAR. + + And uncommon ones +Seldom forget. Yes, Nathan, yes we must, +We will be friends. + +NATHAN. + + We are so. And my Recha - +She will rejoice. How sweet the wider prospect +That dawns upon me! Do but know her--once. + +TEMPLAR. + +I am impatient for it. Who is that +Bursts from your house, methinks it is your Daya. + +NATHAN. + +Ay--but so anxiously - + +TEMPLAR. + + Sure, to our Recha +Nothing has happened. + +NATHAN, TEMPLAR, and DAYA. + +DAYA. + + Nathan, Nathan. + +NATHAN. + + Well. + +DAYA. + +Forgive me, knight, that I must interrupt you. + +NATHAN. + +What is the matter? + +TEMPLAR. + + What? + +DAYA. + + The sultan sends - +The sultan wants to see you--in a hurry. +Jesus! the sultan - + +NATHAN. + + Saladin wants me? +He will be curious to see what wares, +Precious, or new, I brought with me from Persia. +Say there is nothing hardly yet unpacked. + +DAYA. + +No, no: 'tis not to look at anything. +He wants to speak to you, to you in person, +And orders you to come as soon as may be. + +NATHAN. + +I'll go--return. + +DAYA. + + Knight, take it not amiss; +But we were so alarmed for what the sultan +Could have in view. + +NATHAN. + + That I shall soon discover. + +NATHAN and TEMPLAR. + +TEMPLAR. + +And don't you know him yet, I mean his person? + +NATHAN. + +Whose, Saladin's? Not yet. I've neither shunned, +Nor sought to see him. And the general voice +Speaks too well of him, for me not to wish, +Rather to take its language upon trust, +Than sift the truth out. Yet--if it be so - +He, by the saving of your life, has now - + +TEMPLAR. + +Yes: it is so. The life I live he gave. + +NATHAN. + +And in it double treble life to me. +This flings a bond about me, which shall tie me +For ever to his service: and I scarcely +Like to defer inquiring for his wishes. +For everything I am ready; and am ready +To own that 'tis on your account I am so. + +TEMPLAR. + +As often as I've thrown me in his way, +I have not found as yet the means to thank him. +The impression that I made upon him came +Quickly, and so has vanished. Now perhaps +He recollects me not, who knows? Once more +At least, he must recall me to his mind, +Fully to fix my doom. 'Tis not enough +That by his order I am yet in being, +By his permission live, I have to learn +According to whose will I must exist. + +NATHAN. + +Therefore I shall the more avoid delay. +Perchance some word may furnish me occasion +To glance at you--perchance--Excuse me, knight, +I am in haste. When shall we see you with us? + +TEMPLAR. + +Soon as I may. + +NATHAN. + + That is, whene'er you will. + +TEMPLAR. + +To-day, then. + +NATHAN. + + And your name? + +TEMPLAR. + + My name was--is +Conrade of Stauffen. + +NATHAN. + +Conrade of Stauffen! Stauffen! + +TEMPLAR. + +Why does that strike so forcibly upon you? + +NATHAN. + +There are more races of that name, no doubt. + +TEMPLAR. + +Yes, many of that name were here--rot here. +My uncle even--I should say, my father. +But wherefore is your look so sharpened on me? + +NATHAN. + +Nothing--how can I weary to behold you - + +TEMPLAR. + +Therefore I quit you first. The searching eye +Finds often more than it desires to see. +I fear it, Nathan. Fare thee well. Let time, +Not curiosity make us acquainted. + +[Goes. + +NATHAN, and soon after, DAYA. + +NATHAN. + +"The searching eye will oft discover more +Than it desires," 'tis as he read my soul. +That too may chance to me. 'Tis not alone +Leonard's walk, stature, but his very voice. +Leonard so wore his head, was even wont +Just so to brush his eyebrows with his hand, +As if to mask the fire that fills his look. +Those deeply graven images at times +How they will slumber in us, seem forgotten, +When all at once a word a tone, a gesture, +Retraces all. Of Stauffen? Ay right--right - +Filnek and Stauffen--I will soon know more - +But first to Saladin--Ha, Daya there? +Why on the watch? Come nearer. By this time, +I'll answer for't, you've something more at heart +Than to know what the sultan wants with me. + +DAYA. + +And do you take it ill in part of her? +You were beginning to converse with him +More confidentially, just as the message, +Sent by the sultan, tore us from the window. + +NATHAN. + +Go tell her that she may expect his visit +At every instant. + +DAYA. + + What indeed--indeed? + +NATHAN. + +I think I can rely upon thee, Daya: +Be on thy guard, I beg. Thou'lt not repent it. +Be but discreet. Thy conscience too will surely +Find its account in 't. Do not mar my plans +But leave them to themselves. Relate and question +With modesty, with backwardness. + +DAYA. + + Oh fear not. +How come you to preach up all this to me? +I go--go too. The sultan sends for you +A second time, and by your friend Al-Hafi. + +NATHAN and HAFI. + +HAFI. + +Ha! art thou here? I was now seeking for thee. + +NATHAN. + +Why in such haste? What wants he then with me? + +HAFI. + +Who? + +NATHAN. + + Saladin. I'm coming--I am coming. + +HAFI. + +Where, to the sultan's? + +NATHAN. + + Was 't not he who sent thee? + +HAFI. + +Me? No. And has he sent already? + +NATHAN. + + Yes. + +HAFI. + +Then 'tis all right. + +NATHAN. + + What's right? + +HAFI. + + That I'm unguilty. +God knows I am not guilty, knows I said - +What said I not of thee--belied thee--slandered - +To ward it off. + +NATHAN. + + To ward off what--be plain. + +HAFI. + +That them art now become his defterdar. +I pity thee. Behold it I will not. +I go this very hour--my road I told thee. +Now--hast thou orders by the way--command, +And then, adieu. Indeed they must not be +Such business as a naked man can't carry. +Quick, what's thy pleasure? + +NATHAN. + + Recollect yourself. +As yet all this is quite a riddle to me. +I know of nothing. + +HAFI. + + Where are then thy bags? + +NATHAN. + +Bags? + +HAFI. + + Bags of money: bring the weightiest forth: +The money thou'rt to lend the sultan, Nathan. + +NATHAN. + +And is that all? + +HAFI. + + Novice, thou'st yet to learn +How he day after day will scoop and scoop, +Till nothing but an hollow empty paring, +A husk as light as film, is left behind. +Thou'st yet to learn how prodigality +From prudent bounty's never-empty coffers +Borrows and borrows, till there's not a purse +Left to keep rats from starving. Thou mayst fancy +That he who wants thy gold will heed thy counsel; +But when has he yet listened to advice? +Imagine now what just befell me with him. + +NATHAN. + +Well - + +HAFI. + + I went in and found him with his sister, +Engaged, or rather rising up from chess. +Sittah plays--not amiss. Upon the board +The game, that Saladin supposed was lost +And had given up, yet stood. When I drew nigh, +And had examined it, I soon discovered +It was not gone by any means. + +NATHAN. + + For you +A blest discovery, a treasure-trove. + +HAFI. + +He only needed to remove his king +Behind the tower t' have got him out of check. +Could I but make you sensible - + +NATHAN. + + I'll trust thee. + +HAFI. + +Then with the knight still left.--I would have shown him +And called him to the board.--He must have won; +But what d'ye think he did? + +NATHAN. + + Dared doubt your insight? + +HAFI. + +He would not listen; but with scorn o'erthrew +The standing pieces. + +NATHAN. + + Is that possible? + +HAFI. + +And said, he chose to be check-mate--he chose it - +Is that to play the game? + +NATHAN. + + Most surely not: +'Tis to play with the game. + +HAFI. + + And yet the stake +Was not a nut-shell. + +NATHAN. + + Money here or there +Matters but little. Not to listen to thee, +And on a point of such importance, Hafi, +There lies the rub. Not even to admire +Thine eagle eye--thy comprehensive glance - +That calls for vengeance: --does it not, Al-Hafi? + +HAFI. + +I only tell it to thee that thou mayst see +How his brain's formed. I bear with him no longer. +Here I've been running to each dirty Moor, +Inquiring who will lend him. I, who ne'er +Went for myself a begging, go a borrowing, +And that for others. Borrowing's much the same +As begging; just as lending upon usury +Is much the same as thieving--decency +Makes not of lewdness virtue. On the Ganges, +Among my ghebers, I have need of neither: +Nor need I be the tool or pimp of either - +Upon the Ganges only there are men. +Here, thou alone art somehow almost worthy +To have lived upon the Ganges. Wilt thou with me? +And leave him with the captive cloak alone, +The booty that he wants to strip thee of. +Little by little he will flay thee clean. +Thins thou'lt be quit at once, without the tease +Of being sliced to death. Come wilt thou with me? +I'll find thee with a staff. + +NATHAN. + + I should have thought, +Come what come may, that thy resource remained: +But I'll consider of it. Stay. + +HAFI. + + Consider - +No; such things must not be considered. + +NATHAN. + + Stay: +Till I have seen the sultan--till you've had - + +HAFI. + +He, who considers, looks about for motives +To forbear daring. He, who can't resolve +In storm and sunshine to himself to live, +Must live the slave of others all his life. +But as you please; farewell! 'tis you who choose. +My path lies yonder--and yours there - + +NATHAN. + + Al-Hafi, +Stay then; at least you'll set things right--not leave them +At sixes and at sevens - + +HAFI. + + Farce! Parade! +The balance in the chest will need no telling. +And my account--Sittah, or you, will vouch. +Farewell. + +[Goes. + +NATHAN. + + Yes I will vouch it. Honest, wild - +How shall I call you--Ah! the real beggar +Is, after all, the only real monarch. + + + +ACT III. + + + +SCENE--A Room in Nathan's House. + +RECHA and DAYA. + +RECHA. + +What, Daya, did my father really say +I might expect him, every instant, here? +That meant--now did it not? he would come soon. +And yet how many instants have rolled by! - +But who would think of those that are elapsed? - +To the next moment only I'm alive. - +At last the very one will come that brings him. + +DAYA. + +But for the sultan's ill-timed message, Nathan +Had brought him in. + +RECHA. + + And when this moment comes, +And when this warmest inmost of my wishes +Shall be fulfilled, what then? what then? + +DAYA. + + What then? +Why then I hope the warmest of my wishes +Will have its turn, and happen. + +RECHA. + + 'Stead of this, +What wish shall take possession of my bosom, +Which now without some ruling wish of wishes +Knows not to heave? Shall nothing? ah, I shudder. + +DAYA. + +Yes: mine shall then supplant the one fulfilled - +My wish to see thee placed one day in Europe +In hands well worthy of thee. + +RECHA. + + No, thou errest - +The very thing that makes thee form this wish +Prevents its being mine. The country draws thee, +And shall not mine retain me? Shall an image, +A fond remembrance of thy home, thy kindred, +Which years and distance have not yet effaced, +Be mightier o'er thy soul, than what I hear, +See, feel, and hold, of mine. + +DAYA. + + 'Tis vain to struggle - +The ways of heaven are the ways of heaven. +Is he the destined saviour, by whose arm +His God, for whom he fights, intends to lead thee +Into the land, which thou wast born for - + +RECHA. + + Daya, +What art thou prating of? My dearest Daya, +Indeed thou hast some strange unseemly notions. +"HIS God--FOR whom he fights"--what is a God +Belonging to a man--needing another +To fight his battles? And can we pronounce +FOR which among the scattered clods of earth +You, I was born; unless it be for that +ON which we were produced. If Nathan heard thee - +What has my father done to thee, that thou +Hast ever sought to paint my happiness +As lying far remote from him and his. +What has he done to thee that thus, among +The seeds of reason, which he sowed unmixed, +Pure in my soul, thou ever must be seeking +To plant the weeds, or flowers, of thy own land. +He wills not of these pranking gaudy blossoms +Upon this soil. And I too must acknowledge +I feel as if they had a sour-sweet odour, +That makes me giddy--that half suffocates. +Thy head is wont to bear it. I don't blame +Those stronger nerves that can support it. Mine - +Mine it behoves not. Latterly thy angel +Had made me half a fool. I am ashamed, +Whene'er I see my father, of the folly. + +DAYA. + +As if here only wisdom were at home - +Folly--if I dared speak. + +RECHA. + + And dar'st thou not? +When was I not all ear, if thou beganst +To talk about the heroes of thy faith? +Have I not freely on their deeds bestowed +My admiration, to their sufferings yielded +The tribute of my tears? Their faith indeed +Has never seemed their most heroic side +To me: yet, therefore, have I only learnt +To find more consolation in the thought, +That our devotion to the God of all +Depends not on our notions about God. +My father has so often told us so - +Thou hast so often to this point consented - +How can it be that thou alone art restless +To undermine what you built up together? +This is not the most fit discussion, Daya, +To usher in our friend to; tho' indeed +I should not disincline to it--for to me +It is of infinite importance if +He too--but hark--there's some one at the door. +If it were he--stay--hush - + +(A Slave who shows in the Templar.) + + They are--here this way. + +TEMPLAR, DAYA, and RECHA. + +RECHA. + +(starts--composes herself--then offers to fall at his feet) +'Tis he--my saviour! ah! + +TEMPLAR. + + This to avoid +Have I alone deferred my call so long. + +RECHA. + +Yes, at the feet of this proud man, I will +Thank--God alone. The man will have no thanks; +No more than will the bucket which was busy +In showering watery damps upon the flame. +That was filled, emptied--but to me, to thee +What boots it? So the man--he too, he too +Was thrust, he knew not how, and the fire. +I dropped, by chance, into his open arm. +By chance, remained there--like a fluttering spark +Upon his mantle--till--I know not what +Pushed us both from amid the conflagration. +What room is here for thanks? How oft in Europe +Wine urges men to very different deeds! +Templars must so behave; it is their office, +Like better taught or rather handier spaniels, +To fetch from out of fire, as out of water. + +TEMPLAR. + +Oh Daya, Daya, if, in hasty moments +Of care and of chagrin, my unchecked temper +Betrayed me into rudeness, why convey +To her each idle word that left my tongue? +This is too piercing a revenge indeed; +Yet if henceforth thou wilt interpret better - + +DAYA. + +I question if these barbed words, Sir Knight, +Alighted so, as to have much disserved you. + +RECHA. + +How, you had cares, and were more covetous +Of them than of your life? + +TEMPLAR. + +[who has been viewing her with wonder and perturbation]. + + Thou best of beings, +How is my soul 'twixt eye and ear divided! +No: 'twas not she I snatched from amid fire: +For who could know her and forbear to do it? - +Indeed--disguised by terror - +[Pause: during which he gazes on her as it were entranced. + +RECHA. + + But to me +You still appear the same you then appeared. + +[Another like pause--till she resumes, in order to interrupt him. + +Now tell me, knight, where have you been so long? +It seems as might I ask--where are you now? + +TEMPLAR. + +I am--where I perhaps ought not to be. + +RECHA. + +Where have you been? where you perhaps ought not - +That is not well. + +TEMPLAR. + + Up--how d'ye call the mountain? +Up Sinai. + +RECHA. + + Oh, that's very fortunate. +Now I shall learn for certain if 'tis true - + +TEMPLAR. + +What! if the spot may yet be seen where Moses +Stood before God; when first - + +RECHA. + + No, no, not that. +Where'er he stood, 'twas before God. Of this +I know enough already. Is it true, +I wish to learn from you that--that it is not +By far so troublesome to climb this mountain +As to get down--for on all mountains else, +That I have seen, quite the reverse obtains. +Well, knight, why will you turn away from me? +Not look at me? + +TEMPLAR. + + Because I wish to hear you. + +RECHA. + +Because you do not wish me to perceive +You smile at my simplicity--You smile +That I can think of nothing more important +To ask about the holy hill of hills: +Do you not? + +TEMPLAR. + + Must I meet those eyes again? +And now you cast them down, and damp the smile - +Am I in doubtful motions of the features +To read what I so plainly hear--what you +So audibly declare; yet will conceal? - +How truly said thy father "Do but know her!" + +RECHA. + +Who has--of whom--said so to thee? + +TEMPLAR. + + Thy father +Said to me "Do but know her," and of thee. + +DAYA. + +And have not I too said so, times and oft. + +TEMPLAR. + +But where is then your father--with the sultan? + +RECHA. + +So I suppose. + +TEMPLAR. + + Yet there? Oh, I forget, +He cannot be there still. He is waiting for me +Most certainly below there by the cloister. +'Twas so, I think, we had agreed, Forgive, +I go in quest of him. + +DAYA. + + Knight, I'll do that. +Wait here, I'll bring him hither instantly. + +TEMPLAR. + +Oh no--Oh no. He is expecting me. +Besides--you are not aware what may have happened. +'Tis not unlikely he may be involved +With Saladin--you do not know the sultan - +In some unpleasant--I must go, there's danger +If I forbear. + +RECHA. + + Danger--of what? of what? + +TEMPLAR. + +Danger for me, for thee, for him; unless +I go at once. [Goes. + +RECHA and DAYA. + +RECHA. + + What is the matter, Daya? +So quick--what comes across him, drives him hence? + +DAYA. + +Let him alone, I think it no bad sign. + +RECHA. + +Sign--and of what? + +DAYA. + + That something passes in him. +It boils--but it must not boil over. Leave him - +Now 'tis your turn. + +RECHA. + + My turn? Thou dost become +Like him incomprehensible to me. + +DAYA. + +Now you may give him back all that unrest +He once occasioned. Be not too severe, +Nor too vindictive. + +RECHA. + + Daya, what you mean +You must know best. + +DAYA. + + And pray are you again +So calm. + +RECHA. + + I am--yes that I am. + +DAYA. + + At least +Own--that this restlessness has given you pleasure, +And that you have to thank his want of ease +For what of ease you now enjoy. + +RECHA. + + Of that +I am unconscious. All I could confess +Were, that it does seem strange unto myself, +How, in this bosom, such a pleasing calm +Can suddenly succeed to such a tossing. + +DAYA. + +His countenance, his speech, his manner, has +By this the satiated thee. + +RECHA. + + Satiated, +I will not say--not by a good deal yet. + +DAYA. + +But satisfied the more impatient craving. + +RECHA. + +Well, well, if you must have it so. + +DAYA. + + I? no. + +RECHA. + +To me he will be ever dear, will ever +Remain more dear than my own life; altho' +My pulse no longer flutters at his name, +My heart no longer, when I think about him, +Beats stronger, swifter. What have I been prating? +Come, Daya, let us once more to the window +Which overlooks the palms. + +DAYA. + + So that 'tis not +Yet satisfied--the more impatient craving. + +RECHA. + +Now I shall see the palm-trees once again, +Not him alone amid them. + +DAYA. + + This cold fit +Is but the harbinger of other fevers. + +RECHA. + +Cold--cold--I am not cold; but I observe not +Less willingly what I behold with calmness. + + +SCENE--An Audience Room in the Sultan's Palace. + + +SITTAH: SALADIN giving directions at the door. + +SALADIN. + +Here, introduce the Jew, whene'er he comes - +He seems in no great haste. + +SITTAH. + + May be at first +He was not in the way. + +SALADIN. + + Ah, sister, sister! + +SITTAH. + +You seem as if a combat were impending. + +SALADIN. + +With weapons that I have not learnt to wield. +Must I disguise myself? I use precautions? +I lay a snare? When, where gained I that knowledge? +And this, for what? To fish for money--money - +For money from a Jew--and to such arts +Must Saladin descend at last to come at +The least of little things? + +SITTAH. + + Each little thing +Despised too much finds methods of revenge. + +SALADIN. + +'Tis but too true. And if this Jew should prove +The fair good man, as once the dervis painted - + +SITTAH. + +Then difficulties cease. A snare concerns +The avaricious, cautious, fearful Jew; +And not the good wise man: for he is ours +Without a snare. Then the delight of hearing +How such a man speaks out; with what stern strength +He tears the net, or with what prudent foresight +He one by one undoes the tangled meshes; +That will be all to boot - + +SALADIN. + + That I shall joy in. + +SITTAH. + +What then should trouble thee? For if he be +One of the many only, a mere Jew, +You will not blush to such a one to seem +A man, as he thinks all mankind to be. +One, that to him should bear a better aspect, +Would seem a fool--a dupe. + +SALADIN. + + So that I must +Act badly, lest the bad think badly of me. + +SITTAH. + +Yes, if you call it acting badly, brother, +To use a thing after its kind. + +SALADIN. + + There's nothing +That woman's wit invents it can't embellish. + +SITTAH. + +Embellish - + +SALADIN. + + But their fine-wrought filligree +In my rude hand would break. It is for those +That can contrive them to employ such weapons: +They ask a practised wrist. But chance what may, +Well as I can - + +SITTAH. + + Trust not yourself too little. +I answer for you, if you have the will. +Such men as you would willingly persuade us +It was their swords, their swords alone that raised them. +The lion's apt to be ashamed of hunting +In fellowship of the fox--'tis of his fellow +Not of the cunning that he is ashamed. + +SALADIN. + +You women would so gladly level man +Down to yourselves. Go, I have got my lesson. + +SITTAH. + +What--MUST I go? + +SALADIN. + + Had you the thought of staying? + +SITTAH. + +In your immediate presence not indeed, +But in the by-room. + +SALADIN. + + You could like to listen. +Not that, my sister, if I may insist. +Away! the curtain rustles--he is come. +Beware of staying--I'll be on the watch. + +[While Sittah retires through one door, Nathan enters at another, +and Saladin seats himself.] + +SALADIN and NATHAN. + +SALADIN. + +Draw nearer, Jew, yet nearer; here, quite by me, +Without all fear. + +NATHAN. + + Remain that for thy foes! + +SALADIN. + +Your name is Nathan? + +NATHAN. + + Yes. + +SALADIN. + + Nathan the wise? + +NATHAN. + +No. + +SALADIN. + + If not thou, the people calls thee so. + +NATHAN. + +May be, the people. + +SALADIN. + + Fancy not that I +Think of the people's voice contemptuously; +I have been wishing much to know the man +Whom it has named the wise. + +NATHAN. + + And if it named +Him so in scorn. If wise meant only prudent. +And prudent, one who knows his interest well. + +SALADIN. + +Who knows his real interest, thou must mean. + +NATHAN. + +Then were the interested the most prudent, +Then wise and prudent were the same. + +SALADIN. + + I hear +You proving what your speeches contradict. +You know man's real interests, which the people +Knows not--at least have studied how to know them. +That alone makes the sage. + +NATHAN. + + Which each imagines +Himself to be. + +SALADIN. + + Of modesty enough! +Ever to meet it, where one seeks to hear +Dry truth, is vexing. Let us to the purpose - +But, Jew, sincere and open - + +NATHAN. + + I will serve thee +So as to merit, prince, thy further notice. + +SALADIN. + +Serve me--how? + +NATHAN. + + Thou shalt have the best I bring. +Shalt have them cheap. + +SALADIN. + + What speak you of?--your wares? +My sister shall be called to bargain with you +For them (so much for the sly listener), I +Have nothing to transact now with the merchant. + +NATHAN. + +Doubtless then you would learn, what, on my journey, +I noticed of the motions of the foe, +Who stirs anew. If unreserved I may - + +SALADIN. + +Neither was that the object of my sending: +I know what I have need to know already. +In short I willed your presence - + +NATHAN. + + Sultan, order. + +SALADIN. + +To gain instruction quite on other points. +Since you are a man so wise, tell me which law, +Which faith appears to you the better? + +NATHAN. + + Sultan, +I am a Jew. + +SALADIN. + + And I a Mussulman: +The Christian stands between us. Of these three +Religions only one came be the true. +A man, like you, remains not just where birth +Has chanced to cast him, or, if he remains there, +Does it from insight, choice, from grounds of preference. +Share then with me your insight--let me hear +The grounds of preference, which I have wanted +The leisure to examine--learn the choice, +These grounds have motived, that it may be mine. +In confidence I ask it. How you startle, +And weigh me with your eye! It may well be +I'm the first sultan to whom this caprice, +Methinks not quite unworthy of a sultan, +Has yet occurred. Am I not? Speak then--Speak. +Or do you, to collect yourself, desire +Some moments of delay--I give them you - +(Whether she's listening?--I must know of her +If I've done right.) Reflect--I'll soon return - + +[Saladin steps into the room to which Sittah had retired.] + +NATHAN. + +Strange! how is this? what wills the sultan of me? +I came prepared with cash--he asks truth. Truth? +As if truth too were cash--a coin disused +That goes by weight--indeed 'tis some such thing - +But a new coin, known by the stamp at once, +To be flung down and told upon the counter, +It is not that. Like gold in bags tied up, +So truth lies hoarded in the wise man's head +To be brought out.--Which now in this transaction +Which of us plays the Jew; he asks for truth, +Is truth what he requires, his aim, his end? +That this is but the glue to lime a snare +Ought not to be suspected, 'twere too little, +Yet what is found too little for the great - +In fact, through hedge and pale to stalk at once +Into one's field beseems not--friends look round, +Seek for the path, ask leave to pass the gate - +I must be cautious. Yet to damp him back, +And be the stubborn Jew is not the thing; +And wholly to throw off the Jew, still less. +For if no Jew he might with right inquire - +Why not a Mussulman--Yes--that may serve me. +Not children only can be quieted +With stories. Ha! he comes--well, let him come. + +SALADIN (returning). + +So, there, the field is clear, I'm not too quick, +Thou hast bethought thyself as much as need is, +Speak, no one hears. + +NATHAN. + + Might the whole world but hear us. + +SALADIN. + +Is Nathan of his cause so confident? +Yes, that I call the sage--to veil no truth, +For truth to hazard all things, life and goods. + +NATHAN. + +Aye, when 'tis necessary and when useful. + +SALADIN. + +Henceforth I hope I shall with reason bear +One of my titles--"Betterer of the world +And of the law." + +NATHAN. + + In truth a noble title. +But, sultan, e'er I quite unfold myself +Allow me to relate a tale. + +SALADIN. + + Why not? +I always was a friend of tales well told. + +NATHAN. + +Well told, that's not precisely my affair. + +SALADIN. + +Again so proudly modest, come begin. + +NATHAN. + +In days of yore, there dwelt in east a man +Who from a valued hand received a ring +Of endless worth: the stone of it an opal, +That shot an ever-changing tint: moreover, +It had the hidden virtue him to render +Of God and man beloved, who in this view, +And this persuasion, wore it. Was it strange +The eastern man ne'er drew it off his finger, +And studiously provided to secure it +For ever to his house. Thus--He bequeathed it; +First, to the MOST BELOVED of his sons, +Ordained that he again should leave the ring +To the MOST DEAR among his children--and +That without heeding birth, the FAVOURITE son, +In virtue of the ring alone, should always +Remain the lord o' th' house--You hear me, Sultan? + +SALADIN. + +I understand thee--on. + +NATHAN. + + From son to son, +At length this ring descended to a father, +Who had three sons, alike obedient to him; +Whom therefore he could not but love alike. +At times seemed this, now that, at times the third, +(Accordingly as each apart received +The overflowings of his heart) most worthy +To heir the ring, which with good-natured weakness +He privately to each in turn had promised. +This went on for a while. But death approached, +And the good father grew embarrassed. So +To disappoint two sons, who trust his promise, +He could not bear. What's to be done. He sends +In secret to a jeweller, of whom, +Upon the model of the real ring, +He might bespeak two others, and commanded +To spare nor cost nor pains to make them like, +Quite like the true one. This the artist managed. +The rings were brought, and e'en the father's eye +Could not distinguish which had been the model. +Quite overjoyed he summons all his sons, +Takes leave of each apart, on each bestows +His blessing and his ring, and dies--Thou hearest me? + +SALADIN. + +I hear, I hear, come finish with thy tale; +Is it soon ended? + +NATHAN. + + It is ended, Sultan, +For all that follows may be guessed of course. +Scarce is the father dead, each with his ring +Appears, and claims to be the lord o' th' house. +Comes question, strife, complaint--all to no end; +For the true ring could no more be distinguished +Than now can--the true faith. + +SALADIN. + + How, how, is that +To be the answer to my query? + +NATHAN. + + No, +But it may serve as my apology; +If I can't venture to decide between +Rings, which the father got expressly made, +That they might not be known from one another. + +SALADIN. + +The rings--don't trifle with me; I must think +That the religions which I named can be +Distinguished, e'en to raiment, drink and food, + +NATHAN. + +And only not as to their grounds of proof. +Are not all built alike on history, +Traditional, or written. History +Must be received on trust--is it not so? +In whom now are we likeliest to put trust? +In our own people surely, in those men +Whose blood we are, in them, who from our childhood +Have given us proofs of love, who ne'er deceived us, +Unless 'twere wholesomer to be deceived. +How can I less believe in my forefathers +Than thou in thine. How can I ask of thee +To own that thy forefathers falsified +In order to yield mine the praise of truth. +The like of Christians. + +SALADIN. + + By the living God, +The man is in the right, I must be silent. + +NATHAN. + +Now let us to our rings return once more. +As said, the sons complained. Each to the judge +Swore from his father's hand immediately +To have received the ring, as was the case; +After he had long obtained the father's promise, +One day to have the ring, as also was. +The father, each asserted, could to him +Not have been false, rather than so suspect +Of such a father, willing as he might be +With charity to judge his brethren, he +Of treacherous forgery was bold t' accuse them. + +SALADIN. + +Well, and the judge, I'm eager now to hear +What thou wilt make him say. Go on, go on. + +NATHAN. + +The judge said, If ye summon not the father +Before my seat, I cannot give a sentence. +Am I to guess enigmas? Or expect ye +That the true ring should here unseal its lips? +But hold--you tell me that the real ring +Enjoys the hidden power to make the wearer +Of God and man beloved; let that decide. +Which of you do two brothers love the best? +You're silent. Do these love-exciting rings +Act inward only, not without? Does each +Love but himself? Ye're all deceived deceivers, +None of your rings is true. The real ring +Perhaps is gone. To hide or to supply +Its loss, your father ordered three for one. + +SALADIN. + +O charming, charming! + +NATHAN. + + And (the judge continued) +If you will take advice in lieu of sentence, +This is my counsel to you, to take up +The matter where it stands. If each of you +Has had a ring presented by his father, +Let each believe his own the real ring. +'Tis possible the father chose no longer +To tolerate the one ring's tyranny; +And certainly, as he much loved you all, +And loved you all alike, it could not please him +By favouring one to be of two the oppressor. +Let each feel honoured by this free affection. +Unwarped of prejudice; let each endeavour +To vie with both his brothers in displaying +The virtue of his ring; assist its might +With gentleness, benevolence, forbearance, +With inward resignation to the godhead, +And if the virtues of the ring continue +To show themselves among your children's children, +After a thousand thousand years, appear +Before this judgment-seat--a greater one +Than I shall sit upon it, and decide. +So spake the modest judge. + +SALADIN. + + God! + +NATHAN. + + Saladin, +Feel'st thou thyself this wiser, promised man? + +SALADIN. + +I dust, I nothing, God! + +[Precipitates himself upon Nathan, and takes hold of his hand, which +he does not quit the remainder of the scene.] + +NATHAN. + + What moves thee, Sultan? + +SALADIN. + +Nathan, my dearest Nathan, 'tis not yet +The judge's thousand thousand years are past, +His judgment-seat's not mine. Go, go, but love me. + +NATHAN. + +Has Saladin then nothing else to order? + +SALADIN. + +No. + +NATHAN. + + Nothing? + +SALADIN. + + Nothing in the least, and wherefore? + +NATHAN. + +I could have wished an opportunity +To lay a prayer before you. + +SALADIN. + + Is there need +Of opportunity for that? Speak freely. + +NATHAN. + +I come from a long journey from collecting +Debts, and I've almost of hard cash too much; +The times look perilous--I know not where +To lodge it safely--I was thinking thou, +For coming wars require large sums, couldst use it. + +SALADIN (fixing Nathan). + +Nathan, I ask not if thou sawst Al-Hafi, +I'll not examine if some shrewd suspicion +Spurs thee to make this offer of thyself. + +NATHAN. + +Suspicion - + +SALADIN. + + I deserve this offer. Pardon, +For what avails concealment, I acknowledge +I was about - + +NATHAN. + + To ask the same of me? + +SALADIN. + +Yes. + +NATHAN. + + Then 'tis well we're both accommodated. +That I can't send thee all I have of treasure +Arises from the templar; thou must know him, +I have a weighty debt to pay to him. + +SALADIN. + +A templar! How, thou dost not with thy gold +Support my direst foes. + +NATHAN. + + I speak of him +Whose life the sultan - + +SALADIN. + + What art thou recalling? +I had forgot the youth, whence is he, knowest thou? + +NATHAN. + +Hast thou not heard then how thy clemency +To him has fallen on me. He at the risk +Of his new-spared existence, from the flames +Rescued my daughter. + +SALADIN. + + Ha! Has he done that; +He looked like one that would--my brother too, +Whom he's so like, bad done it. Is he here still? +Bring him to me--I have so often talked +To Sittah of this brother, whom she knew not, +That I must let her see his counterfeit. +Go fetch him. How a single worthy action, +Though but of whim or passion born, gives rise +To other blessings! Fetch him. + +NATHAN. + + In an instant. +The rest remains as settled. + +SALADIN. + + O, I wish +I had let my sister listen. Well, I'll to her. +How shall I make her privy to all this? + + +SCENE.--The Place of Palms. + + +[The TEMPLAR walking and agitated.] + +TEMPLAR. + +Here let the weary victim pant awhile. - +Yet would I not have time to ascertain +What passes in me; would not snuff beforehand +The coming storm. 'Tis sure I fled in vain; +But more than fly I could not do, whatever +Comes of it. Ah! to ward it off--the blow +Was given so suddenly. Long, much, I strove +To keep aloof; but vainly. Once to see her - +Her, whom I surely did not court the sight of, +To see her, and to form the resolution, +Never to lose sight of her here again, +Was one--The resolution?--Not 'tis will, +Fixt purpose, made (for I was passive in it) +Sealed, doomed. To see her, and to feel myself +Bound to her, wove into her very being, +Was one--remains one. Separate from her +To live is quite unthinkable--is death. +And wheresoever after death we be, +There too the thought were death. And is this love? +Yet so in troth the templar loves--so--so - +The Christian loves the Jewess. What of that? +Here in this holy land, and therefore holy +And dear to me, I have already doffed +Some prejudices.--Well--what says my vow? +As templar I am dead, was dead to that +From the same hour which made me prisoner +To Saladin. But is the head he gave me +My old one? No. It knows no word of what +Was prated into yon, of what had bound it. +It is a better; for its patrial sky +Fitter than yon. I feel--I'm conscious of it, +With this I now begin to think, as here +My father must have thought; if tales of him +Have not been told untruly. Tales--why tales? +They're credible--more credible than ever - +Now that I'm on the brink of stumbling, where +He fell. He fell? I'd rather fall with men, +Than stand with children. His example pledges +His approbation, and whose approbation +Have I else need of? Nathan's? Surely of his +Encouragement, applause, I've little need +To doubt--O what a Jew is he! yet easy +To pass for the mere Jew. He's coming--swiftly - +And looks delighted--who leaves Saladin +With other looks? Hoa, Nathan! + +NATHAN and TEMPLAR. + +NATHAN. + + Are you there? + +TEMPLAR. + +Your visit to the sultan has been long. + +NATHAN. + +Not very long; my going was indeed +Too much delayed. Troth, Conrade, this man's fame +Outstrips him not. His fame is but his shadow. +But before all I have to tell you - + +TEMPLAR. + + What? + +NATHAN. + +That he would speak with you, and that directly. +First to my house, where I would give some orders, +Then we'll together to the sultan. + +TEMPLAR. + + Nathan, +I enter not thy doors again before - + +NATHAN. + +Then you've been there this while--have spoken with her. +How do you like my Recha? + +TEMPLAR. + + Words cannot tell - +Gaze on her once again--I never will - +Never--no never: unless thou wilt promise +That I for ever, ever, may behold her. + +NATHAN. + +How should I take this? + +TEMPLAR (falling suddenly upon his neck). + +Nathan--O my father! + +NATHAN. + +Young man! + +TEMPLAR (quitting him as suddenly). + + Not son?--I pray thee, Nathan--ha! + +NATHAN. + +Thou dear young man! + +TEMPLAR. + + Not son?--I pray thee, Nathan, +Conjure thee by the strongest bonds of nature, +Prefer not those of later date, the weaker. - +Be it enough to thee to be a man! +Push me not from thee! + +NATHAN. + + Dearest, dearest friend! - + +TEMPLAR. + +Not son? Not son? Not even--even if +Thy daughter's gratitude had in her bosom +Prepared the way for love--not even if +Both wait thy nod alone to be but one? - +You do not speak? + +NATHAN. + + Young knight, you have surprised me. + +TEMPLAR. + +Do I surprise thee--thus surprise thee, Nathan, +With thy own thought? Canst thou not in my mouth +Know it again? Do I surprise you? + +NATHAN. + + Ere +I know, which of the Stauffens was your father? + +TEMPLAR. + +What say you, Nathan?--And in such a moment +Is curiosity your only feeling? + +NATHAN. + +For see, once I myself well knew a Stauffen, +Whose name was Conrade. + +TEMPLAR. + + Well, and if my father +Was bearer of that name? + +NATHAN. + + Indeed? + +TEMPLAR. + + My name +Is from my father's, Conrade. + +NATHAN. + + Then thy father +Was not my Conrade. He was, like thyself, +A templar, never wedded. + +TEMPLAR. + + For all that - + +NATHAN. + +How? + +TEMPLAR. + + For all that he may have been my father. + +NATHAN. + +You joke. + +TEMPLAR. + + And you are captious. Boots it then +To be true-born? Does bastard wound thine ear? +The race is not to be despised: but hold, +Spare me my pedigree; I'll spare thee thine. +Not that I doubt thy genealogic tree. +O, God forbid! You may attest it all +As far as Abraham back; and backwarder +I know it to my heart--I'll swear to it also. + +NATHAN. + +Knight, you grow bitter. Do I merit this? +Have I refused you ought? I've but forborne +To close with you at the first word--no more. + +TEMPLAR. + +Indeed--no more? O then forgive - + +NATHAN. + + 'Tis well. +Do but come with me. + +TEMPLAR. + + Whither? To thy house? +No? there not--there not: 'tis a burning soil. +Here I await thee, go. Am I again +To see her, I shall see her times enough: +If not I have already gazed too much. + +NATHAN. + +I'll try to be soon back. [Goes. + +TEMPLAR. + + Too much indeed-- +Strange that the human brain, so infinite +Of comprehension, yet at times will fill +Quite full, and all at once, of a mere trifle - +No matter what it teems with. Patience! Patience! +The soul soon calms again, th' upboiling stuff +Makes itself room and brings back light and order. +Is this then the first time I love? Or was +What by that name I knew before, not love - +And this, this love alone that now I feel? + +DAYA and TEMPLAR. + +DAYA. + +Sir knight, sir knight. + +TEMPLAR. + + Who calls? ha, Daya, you? + +DAYA. + +I managed to slip by him. No, come here +(He'll see us where you stand) behind this tree. + +TEMPLAR. + +Why so mysterious? What's the matter, Daya? + +DAYA. + +Yes, 'tis a secret that has brought me to you +A twofold secret. One I only know, +The other only you. Let's interchange, +Intrust yours first to me, then I'll tell mine. + +TEMPLAR. + +With pleasure when I'm able to discover +What you call me. But that yours will explain. +Begin - + +DAYA. + +That is not fair, yours first, sir knight; +For be assured my secret serves you not +Unless I have yours first. If I sift it out +You'll not have trusted me, and then my secret +Is still my own, and yours lost all for nothing. +But, knight, how can you men so fondly fancy +You ever hide such secrets from us women. + +TEMPLAR. + +Secrets we often are unconscious of. + +DAYA. + +May be--So then I must at last be friendly, +And break it to you. Tell me now, whence came it +That all at once you started up abruptly +And in the twinkling of an eye were fled? +That you left us without one civil speech! +That you return no more with Nathan to us - +Has Recha then made such a slight impression, +Or made so deep a one? I penetrate you. +Think you that on a limed twig the poor bird +Can flutter cheerfully, or hop at ease +With its wing pinioned? Come, come, in one word +Acknowledge to me plainly that you love her, +Love her to madness, and I'll tell you what. + +TEMPLAR. + +To madness, oh, you're very penetrating. + +DAYA. + +Grant me the love, and I'll give up the madness. + +TEMPLAR. + +Because that must be understood of course - +A templar love a Jewess - + +DAYA. + + Seems absurd, +But often there's more fitness in a thing +Than we at once discern; nor were this time +The first, when through an unexpected path +The Saviour drew his children on to him +Across the tangled maze of human life. + +TEMPLAR. + +So solemn that--(and yet if in the stead +Of Saviour, I were to say Providence, +It would sound true) you make me curious, Daya, +Which I'm unwont to be. + +DAYA. + + This is the place +For miracles + +TEMPLAR. + + For wonders--well and good - +Can it be otherwise, where the whole world +Presses as toward a centre. My dear Daya, +Consider what you asked of me as owned; +That I do love her--that I can't imagine +How I should live without her--that + +DAYA. + + Indeed! +Then, knight, swear to me you will call her yours, +Make both her present and eternal welfare. + +TEMPLAR. + +And how, how can I, can I swear to do +What is not in my power? + +DAYA. + + 'Tis in your power, +A single word will put it in your power. + +TEMPLAR. + +So that her father shall not be against it. + +DAYA. + +Her father--father? he shall be compelled. + +TEMPLAR. + +As yet he is not fallen among thieves-- +Compelled? + +DAYA. + + Aye to be willing that you should. + +TEMPLAR. + +Compelled and willing--what if I inform thee +That I have tried to touch this string already, +It vibrates not responsive. + +DAYA. + + He refused thee? + +TEMPLAR. + +He answered in a tone of such discordance +That I was hurt. + +DAYA. + + What do you say? How, you +Betrayed the shadow of a wish for Recha, +And he did not spring up for joy, drew back, +Drew coldly back, made difficulties? + +TEMPLAR. + + Almost. + +DAYA. + +Well then I'll not deliberate a moment. + +TEMPLAR. + +And yet you are deliberating still. + +DAYA. + +That man was always else so good, so kind, +I am so deeply in his debt. Why, why +Would he not listen to you? God's my witness +That my heart bleeds to come about him thus. + +TEMPLAR. + +I pray you, Daya, once for all, to end +This dire uncertainty. But if you doubt +Whether what 'tis your purpose to reveal +Be right or wrong, be praiseworthy or shameful, +Speak not--I will forget that you have had +Something to hide. + +DAYA. + + That spurs me on still more. +Then learn that Recha is no Jewess, that +She is a Christian. + +TEMPLAR. + + I congratulate you, +'Twas a hard labour, but 'tis out at last; +The pangs of the delivery won't hurt you. +Go on with undiminished zeal, and people +Heaven, when no longer fit to people earth. + +DAYA. + +How, knight, does my intelligence deserve +Such bitter scorn? That Recha is a Christian +On you a Christian templar, and her lover, +Confers no joy. + +TEMPLAR. + + Particularly as +She is a Christian of your making, Daya. + +DAYA. + +O, so you understand it--well and good - +I wish to find out him that might convert her. +It is her fate long since to have been that +Which she is spoiled for being. + +TEMPLAR. + + Do explain - +Or go. + +DAYA. + + She is a Christian child--of Christian +Parents was born and is baptised. + +TEMPLAR (hastily). + + And Nathan - + +DAYA. + +Is not her father. + +TEMPLAR. + + Nathan not her father - +And are you sure of what you say? + +DAYA. + + I am, +It is a truth has cost me tears of blood. +No, he is not her father. + +TEMPLAR. + + And has only +Brought her up as his daughter, educated +The Christian child a Jewess. + +DAYA. + + Certainly. + +TEMPLAR. + +And she is unacquainted with her birth? +Has never learnt from him that she was born +A Christian, and no Jewess? + +DAYA. + + Never yet. + +TEMPLAR. + +And he not only let the child grow up +In this mistaken notion, but still leaves +The woman in it. + +DAYA. + + Aye, alas! + +TEMPLAR. + + How, Nathan, +The wise good Nathan thus allow himself +To stifle nature's voice? Thus to misguide +Upon himself th' effusions of a heart +Which to itself abandoned would have formed +Another bias, Daya--yes, indeed +You have intrusted an important secret +That may have consequences--it confounds me, +I cannot tell what I've to do at present, +Therefore go, give me time, he may come by +And may surprise us. + +DAYA. + + I should drop for fright. + +TEMPLAR. + +I am not able now to talk, farewell; +And if you chance to meet him, only say +That we shall find each other at the sultan's. + +DAYA. + +Let him not see you've any grudge against him. +That should be kept to give the proper impulse +To things at last, and may remove your scruples +Respecting Recha. But then, if you take her +Back with you into Europe, let not me +Be left behind. + +TEMPLAR. + + That we'll soon settle, go. + + + +ACT IV. + + + +SCENE.--The Cloister of a Convent. +The FRIAR alone. + +FRIAR. + +Aye--aye--he's very right--the patriarch is - +In fact of all that he has sent me after +Not much turns out his way--Why put on me +Such business and no other? I don't care +To coax and wheedle, and to run my nose +Into all sorts of things, and have a hand +In all that's going forward. I did not +Renounce the world, for my own part, in order +To be entangled with 't for other people. + +FRIAR and TEMPLAR. + +TEMPLAR (abruptly entering). + +Good brother, are you there? I've sought you long. + +FRIAR. + +Me, sir? + +TEMPLAR. + + What, don't you recollect me? + +FRIAR. + + Oh, +I thought I never in my life was likely +To see you any more. For so I hoped +In God. I did not vastly relish the proposal +That I was bound to make you. Yes, God knows, +How little I desired to find a hearing, +Knows I was inly glad when you refused +Without a moment's thought, what of a knight +Would be unworthy. Are your second thoughts - + +TEMPLAR. + +So, you already know my purpose, I +Scarce know myself. + +FRIAR. + + Have you by this reflected +That our good patriarch is not so much out, +That gold and fame in plenty may be got +By his commission, that a foe's a foe +Were he our guardian angel seven times over. +Have you weighed this 'gainst flesh and blood, and come +To strike the bargain he proposed. Ah, God. + +TEMPLAR. + +My dear good man, set your poor heart at ease. +Not therefore am I come, not therefore wish +To see the patriarch in person. Still +On the first point I think as I then thought, +Nor would I for aught in the world exchange +That good opinion, which I once obtained +From such a worthy upright man as thou art, +I come to ask your patriarch's advice - + +FRIAR (looking round with timidity). + +Our patriarch's--you? a knight ask priest's advice? + +TEMPLAR. + +Mine is a priestly business. + +FRIAR. + + Yet the priests +Ask not the knights' advice, be their affair +Ever so knightly. + +TEMPLAR. + + Therefore one allows them +To overshoot themselves, a privilege +Which such as I don't vastly envy them. +Indeed if I were acting for myself, +Had not t' account with others, I should care +But little for his counsel. But some things +I'd rather do amiss by others' guidance +Than by my own aright. And then by this time +I see religion too is party, and +He, who believes himself the most impartial, +Does but uphold the standard of his own, +Howe'er unconsciously. And since 'tis so, +So must be well. + +FRIAR. + + I rather shall not answer, +For I don't understand exactly. + +TEMPLAR. + + Yet +Let me consider what it is precisely +That I have need of, counsel or decision, +Simple or learned counsel.--Thank you, brother, +I thank you for your hint--A patriarch--why? +Be thou my patriarch; for 'tis the plain Christian, +Whom in the patriarch I have to consult, +And not the patriarch in the Christian. + +FRIAR. + + Oh, +I beg no further--you must quite mistake me; +He that knows much hath learnt much care, and I +Devoted me to only one. 'Tis well, +Most luckily here comes the very man, +Wait here, stand still--he has perceived you, knight. + +TEMPLAR. + +I'd rather shun him, he is not my man. +A thick red smiling prelate--and as stately - + +FRIAR. + +But you should see him on a gala-day; +He only comes from visiting the sick. + +TEMPLAR. + +Great Saladin must then be put to shame. + +[The Patriarch, after marching up one of the aisles in great pomp, +draws near, and makes signs to the Friar, who approaches him.] + +PATRIARCH, FRIAR, and TEMPLAR. + +PATRIARCH. + +Hither--was that the templar? What wants he? + +FRIAR. + +I know not. + +PATRIARCH (approaches the templar, while the friar and the rest of +his train draw back). + + So, sir knight, I'm truly happy +To meet the brave young man--so very young too - +Something, God helping, may come of him. + +TEMPLAR. + + More +Than is already hardly will come of him, +But less, my reverend father, that may chance. + +PATRIARCH. + +It is my prayer at least a knight so pious +May for the cause of Christendom and God +Long be preserved; nor can that fail, so be +Young valour will lend ear to aged counsel. +With what can I be useful any way? + +TEMPLAR. + +With that which my youth is without, with counsel. + +PATRIARCH. + +Most willingly, but counsel should be followed. + +TEMPLAR. + +Surely not blindly? + +PATRIARCH. + + Who says that? Indeed +None should omit to make use of the reason +Given him by God, in things where it belongs, +But it belongs not everywhere; for instance, +If God, by some one of his blessed angels, +Or other holy minister of his word, +Deign'd to make known a mean, by which the welfare +Of Christendom, or of his holy church, +In some peculiar and especial manner +Might be promoted or secured, who then +Shall venture to rise up, and try by reason +The will of him who has created reason, +Measure th' eternal laws of heaven by +The little rules of a vain human honour? - +But of all this enough. What is it then +On which our counsel is desired? + +TEMPLAR. + + Suppose, +My reverend father, that a Jew possessed +An only child, a girl we'll say, whom he +With fond attention forms to every virtue, +And loves more than his very soul; a child +Who by her pious love requites his goodness. +And now suppose it whispered--say to me - +This girl is not the daughter of the Jew, +He picked up, purchased, stole her in her childhood - +That she was born of Christians and baptised, +But that the Jew hath reared her as a Jewess, +Allows her to remain a Jewess, and +To think herself his daughter. Reverend father +What then ought to be done? + +PATRIARCH. + + I shudder! But +First will you please explain if such a case +Be fact, or only an hypothesis? +That is to say, if you, of your own head, +Invent the case, or if indeed it happened, +And still continues happening? + +TEMPLAR. + + I had thought +That just to learn your reverence's opinion +This were all one. + +PATRIARCH. + + All one--now see how apt +Proud human reason is in spiritual things +To err: 'tis not all one; for, if the point +In question be a mere sport of the wit, +'Twill not be worth our while to think it through +But I should recommend the curious person +To theatres, where oft, with loud applause, +Such pro and contras have been agitated. +But if the object should be something more +Than by a school-trick--by a sleight of logic +To get the better of me--if the case +Be really extant, if it should have happened +Within our diocese, or--or perhaps +Here in our dear Jerusalem itself, +Why then - + +TEMPLAR. + + What then? + +PATRIARCH. + + Then were it proper +To execute at once upon the Jew +The penal laws in such a case provided +By papal and imperial right, against +So foul a crime--such dire abomination. + +TEMPLAR. + +So. + +PATRIARCH. + + And the laws forementioned have decreed, +That if a Jew shall to apostacy +Seduce a Christian, he shall die by fire. + +TEMPLAR. + +So. + +PATRIARCH. + + How much more the Jew, who forcibly +Tears from the holy font a Christian child, +And breaks the sacramental bond of baptism; +For all what's done to children is by force - +I mean except what the church does to children. + +TEMPLAR. + +What if the child, but for this fostering Jew, +Must have expired in misery? + +PATRIARCH. + + That's nothing, +The Jew has still deserved the faggot--for +'Twere better it here died in misery +Than for eternal woe to live. Besides, +Why should the Jew forestall the hand of God? +God, if he wills to save, can save without him. + +TEMPLAR. + +And spite of him too save eternally. + +PATRIARCH. + +That's nothing! Still the Jew is to be burnt. + +TEMPLAR. + +That hurts me--more particularly as +'Tis said he has not so much taught the maid +His faith, as brought her up with the mere knowledge +Of what our reason teaches about God. + +PATRIARCH. + +That's nothing! Still the Jew is to be burnt - +And for this very reason would deserve +To be thrice burnt. How, let a child grow up +Without a faith? Not even teach a child +The greatest of its duties, to believe? +'Tis heinous! I am quite astonished, knight, +That you yourself - + +TEMPLAR. + + The rest, right reverend sir, +In the confessional, but not before. [Offers to go. + +PATRIARCH. + +What off--not stay for my interrogation - +Not name to me this infidel, this Jew - +Not find him up for me at once? But hold, +A thought occurs, I'll straightway to the sultan +Conformably to the capitulation, +Which Saladin has sworn, he must support us +In all the privileges, all the doctrines +Which appertain to our most holy faith, +Thank God, we've the original in keeping, +We have his hand and seal to it--we - +And I shall lead him easily to think +How very dangerous for the state it is +Not to believe. All civic bonds divide, +Like flax fire-touched, where subjects don't believe. +Away with foul impiety! + +TEMPLAR. + + It happens +Somewhat unlucky that I want the leisure +To enjoy this holy sermon. I am sent for +To Saladin. + +PATRIARCH. + + Why then--indeed--if so - + +TEMPLAR. + +And will prepare the sultan, if agreeable. +For your right reverend visit. + +PATRIARCH. + + I have heard +That you found favour in the sultan's sight, +I beg with all humility to be +Remembered to him. I am purely motived +By zeal in th' cause of God. What of too much +I do, I do for him--weigh that in goodness. +'Twas then, most noble sir--what you were starting +About the Jew--a problem merely! + +TEMPLAR + + Problem! +[Goes. + +PATRIARCH. + +Of whose foundation I'll have nearer knowledge. +Another job for brother Bonafides. +Hither, my son! + +[Converses with the Friar as he walks off. + + +SCENE--A Room in the Palace. + + +[SLAVES bring in a number of purses and pile them on the floor. +SALADIN is present.] + +SALADIN. + +In troth this has no end. And is there much +Of this same thing behind? + +SLAVE. + + About one half. + +SALADIN. + +Then take the rest to Sittah. Where's Al-Hafi? +What's here Al-Hafi shall take charge of straight. +Or shan't I rather send it to my father; +Here it slips through one's fingers. Sure in time +One may grow callous; it shall now cost labour +To come at much from me--at least until +The treasures come from AEgypt, poverty +Must shift as 't can--yet at the sepulchre +The charges must go on--the Christian pilgrims +Shall not go back without an alms. + +SALADIN and SITTAH. + +SITTAH (entering). + + Why this? +Wherefore the gold to me? + +SALADIN. + + Pay thyself with it, +And if there's something left 'twill be in store. +Are Nathan and the templar not yet come? + +SITTAH. + +He has been seeking for him everywhere - +Look what I met with when the plate and jewels +Were passing through my hands - +[Showing a small portrait. + +SALADIN. + + Ha! What, my brother? +'Tis he, 'tis he, WAS he, WAS he alas! +Thou dear brave youth, and lost to me so early; +What would I not with thee and at thy side +Have undertaken? Let me have the portrait, +I recollect it now again; he gave it +Unto thy elder sister, to his Lilah, +That morning that she would not part with him, +But clasped him so in tears. It was the last +Morning that he rode out; and I--I let him +Ride unattended. Lilah died for grief, +And never could forgive me that I let him +Then ride alone. He came not back. + +SITTAH. + + Poor brother - + +SALADIN. + +Time shall be when none of us will come back, +And then who knows? It is not death alone +That balks the hopes of young men of his cast, +Such have far other foes, and oftentimes +The strongest like the weakest is o'ercome. +Be as it may--I must compare this picture +With our young templar, to observe how much +My fancy cheated me. + +SITTAH. + + I therefore brought it; +But give it me, I'll tell thee if 'tis like. +We women see that best. + +SALADIN (to a slave at the door). + + Ah, who is there? +The templar? let him come. + +SITTAH (throws herself on a sofa apart and drops her veil). + + Not to interfere, +Or with my curiosity disturb you. + +SALADIN. + +That's right. And then his voice, will that be like? +The tone of Assad's voice, sleeps somewhere yet - +So - + +TEMPLAR and SALADIN. + +TEMPLAR. + + I thy prisoner, sultan, + +SALADIN. + + Thou my prisoner - +And shall I not to him whose life I gave +Also give freedom? + +TEMPLAR. + + What 'twere worthy thine +To do, it is my part to hear of thee, +And not to take for granted. But, O Sultan, +To lay loud protestations at thy feet +Of gratitude for a life spared, agrees +Not with my station or my character. +At all times, 'tis once more, prince, at thy service. + +SALADIN. + +Only forbear to use it against me. +Not that I grudge my enemy one pair more +Of hands--but such a heart, it goes against me +To yield him. I have been deceived with thee, +Thou brave young man, in nothing. Yes, thou art +In soul and body Assad. I could ask thee, +Where then hast thou been lurking all this time? +Or in what cavern slept? What Ginnistan +Chose some kind Perie for thy hiding-place, +That she might ever keep the flower thus fresh? +Methinks I could remind thee here and yonder +Of what we did together--could abuse thee +For having had one secret, e'en to me - +Cheat me of one adventure--yes, I could, +If I saw thee alone, and not myself. +Thanks that so much of this fond sweet illusion +At least is true, that in my sear of life +An Assad blossoms for me. Thou art willing? + +TEMPLAR. + +All that from thee comes to me, whatsoever +It chance to prove, lies as a wish already +Within my soul. + +SALADIN. + + We'll try the experiment. +Wilt thou stay with me? dwell about me? boots not +As Mussulman or Christian, in a turban +Or a white mantle--I have never wished +To see the same bark grow about all trees. + +TEMPLAR. + +Else, Saladin, thou hardly hadst become +The hero that thou art, alike to all +The gardener of the Lord. + +SALADIN. + + If thou think not +The worse of me for this, we're half right. + +TEMPLAR. + + Quite so. +One word. + +SALADIN (holds out his hand). + +TEMPLAR (takes it). + + One man--and with this receive more +Than thou canst take away again--thine wholly. + +SALADIN. + +'Tis for one day too great a gain--too great. +Came he not with thee? + +TEMPLAR. + + Who? + +SALADIN. + + Who? Nathan. + +TEMPLAR (coldly). + + No, +I came alone. + +SALADIN. + + O, what a deed of thine! +And what a happiness, a blessing to thee, +That such a deed was serving such a man. + +TEMPLAR. + +Yes, yes. + +SALADIN. + + So cold--no, my young friend--when God +Does through our means a service, we ought not +To be so cold, not out of modesty +Wish to appear so cold. + +TEMPLAR. + + In this same world +All things have many sides, and 'tis not easy +To comprehend how they can fit each other. + +SALADIN. + +Cling ever to the best--Give praise to God, +Who knows how they can fit. But, my young man, +If thou wilt be so difficult, I must +Be very cautious with thee, for I too +Have many sides, and some of them perhaps +Such as mayn't always seem to fit. + +TEMPLAR. + + That wounds me; +Suspicion usually is not my failing. + +SALADIN. + +Say then of whom thou harbour'st it, of Nathan? +So should thy talk imply--canst thou suspect him? +Give me the first proof of thy confidence. + +TEMPLAR. + +I've nothing against Nathan, I am angry +With myself only. + +SALADIN. + + And for what? + +TEMPLAR. + + For dreaming +That any Jew could learn to be no Jew - +For dreaming it awake. + +SALADIN. + + Out with this dream. + +TEMPLAR. + +Thou know'st of Nathan's daughter, sultan. What +I did for her I did--because I did it; +Too proud to reap thanks which I had not sown for, +I shunned from day to day her very sight. +The father was far off. He comes, he hears, +He seeks me, thanks me, wishes that his daughter +May please me; talks to me of dawning prospects - +I listen to his prate, go, see, and find +A girl indeed. O, sultan, I am ashamed - + +SALADIN. + +A shamed that a Jew girl knew how to make +Impression on thee, surely not. + +TEMPLAR. + + But that +To this impression my rash yielding heart, +Trusting the smoothness of the father's prate, +Opposed no more resistance. Fool--I sprang +A second time into the flame, and then +I wooed, and was denied. + +SALADIN. + + Denied! Denied! + +TEMPLAR. + +The prudent father does not flatly say +No to my wishes, but the prudent father +Must first inquire, and look about, and think. +Oh, by all means. Did not I do the same? +Did not I look about and ask who 'twas +While she was shrieking in the flame? Indeed, +By God, 'tis something beautifully wise +To be so circumspect. + +SALADIN. + + Come, come, forgive +Something to age. His lingerings cannot last. +He is not going to require of thee +First to turn Jew. + +TEMPLAR. + + Who knows? + +SALADIN. + + Who? I, who know +This Nathan better. + +TEMPLAR. + + Yet the superstition +In which we have grown up, not therefore loses +When we detect it, all its influence on us. +Not all are free that can bemock their fetters. + +SALADIN. + +Maturely said--but Nathan, surely Nathan - + +TEMPLAR. + +The worst of superstitions is to think +One's own most bearable. + +SALADIN. + + May be, but Nathan - + +TEMPLAR. + +Must Nathan be the mortal, who unshrinking +Can face the moon-tide ray of truth, nor there +Betray the twilight dungeon which he crawled from. + +SALADIN. + +Yes, Nathan is that man. + +TEMPLAR. + + I thought so too, +But what if this picked man, this chosen sage, +Were such a thorough Jew that he seeks out +For Christian children to bring up as Jews - +How then? + +SALADIN. + + Who says this of him? + +TEMPLAR. + + E'en the maid +With whom he frets me--with the hope of whom +He seemed to joy in paying me the service, +Which he would not allow me to do gratis - +This very maid is not his daughter--no, +She is a kidnapped Christian child. + +SALADIN. + + Whom he +Has, notwithstanding, to thy wish refused? + +TEMPLAR (with vehemence). + +Refused or not, I know him now. There lies +The prating tolerationist unmasked - +And I'll halloo upon this Jewish wolf, +For all his philosophical sheep's clothing, +Dogs that shall touze his hide. + +SALADIN (earnestly.) + + Peace, Christian! + +TEMPLAR. + + What! +Peace, Christian--and may Jew and Mussulman +Stickle for being Jew and Mussulman, +And must the Christian only drop the Christian? + +SALADIN (more solemnly). + +Peace, Christian! + +TEMPLAR (calmly.) + + Yes, I feel what weight of blame +Lies in that word of thine pent up. O that +I knew how Assad in my place would act. + +SALADIN. + +He--not much better, probably as fiery. +Who has already taught thee thus at once +Like him to bribe me with a single word? +Indeed, if all has past as thou narratest, +I scarcely can discover Nathan in it. +But Nathan is my friend, and of my friends +One must not bicker with the other. Bend - +And be directed. Move with caution. Do not +Loose on him the fanatics of thy sect. +Conceal what all thy clergy would be claiming +My hand to avenge upon him, with more show +Of right than is my wish. Be not from spite +To any Jew or Mussulman a Christian. + +TEMPLAR. + +Thy counsel is but on the brink of coming +Somewhat too late, thanks to the patriarch's +Bloodthirsty rage, whose instrument I shudder +To have almost become. + +SALADIN. + + How! how! thou wentest +Still earlier to the patriarch than to me? + +TEMPLAR. + +Yes, in the storm of passion, in the eddy +Of indecision--pardon--oh! thou wilt +No longer care, I fear, to find in me +One feature of thy Assad. + +SALADIN. + + Yes, that fear. +Methinks I know by this time from what failings +Our virtue springs--this do thou cultivate, +Those shall but little harm thee in my sight. +But go, seek Nathan, as he sought for thee, +And bring him hither: I must reconcile you. +If thou art serious about the maid - +Be calm, she shall be thine--Nathan shall feel +That without swine's flesh one may educate +A Christian child, Go. [Templar withdraws. + +SITTAH (rising from the sofa). + + Very strange indeed! + +SALADIN. + +Well, Sittah, must my Assad not have been +A gallant handsome youth? + +SITTAH. + + If he was thus, +And 'twasn't the templar who sat to the painter. +But how couldst thou be so forgetful, brother, +As not to ask about his parents? + +SALADIN. + + And +Particularly too about his mother. +Whether his mother e'er was in this country, +That is your meaning, isn't it? + +SITTAH. + + You run on - + +SALADIN. + +Oh, nothing is more possible, for Assad +'Mong handsome Christian ladies was so welcome, +To handsome Christian ladies so attached, +That once a report spread--but 'tis not pleasant +To bring that up. Let us be satisfied +That we have got him once again--have got him +With all the faults and freaks, the starts and wildness +Of his warm gentle heart--Oh, Nathan must +Give him the maid--Dost think so? + +SITTAH. + + Give--give up! + +SALADIN. + +Aye, for what right has Nathan with the girl +If he be not her father? He who saved +Her life so lately has a stronger claim +To heir their rights who gave it her at first. + +SITTAH. + +What therefore, Saladin, if you withdraw +The maid at once from the unrightful owner? + +SALADIN, + +There is no need of that. + +SITTAH. + + Need, not precisely; +But female curiosity inspires +Me with that counsel. There are certain men +Of whom one is irresistibly impatient +To know what women they can be in love with. + +SALADIN. + +Well then you may send for her. + +SITTAH. + + May I, brother? + +SALADIN. + +But hurt not Nathan, he must not imagine +That we propose by violence to part them. + +SITTAH. + +Be without apprehension. + +SALADIN. + + Fare you well, +I must make out where this Al-Hafi is. + + +SCENE.--The Hall in Nathan's House, as in the first scene; the +things there mentioned unpacked and displayed. + + +DAYA and NATHAN. + +DAYA. + +O how magnificent, how tasty, charming - +All such as only you could give--and where +Was this thin silver stuff with sprigs of gold +Woven? What might it cost? Yes, this is worthy +To be a wedding-garment. Not a queen +Could wish a handsomer. + +NATHAN. + + Why wedding-garment? + +DAYA. + +Perhaps of that you thought not when you bought it; +But Nathan, it must be so, must indeed. +It seems made for a bride--the pure white ground, +Emblem of innocence--the branching gold, +Emblem of wealth--Now is not it delightful? + +NATHAN. + +What's all this ingenuity of speech for? +Over whose wedding-gown are you displaying +Your emblematic learning? Have you found +A bridegroom? + +DAYA. + + I - + +NATHAN. + + Who then? + +DAYA. + + I--Gracious God! + +NATHAN. + +Who then? Whose wedding-garment do you speak of? +For this is all your own and no one's else. + +DAYA. + +Mine--is't for me and not for Recha? + +NATHAN. + + What +I brought for Recha is in another bale. +Come, clear it off: away with all your rubbish. + +DAYA. + +You tempter--No--Were they the precious things +Of the whole universe, I will not touch them +Until you promise me to seize upon +Such an occasion as heaven gives not twice. + +NATHAN. + +Seize upon what occasion? For what end? + +DAYA. + +There, do not act so strange. You must perceive +The templar loves your Recha--Give her to him; +Then will your sin, which I can hide no longer, +Be at an end. The maid will come once more +Among the Christians, will be once again +What she was born to, will be what she was; +And you, by all the benefits, for which +We cannot thank you enough, will not have heaped +More coals of fire upon your head. + +NATHAN. + + Again +Harping on the old string, new tuned indeed, +But so as neither to accord nor hold. + +DAYA. + +How so? + +NATHAN. + + The templar pleases me indeed, +I'd rather he than any one had Recha; +But--do have patience. + +DAYA. + + Patience--and is that +Not the old string you harp on? + +NATHAN. + + Patience, patience, +For a few days--no more. Ha! who comes here? +A friar--ask what he wants. + +DAYA (going). + + What can he want? + +NATHAN. + +Give, give before he begs. O could I tell +How to come at the templar, not betraying +The motive of my curiosity - +For if I tell it, and if my suspicion +Be groundless, I have staked the father idly. +What is the matter? + +DAYA (returning). + + He must speak to you. + +NATHAN. + +Then let him come to me. Go you meanwhile. + +[Daya goes. + +How gladly would I still remain my Recha's +Father. And can I not remain so, though +I cease to wear the name. To her, to her +I still shall wear it, when she once perceives + +[Friar enters. + +How willingly I were so. Pious brother, +What can be done to serve you? + +NATHAN and FRIAR. + +FRIAR. + + O not much; +And yet I do rejoice to see you yet +So well. + +NATHAN. + + You know me then - + +FRIAR. + + Who knows you not? +You have impressed your name in many a hand, +And it has been in mine these many years. + +NATHAN (feeling for his purse). + +Here, brother, I'll refresh it. + +FRIAR. + + Thank you, thank you - +From poorer men I'd steal--but nothing now! +Only allow me to refresh my name +In your remembrance; for I too may boast +To mayo of old put something in your hand +Not to be scorned. + +NATHAN. + + Excuse me, I'm ashamed, +What was it? Claim it of me sevenfold, +I'm ready to atone for my forgetting. + +FRIAR. + +But before all, hear how this very day +I was reminded of the pledge I brought you. + +NATHAN. + +A pledge to me intrusted? + +FRIAR. + + Some time since, +I dwelt as hermit on the Quarantana, +Not far from Jericho, but Arab robbers +Came and broke up my cell and oratory, +And dragged me with them. Fortunately I +Escaped, and with the patriarch sought a refuge, +To beg of him some other still retreat, +Where I may serve my God in solitude +Until my latter end. + +NATHAN. + + I stand on coals - +Quick, my good brother, let me know what pledge +You once intrusted to me. + +FRIAR. + + Presently, +Good Nathan, presently. The patriarch +Has promised me a hermitage on Thabor, +As soon as one is vacant, and meanwhile +Employs me as lay-brother in the convent, +And there I am at present: and I pine +A hundred times a day for Thabor; for +The patriarch will set me about all work, +And some that I can't brook--as for example - + +NATHAN + +Be speedy, I beseech you. + +FRIAR. + + Now it happens +That some one whispered in his ear to-day, +There lives hard by a Jew, who educates +A Christian child as his own daughter. + +NATHAN (startled). + + How + +FRIAR. + +Hear me quite out. So he commissions me, +If possible to track him out this Jew: +And stormed most bitterly at the misdeed; +Which seems to him to be the very sin +Against the Holy Ghost--That is, the sin +Of all most unforgiven, most enormous; +But luckily we cannot tell exactly +What it consists in--All at once my conscience +Was roused, and it occurred to me that I +Perhaps had given occasion to this sin. +Now do not you remember a knight's squire, +Who eighteen years ago gave to your hands +A female child a few weeks old? + +NATHAN. + + How that? +In fact such was - + +FRIAR. + + Now look with heed at me, +And recollect. I was the man on horseback +Who brought the child. + +NATHAN. + + Was you? + +FRIAR. + + And he from whom +I brought it was methinks a lord of Filnek - +Leonard of Filnek. + +NATHAN. + + Right! + +FRIAR. + + Because the mother. +Died a short time before; and he, the father, +Had on a sudden to make off to Gazza, +Where the poor helpless thing could not go with him; +Therefore he sent it you--that was my message. +Did not I find you out at Darun? there +Consign it to you? + +NATHAN. + + Yes. + +FRIAR. + + It were no wonder +My memory deceived me. I have had +Many a worthy master, and this one +I served not long. He fell at Askalon - +But he was a kind lord. + +NATHAN. + + O yes, indeed; +For much have I to thank him, very much - +He more than once preserved me from the sword. + +FRIAR. + +O brave--you therefore will with double pleasure +Have taken up this daughter. + +NATHAN. + + You have said it. + +FRIAR. + +Where is she then? She is not dead, I hope - +I would not have her dead, dear pretty creature. +If no one else know anything about it +All is yet safe. + +NATHAN. + + Aye all! + +FRIAR. + + Yes, trust me, Nathan, +This is my way of thinking--if the good +That I propose to do is somehow twined +With mischief, then I let the good alone; +For we know pretty well what mischief is, +But not what's for the best. 'Twas natural +If you meant to bring up the Christian child +Right well, that you should rear it as your own; +And to have done this lovingly and truly, +For such a recompense--were horrible. +It might have been more prudent to have had it +Brought up at second hand by some good Christian +In her own faith. But your friend's orphan child +You would not then have loved. Children need love, +Were it the mute affection of a brute, +More at that age than Christianity. +There's always time enough for that--and if +The maid have but grown up before your eyes +With a sound frame and pious--she remains +Still in her maker's eye the same. For is not +Christianity all built on Judaism? +Oh, it has often vexed me, cost me tears, +That Christians will forget so often that +Our Saviour was a Jew. + +NATHAN. + + You, my good brother, +Shall be my advocate, when bigot hate +And hard hypocrisy shall rise upon me - +And for a deed--a deed--thou, thou shalt know it - +But take it with thee to the tomb. As yet +Has vanity ne'er tempted me to tell it +To living soul--only to thee I tell it, +To simple piety alone; for it +Alone can feel what deeds the man who trusts +In God can gain upon himself. + +FRIAR. + + You seem +Affected, and your eye-balls swim in water. + +NATHAN. + +'Twas at Darun you met me with the child; +But you will not have known that a few days +Before, the Christians murdered every Jew in Gath, +Woman and child; that among these, my wife +With seven hopeful sons were found, who all +Beneath my brother's roof which they had fled to, +Were burnt alive. + +FRIAR. + + Just God! + +NATHAN. + + And when you came, +Three nights had I in dust and ashes lain +Before my God and wept--aye, and at times +Arraigned my maker, raged, and cursed myself +And the whole world, and to Christianity +Swore unrelenting hate. + +FRIAR. + + Ah, I believe you. + +NATHAN. + +But by degrees returning reason came, +She spake with gentle voice--And yet God is, +And this was his decree--now exercise +What thou hast long imagined, and what surely +Is not more difficult to exercise +Than to imagine--if thou will it once. +I rose and called out--God, I will--I will, +So thou but aid my purpose--And behold +You was just then dismounted, and presented +To me the child wrapt in your mantle. What +You said, or I, occurs not to me now - +Thus much I recollect--I took the child, +I bore it to my couch, I kissed it, flung +Myself upon my knees and sobbed--my God, +Now have I one out of the seven again! + +FRIAR. + +Nathan, you are a Christian! Yes, by God +You are a Christian--never was a better. + +NATHAN + +Heaven bless us! What makes me to you a Christian +Makes you to me a Jew. But let us cease +To melt each other--time is nigh to act, +And though a sevenfold love had bound me soon +To this strange only girl, though the mere thought, +That I shall lose in her my seven sons +A second time distracts me--yet I will, +If providence require her at my hands, +Obey. + +FRIAR. + + The very thing I should advise you; +But your good genius has forestalled my thought. + +NATHAN. + +The first best claimant must not seek to tear +Her from me. + +FRIAR. + + No most surely not. + +NATHAN. + + And he, +That has not stronger claims than I, at least +Ought to have earlier. + +FRIAR. + + Certainly. + +NATHAN. + + By nature +And blood conferred. + +FRIAR. + + I mean so too. + +NATHAN. + + Then name +The man allied to her as brother, uncle, +Or otherwise akin, and I from him +Will not withhold her--she who was created +And was brought up to be of any house, +Of any faith, the glory--I, I hope, +That of your master and his race you knew +More than myself. + +FRIAR. + + I hardly think that, Nathan; +For I already told you that I passed +A short time with him. + +NATHAN. + + Can you tell at least +The mother's family name? She was, I think, +A Stauffen. + +FRIAR. + + May be--yes, in fact, you're right. + +NATHAN. + +Conrade of Stauffen was her brother's name - +He was a templar. + +FRIAR. + + I am clear it was. +But stay, I recollect I've yet a book, +'Twas my dead lord's--I drew it from his bosom, +While we were burying him at Askalon. + +NATHAN. + +Well! + +FRIAR. + + There are prayers in't, 'tis what we call +A breviary. This, thought I, may yet serve +Some Christian man--not me indeed, for I +Can't read. + +NATHAN. + + No matter, to the thing. + +FRIAR. + +This book is written at both ends quite full, +And, as I'm told, contains, in his hand-writing +About both him and her what's most material. + +NATHAN. + +Go, run and fetch the book--'tis fortunate; +I am ready with its weight in gold to pay it, +And thousand thanks beside--Go, run. + +FRIAR. + + Most gladly; +But 'tis in Arabic what he has written. [Goes. + +NATHAN. + +No matter--that's all one--do fetch it--Oh! +If by its means I may retain the daughter, +And purchase with it such a son-in-law; +But that's unlikely--well, chance as it may. +Who now can have been with the patriarch +To tell this tale? That I must not forget +To ask about. If 't were of Daya's? + +NATHAN and DAYA + +DAYA (anxiously breaks in). + + Nathan! + +NATHAN. + +Well! + +DAYA. + + Only think, she was quite frightened at it, +Poor child, a message - + +NATHAN. + + From the patriarch? + +DAYA. + + No - +The sultan's sister, princess Sittah, sends. + +NATHAN. + +And not the patriarch? + +DAYA. + + Can't you hear? The princess +Has sent to see your Recha. + +NATHAN. + + Sent for Recha +Has Sittah sent for Recha? Well, if Sittah, +And not the patriarch, sends. + +DAYA. + + Why think of him? + +NATHAN. + +Have you heard nothing from him lately--really +Seen nothing of him--whispered nothing to him? + +DAYA. + +How, I to him? + +NATHAN. + + Where are the messengers? + +DAYA. + +There, just before you. + +NATHAN. + + I will talk with them +Out of precaution. If there's nothing lurking +Beneath this message of the patriarch's doing--[Goes. + +DAYA. + +And I--I've other fears. The only daughter, +As they suppose, of such a rich, rich Jew, +Would for a Mussulman be no bad thing; +I bet the templar will be choused, unless +I risk the second step, and to herself +Discover who she is. Let me for this +Employ the first short moments we're alone; +And that will be--oh, as I am going with her. +A serious hint upon the road I think +Can't be amiss--yes, now or never--yes. + + + +ACT V. + + + +SCENE.--A Room in the Palace; the Purses still in a pile. + +SALADIN, and, soon after, several MAMALUKES. + +SALADIN (as he comes in). + +Here lies the money still, and no one finds +The dervis yet--he's probably got somewhere +Over a chess-board. Play would often make +The man forget himself, and why not, me. +Patience--Ha! what's the matter. + +SALADIN and IBRAHIM. + +IBRAHIM. + + Happy news - +Joy, sultan, joy, the caravan from Cairo +Is safe arrived and brings the seven years' tribute +Of the rich Nile. + +SALADIN. + + Bravo, my Ibrahim, +Thou always wast a welcome messenger, +And now at length--at length--accept my thanks +For the good tidings. + +IBRAHIM (waiting). + + Hither with them, sultan. + +SALADIN. + +What art thou waiting for? Go. + +IBRAHIM. + + Nothing further +For my glad news? + +SALADIN. + + What further? + +IBRAHIM. + + Errand boys +Earn hire--and when their message smiles i' the telling, +The sender's hire by the receiver's bounty +Is oft outweighed. Am I to be the first +Whom Saladin at length has learnt to pay +In words? The first about whose recompense +The sultan higgled? + +SALADIN. + + Go, pick up a purse. + +IBRAHIM. + +No, not now--you might give them all away + +SALADIN. + +All--hold, man. Here, come hither, take these two - +And is he really going--shall he conquer +Me then in generosity? for surely +'Tis harder for this fellow to refuse +Than 'tis for me to give. Here, Ibrahim - +Shall I be tempted, just before my exit, +To be a different man--small Saladin +Not die like Saladin, then wherefore live so? + +ABDALLAH and SALADIN. + +ABDALLAH. + +Hail, Sultan! + +SALADIN. + + If thou comest to inform me +That the whole convoy is arrived from Egypt, +I know it already. + +ABDALLAH. + + Do I come too late? + +SALADIN. + +Too late, and why too late? There for thy tidings +Pick up a purse or two. + +ABDALLAH. + + Does that make three? + +SALADIN. + +So thou wouldst reckon--well, well, take them, take them. + +ABDALLAH. + +A third will yet be here if he be able. + +SALADIN. + +How so? + +ABDALLAH. + + He may perhaps have broke his neck. +We three, as soon as certain of the coming +Of the rich caravan, each crossed our horses, +And galloped hitherward. The foremost fell, +Then I was foremost, and continued so +Into the city, but sly Ibrahim, +Who knows the streets - + +SALADIN. + + But he that fell, go, seek him. + +ABDALLAH. + +That will I quickly--if he lives, the half +Of what I've got is his. [Goes. + +SALADIN. + + What a fine fellow! +And who can boast such mamalukes as these; +And is it not allowed me to imagine +That my example helped to form them. Hence +With the vile thought at last to turn another. + +A third COURIER. + +Sultan - + +SALADIN. + + Was't thou who fell? + +COURIER. + + No, I've to tell thee +That Emir Mansor, who conducts the convoy, +Alights. + +SALADIN. + + O bring him to me--Ah, he's there - +Be welcome, Emir. What has happened to thee? +For we have long expected thee. + +SALADIN and EMIR. + +EMIR (after the wont obeisance). + + This letter +Will show, that, in Thebais, discontents +Required thy Abulkassem's sabred hand, +Ere we could march. Since that, our progress, sultan, +My zeal has sped most anxiously. + +SALADIN. + + I trust thee - +But my good Mansor take without delay - +Thou art not loth to go further--fresh protection, +And with the treasure on to Libanon; +The greater part at least I have to lodge +With my old father. + +EMIR. + + O, most willingly. + +SALADIN. + +And take not a slight escort. Libanon +Is far from quiet, as thou wilt have heard; +The templars stir afresh, be therefore cautious. +Come, I must see thy troop, and give the orders. + +[To a slave. + +Say I shall be with Sittah when I've finished. + + +SCENE--A Place of Palms. + + +The TEMPLAR walking to and fro. + +TEMPLAR. + +Into this house I go not--sure at last +He'll show himself--once, once they used to see me +So instantly, so gladly--time will come +When he'll send out most civilly to beg me +Not to pace up and down before his door. +Psha--and yet I'm a little nettled too; +And what has thus embittered me against him? +He answered yes. He has refused me nothing +As yet. And Saladin has undertaken +To bring him round. And does the Christian nestle +Deeper in me than the Jew lurks in him? +Who, who can justly estimate himself? +How comes it else that I should grudge him so +The little booty that he took such pains +To rob the Christians of? A theft, no less +Than such a creature tho'--but whose, whose creature? +Sure not the slave's who floated the mere block +On to life's barren strand, and then ran off; +But his the artist's, whose fine fancy moulded +Upon the unowned block a godlike form, +Whose chisel graved it there. Recha's true father, +Spite of the Christian who begot her, is, +Must ever be, the Jew. Alas, were I +To fancy her a simple Christian wench, +And without all that which the Jew has given, +Which only such a Jew could have bestowed - +Speak out my heart, what had she that would please thee? +No, nothing! Little! For her very smile +Shrinks to a pretty twisting of the muscles - +Be that, which makes her smile, supposed unworthy +Of all the charms in ambush on her lips? +No, not her very smile--I've seen sweet smiles +Spent on conceit, on foppery, on slander, +On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent, +And did they charm me then? then wake the wish +To flutter out a life beneath their sunshine? +Indeed not--Yet I'm angry with the man +Who alone gave this higher value to her. +How this, and why? Do I deserve the taunt +With which I was dismissed by Saladin? +'Tis bad enough that Saladin should think so; +How little, how contemptible must I +Then have appeared to him--all for a girl. +Conrade, this will not do--back, back--And if +Daya to boot had prated matter to me +Not easy to be proved--At last he's coming, +Engaged in earnest converse--and with whom? +My friar in Nathan's house! then he knows all - +Perhaps has to the patriarch been betrayed. +O Conrade, what vile mischiefs thou hast brooded +Out of thy cross-grained head, that thus one spark +Of that same passion, love, can set so much +O' 'th' brain in flame? Quick, then, determine, wretch, +What shalt thou say or do? Step back a moment +And see if this good friar will please to quit him. + +NATHAN and the FRIAR come together out of Nathan's house. + +NATHAN. + +Once more, good brother, thanks. + +FRIAR. + + The like to you. + +NATHAN. + +To me, and why; because I'm obstinate - +Would force upon you what you have no use for? + +FRIAR. + +The book besides was none of mine. Indeed +It must at any rate belong to th' daughter; +It is her whole, her only patrimony - +Save she has you. God grant you ne'er have reason +To sorrow for the much you've done for her. + +NATHAN. + +How should I? that can never be; fear nothing. + +FRIAR. + +Patriarchs and templars - + +NATHAN, + + Have not in their power +Evil enough to make me e'er repent. +And then--But are you really well assured +It is a templar who eggs on your patriarch? + +FRIAR. + +It scarcely can be other, for a templar +Talked with him just before, and what I heard +Agreed with this. + +NATHAN. + + But there is only one +Now in Jerusalem; and him I know; +He is my friend, a noble open youth. + +FRIAR. + +The same. But what one is at heart, and what +One gets to be in active life, mayn't always +Square well together. + +NATHAN. + + No, alas, they do not. +Therefore unangered I let others do +Their best or worst. O brother, with your book +I set all at defiance, and am going +Straight with it to the Sultan. + +FRIAR. + + God be with you! +Here I shall take my leave. + +NATHAN. + + And have not seen her - +Come soon, come often to us. If to-day +The patriarch make out nothing--but no matter, +Tell him it all to-day, or when you will. + +FRIAR. + +Not I--farewell! + +NATHAN. + + Do not forget us, brother +My God, why may I not beneath thy sky +Here drop upon my knees; now the twined knot, +Which has so often made my thinkings anxious, +Untangles of itself--God, how I am eased, +Now that I've nothing in the world remaining +That I need hide--now that I can as freely +Walk before man as before thee, who only +Need'st not to judge a creature by his deeds - +Deeds which so seldom are his own--O God! + +NATHAN and TEMPLAR. + +TEMPLAR (coming forward). + +Hoa, Nathan, take me with you. + +NATHAN. + + Ha! Who calls? +Is it you, knight? And whither have you been +That you could not be met with at the Sultan's? + +TEMPLAR. + +We missed each other--take it not amiss. + +NATHAN. + +I, no, but Saladin. + +TEMPLAR. + + You was just gone. + +NATHAN. + +O, then you spoke with him; I'm satisfied. + +TEMPLAR. + +Yes--but he wants to talk with us together. + +NATHAN. + +So much the better. Come with me, my step +Was eitherwise bent thither. + +TEMPLAR. + + May I ask, +Nathan, who 'twas now left you? + +NATHAN. + + Did you know him? + +TEMPLAR. + +Was't that good-hearted creature the lay-brother, +Whom the hoar patriarch has a knack of using +To feel his way out? + +NATHAN. + + That may be. In fact +He's at the patriarch's. + +TEMPLAR. + + 'Tis no awkward hit +To make simplicity the harbinger +Of craft. + +NATHAN. + + If the simplicity of dunces, +But if of honest piety? + +TEMPLAR. + + This last +No patriarch can believe in. + +NATHAN. + +I'll be bound for't +This last belongs to him who quitted me. +He'll not assist his patriarch to accomplish +A vile or cruel purpose. + +TEMPLAR. + + Such, at least, +He would appear--but has he told you then +Something of me? + +NATHAN. + + Of you? No--not by name, +He can't well be acquainted with your name. + +TEMPLAR. + +No, that not. + +NATHAN. + + He indeed spoke of a templar, +Who - + +TEMPLAR. + + What? + +NATHAN. + + But by this templar could not mean +To point out you. + +TEMPLAR. + + Stay, stay, who knows? Let's hear. + +NATHAN. + +Who has accused me to his patriarch. + +TEMPLAR. + +Accused thee, no, that by his leave is false. +Nathan do hear me--I am not the man +Who would deny a single of his actions; +What I have done, I did. Nor am I one +Who would defend all he has done as right - +Why be ashamed of failing? Am I not +Firmly resolved on better future conduct? +And am I not aware how much the man +That's willing can improve? O, hear me, Nathan - +I am the templar your lay-brother talked of - +Who has accused--You know what made me angry, +What set the blood in all my veins on fire, +The mad-cap that I was--I had drawn nigh +To fling myself with soul and body whole +Into your arms--and you received me, Nathan-- +How cold, how lukewarm, for that's worse than cold. - +How with words weighed and measured, you took care +To put me off; and with what questioning +About my parentage, and God knows what, +You seemed to answer me--I must not think on't +If I would keep my temper--Hear me, Nathan - +While in this ferment--Daya steps behind me, +Bolts out a secret in my ear, which seemed +At once to lend a clue to your behaviour. + +NATHAN. + +How so? + +TEMPLAR. + + Do hear me to the end. I fancied +That what you from the Christians had purloined +You wasn't content to let a Christian have; +And so the project struck me short and good, +To hold the knife to your throat till - + +NATHAN. + + Short and good; +And good--but where's the good? + +TEMPLAR. + + Yet hear me, Nathan, +I own I did not right--you are unguilty, +No doubt. The prating Daya does not know +What she reported--has a grudge against you - +Seeks to involve you in an ugly business - +May be, may be, and I'm a crazy looby, +A credulous enthusiast--both ways mad - +Doing ever much too much, or much too little - +That too may be--forgive me, Nathan. + +NATHAN. + + If +Such be the light in which you view - + +TEMPLAR. + + In short +I to the patriarch went. I named you not. +That, as I said, was false. I only stated +In general terms, the case, to learn his notion, +That too might have been let alone--assuredly. +For knew I not the patriarch then to be +A knave? And might I not have talked with you? +And ought I to have exposed the poor girl--ha! +To part with such a father? Now what happens? +The patriarch's villainy consistent ever +Restored me to myself--O, hear me out - +Suppose he was to ferret out your name, +What then? What then? He cannot seize the maid, +Unless she still belong to none but you. +'Tis from your house alone that he could drag her +Into a convent; therefore grant her me - +Grant her to me, and let him come. By God - +Sever my wife from me--he'll not be rash +Enough to think about it. Give her to me, +Be she or no thy daughter, Christian, Jewess, +Or neither, 'tis all one, all one--I'll never +In my whole life ask of thee which she is, +Be't as it may. + +NATHAN. + + You may perhaps imagine +That I've an interest to conceal the truth. + +TEMPLAR. + +Be't as it may. + +NATHAN. + + I neither have to you +Nor any one, whom it behooved to know it, +Denied that she's a Christian, and no more +Than my adopted daughter. Why, to her +I have not yet betrayed it--I am bound +To justify only to her. + +TEMPLAR. + + Of that +Shall be no need. Indulge, indulge her with +Never beholding you with other eyes - +Spare, spare her the discovery. As yet +You have her to yourself, and may bestow her; +Give her to me--oh, I beseech thee, Nathan, +Give her to me, I, only I can save her +A second time, and will. + +NATHAN. + + Yes, could have saved her. +But 'tis all over now--it is too late. + +TEMPLAR. + +How so, too late. + +NATHAN. + + Thanks to the patriarch. + +TEMPLAR. + + How +Thanks to the patriarch, and for what? Can he +Earn thanks of us. For what? + +NATHAN. + + That now we know +To whom she is related--to whose hands +She may with confidence be now delivered. + +TEMPLAR. + +He thank him who has more to thank him for. + +NATHAN. + +From theirs you now have to obtain her, not +From mine. + +TEMPLAR. + + Poor Recha--what befalls thee? Oh, +Poor Recha--what had been to other orphans +A blessing, is to thee a curse. But, Nathan, +Where are they, these new kinsmen? + +NATHAN. + + Where they are? + +TEMPLAR. + + Who are they? + +NATHAN. + + Who--a brother is found out +To whom you must address yourself. + +TEMPLAR. + + A brother! +And what is he, a soldier or a priest? +Let's hear what I've to hope. + +NATHAN. + + As I believe +He's neither of the two--or both. Just now +I cannot say exactly. + +TEMPLAR. + + And besides +He's - + +NATHAN. + + A brave fellow, and with whom my Recha +Will not be badly placed. + +TEMPLAR. + + But he's a Christian. +At times I know not what to make of you - +Take it not ill of me, good Nathan. Will she +Not have to play the Christian among Christians; +And when she has been long enough the actress +Not turn so? Will the tares in time not stifle +The pure wheat of your setting--and does that +Affect you not a whit--you yet declare +She'll not be badly placed. + +NATHAN. + + I think, I hope so. +And should she there have need of any thing +Has she not you and me? + +TEMPLAR. + + Need at her brother's - +What should she need when there? Won't he provide +His dear new sister with all sorts of dresses, +With comfits and with toys and glittering jewels? +And what needs any sister wish for else - +Only a husband? And he comes in time. +A brother will know how to furnish that, +The Christianer the better. Nathan, Nathan, +O what an angel you had formed, and how +Others will mar it now! + +NATHAN. + + Be not so downcast, +Believe me he will ever keep himself +Worthy our love. + +TEMPLAR. + + No, say not that of mine. +My love allows of no refusal--none. +Were it the merest trifle--but a name. +Hold there--has she as yet the least suspicion +Of what is going forward? + +NATHAN. + + That may be, +And yet I know not whence. + +TEMPLAR. + + It matters not, +She shall, she must in either case from me +First learn what fate is threatening. My fixed purpose +To see her not again, nor speak to her, +Till I might call her mine, is gone. I hasten - + +NATHAN. + +Stay, whither would you go? + +TEMPLAR. + + To her, to learn +If this girl's soul be masculine enough +To form the only resolution worthy +Herself. + +NATHAN. + + What resolution? + +TEMPLAR. + + This--to ask +No more about her brother and her father, +And - + +NATHAN. + + And - + +TEMPLAR. + + To follow me. E'en if she were +So doing to become a Moslem's wife. + +NATHAN. + +Stay, you'll not find her--she is now with Sittah, +The Sultan's sister. + +TEMPLAR. + + How long since, and wherefore? + +NATHAN. + +And would you there behold her brother, come +Thither with me. + +TEMPLAR. + + Her brother, whose then? Sittah's +Or Recha's do you mean? + +NATHAN. + +Both, both, perchance. +Come this way--I beseech you, come with me. +[Leads off the Templar with him. + + +SCENE.--The Sultan's Palace. A Room in Sittah's Apartment. + + +SITTAH and RECHA. + +SITTAH. + +How I am pleased with thee, sweet girl! But do +Shake off this perturbation, be not anxious, +Be not alarmed, I want to hear thee talk - +Be cheerful. + +RECHA. + + Princess! + +SITTAH. + + No, not princess, child. +Call me thy friend, or Sittah, or thy sister, +Or rather aunt, for I might well be thine; +So young, so good, so prudent, so much knowledge, +You must have read a great deal to be thus. + +RECHA. + +I read--you're laughing, Sittah, at your sister, +I scarce can read. + +SITTAH. + + Scarce can, you little fibber. + +RECHA. + +My father's hand or so--I thought you spoke +Of books. + +SITTAH. + + Aye, surely so I did, of books. + +RECHA. + +Well really now it puzzles me to read them. + +SITTAH. + +In earnest? + +RECHA. + + Yes, in earnest, for my father +Hates cold book-learning, which makes an impression +With its dead letters only on the brain. + +SITTAH. + +What say you? Aye, he's not unright in that. +So then the greater part of what you know - + +RECHA. + +I know but from his mouth--of most of it +I could relate to you, the how, the where, +The why he taught it me. + +SITTAH. + + So it clings closer, +And the whole soul drinks in th' instruction. + +RECHA. + + Yes, +And Sittah certainly has not read much. + +SITTAH. + +How so? Not that I'm vain of having read; +But what can be thy reason? Speak out boldly, +Thy reason for it. + +RECHA. + + She is so right down, +Unartificial--only like herself +And books do seldom leave us so; my father +Says. + +SITTAH. + + What a man thy father is, my Recha. + +RECHA. + +Is not he? + +SITTAH. + + How he always hits the mark. + +RECHA. + +Does not he? And this father - + +SITTAH. + + Love, what ails thee? + +RECHA. + +This father - + +SITTAH. + + God, thou'rt weeping + +RECHA. + + And this father - +It must have vent, my heart wants room, wants room. + +SITTAH. + +Child, child, what ails you, Recha? + +RECHA. + + And this father +I am to lose. + +SITTAH. + + Thou lose him, O no, never: +Arise, be calm, how so? It must not be. + +RECHA. + +So shall thy offer not have been in vain, +To be my friend, my sister. + +SITTAH. + + Maid, I am. +Rise then, or I must call for help. + +RECHA. + + Forgive, +My agony made me awhile forgetful +With whom I am. Tears, sobbing, and despair, +Can not avail with Sittah. Cool calm reason +Alone is over her omnipotent; +Whose cause that pleads before her, he has conquered. + +SITTAH. + +Well, then! + +RECHA. + +My friend, my sister, suffer not +Another father to be forced upon me. + +SITTAH. + +Another father to be forced upon thee - +Who can do that, or wish to do it, Recha? + +RECHA. + +Who? Why my good, my evil genius, Daya, +She, she can wish it, will it--and can do it. +You do not know this dear good evil Daya. +God, God forgive it her--reward her for it; +So much good she has done me, so much evil. + +SITTAH. + +Evil to thee--much goodness she can't have. + +RECHA. + +O yes, she has indeed. + +SITTAH. + + Who is she? + +RECHA. + + Who? +A Christian, who took care of all my childhood. +You cannot think how little she allowed me +To miss a mother--God reward her for it - +But then she has so teased, so tortured me. + +SITTAH. + +And about what? Why, how, when? + +RECHA. + + The poor woman, +I tell thee, is a Christian--and she must +From love torment--is one of those enthusiasts +Who think they only know the one true road +To God. + +SITTAH. + + I comprehend thee. + +RECHA. + + And who feel +Themselves in duty bound to point it out +To every one who is not in this path, +To lead, to drag them into it. And indeed +They can't do otherwise consistently; +For if theirs really be the only road +On which 'tis safe to travel--they cannot +With comfort see their friends upon another +Which leads to ruin, to eternal ruin: +Else were it possible at the same instant +To love and hate the same man. Nor is 't this +Which forces me to be aloud complainant. +Her groans, her prayers, her warnings, and her threats, +I willingly should have abided longer - +Most willingly--they always called up thoughts +Useful and good; and whom does it not flatter +To be by whomsoever held so dear, +So precious, that they cannot bear the thought +Of parting with us at some time for ever? + +SITTAH. + +Most true. + +RECHA. + + But--but--at last this goes too far; +I've nothing to oppose to it, neither patience, +Neither reflection--nothing. + +SITTAH. + + How, to what? + +RECHA. + +To what she has just now, as she will have it, +Discovered to me. + +SITTAH. + + How discovered to thee? + +RECHA. + +Yes, just this instant. Coming hitherward +We past a fallen temple of the Christians - +She all at once stood still, seemed inly struggling, +Turned her moist eyes to heaven, and then on me. +Come, says she finally, let us to the right +Thro' this old fane--she leads the way, I follow. +My eyes with horror overran the dim +And tottering ruin--all at once she stops +By the sunk steps of a low Moorish altar. - +O how I felt, when there, with streaming tears +And wringing hands, prostrate before my feet +She fell + +SITTAH. + + Good child - + +RECHA. + + And by the holy Virgin, +Who there had hearkened many a prayer, and wrought +Many a wonder, she conjured, intreated, +With looks of heartfelt sympathy and love, +I would at length take pity of myself - +At least forgive, if she must now unfold +What claims her church had on me. + +SITTAH. + + Ah! I guessed it. + +RECHA. + +That I am sprung of Christian blood--baptised - +Not Nathan's daughter--and he not my father. +God, God, he not my father! Sittah, Sittah, +See me once more low at thy feet. + +SITTAH. + + O Recha, +Not so; arise, my brother's coming, rise. + +SALADIN, SITTAH, and RECHA. + +SALADIN (entering). + +What is the matter, Sittah? + +SITTAH. + + She is swooned-- +God - + +SALADIN. + + Who? + +SITTAH. + + You know sure. + +SALADIN. + + What, our Nathan's daughter? +What ails her? + +SITTAH. + + Child, come to thyself, the sultan. + +RECHA. + +No, I'll not rise, not rise, not look upon +The Sultan's countenance--I'll not admire +The bright reflection of eternal justice +And mercy on his brow, and in his eye, +Before - + +SALADIN. + + Rise, rise. + +RECHA. + + Before he shall have promised - + +SALADIN. + +Come, come, I promise whatsoe'er thy prayer. + +RECHA. + +Nor more nor less than leave my father to me, +And me to him. As yet I cannot tell +What other wants to be my father. Who +Can want it, care I not to inquire. Does blood +Alone then make the father? blood alone? + +SALADIN (raising her). + +Who was so cruel in thy breast to shed +This wild suspicion? Is it proved, made clear? + +RECHA. + +It must, for Daya had it from my nurse, +Whose dying lips intrusted it to her. + +SALADIN. + +Dying, perhaps delirious; if 'twere true, +Blood only does not make by much the father, +Scarcely the father of a brute, scarce gives +The first right to endeavour at deserving +The name of father. If there be two fathers +At strife for thee, quit both, and take a third, +And take me for thy father. + +SITTAH. + + Do it, do it. + +SALADIN. + +I will be a kind father--but methinks +A better thought occurs, what hast thou need +Of father upon father? They will die, +So that 'tis better to look out by times +For one that starts fair, and stakes life with life +On equal terms. Knowst thou none such? + +SITTAH. + + My brother, +Don't make her blush. + +SALADIN. + +Why that was half my project. +Blushing so well becomes the ugly, that +The fair it must make charming--I have ordered +Thy father Nathan hither, and another, +Dost guess who 'tis? one other.--Sittah, you +Will not object? + +SITTAH. + + Brother - + +SALADIN. + + And when he comes, +Sweet girl, then blush to crimson. + +RECHA. + + Before whom - +Blush? + +SALADIN. + + Little hypocrite--or else grow pale, +Just as thou willst and canst. Already there? + +SITTAH (to a female slave who comes in). + +Well, be they ushered in. Brother, 'tis they. + +SALADIN, SITTAH, RECHA, NATHAN, and TEMPLAR. + +SALADIN. + +Welcome, my dear good friends. Nathan, to you +I've first to mention, you may send and fetch +Your monies when you will. + +NATHAN. + + Sultan - + +SALADIN. + + And now +I'm at your service. + +NATHAN. + + Sultan - + +SALADIN. + + For my treasures +Are all arrived. The caravan is safe. +I'm richer than I've been these many years. +Now tell me what you wish for, to achieve +Some splendid speculation--you in trade +Like us, have never too much ready cash. + +NATHAN (going towards Recha). + +Why first about this trifle?--I behold +An eye in tears, which 'tis far more important +To me to dry. My Recha thou hast wept, +What hast thou lost? Thou art still, I trust, my daughter. + +RECHA. + +My father! + +NATHAN. + + That's enough, we are understood +By one another; but be calm, be cheerful. +If else thy heart be yet thy own--if else +No threatened loss thy trembling bosom wring +Thy father shall remain to thee. + +RECHA. + + None, none. + +TEMPLAR. + +None, none--then I'm deceived. What we don't fear +To lose, we never fancied, never wished +Ourselves possessed of. But 'tis well, 'tis well. +Nathan, this changes all--all. Saladin, +At thy command we came, but I misled thee, +Trouble thyself no further. + +SALADIN. + + Always headlong; +Young man, must every will then bow to thine, +Interpret all thy meanings? + +TEMPLAR. + + Thou hast heard, +Sultan, hast seen. + +SALADIN. + + Aye, 'twas a little awkward +Not to be certain of thy cause. + +TEMPLAR. + + I now +Do know my doom, + +SALADIN. + + Pride in an act of service +Revokes the benefit. What thou hast saved +Is therefore not thy own, or else the robber, +Urged by his avarice thro' fire-crumbling halls, +Were like thyself a hero. Come, sweet maid, + +[Advances toward Recha in order to lead her up to the Templar. + +Come, stickle not for niceties with him. +Other--he were less warm and proud, and had +Paused, and not saved thee. Balance then the one +Against the other, and put him to the blush, +Do what he should have done--own thou thy love - +Make him thy offer, and if he refuse, +Or o'er forgot how infinitely more +By this thou do for him than he for thee - +What, what in fact has he then done for thee +But make himself a little sooty? That +(Else he has nothing of my Assad in him, +But only wears his mask) that was mere sport, +Come, lovely girl. + +SITTAH. + + Go, go, my love, this step +Is for thy gratitude too short, too trifling. + +[They are each taking one of Recha's hands when Nathan with a solemn +gesture of prohibition says, + +NATHAN. + +Hold, Saladin--hold, Sittah. + +SALADIN. + + Ha! thou too? + +NATHAN. + +One other has to speak. + +SALADIN. + + Who denies that? +Unquestionably, Nathan, there belongs +A vote to such a foster-father--and +The first, if you require it. You perceive +I know how all the matter lies. + +NATHAN. + + Not all-- +I speak not of myself. There is another, +A very different man, whom, Saladin, +I must first talk with. + +SALADIN. + + Who? + +NATHAN. + + Her brother. + +SALADIN. + + Recha's? + +NATHAN. + +Yes, her's. + +RECHA. + + My brother--have I then a brother? + +[The templar starts from his silent and sullen inattention. + +TEMPLAR. + +Where is this brother? Not yet here? 'Twas here +I was to find him. + +NATHAN. + + Patience yet a while. + +TEMPLAR (very bitterly). + +He has imposed a father on the girl, +He'll find her up a brother. + +SALADIN. + + That was wanting! +Christian, this mean suspicion ne'er had past +The lips of Assad. Go but on - + +NATHAN. + + Forgive him, +I can forgive him readily. Who knows +What in his place, and at his time of life, +We might have thought ourselves? Suspicion, knight, + +[Approaching the templar in a friendly manner. + +Succeeds soon to mistrust. Had you at first +Favoured me with your real name. + +TEMPLAR. + + How? what? + +NATHAN. + +You are no Stauffen. + +TEMPLAR. + + Who then am I? Speak. + +NATHAN. + +Conrade of Stauffen is no name of yours. + +TEMPLAR. + +What is my name then? + +NATHAN. + + Guy of Filnek. + +TEMPLAR. + + How? + +NATHAN. + +You startle - + +TEMPLAR. + + And with reason. Who says that? + +NATHAN. + +I, who can tell you more. Meanwhile, observe +I do not tax you with a falsehood. + +TEMPLAR. + + No? + +NATHAN. + +May be you with propriety can wear +Yon name as well. + +TEMPLAR. + + I think so too. (God--God +Put that speech on his tongue.) + +NATHAN. + + In fact your mother - +She was a Stauffen: and her brother's name, +(The uncle to whose care you were resigned, +When by the rigour of the climate chased, +Your parents quitted Germany to seek +This land once more) was Conrade. He perhaps +Adopted you as his own son and heir. +Is it long since you hither travelled with him? +Is he alive yet? + +TEMPLAR. + + So in fact it stands. +What shall I say? Yes, Nathan, 'tis all right: +Tho' he himself is dead. I came to Syria +With the last reinforcement of our order, +But--but what has all this long tale to do +With Recha's brother, whom - + +NATHAN. + + Your father - + +TEMPLAR. + + Him, +Him did you know? + +NATHAN. + +He was my friend. + +TEMPLAR. + + Your friend? +And is that possible? + +NATHAN. + + He called himself +Leonard of Filnek, but he was no German. + +TEMPLAR. + +You know that too? + +NATHAN. + + He had espoused a German, +And followed for a time your mother thither. + +TEMPLAR. + +No more I beg of you--But Recha's brother - + +NATHAN. + +Art thou + +TEMPLAR. + + I, I her brother - + +RECHA. + + He, my brother? + +SITTAH. + +So near akin - + +RECHA (offers to clasp him). + + My brother! + +TEMPLAR (steps back). + + Brother to her - + +RECHA (turning to Nathan). + +It cannot be, his heart knows nothing of it. +We are deceivers, God. + +SALADIN (to the templar). + + Deceivers, yes; +All is deceit in thee, face, voice, walk, gesture, +Nothing belongs to thee. How, not acknowledge +A sister such as she? Go. + +TEMPLAR (modestly approaching him). + + Sultan, Sultan +O do not misinterpret my amazement - +Thou never saw'st in such a moment, prince, +Thy Assad's heart--mistake not him and me. + +[Hastening towards Nathan. + +O Nathan, you have taken, you have given, +Both with full hands indeed; and now--yes--yes, +You give me more than you have taken from me, +Yes, infinitely more--my sister--sister. + +[Embraces Recha. + +NATHAN. + +Blanda of Filnek. + +TEMPLAR. + + Blanda, ha! not Recha, +Your Recha now no longer--you resign her, +Give her her Christian name again, and then +For my sake turn her off. Why Nathan, Nathan, +Why must she suffer for it? she for me? + +NATHAN. + +What mean you? O my children, both my children - +For sure my daughter's brother is my child, +So soon as he but will it! + +[While they embrace Nathan by turns, Saladin draws nigh to Sittah. + +SALADIN. + + What sayst thou +Sittah to this? + +SITTAH. + + I'm deeply moved. + +SALADIN. + + And I +Half tremble at the thought of the emotion +Still greater, still to come. Nathan, a word + +[While he converses with Nathan, Sittah goes to express her sympathy +to the others. + +With thee apart. Wast thou not saying also +That her own father was no German born? +What was he then? Whence was he? + +NATHAN. + + He himself +Never intrusted me with that. From him +I knew it not. + +SALADIN. + +You say he was no Frank? + +NATHAN. + +No, that he owned: he loved to talk the Persian. + +SALADIN. + +The Persian--need I more? 'Tis he--'twas he! + +NATHAN. + +Who? + +SALADIN. + + Assad certainly, my brother Assad. + +NATHAN. + +If thou thyself perceive it, be assured; +Look in this book--[Gives the breviary. + +SALADIN (eagerly looking.) + + O 'tis his hand, his hand, +I recollect it well. + +NATHAN. + + They know it not; +It rests with thee what they shall learn of this. + +SALADIN (turning over the breviary.) + +I not acknowledge my own brother's children, +Not own my nephew--not my children--I +Leave them to thee? Yes, Sittah, it is they, [Aloud. +They are my brother's and thy brother's children. [Rushes to +embrace them. + +SITTAH. + +What do I hear? Could it be otherwise? [The like. + +SALADIN (to the templar). + +Now, proud boy, thou shalt love me, thou must love me, + +[To Recha. + +And I am, what I offered to become, +With or without thy leave. + +SITTAH. + + I too--I too. + +SALADIN (to the templar.) + +My son--my Assad--my lost Assad's son. + +TEMPLAR. + +I of thy blood--then those were more than dreams +With which they used to lull my infancy - +Much more. + +[Falls at the Sultan's feet. + +SALADIN (raising him.) + + Now mark his malice. Something of it +He knew, yet would have let me butcher him - +Boy, boy! + + + +[During the silent continuance of reciprocal embraces the curtain falls.] + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext Nathan the Wise, by Gotthold Ephraim Lessing + diff --git a/old/natws10.zip b/old/natws10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a03de53 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/natws10.zip |
