NATHAN.What say you? Well, in fact there was----FRIAR.Ay, look--Look well at me--for I'm that squire: 'twas I.NATHAN.What! you?FRIAR.And he from whom I brought the childWas, if I recollect the matter right,A Lord of Filneck--Wolf von Filneck.NATHAN.Right.FRIAR.Because the mother died not long before;And he, the father, was obliged to flyTo Gaza suddenly. The helpless childCould not accompany him, and therefore heCommitted it to you: that was my task.I found you out at Daran.NATHAN.Right, quite right.FRIAR.It were no wonder had my memoryDeceived me. I have served so many lords.The one who fled was not my master long,He fell at Askalon. His heart was kind.NATHAN.Yes, yes, and I have much to thank him for.Not once, but many times he saved my life.FRIAR.O, glorious! then the greater joy for youTo educate his daughter.NATHAN.You say well.FRIAR.Where is she now? She is not dead, I hope.Let me not hear, I pray, that she is dead.If no one else have found the secret out,All is yet safe.NATHAN.Indeed!FRIAR.Oh, Nathan, trust me.This is my way of thinking: if the goodThat I propose to do is intertwinedWith mischief, then I let the good alone;For we know well enough what mischief is,But not what is the best. 'Twas natural,If you intended to bring up the childWith care, that you should rear it as your own.And to have done this lovingly and well,And be thus recompensed, is piteous.It were perhaps more prudent, if the childHad been brought up by some good Christian's hand,In her own faith. But then you had not lovedYour dear friend's orphan child; and children needLove--were it but the affection of a brute--More at that age, than Christianity:There's always time enough for that: and ifThe maiden had grown up before your eyes,Healthy and pious, she had then remainedThe same as ever in her Maker's eyes.For is not Christianity all builtUpon the Jewish creed? Oh oft, too oft,It vexes me and costs me bitter tears,To think that Christians will so constantlyForget that Christ our Saviour was a Jew.NATHAN.Good brother, you shall be my advocate,When hate and bigotry shall frown on me,All for a deed--which you alone shall hear--But take it with you to the tomb. As yetE'en vanity has never tempted meTo breathe it to a soul; to you aloneIt shall be told; for simple pietyLike yours can truly feel what man can doWho places his full confidence in God.FRIAR.You're moved, and your eyes run o'er with tears.NATHAN.At Daran 'twas you met me with the child.You had not heard that, a few days before,The Christians murdered every Jew in Gath--Woman and child. Amongst them was my wife--Along with her, my seven hopeful sons.All had sought shelter 'neath my brother's roof,And there were burnt alive.FRIAR.Just God!NATHAN.You came.Three nights in dust and ashes I had lainBefore my God and wept; and I at timesArraigned my Maker, raged, and cursed myselfAnd the whole world together, and I sworeEternal hate to Christianity.FRIAR.Who can condemn you? I believe it well.NATHAN.But by degrees returning reason came,And spoke with gentle accent: "God is just!And this was His decree. Now exerciseThe lesson thou so long hast understood,And which is surely not more difficultTo exercise than well to understand."I rose and cried to God, "I will, I will!Do Thou but aid my purpose." And, behold,Just at that moment you dismounted. YouGave me the child enfolded in your robe.The words we spoke occur not to me now.This much I recollect: I took the child;I bore it to my bed; I kissed its cheek;I flung myself upon my knees, and sobbed,"My God, Thou hast restored me one of seven!"FRIAR.Nathan, you are a Christian. Yes, I swearYou are a Christian--better never lived.NATHAN.Indeed! the very thing that makes me seemChristian to you, makes you a Jew to me.But let us not distress each other thus,'Tis time to act, and though a sevenfold loveHad bound me to this strange, this lovely maid,Though the mere thought distracts me, that in herI lose my seven dear sons a second time,If Providence require her at my handsI'm ready to obey.FRIAR.'Tis well! And thusI thought to counsel you; but there's no need:Your own good genius has forestalled my words.NATHAN.The first chance claimant must not tear her hence.FRIAR.Most surely not.NATHAN.And he who has no claimStronger than mine--at least he ought to haveThose prior claims which----FRIAR.Certainly,NATHAN.Those claimsWhich are derived from nature and from blood.FRIAR.In my opinion, yes.NATHAN.Then name the manAs brother, or as uncle, bound to her,I'll not withhold her from him; she was madeTo be the ornament of any house,The pride of any faith. I hope you knowMore of your master and his creed than I.FRIAR.On that point, Nathan, I'm but ill informed,I have already told you that I spentOnly some moments with him.NATHAN.Can you tellThe mother's name, at least? She was, I think,A Stauffen?FRIAR.Possibly; nay, more--you're right.NATHAN.Conrad of Stauffen was her brother's name.He was a Templar.FRIAR.Yes, I think he was:But hold, I have a book that was my lord's.I drew it from his bosom when he layDead, and we buried him at Askalon.NATHAN.Well!FRIAR.There are prayers in it; 'tis what we callA breviary. This, thought I, yet may serveSome Christian man--not me, forsooth--for ICan't read a word.NATHAN.No matter--to the point.FRIAR.The pages of this book are written allIn his own hand, and, as I'm told, containAll that's important touching him and her.NATHAN.Go, run and fetch the book: 'tis fortunate!I'll pay you for it with its weight in gold.And with a thousand thanks besides. Go! run!FRIAR.I go--but what he wrote is Arabic.(Exit)NATHAN.No matter, fetch it. What, if from this bookI can find means to keep this precious girl,And win, to boot, a son-in-law like him!I hardly hope--fate must decide. But whoHas told the Patriarch this? I must not failTo ascertain. It surely was not Daja?SceneVIII.DajaandNathan.DAJA(rushing in in agitation).Only think, Nathan!NATHAN.What?DAJA.Well--only think:The child was frightened when the message came!NATHAN.From whom? The Patriarch?DAJA.The Sultan's sister,The Princess Sittah--NATHAN.Not the Patriarch?DAJA.No, Sittah. Can't you hear? The Princess sends,And wishes Recha to be brought to her.NATHAN.Wishes for Recha! Sittah wishes thus?'Tis Sittah, then--and not the Patriarch?DAJA.Why do you speak of him?NATHAN.Have you not heardSome tidings of him lately? Have you seenNothing of him, and whispered nothing to him?DAJA.How could I so?NATHAN.Where are the messengers?DAJA.They stand without.NATHAN.I'll speak to them myself--'Tis prudent; I shall see if nothing lurksBehind this message, from the Patriarch. (Exit.)DAJA.Well, I have other fears. The only child,As they suppose, of such a wealthy Jew,Would for a Mussulman be no bad thing.I'll wager that the Templar loses her,Unless I risk a second step, and statePlainly to Recha who she is. So, courage!And to do this I must at once employThe first brief moments when we are alone.Chance serves: she waits for me, and on the wayAn earnest hint will never prove amiss.So now or never. All will soon be well. (Follows Nathan.)ACT V.SceneI.--The room inSaladin'sPalace. The treasure still piled up.(Saladin,and several Mamelukes.)SALADIN(as he enters).There lies the gold--and no one yet has seenThe Dervise. He will probably be foundOver the chess-board. Play can often makeA man forget himself. Then why not me?But patience. What's the matter?1ST MAMELUKE.Oh, good news!Joy, Sultan! joy. The Cairo caravanIs safe arrived, and from the Nile it bringsThe seven years' tribute.SALADIN.Bravo, Ibrahim!You always were a welcome messenger,And now at length--accept my heartfelt thanksFor the good tidings.1ST MAMELUKE(waiting).(Let me have them, then!)SALADIN.What are you waiting for? Go.1ST MAMELUKE.Nothing moreFor my good news?SALADIN.What further?1ST MAMELUKE.MessengersOf good are paid. Am I to be the firstWhom Saladin has learnt to pay with words?The first to whom he proves ungenerous?SALADIN.Go, take a purse.1ST MAMELUKE.No, no--not now. Not ifYou'd give them all to me.SALADIN.All? Hold, young man!Come hither. Take these purses--take these two.What, going? And shall I be conquered thusIn generosity? for surely 'tisMore difficult for this man to refuseThan for the Sultan to bestow. Then, hereHere, Ibrahim! Shall I be tempted, justBefore my death, to be a different man?Shall Saladin not die like Saladin?Then wherefore has he lived like Saladin?(Enter a second Mameluke.)2ND MAMELUKE.Hail, Sultan!SALADIN.If you come and bring the news----2ND MAMELUKE.That the Egyptian convoy is arrived.SALADIN.I know it.2ND MAMELUKE.Then I come too late.SALADIN.Too late?Wherefore too late? There, for your tidings takeA purse or two.2ND MAMELUKE.Say three.SALADIN.You reckon well;But take them.2ND MAMELUKE.A third messenger will comeEre long, if he be able.SALADIN.Wherefore so?2ND MAMELUKE.He may perhaps, ere this, have brok'n his neck.We three, when we had heard of the approachOf the rich caravan, mounted our steeds,And galloped hitherward. The foremost fell,Then I was first, and I continued soInto the town; but that sly fellow there,Who knew the streets----SALADIN.But where is he who fell?Go seek him out.2ND MAMELUKE.That I will quickly do,And if he lives, one half of this is his.(Exit.)SALADIN.Oh, what a noble fellow! who can boastSuch Mamelukes as these? And may I not,Without conceit, imagine that my lifeHas helped to make them so? Avaunt the thought!That I should ever teach them otherwise.3RD MAMELUKE.Sultan!SALADIN.Are you the man who fell?3RD MAMELUKE.No, Sire.I have to tell you that the Emir Mansor,Who led the caravan, is just arrived.SALADIN.Then bring him quickly.--There he is already.SceneII.The EmirMansorandSaladin.SALADIN.Emir, you're welcome! What has happened to you,Mansor? we have expected you for long.MANSOR.This letter will explain how, in Thebais,Some discontents required the sabred handOf Abulkassen. But, since then, our marchHas been pressed forward.SALADIN.I believe it all.But take, good Mansor--take, without delay,Another escort if you will proceed,And take the treasure on to Lebanon:The greater part is destined for my father.MANSOR.Most willingly.SALADIN.And let your escort beA strong and trusty one, for LebanonIs far from quiet, and the Templars thereAre on the stir again; be cautious, thenCome, I must see your troop, and order all.(To a slave.) Say I shall presently return to Sittah.SceneIII.(The palm-trees beforeNathan'shouse.)TheTemplar,walking up and down.TEMPLAR.Into this house I never enter more:He'll come to me at last. Yet, formerly,They used to watch for me with longing eyes;And now----The time may come he'll send to beg,Most civilly, that I will get me hence,And not pace up and down before his door!No matter: though I feel a little hurt.I know not what has thus embittered me:He answered yes, and has refused me naught,So far, and Saladin has pledged himselfTo bring him round. Say, does the Christian liveDeeper in me than the Jew lurks in him?Ah! who can truly estimate himself?How comes it else that I should grudge him soThe trifling booty, which he took such painsTo rob the Christians of? No trifling theft!No less than such a creature! And to whomDoes she belong? Oh, surely not to him,The thoughtless slave, who floated the mere blockOn to life's barren strand, then disappeared.Rather to him, the artist, whose fine soulHas from the block moulded this godlike form,And graved it there. And yet in spite of him,The Christian, who begot this beauteous maid,Recha's true father must be still the Jew.Were I to fancy her a Christian now,Bereft of all the Jew has given to her--Which only such a Jew could have bestowed--Speak out, my heart--where would have been her charm'It had been nothing--little; then her smileHad been a pretty twisting of the mouthAnd that which caused it were unworthy deemedOf the enchantment blooming on her lips.No: not her very smile! I've seen sweet smilesSquandered on pride, on foppery, on lies,On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent:And did they charm me then? Did they awakeThe wish to flutter out existence inTheir sunshine? And I'm angry now with himWho gave this higher value to the maid?And wherefore so? Do I deserve the tauntWith which I was dismissed by Saladin?'Twas bad enough he should think thus of me.How wicked, how contemptible, alas!I must have seemed to him! And for a girl!Conrad, this will not do. Avaunt such thoughts!And what if Daja has been chatteringOf things not easy to be proved? But see,He comes, engaged in converse; and with whom?With him, the Friar. Then he knows all: perhapsHe has betrayed him to the Patriarch.O Conrad! what vile mischief hast thou done!O! that one spark of love, that wayward passion,Should so inflame the brain! But, quick! resolve;What's to be done? Stay, step aside awhile;Perhaps the Friar will leave him. Let us see.SceneIV.Nathanand theFriar.NATHAN(approaching him).Good brother, once more, thanks.FRIAR.The same to you.NATHAN.Why thanks from you? Because I'm wayward, andWould force upon you what you cannot use?FRIAR.The book you have did not belong to me.It is the maid's, is all her property,Her only patrimony--save yourself.God grant you ne'er have reason to repentOf what you've done for her!NATHAN.Impossible!That cannot be. Fear not.FRIAR.Alas! alas!These Patriarchs and Templars----NATHAN.Cannot workSuch evil as to force me to repent.But are you sure it is a Templar whoUrges the Patriarch?FRIAR.It is none else;A Templar talked with him just now, and allI hear confirms the rumour.NATHAN.But there isOnly one Templar in Jerusalem,And him I know. He is a friend of mine,A noble, open-hearted youth.FRIAR.The same.But what one is at heart, and what one mustAppear in active life, are not the same.NATHAN.Alas! 'tis true. And so let every oneAct as he will, and do his best, or worst.With your book, brother, I defy them all!I'm going straightway with it to the Sultan.FRIAR.Then God be with you! Here I take my leave.NATHAN.What! without seeing her? But come again,Come soon--come often. If the PatriarchTo-day learns nothing. Well! no matter now!Tell him the whole to-day, or when you will.FRIAR.Not I. Farewell!(Exit.)NATHAN.Do not forget us, brother!O God! I could sink down upon my knees,Here on this spot! Behold, the knotted skeinWhich has so often troubled me, at lastUntangles of itself. I feel at ease,Since henceforth nothing in this world remainsThat I need hide. Henceforth, I am as freeBefore mankind, as in the sight of God.Who only does not need to judge us menBy deeds, which oftentimes are not our own.SceneV.Nathanand theTemplar.(The latter advancing towards him from the side.)TEMPLAR.Hold, Nathan, hold! Take me along with you.NATHAN.Who calls? You, Templar! Where can you have beenThat you could not be met with at the Sultan's?TEMPLAR.We missed each other; do not be displeased.NATHAN.Not I, but Saladin.TEMPLAR.You had just gone.NATHAN.Oh, 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; I goDirect to him.TEMPLAR.Say, Nathan, may I askWho left you even now?NATHAN.What! don't you know?TEMPLAR.Was it that worthy fellow, the good friar,Whom the old Patriarch employs at willTo work his ends?NATHAN.The same--the very same.TEMPLAR.'Tis a prime hit to make simplicityThe workman of deceit.NATHAN.Yes, if he useThe fool, and not the pious man.TEMPLAR.This lastThe Patriarch ne'er trusts.NATHAN.Depend on this,That man will not assist the PatriarchTo a wicked end.TEMPLAR.Well, so I think myself.But has he told you aught of me?NATHAN.Of you?He scarcely knows your name.TEMPLAR.That's like enough.NATHAN.He spoke to me about a Templar, who----TEMPLAR.Who what?NATHAN.But then he never mentioned you.TEMPLAR.Who knows? Come tell me, Nathan, all he said.NATHAN.Who has accused me to the Patriarch?TEMPLAR.Accused you! With his leave, that is untrue.No! Hear me, Nathan! I am not the manE'er to deny my actions. What I've doneI've done--and there's an end. Nor am I oneWho would maintain that all I've done is right.But should one fault condemn me? Am I notResolved on better deeds for time to come?And who is ignorant how much the manWho wills it may improve? Then hear me, Nathan:I am the Templar talked of by the Friar,Who has accused--you know what maddened me,What set my blood on fire within my veins--Fool that I was! I had almost resolvedTo fling myself both soul and body, straightInto your arms. But how was I received?How did you meet me, Nathan? Cold--or worse.Lukewarm--far worse than cold. With cautious words,Well weighed and measured, Nathan, you took careTo put me off, and with calm questions, askedAbout my parentage, and God knows what,You sought to meet my suit. I cannot nowDwell on it and be patient. Hear me further.While in this ferment, Daja suddenlyDrew near to me and whispered in my earA secret which cleared up the mystery.NATHAN.What was it?TEMPLAR.Hear me to the end. I thoughtThe treasure you had from the Christians stolen,You would not promptly to a Christian yield;And so the project struck me, with good speed,To bring you to extremities.NATHAN.Good speed?Good, good? pray where's the good!TEMPLAR.But hear me out.I own my error; you are free from guilt;That prating Daja knows not what she says.She's hostile to you, and she seeks to twineA dangerous snare around you. Be it so.I'm but a crazed enthusiast, doubly mad,Aiming at far too much, or much too little.That may be also true. Forgive me, Nathan.NATHAN.If you conceive thus of me----TEMPLAR.Well, in short.I saw the Patriarch--but named you not.'Twas false to say so, for I only toldThe case in general terms, to sound his mind.And that I also might have left undone,For knew I not the Patriarch to beAn arrant, subtle knave? And might I notAs well have told you all the case at first?Or was it right in me to risk the lossOf such a father to the hapless maid?But what has happened now? The Patriarch,Ever consistent in his villainy,Has all at once restored me to myself.For hear me, Nathan, hear me! Were he nowTo learn your name, what more could then occur?He cannot seize the maid, if she belongTo some one else, and not to you alone.'Tis from your house alone she can be draggedInto a convent: grant her, then, I pray,Grant her to me! Then come the Patriarch!He'll hardly dare to take my wife from me.Oh! give her to me. Be she yours or not--Your daughter--Christian--Jewess--'tis all one--Or be she nothing--I will ne'er inquire,Or in my lifetime ask you what she is,'Tis all alike to me.NATHAN.Do you then thinkThat to conceal the truth I am compelled?TEMPLAR.No matter.NATHAN.I have ne'er denied the truthTo you, or any one whom it concernedTo know the fact, that she's of Christian birth,And that the maid is my adopted child.Why I have not informed her of the truth,I need explain to none but to herself.TEMPLAR.Nathan; no need of that, it were not wellThat she should see you in a different light;Then spare her the discovery. As yetShe's yours alone--no other's--to bestow.Then grant her to me, Nathan, I implore--Grant her to me: I only, I alone,Can rescue her a second time--and will.NATHAN.Yes, you could once have saved her, but alas!'Tis now too late.TEMPLAR.Too late! ah! say not so.NATHAN.Thanks to the Patriarch.TEMPLAR.Why, thanks to him?Why should we thank the Patriarch! For what?NATHAN.That now we know her relatives, and knowInto whose hands Recha may be restored.TEMPLAR.Let him give thanks who shall have better causeTo thank him.NATHAN.But you must receive her nowFrom other hands than mine.TEMPLAR.Alas, poor maid!O hapless Recha! what has chanced to thee,That what to other orphans had appearedA real blessing, is to thee a curse!But, Nathan, where are these new relatives?NATHAN.Where are they?TEMPLAR.Ay, both where and who are they?NATHAN.Her brother is discovered, and to himYou must address yourself.TEMPLAR.Her brother! Ha!And what is he--a soldier or a priest?Tell me at once what I've to hope from him.NATHAN.I hear he's neither--or he's both. As yetI do not know him thoroughly.TEMPLAR.What more?NATHAN.He is a gallant fellow, and with himRecha may be content.TEMPLAR.But he's a Christian.At times I know not what to make of you.Take it not ill, good Nathan, that I ask,Must she not henceforth play the Christian,Associate with Christians, and at lastBecome the character she long has played?Will not the tares at length grow up and chokeThe pure wheat you have sown? And does not thatAffect you? Yet you say she'll be contentWhen with her brother.NATHAN.As I think and hope.For should she e'er have need of anything,Has she not you and me?TEMPLAR.What can she needWhen with her brother. Gladly he'll provideHis dear new sister with a thousand robes,With dainties, and with toys and finery.And what could any sister wish for more--Unless, perhaps, a husband? And him too,Him too the brother, in due time, will find;And the more Christian he, the better!--Nathan,How sad to think the angel you have formed,Should now be marred by others!NATHAN.Be assuredHe'll always prove deserving of our love.TEMPLAR.Nay speak not so; of my love, speak not so,For it can brook no loss, however small,Not e'en a name. But, hold! Has she as yetAny suspicion of these late events?NATHAN.'Tis possible, and yet I know not how.TEMPLAR.It matters not; she must, in either case,First learn from me what fate is threat'ning her.My purpose not to speak with her again,And ne'er to see her more, till I should callYour Recha mine, is gone. I take my leave.NATHAN.Nay, whither would you go?TEMPLAR.At once to her,To learn if she be bold enough at heart,To fix upon the only course that nowIs worthy of her.NATHAN.Name it.TEMPLAR.It is this:That henceforth she should never care to knowAught of her brother or of you.NATHAN.What more?TEMPLAR.To follow me--even if it were her fateTo wed a Mussulman.NATHAN.Stay, Templar, stay!You will not find her. She's with Sittah now,The Sultan's sister.TEMPLAR.Wherefore, and since when?NATHAN.If you desire to see her brother, come,Follow me straight.TEMPLAR.Her brother, say you? Whose?Recha's, or Sittah's?NATHAN.Both--ay, both, perhaps.But come this way, I pray you. Come with me.(Nathanleads theTemplaraway.)SceneVI.--Sittah'sharem.SittahandRechaengaged in conversation.SITTAH.How I am pleased with you, sweet girl. But, come,Shake off these fears, and be no more alarmed,Be happy, cheerful. Let me hear you talk.RECHA.Princess!SITTAH.Nay, child, not princess! Call me friend,Or Sittah--or your sister--or dear mother,For I might well be so to you--so good,So prudent, and so young! How much you know,How much you must have read!RECHA.Read, Sittah! nowYou're mocking me, for I can scarcely read.SITTAH.Scarce read, you young deceiver!RECHA.Yes, perhapsMy father's hand; I thought you spoke of books.SITTAH.And so I did--of books.RECHA.They puzzle meTo read.SITTAH.Indeed!RECHA.I speak, in veriest truth.My father hates book-learning, which he says,Makes an impression only on the brainWith lifeless letters.SITTAH.Well, he's right in that.And so the greater part of what you know----RECHA.I've learnt from his own mouth, and I can tellThe when, the where, and why he taught it me.SITTAH.So it clings closer, and the soul drinks inThe full instruction.RECHA.Yes, and Sittah, too,Has not read much.SITTAH.How so? I am not vainOf having read, and yet why say you so?Speak boldly. Tell the reason.
What say you? Well, in fact there was----
Ay, look--
Look well at me--for I'm that squire: 'twas I.
What! you?
And he from whom I brought the child
Was, if I recollect the matter right,
A Lord of Filneck--Wolf von Filneck.
Right.
Because the mother died not long before;
And he, the father, was obliged to fly
To Gaza suddenly. The helpless child
Could not accompany him, and therefore he
Committed it to you: that was my task.
I found you out at Daran.
Right, quite right.
It were no wonder had my memory
Deceived me. I have served so many lords.
The one who fled was not my master long,
He fell at Askalon. His heart was kind.
Yes, yes, and I have much to thank him for.
Not once, but many times he saved my life.
O, glorious! then the greater joy for you
To educate his daughter.
You say well.
Where is she now? She is not dead, I hope.
Let me not hear, I pray, that she is dead.
If no one else have found the secret out,
All is yet safe.
Indeed!
Oh, Nathan, trust me.
This is my way of thinking: if the good
That I propose to do is intertwined
With mischief, then I let the good alone;
For we know well enough what mischief is,
But not what is the best. 'Twas natural,
If you intended to bring up the child
With care, that you should rear it as your own.
And to have done this lovingly and well,
And be thus recompensed, is piteous.
It were perhaps more prudent, if the child
Had been brought up by some good Christian's hand,
In her own faith. But then you had not loved
Your dear friend's orphan child; and children need
Love--were it but the affection of a brute--
More at that age, than Christianity:
There's always time enough for that: and if
The maiden had grown up before your eyes,
Healthy and pious, she had then remained
The same as ever in her Maker's eyes.
For is not Christianity all built
Upon the Jewish creed? Oh oft, too oft,
It vexes me and costs me bitter tears,
To think that Christians will so constantly
Forget that Christ our Saviour was a Jew.
Good brother, you shall be my advocate,
When hate and bigotry shall frown on me,
All for a deed--which you alone shall hear--
But take it with you to the tomb. As yet
E'en vanity has never tempted me
To breathe it to a soul; to you alone
It shall be told; for simple piety
Like yours can truly feel what man can do
Who places his full confidence in God.
You're moved, and your eyes run o'er with tears.
At Daran 'twas you met me with the child.
You had not heard that, a few days before,
The Christians murdered every Jew in Gath--
Woman and child. Amongst them was my wife--
Along with her, my seven hopeful sons.
All had sought shelter 'neath my brother's roof,
And there were burnt alive.
Just God!
You came.
Three nights in dust and ashes I had lain
Before my God and wept; and I at times
Arraigned my Maker, raged, and cursed myself
And the whole world together, and I swore
Eternal hate to Christianity.
Who can condemn you? I believe it well.
But by degrees returning reason came,
And spoke with gentle accent: "God is just!
And this was His decree. Now exercise
The lesson thou so long hast understood,
And which is surely not more difficult
To exercise than well to understand."
I rose and cried to God, "I will, I will!
Do Thou but aid my purpose." And, behold,
Just at that moment you dismounted. You
Gave me the child enfolded in your robe.
The words we spoke occur not to me now.
This much I recollect: I took the child;
I bore it to my bed; I kissed its cheek;
I flung myself upon my knees, and sobbed,
"My God, Thou hast restored me one of seven!"
Nathan, you are a Christian. Yes, I swear
You are a Christian--better never lived.
Indeed! the very thing that makes me seem
Christian to you, makes you a Jew to me.
But let us not distress each other thus,
'Tis time to act, and though a sevenfold love
Had bound me to this strange, this lovely maid,
Though the mere thought distracts me, that in her
I lose my seven dear sons a second time,
If Providence require her at my hands
I'm ready to obey.
'Tis well! And thus
I thought to counsel you; but there's no need:
Your own good genius has forestalled my words.
The first chance claimant must not tear her hence.
Most surely not.
And he who has no claim
Stronger than mine--at least he ought to have
Those prior claims which----
Certainly,
Those claims
Which are derived from nature and from blood.
In my opinion, yes.
Then name the man
As brother, or as uncle, bound to her,
I'll not withhold her from him; she was made
To be the ornament of any house,
The pride of any faith. I hope you know
More of your master and his creed than I.
On that point, Nathan, I'm but ill informed,
I have already told you that I spent
Only some moments with him.
Can you tell
The mother's name, at least? She was, I think,
A Stauffen?
Possibly; nay, more--you're right.
Conrad of Stauffen was her brother's name.
He was a Templar.
Yes, I think he was:
But hold, I have a book that was my lord's.
I drew it from his bosom when he lay
Dead, and we buried him at Askalon.
Well!
There are prayers in it; 'tis what we call
A breviary. This, thought I, yet may serve
Some Christian man--not me, forsooth--for I
Can't read a word.
No matter--to the point.
The pages of this book are written all
In his own hand, and, as I'm told, contain
All that's important touching him and her.
Go, run and fetch the book: 'tis fortunate!
I'll pay you for it with its weight in gold.
And with a thousand thanks besides. Go! run!
I go--but what he wrote is Arabic.(Exit)
No matter, fetch it. What, if from this book
I can find means to keep this precious girl,
And win, to boot, a son-in-law like him!
I hardly hope--fate must decide. But who
Has told the Patriarch this? I must not fail
To ascertain. It surely was not Daja?
DajaandNathan.
Only think, Nathan!
What?
Well--only think:
The child was frightened when the message came!
From whom? The Patriarch?
The Sultan's sister,
The Princess Sittah--
Not the Patriarch?
No, Sittah. Can't you hear? The Princess sends,
And wishes Recha to be brought to her.
Wishes for Recha! Sittah wishes thus?
'Tis Sittah, then--and not the Patriarch?
Why do you speak of him?
Have you not heard
Some tidings of him lately? Have you seen
Nothing of him, and whispered nothing to him?
How could I so?
Where are the messengers?
They stand without.
I'll speak to them myself--
'Tis prudent; I shall see if nothing lurks
Behind this message, from the Patriarch. (Exit.)
Well, I have other fears. The only child,
As they suppose, of such a wealthy Jew,
Would for a Mussulman be no bad thing.
I'll wager that the Templar loses her,
Unless I risk a second step, and state
Plainly to Recha who she is. So, courage!
And to do this I must at once employ
The first brief moments when we are alone.
Chance serves: she waits for me, and on the way
An earnest hint will never prove amiss.
So now or never. All will soon be well. (Follows Nathan.)
(Saladin,and several Mamelukes.)
There lies the gold--and no one yet has seen
The Dervise. He will probably be found
Over the chess-board. Play can often make
A man forget himself. Then why not me?
But patience. What's the matter?
Oh, good news!
Joy, Sultan! joy. The Cairo caravan
Is safe arrived, and from the Nile it brings
The seven years' tribute.
Bravo, Ibrahim!
You always were a welcome messenger,
And now at length--accept my heartfelt thanks
For the good tidings.
(Let me have them, then!)
What are you waiting for? Go.
Nothing more
For my good news?
What further?
Messengers
Of good are paid. Am I to be the first
Whom Saladin has learnt to pay with words?
The first to whom he proves ungenerous?
Go, take a purse.
No, no--not now. Not if
You'd give them all to me.
All? Hold, young man!
Come hither. Take these purses--take these two.
What, going? And shall I be conquered thus
In generosity? for surely 'tis
More difficult for this man to refuse
Than for the Sultan to bestow. Then, here
Here, Ibrahim! Shall I be tempted, just
Before my death, to be a different man?
Shall Saladin not die like Saladin?
Then wherefore has he lived like Saladin?
(Enter a second Mameluke.)
Hail, Sultan!
If you come and bring the news----
That the Egyptian convoy is arrived.
I know it.
Then I come too late.
Too late?
Wherefore too late? There, for your tidings take
A purse or two.
Say three.
You reckon well;
But take them.
A third messenger will come
Ere long, if he be able.
Wherefore so?
He may perhaps, ere this, have brok'n his neck.
We three, when we had heard of the approach
Of the rich caravan, mounted our steeds,
And galloped hitherward. The foremost fell,
Then I was first, and I continued so
Into the town; but that sly fellow there,
Who knew the streets----
But where is he who fell?
Go seek him out.
That I will quickly do,
And if he lives, one half of this is his.(Exit.)
Oh, what a noble fellow! who can boast
Such Mamelukes as these? And may I not,
Without conceit, imagine that my life
Has helped to make them so? Avaunt the thought!
That I should ever teach them otherwise.
Sultan!
Are you the man who fell?
No, Sire.
I have to tell you that the Emir Mansor,
Who led the caravan, is just arrived.
Then bring him quickly.--There he is already.
The EmirMansorandSaladin.
Emir, you're welcome! What has happened to you,
Mansor? we have expected you for long.
This letter will explain how, in Thebais,
Some discontents required the sabred hand
Of Abulkassen. But, since then, our march
Has been pressed forward.
I believe it all.
But take, good Mansor--take, without delay,
Another escort if you will proceed,
And take the treasure on to Lebanon:
The greater part is destined for my father.
Most willingly.
And let your escort be
A strong and trusty one, for Lebanon
Is far from quiet, and the Templars there
Are on the stir again; be cautious, then
Come, I must see your troop, and order all.
(To a slave.) Say I shall presently return to Sittah.
(The palm-trees beforeNathan'shouse.)
TheTemplar,walking up and down.
Into this house I never enter more:
He'll come to me at last. Yet, formerly,
They used to watch for me with longing eyes;
And now----The time may come he'll send to beg,
Most civilly, that I will get me hence,
And not pace up and down before his door!
No matter: though I feel a little hurt.
I know not what has thus embittered me:
He answered yes, and has refused me naught,
So far, and Saladin has pledged himself
To bring him round. Say, does the Christian live
Deeper in me than the Jew lurks in him?
Ah! who can truly estimate himself?
How comes it else that I should grudge him so
The trifling booty, which he took such pains
To rob the Christians of? No trifling theft!
No less than such a creature! And to whom
Does she belong? Oh, surely not to him,
The thoughtless slave, who floated the mere block
On to life's barren strand, then disappeared.
Rather to him, the artist, whose fine soul
Has from the block moulded this godlike form,
And graved it there. And yet in spite of him,
The Christian, who begot this beauteous maid,
Recha's true father must be still the Jew.
Were I to fancy her a Christian now,
Bereft of all the Jew has given to her--
Which only such a Jew could have bestowed--
Speak out, my heart--where would have been her charm'
It had been nothing--little; then her smile
Had been a pretty twisting of the mouth
And that which caused it were unworthy deemed
Of the enchantment blooming on her lips.
No: not her very smile! I've seen sweet smiles
Squandered on pride, on foppery, on lies,
On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent:
And did they charm me then? Did they awake
The wish to flutter out existence in
Their sunshine? And I'm angry now with him
Who gave this higher value to the maid?
And wherefore so? Do I deserve the taunt
With which I was dismissed by Saladin?
'Twas bad enough he should think thus of me.
How wicked, how contemptible, alas!
I must have seemed to him! And for a girl!
Conrad, this will not do. Avaunt such thoughts!
And what if Daja has been chattering
Of things not easy to be proved? But see,
He comes, engaged in converse; and with whom?
With him, the Friar. Then he knows all: perhaps
He has betrayed him to the Patriarch.
O Conrad! what vile mischief hast thou done!
O! that one spark of love, that wayward passion,
Should so inflame the brain! But, quick! resolve;
What's to be done? Stay, step aside awhile;
Perhaps the Friar will leave him. Let us see.
Nathanand theFriar.
Good brother, once more, thanks.
The same to you.
Why thanks from you? Because I'm wayward, and
Would force upon you what you cannot use?
The book you have did not belong to me.
It is the maid's, is all her property,
Her only patrimony--save yourself.
God grant you ne'er have reason to repent
Of what you've done for her!
Impossible!
That cannot be. Fear not.
Alas! alas!
These Patriarchs and Templars----
Cannot work
Such evil as to force me to repent.
But are you sure it is a Templar who
Urges the Patriarch?
It is none else;
A Templar talked with him just now, and all
I hear confirms the rumour.
But there is
Only one Templar in Jerusalem,
And him I know. He is a friend of mine,
A noble, open-hearted youth.
The same.
But what one is at heart, and what one must
Appear in active life, are not the same.
Alas! 'tis true. And so let every one
Act as he will, and do his best, or worst.
With your book, brother, I defy them all!
I'm going straightway with it to the Sultan.
Then God be with you! Here I take my leave.
What! without seeing her? But come again,
Come soon--come often. If the Patriarch
To-day learns nothing. Well! no matter now!
Tell him the whole to-day, or when you will.
Not I. Farewell!(Exit.)
Do not forget us, brother!
O God! I could sink down upon my knees,
Here on this spot! Behold, the knotted skein
Which has so often troubled me, at last
Untangles of itself. I feel at ease,
Since henceforth nothing in this world remains
That I need hide. Henceforth, I am as free
Before mankind, as in the sight of God.
Who only does not need to judge us men
By deeds, which oftentimes are not our own.
Nathanand theTemplar.
(The latter advancing towards him from the side.)
Hold, Nathan, hold! Take me along with you.
Who calls? You, Templar! Where can you have been
That you could not be met with at the Sultan's?
We missed each other; do not be displeased.
Not I, but Saladin.
You had just gone.
Oh, then, you spoke with him. I'm satisfied.
Yes; but he wants to talk with us together.
So much the better. Come with me; I go
Direct to him.
Say, Nathan, may I ask
Who left you even now?
What! don't you know?
Was it that worthy fellow, the good friar,
Whom the old Patriarch employs at will
To work his ends?
The same--the very same.
'Tis a prime hit to make simplicity
The workman of deceit.
Yes, if he use
The fool, and not the pious man.
This last
The Patriarch ne'er trusts.
Depend on this,
That man will not assist the Patriarch
To a wicked end.
Well, so I think myself.
But has he told you aught of me?
Of you?
He scarcely knows your name.
That's like enough.
He spoke to me about a Templar, who----
Who what?
But then he never mentioned you.
Who knows? Come tell me, Nathan, all he said.
Who has accused me to the Patriarch?
Accused you! With his leave, that is untrue.
No! Hear me, Nathan! I am not the man
E'er to deny my actions. What I've done
I've done--and there's an end. Nor am I one
Who would maintain that all I've done is right.
But should one fault condemn me? Am I not
Resolved on better deeds for time to come?
And who is ignorant how much the man
Who wills it may improve? Then hear me, Nathan:
I am the Templar talked of by the Friar,
Who has accused--you know what maddened me,
What set my blood on fire within my veins--
Fool that I was! I had almost resolved
To fling myself both soul and body, straight
Into your arms. But how was I received?
How did you meet me, Nathan? Cold--or worse.
Lukewarm--far worse than cold. With cautious words,
Well weighed and measured, Nathan, you took care
To put me off, and with calm questions, asked
About my parentage, and God knows what,
You sought to meet my suit. I cannot now
Dwell on it and be patient. Hear me further.
While in this ferment, Daja suddenly
Drew near to me and whispered in my ear
A secret which cleared up the mystery.
What was it?
Hear me to the end. I thought
The treasure you had from the Christians stolen,
You would not promptly to a Christian yield;
And so the project struck me, with good speed,
To bring you to extremities.
Good speed?
Good, good? pray where's the good!
But hear me out.
I own my error; you are free from guilt;
That prating Daja knows not what she says.
She's hostile to you, and she seeks to twine
A dangerous snare around you. Be it so.
I'm but a crazed enthusiast, doubly mad,
Aiming at far too much, or much too little.
That may be also true. Forgive me, Nathan.
If you conceive thus of me----
Well, in short.
I saw the Patriarch--but named you not.
'Twas false to say so, for I only told
The case in general terms, to sound his mind.
And that I also might have left undone,
For knew I not the Patriarch to be
An arrant, subtle knave? And might I not
As well have told you all the case at first?
Or was it right in me to risk the loss
Of such a father to the hapless maid?
But what has happened now? The Patriarch,
Ever consistent in his villainy,
Has all at once restored me to myself.
For hear me, Nathan, hear me! Were he now
To learn your name, what more could then occur?
He cannot seize the maid, if she belong
To some one else, and not to you alone.
'Tis from your house alone she can be dragged
Into a convent: grant her, then, I pray,
Grant her to me! Then come the Patriarch!
He'll hardly dare to take my wife from me.
Oh! give her to me. Be she yours or not--
Your daughter--Christian--Jewess--'tis all one--
Or be she nothing--I will ne'er inquire,
Or in my lifetime ask you what she is,
'Tis all alike to me.
Do you then think
That to conceal the truth I am compelled?
No matter.
I have ne'er denied the truth
To you, or any one whom it concerned
To know the fact, that she's of Christian birth,
And that the maid is my adopted child.
Why I have not informed her of the truth,
I need explain to none but to herself.
Nathan; no need of that, it were not well
That she should see you in a different light;
Then spare her the discovery. As yet
She's yours alone--no other's--to bestow.
Then grant her to me, Nathan, I implore--
Grant her to me: I only, I alone,
Can rescue her a second time--and will.
Yes, you could once have saved her, but alas!
'Tis now too late.
Too late! ah! say not so.
Thanks to the Patriarch.
Why, thanks to him?
Why should we thank the Patriarch! For what?
That now we know her relatives, and know
Into whose hands Recha may be restored.
Let him give thanks who shall have better cause
To thank him.
But you must receive her now
From other hands than mine.
Alas, poor maid!
O hapless Recha! what has chanced to thee,
That what to other orphans had appeared
A real blessing, is to thee a curse!
But, Nathan, where are these new relatives?
Where are they?
Ay, both where and who are they?
Her brother is discovered, and to him
You must address yourself.
Her brother! Ha!
And what is he--a soldier or a priest?
Tell me at once what I've to hope from him.
I hear he's neither--or he's both. As yet
I do not know him thoroughly.
What more?
He is a gallant fellow, and with him
Recha may be content.
But he's a Christian.
At times I know not what to make of you.
Take it not ill, good Nathan, that I ask,
Must she not henceforth play the Christian,
Associate with Christians, and at last
Become the character she long has played?
Will not the tares at length grow up and choke
The pure wheat you have sown? And does not that
Affect you? Yet you say she'll be content
When with her brother.
As I think and hope.
For should she e'er have need of anything,
Has she not you and me?
What can she need
When with her brother. Gladly he'll provide
His dear new sister with a thousand robes,
With dainties, and with toys and finery.
And what could any sister wish for more--
Unless, perhaps, a husband? And him too,
Him too the brother, in due time, will find;
And the more Christian he, the better!--Nathan,
How sad to think the angel you have formed,
Should now be marred by others!
Be assured
He'll always prove deserving of our love.
Nay speak not so; of my love, speak not so,
For it can brook no loss, however small,
Not e'en a name. But, hold! Has she as yet
Any suspicion of these late events?
'Tis possible, and yet I know not how.
It matters not; she must, in either case,
First learn from me what fate is threat'ning her.
My purpose not to speak with her again,
And ne'er to see her more, till I should call
Your Recha mine, is gone. I take my leave.
Nay, whither would you go?
At once to her,
To learn if she be bold enough at heart,
To fix upon the only course that now
Is worthy of her.
Name it.
It is this:
That henceforth she should never care to know
Aught of her brother or of you.
What more?
To follow me--even if it were her fate
To wed a Mussulman.
Stay, Templar, stay!
You will not find her. She's with Sittah now,
The Sultan's sister.
Wherefore, and since when?
If you desire to see her brother, come,
Follow me straight.
Her brother, say you? Whose?
Recha's, or Sittah's?
Both--ay, both, perhaps.
But come this way, I pray you. Come with me.
(Nathanleads theTemplaraway.)
SittahandRechaengaged in conversation.
How I am pleased with you, sweet girl. But, come,
Shake off these fears, and be no more alarmed,
Be happy, cheerful. Let me hear you talk.
Princess!
Nay, child, not princess! Call me friend,
Or Sittah--or your sister--or dear mother,
For I might well be so to you--so good,
So prudent, and so young! How much you know,
How much you must have read!
Read, Sittah! now
You're mocking me, for I can scarcely read.
Scarce read, you young deceiver!
Yes, perhaps
My father's hand; I thought you spoke of books.
And so I did--of books.
They puzzle me
To read.
Indeed!
I speak, in veriest truth.
My father hates book-learning, which he says,
Makes an impression only on the brain
With lifeless letters.
Well, he's right in that.
And so the greater part of what you know----
I've learnt from his own mouth, and I can tell
The when, the where, and why he taught it me.
So it clings closer, and the soul drinks in
The full instruction.
Yes, and Sittah, too,
Has not read much.
How so? I am not vain
Of having read, and yet why say you so?
Speak boldly. Tell the reason.