Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts
Play Sample
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