RECHA.There, now she spies us.NATHAN.And her speed redoubles.Recha, be calm!RECHA.What! would you have your childBe cold and unconcerned about his fateTo whom her life is due?--a life to herBut dear because she owed it first to you.NATHAN.I would not wish you other than you are,E'en if I knew that in your secret soulAnother and a different feeling throbs.RECHA.What means my father?NATHAN.Do you ask of me--So tremblingly of me? What passes nowWithin your soul is innocence and nature.Nay, fear not, for it gives me no alarm.But promise, if the heart shall ever speakA plainer language, you will not concealOne single of your wishes from my love.RECHA.Oh, the bare thought that I should ever wishTo hide them from my father, makes me shudder.NATHAN.Recha, enough of this. Now, what says Daja?DAJA.He's still beneath the palms, and presentlyHe'll reach yon wall. See! here he comes at last.RECHA.He seems irresolute which way to turn,To left or right!DAJA.His custom is to seekThe convent walls, so he will pass this way.What will you wager? Yes, he comes to us.RECHA.Right! Did you speak to him? How did he look?DAJA.As usual.NATHAN.Do not let him see you here.Stand farther back, or to the house retire.RECHA.Just one look more. Ah! the trees hide him now.DAJA.Come, come away! Recha, your father's right.Should he observe us he'll retire at once.RECHA.Alas! the trees----NATHAN.Now he emerges from them.He can't but see you. Hence! I beg of you.DAJA.Come, Recha, come! I know a window whenceWe may observe him better.RECHA.Come, then, come.(They both retire.)SceneV.Nathan(who is presently joined by theTemplar).NATHAN.I almost shrink from meeting this strange fellow--Recoil from his rough virtue! That one manShould ever make another feel confused!But see, he comes! he seems a noble youth;Looks like a man. I like his daring eye,His honest gait. Although the shell is bitter,The kernel may not be so. I have seenOne like him somewhere. Pardon, noble Frank----TEMPLAR.What would you?NATHAN.Pardon me----TEMPLAR.What would you, Jew?NATHAN.The privilege of speaking to you.TEMPLAR.Well!How can I help it? Quick, then--what's your wish?NATHAN.Patience! nor pass with such contempt and prideOne who must be your debtor evermore.TEMPLAR.How so? I almost guess. No; are you then----NATHAN.My name is Nathan, father to the maidYour generous courage rescued from the flames.I come to----TEMPLAR.If you come to render thanks,Spare them. I have already been compelledTo bear too many thanks for this small act.Besides, you owe me nothing. Could I knowThe maiden was your daughter? I was bound--It is a Templar's duty--to assistAll who need succour; and my life just thenWas a mere burden. It was a reliefTo risk it for another, even thoughThe task were to preserve a Jewess' life.NATHAN.Great--great yet horrible--I understandThe turn. The modest greatness will assumeThe hideous mask to ward off gratitude.But though he may disdain our proffer'd thanks,Is there no other tribute we can pay?Sir Knight! if you were not a stranger here,And not a pris'ner, I were not so bold.But, come, what service can I render you?TEMPLAR.You!--nothing.NATHAN.I am rich.TEMPLAR.The richer JewWas ne'er in my esteem the better Jew.NATHAN.Is that a reason why you should not useThe better part of him--his wealth?TEMPLAR.Well, well,I'll not refuse it wholly, for the sakeOf my poor mantle; when it is well worn,And spite of darning will not hold together,I'll come and borrow cloth or gold of you,To make a new one. Nay, Sir, do not start;The danger is not pressing--'tis not yetQuite worthless; it is sound, and strong, and good.Save in one corner, where an ugly spotIs singed, and that is from a burn it gotWhen I bore off your daughter from the fire.NATHAN(taking hold of the mantle).'Tis strange, indeed, that such a spot as thisShould bear far better witness to the manThan his own lips. This spot! Oh, I could kiss it.Your pardon, Sir, in truth, I meant it not!TEMPLAR.What?NATHAN.'Twas a tear that fell.TEMPLAR.Well, 'tis no matter.'Tis not the first. (This Jew doth puzzle me.)NATHAN.Would you but send this mantle to my daughter!TEMPLAR.Why?NATHAN.That she, too, may press it to her lips;For at her benefactor's feet to fallShe now may hope in vain.TEMPLAR.But, Jew, your name?Tis Nathan, is it not? You choose your wordsWith skill--I am confused. I did not thinkNATHAN.Feign, Templar, and dissemble as you may,I see the truth. I see your generous heart,Too honest and too good to be polite.A grateful girl, all feeling, and her maidSwift to obey--a father far from home,You valued her fair fame, and would not see her.You scorned to tempt lest you should victor prove.For this too I must tender you my thanks.TEMPLAR.You know at least how Templarsoughtto feel.NATHAN.Why Templars only? and why ought to feel?Is it because your rules and vows enjoinThese duties toyour order? Sir, I knowHow good men all should feel, and know as wellThat every country can produce good men.TEMPLAR.You'll make distinctions?NATHAN.Yes, in colour, form,And dress, perhaps.TEMPLAR.Ay, and in number too--Here more--there less.NATHAN.The difference is not much.Great men, like trees, have ever need of room;Too many set together only serveTo crush each other's boughs. The middling sort,Like us, are found in numbers, they abound;Only let not one scar and bruise the other,Let not the gnarl be angry with the stump,Let not the upper branch alone pretendNot to have started from the common earth.TEMPLAR.Well said. And yet what nation was the firstTo scatter discord 'mongst their fellow-men?To claim the title of "the chosen people?"How now if I were not to hate them, butTo scorn this upstart nation, for their pride?That pride which it bequeathed to MussulmanAnd Christian, as if God were theirs alone.You start to hear a Christian and a TemplarTalk thus. But when and where has all this rage,This pious rage, to win the better God,And force this better God on all the world,Shown itself more, or in a blacker form,Than here, and now? Who here, who now retainsThe blinding scales upon his eyes--and yetLet him be blind who will!--forget my words,And leave me (is going).NATHAN.Templar! you but little knowHow closer henceforth I shall cling to you.We must, we must be friends. Despise my people--We did not choose a nation for ourselves.Are we our nation's? What then is a nation?Were Jews or Christians such, ere they were men?Ah! would that I had found in you one manTo whom it were enough to be a man.TEMPLAR.Thou hast so, Nathan! Yes, by Heaven, thou hast.Thy hand. I blush to have mistaken thee.NATHAN.Now I feel proud. 'Tis only common soulsIn whom we seldom err.TEMPLAR.Uncommon onesWe do not oft forget. Nathan, we must,We must be friends.NATHAN.We are so. And my RechaWill now rejoice. How bright the prospect growsThat dawns upon me! If you did but know her.TEMPLAR.I grow impatient, Nathan. But who nowComes from your house? Methinks it is your Daja.NATHAN.Yes, and her look how full of care! God grant----TEMPLAR.That nothing may have chanced to our Recha!SceneVI.Daja(rushing in).DAJA.Nathan, dear Nathan!NATHAN.Well.DAJA.Forgive me, Knight,That I must interrupt you.NATHAN.What has happened?DAJA.The Sultan sends for you--commands you straightTo speak with him. Protect us, Heaven! the Sultan!NATHAN.The Sultan sends for me! He would inspectThe goods--the precious wares that I have broughtFrom Persia. Say there's nothing yet unpacked.DAJA.No, no; 'tis not to look at anything;He wants to speak to you in person, Nathan,And orders you to come at once.NATHAN.I go.Daja, return.DAJA.Knight, take it not amiss.We were alarmed for what the Sultan mightRequire of Nathan.NATHAN.That I soon shall know. (Exit Daja.)SceneVII.Nathan,theTemplar.TEMPLAR.Are you then not acquainted with him yet?NATHAN.Who, Saladin? Not yet. I've neither shunnedNor sought to see him. And the public voiceProclaims his fame so loud, that I could wishRather to take its language upon trust,Than sift the truth. And yet if it be trueThat he has spared your life----TEMPLAR.Yes, so it is.The life I live, he gave.NATHAN.Then he bestowsA double, treble life on me. And thusHe flings a bond around me, which securesMy duty to his service; and henceforthI burn to know his wishes. Now, for allI am prepared; and further, will confess'Tis for your sake alone that I am thus.TEMPLAR.Often I've sought to meet him, but as yetHave found no means to render him my thanks.The impress which his mind received of meWas transient, and ere now has disappeared.Who knows if he may still remember me?And yet once more at least he must recallMe to his thoughts--to fix my future lot!'Tis not enough that by his gracious willI still have of life; I've yet to learnAccording to whose will I have to live.NATHAN.Therefore 'twere well I did not tarry now.Perchance some happy word may give excuseTo speak of you. Now, pardon me, farewell!I must away. When shall we meet again?TEMPLAR.Whenever 'tis permitted.NATHAN.When you will.TEMPLAR.To-day, then.NATHAN.And your name?TEMPLAR.My name was--is--Conrad of Stauffen.NATHAN.Conrad of Stauffen! Stauffen!TEMPLAR.What is there in my name to wonder at?NATHAN.There are more races of that name, no doubt.TEMPLAR.Yes, many of the name were here--rot here,My uncle even--I should say my father.But wherefore is your eye so fixed on me?NATHAN.I know not; but I love to look on you.TEMPLAR.Therefore I take my leave. The searching eyeWill oft discover more than it desires.I fear it, Nathan; so, farewell. Let time,Not curious prying, make us better known. (Exit.)NATHAN (looking after him with astonishment)."The searching eye will oft discover moreThan it desires." As if he read my soul!That, too, may chance to be. 'Tis not aloneHis walk, his stature, but his very voice!Leonard so bore himself--was even wontTo carry thus his sword upon his arm,And thus to shade his eyebrow with his hand,As if to hide the fire that fill'd his look.So deeply graven images may seemAt times to lie asleep within the soul,When all at once a single word--a tone--Calls them to life again. Of Stauffen--right--Filnek and Stauffen--I will soon know more.But first to Saladin. Ha! Daja here--And on the watch! Come nearer, Daja, come.SceneVIII.Daja,Nathan.NATHAN.Well, both of you have something more at heartThan to know what the Sultan wants with me.DAJA.And you can hardly blame her for it, sir.You were beginning to converse with himMore trustingly yourself, when suddenlyThe Sultan's message drove us from the window.NATHAN.Go tell her, Daja, she may soon expectA visit from the Templar.DAJA.What! indeed!NATHAN.I think I may rely upon you, Daja.Be on your guard, I beg, you'll not repent it.Your conscience shall at length be satisfied,But do not mar my plans. Inquire, explain,But with reserve, with fitting modesty.DAJA.No need for such advice. I go, I go.And you must follow; for, see, Hafi comes--The Sultan sends a second messenger.SceneIX.Nathan,Al-Hafi.AL-HAFI.Ha! are you there? I have been seeking you.NATHAN.Why in such haste? What can he want with me?AL-HAFI.Who?NATHAN.Saladin. But I am coming quickly.AL-HAFI.To whom? To Saladin?NATHAN.Has he not sent you?AL-HAFI.Me? no--but has he sent already?NATHAN.Yes.AL-HAFI.Then it is so.NATHAN.What's so?AL-HAFI.That----I'm not guilty,God knows, I'm not to blame; 'tis not my fault.I've done my best--belied, and slandered you--To save you from it.NATHAN.Save me? and from what?Be plain.AL-HAFI.From being made his Defterdar.I pity you--I cannot stay to see it.I fly this hour--you know the road I take.Speak, then, if I can serve you; but your wantsMust suit a wretch that's wholly destitute.Quick, what's your pleasure?NATHAN.Recollect yourself--Your words are mystery. I know of nothing.What do you mean?AL-HAFI.You'll take your money--bags?NATHAN.My money--bags!AL-HAFI.Ay, bring your treasures forth--The treasures you must shower on Saladin.NATHAN.And is that all?AL-HAFI.Ah! shall I witness it,How, day by day, he'll scoop and pare you down,Till nothing but a hollow, empty shell,A husk as light as film, is left behind.Nathan, you've yet to learn how spendthrift wasteFrom prudent bounty's never empty storesBorrows and borrows, till there's not a crumbLeft to keep rats from starving. Do not thinkThat he who wants your gold will heed advice.When has the Sultan listened to advice?Hear what befel me with him.NATHAN.Well--go on.AL-HAFI.He played just now at chess with Sittah. SheIs a keen player. I drew near and watched.The game which Saladin supposed was lost,Stood yet upon the board. He had given in,I marked, and cried, "The game's not lost at all!"NATHAN.Oh! what a grand discovery for you.AL-HAFI.He needed only to remove his kingBehind the castle--and the check was saved.Could I but show you----NATHAN.I believe it all!AL-HAFI.Then with the castle free, he must have won.I saw it, and I called him to the board.What do you think he did?NATHAN.He doubted you.AL-HAFI.Not only that--he would not hear a word--And with contempt he overthrew the board.NATHAN.Indeed!AL-HAFI.He said he chose it--would be mate.Is that to play the game?NATHAN.Most surely not.'Twas rather playing with the game.AL-HAFI.And yetThe stakes were high.NATHAN.A trifle to the Sultan!Money is nought to him. It is not thatWhich galls, but not to hear Al-Hafi out--Not to admire his comprehensive glance,His eagle eye--'tis that demands revenge.Say, am I right?AL-HAFI.I only tell this taleThat you may know how much his head is worth.But I am weary of him. All the dayI am running round to every wretched MoorTo borrow--money for him--I who ne'erAsk for myself, am now obliged to sueFor others--and, according to my creed,To borrow is to beg, as, when you lendYour money upon usury, you steal.Among my Ghebers on the Ganges' shoresI shall need neither; there I shall not beThe tool or pimp of any; there aloneUpon the Ganges honest men are found.You, Nathan, you alone of all I seeAre worthy on the Ganges' banks to live.Then come with me; leave him the wretched goldThat he would strip you of--'tis all he wants.Little by little he will ruin you;'Tis better to be quit of all at once;Come, then, and I'll provide you with a staff.NATHAN.Nay, that resource will still remain for usAs a last refuge. But I'll think of it.AL-HAFI.Nay, ponder not upon a thing like this.NATHAN.Then stay till I have seen the Sultan. StayTill I have bid farewell.AL-HAFI.The man who staysTo hunt for motives, to search reasons out,Who cannot boldly and at once resolveTo live a free man's life, must be the slaveOf others till his death. But as you please.Farewell! my path is here, and yours is there!NATHAN.But stay, Al-Hafi! till you have arrangedThe state accounts.AL-HAFI.Pah! Nathan, there's no need;The balance in the chest is quickly told,And my account, Sittah, or you, will vouch.Farewell!(Exit.)NATHAN (looking after him).Yes, I will vouch it, honest, wild--How shall I call him? Ah! the real beggarIs, after all, the only real king. (Exit at opposite side.)ACT III.SceneI.--A room inNathan'shouse.Recha,Daja.RECHA.Well, Daja, did my father really say"That I might instantly expect him here?"That surely meant that he would come at once,And yet how many minutes have rolled by!But I'll not dwell upon the moments gone,I'll only live in those that are to come,That one which brings him here must come in time.DAJA.But for the Sultan's ill-timed messengerNathan had brought him hither.RECHA.When he comes--Oh! when this dearest of my inmost hopesShall be fulfilled--what then--what then?DAJA.What then?Why then I trust the wish most dear to meWill also be fulfilled.RECHA.And in its placeWhat wish shall take possession of my breast?Which now forgets to heave, unless it pantWith some fond wish? Will nothing come? I shudder!DAJA.My wish shall then supplant the one fulfilled,My wish to see you borne to Europe's shoresBy hands well worthy of you.RECHA.You do err.The very thought which makes you form this wishForbids it to be mine. Your native landAttracts you, and has mine no charm for me?Shall a remembrance of your cherished home,Your absent kindred and your dearest friends,Which years and distance have not yet effaced,Rule in your soul with softer, mightier swayThan what I know, and hear, and feel of mine.DAJA.'Tis vain to struggle, for the ways of HeavenAre still the ways of Heaven. And who can sayIf he who saved your life may not be doomed,Through his God's arm, for whom he nobly fights.To lead you to that people--to that landTo which you should belong by right of birth?RECHA.What are you saying, Daja? dearest Daja!Indeed you have some strange and curious thoughts."HisGod!" whose God? To whom can God belong,And how can God belong to any man,Or need a human arm to fight his battles?And who, among the scattered clods of earthCan say for which of them himself was born,Unless for that on which he was produced?If Nathan heard thee! How has Nathan sinned,That Daja seeks to paint my happinessSo far removed from his? What has he done,That thus amongst the seeds of reason, whichHe sowed unmixed and pure within my soul,The hand of Daja must for ever seekTo plant the weeds, or flowers of her own land?He has no wish to see upon this soilSuch rank luxuriant blossoms. I myselfMust own I faint beneath the sour--sick odour;Your head is stronger and is used to it.I find no fault with those of stronger nervesWho can support it--mine, alas! give way.Your angel too, how near befool'd was IThrough him; I blush whene'er I see my father.DAJA.As if, dear Recha, you alone were wise.Folly! If I might speak----RECHA.And may you not?Have I not listened gladly to your talesAbout the valiant heroes of your faith?Have I not freely on their deeds bestowedMy admiration--to their sufferings givenThe tribute of my tears? Their faith, 'tis true,Has never seemed to me their noblest boast,But, therefore, Daja, I have only learntTo find more consolation in the thoughtThat our devotion to the God of allDepends not on our notions of that God.My father has so often taught me this--You have so often to this point agreed,How can it be that you wish now aloneTo undermine what you have built together?But this is no discourse with which to waitThe friend whom we expect--and yet for me'Tis of some moment whether he----But hark!Hark! Some one comes this way.---If it were he!SceneII.The Templar,Daja,Recha.(A servant ushers in theTemplar.)This way, Sir Knight!--(Rechastarts, composes herself, and is about to fall at his feet.)'Tis he! my rescuer. Ah!TEMPLAR.'Twas only to avoid this scene that ISo long postponed my visit.RECHA.At the feetOf this proud man, I will thank God alone,And not the man. He does not want my thanks--As little as the bucket does which provedItself so useful at the fire, and letItself be filled and emptied; so this man,He too was thrust by chance amid the flames;I dropped by chance into his open arms,By chance remained there, like a fluttering sparkUpon his mantle--till--I know not whatExpelled us from the flames. What room is hereFor thanks?--In Europe wine excites the menTo greater deeds--The Templar knows his duty,Performs his task, as well-trained spaniels do,Who fetch alike from water and from flames.TEMPLAR (who has been surveying her with surprise and uneasiness).O Daja, Daja! if in hasty hoursOf care and grief, this unchecked tongue of mineBetrayed me into rudeness, why conveyTo her each idle word that leaves my lips?This is indeed too galling a revenge!Yet, if henceforth, you will interpret better----DAJA.I question if these little stings, Sir Knight,Were so shot forth as to have done you wrong.RECHA.How! you had cares, and were more covetousOf them than of your life.TEMPLAR.Thou best of beings,How is my soul with eye and ear at strife?No, 'twas not she I rescued from the fire,For who could know her and forbear the deed?In truth, disguised by terror----(He gazes on her as if entranced.)RECHA.But to meYou still appear the same as then you seemed.(A pause, till she resumes in order to interrupt his reverie.)Tell me, Sir Knight, where have you been so long?And--I might almost ask--where are you now?TEMPLAR.I am where I, perhaps, ought not to be.RECHA.And been, perhaps, where you should not have been.That is not well.TEMPLAR.I have been up the mountain--What is the name?--ay! Sinai!RECHA.I am glad;For, doubtless, you can tell me if 'tis true----TEMPLAR.If what is true? If holy people showThe spot where Moses stood before his God?RECHA.Oh no; not that. Wherever Moses stoodIt was before his God. I know enoughAbout such things already. Is it true--I wish to learn from you who have been there--If it is not by far less difficultTo climb than to descend the holy mount?For with all other mountains that I know,'Tis quite the contrary. You turn away!Why do you turn, Sir Knight? Nay, look at me.TEMPLAR.I wish to hear you rather.RECHA.I perceive,Because you do not wish that I should seeYou smile at my simplicity. You smileThat I have not some more important thingTo ask about the holy hill of hills.Is it so?TEMPLAR.Must I meet those eyes again?And now you cast them down, and check your smile.How can I in those changeful features readWhat I so plainly hear--the truth your wordsSo audibly declare, and yet would hide?How truly did your father say to me,"If you but knew her!"RECHA.Who said that to you?TEMPLAR.Your father, and of you he spoke the words.DAJA.Have I not said it to you many times?TEMPLAR.Where is your father now? with Saladin?RECHA.Doubtless he is.TEMPLAR.Still there! Oh, I forget.He cannot still be there. He waits for me,As he appointed, near the cloister gate.Forgive me, I must go in quest of him.DAJA.I will do that. Wait here, I'll bring him straight.TEMPLAR.O no, O no! He is expecting me.Besides, you cannot tell what may have chanced.'Tis not unlikely he may be engagedWith Saladin--you do not know the Sultan--In some unpleasant----Danger may ensueIf I delay.RECHA.Danger! for whom? for what?TEMPLAR.Danger for me--for you--for him! unlessI go at once(Exit.)SceneIII.Recha,Daja.RECHA.What is the matter, Daja?So quick! what ails him--makes him fly from hence?DAJA.Let him alone. I think it no bad sign.RECHA.Sign! and of what?DAJA.That something vexes him.It boils, but it must not boil over. Go,'Tis your turn now.RECHA.My turn. You have becomeIncomprehensible to me--like him.DAJA.Now you may pay him back with interestAll the unrest he once occasioned you.But be not too vindictive--too severe.RECHA.Well, Daja, you must know your meaning best.DAJA.And are you then already calm once more?RECHA.In truth I am.DAJA.Confess at least, dear Recha,That all this restlessness has brought you pleasure,And that you have to thank his want of easeFor all the ease that you yourself enjoy.RECHA.I know not that, but I must still confessThat to myself it seems a mysteryHow in this bosom, such a pleasing calmCan suddenly succeed so rude a storm.His countenance, his speech, his manner have----DAJA.By this time satisfied you.RECHA.No, not that.DAJA.Well, satisfied your more impatient want.RECHA.Well, well, if you must have it so.DAJA.Not I!RECHA.To me he must be ever dear. To meHe must remain more dear than life, althoughMy pulse no longer flutters at his name,My heart no longer, when I think of him,Beats with a fuller throb. What have I said?Come, Daja, to the window once againWhich overlooks the palms.DAJA.I see 'tis notYet satisfied, that more impatient want.RECHA.Now, I shall see the palm--trees once again;Not him alone amidst them.DAJA.Such a fitOf coldness speaks of fevers yet to come.RECHA.Nay, I'm not cold, in truth I do not seeLess gladly that which I do calmly see.SceneIV.(The Hall of Audience inSaladin'sPalace.)Saladin,Sittah.SALADIN(giving directions).Bring the Jew here, as soon as he arrives.He seems in no great haste.SITTAH.Nay, Saladin,Perhaps he was not found at home.SALADIN.Ah, sister!SITTAH.You look as if some contest were at hand.SALADIN.Ay! and with weapons I'm not used to wield.Must I then play the hypocrite--and framePrecautions--lay a snare? Where learnt I that?And for what end? To seek for money--money!For money from a Jew? And to such artsMust Saladin descend, that he may winThe most contemptible of paltry things?
There, now she spies us.
And her speed redoubles.
Recha, be calm!
What! would you have your child
Be cold and unconcerned about his fate
To whom her life is due?--a life to her
But dear because she owed it first to you.
I would not wish you other than you are,
E'en if I knew that in your secret soul
Another and a different feeling throbs.
What means my father?
Do you ask of me--
So tremblingly of me? What passes now
Within your soul is innocence and nature.
Nay, fear not, for it gives me no alarm.
But promise, if the heart shall ever speak
A plainer language, you will not conceal
One single of your wishes from my love.
Oh, the bare thought that I should ever wish
To hide them from my father, makes me shudder.
Recha, enough of this. Now, what says Daja?
He's still beneath the palms, and presently
He'll reach yon wall. See! here he comes at last.
He seems irresolute which way to turn,
To left or right!
His custom is to seek
The convent walls, so he will pass this way.
What will you wager? Yes, he comes to us.
Right! Did you speak to him? How did he look?
As usual.
Do not let him see you here.
Stand farther back, or to the house retire.
Just one look more. Ah! the trees hide him now.
Come, come away! Recha, your father's right.
Should he observe us he'll retire at once.
Alas! the trees----
Now he emerges from them.
He can't but see you. Hence! I beg of you.
Come, Recha, come! I know a window whence
We may observe him better.
Come, then, come.
(They both retire.)
Nathan(who is presently joined by theTemplar).
I almost shrink from meeting this strange fellow--
Recoil from his rough virtue! That one man
Should ever make another feel confused!
But see, he comes! he seems a noble youth;
Looks like a man. I like his daring eye,
His honest gait. Although the shell is bitter,
The kernel may not be so. I have seen
One like him somewhere. Pardon, noble Frank----
What would you?
Pardon me----
What would you, Jew?
The privilege of speaking to you.
Well!
How can I help it? Quick, then--what's your wish?
Patience! nor pass with such contempt and pride
One who must be your debtor evermore.
How so? I almost guess. No; are you then----
My name is Nathan, father to the maid
Your generous courage rescued from the flames.
I come to----
If you come to render thanks,
Spare them. I have already been compelled
To bear too many thanks for this small act.
Besides, you owe me nothing. Could I know
The maiden was your daughter? I was bound--
It is a Templar's duty--to assist
All who need succour; and my life just then
Was a mere burden. It was a relief
To risk it for another, even though
The task were to preserve a Jewess' life.
Great--great yet horrible--I understand
The turn. The modest greatness will assume
The hideous mask to ward off gratitude.
But though he may disdain our proffer'd thanks,
Is there no other tribute we can pay?
Sir Knight! if you were not a stranger here,
And not a pris'ner, I were not so bold.
But, come, what service can I render you?
You!--nothing.
I am rich.
The richer Jew
Was ne'er in my esteem the better Jew.
Is that a reason why you should not use
The better part of him--his wealth?
Well, well,
I'll not refuse it wholly, for the sake
Of my poor mantle; when it is well worn,
And spite of darning will not hold together,
I'll come and borrow cloth or gold of you,
To make a new one. Nay, Sir, do not start;
The danger is not pressing--'tis not yet
Quite worthless; it is sound, and strong, and good.
Save in one corner, where an ugly spot
Is singed, and that is from a burn it got
When I bore off your daughter from the fire.
'Tis strange, indeed, that such a spot as this
Should bear far better witness to the man
Than his own lips. This spot! Oh, I could kiss it.
Your pardon, Sir, in truth, I meant it not!
What?
'Twas a tear that fell.
Well, 'tis no matter.
'Tis not the first. (This Jew doth puzzle me.)
Would you but send this mantle to my daughter!
Why?
That she, too, may press it to her lips;
For at her benefactor's feet to fall
She now may hope in vain.
But, Jew, your name?
Tis Nathan, is it not? You choose your words
With skill--I am confused. I did not think
Feign, Templar, and dissemble as you may,
I see the truth. I see your generous heart,
Too honest and too good to be polite.
A grateful girl, all feeling, and her maid
Swift to obey--a father far from home,
You valued her fair fame, and would not see her.
You scorned to tempt lest you should victor prove.
For this too I must tender you my thanks.
You know at least how Templarsoughtto feel.
Why Templars only? and why ought to feel?
Is it because your rules and vows enjoin
These duties toyour order? Sir, I know
How good men all should feel, and know as well
That every country can produce good men.
You'll make distinctions?
Yes, in colour, form,
And dress, perhaps.
Ay, and in number too--
Here more--there less.
The difference is not much.
Great men, like trees, have ever need of room;
Too many set together only serve
To crush each other's boughs. The middling sort,
Like us, are found in numbers, they abound;
Only let not one scar and bruise the other,
Let not the gnarl be angry with the stump,
Let not the upper branch alone pretend
Not to have started from the common earth.
Well said. And yet what nation was the first
To scatter discord 'mongst their fellow-men?
To claim the title of "the chosen people?"
How now if I were not to hate them, but
To scorn this upstart nation, for their pride?
That pride which it bequeathed to Mussulman
And Christian, as if God were theirs alone.
You start to hear a Christian and a Templar
Talk thus. But when and where has all this rage,
This pious rage, to win the better God,
And force this better God on all the world,
Shown itself more, or in a blacker form,
Than here, and now? Who here, who now retains
The blinding scales upon his eyes--and yet
Let him be blind who will!--forget my words,
And leave me (is going).
Templar! you but little know
How closer henceforth I shall cling to you.
We must, we must be friends. Despise my people--
We did not choose a nation for ourselves.
Are we our nation's? What then is a nation?
Were Jews or Christians such, ere they were men?
Ah! would that I had found in you one man
To whom it were enough to be a man.
Thou hast so, Nathan! Yes, by Heaven, thou hast.
Thy hand. I blush to have mistaken thee.
Now I feel proud. 'Tis only common souls
In whom we seldom err.
Uncommon ones
We do not oft forget. Nathan, we must,
We must be friends.
We are so. And my Recha
Will now rejoice. How bright the prospect grows
That dawns upon me! If you did but know her.
I grow impatient, Nathan. But who now
Comes from your house? Methinks it is your Daja.
Yes, and her look how full of care! God grant----
That nothing may have chanced to our Recha!
Daja(rushing in).
Nathan, dear Nathan!
Well.
Forgive me, Knight,
That I must interrupt you.
What has happened?
The Sultan sends for you--commands you straight
To speak with him. Protect us, Heaven! the Sultan!
The Sultan sends for me! He would inspect
The goods--the precious wares that I have brought
From Persia. Say there's nothing yet unpacked.
No, no; 'tis not to look at anything;
He wants to speak to you in person, Nathan,
And orders you to come at once.
I go.
Daja, return.
Knight, take it not amiss.
We were alarmed for what the Sultan might
Require of Nathan.
That I soon shall know. (Exit Daja.)
Nathan,theTemplar.
Are you then not acquainted with him yet?
Who, Saladin? Not yet. I've neither shunned
Nor sought to see him. And the public voice
Proclaims his fame so loud, that I could wish
Rather to take its language upon trust,
Than sift the truth. And yet if it be true
That he has spared your life----
Yes, so it is.
The life I live, he gave.
Then he bestows
A double, treble life on me. And thus
He flings a bond around me, which secures
My duty to his service; and henceforth
I burn to know his wishes. Now, for all
I am prepared; and further, will confess
'Tis for your sake alone that I am thus.
Often I've sought to meet him, but as yet
Have found no means to render him my thanks.
The impress which his mind received of me
Was transient, and ere now has disappeared.
Who knows if he may still remember me?
And yet once more at least he must recall
Me to his thoughts--to fix my future lot!
'Tis not enough that by his gracious will
I still have of life; I've yet to learn
According to whose will I have to live.
Therefore 'twere well I did not tarry now.
Perchance some happy word may give excuse
To speak of you. Now, pardon me, farewell!
I must away. When shall we meet again?
Whenever 'tis permitted.
When you will.
To-day, then.
And your name?
My name was--is--
Conrad of Stauffen.
Conrad of Stauffen! Stauffen!
What is there in my name to wonder at?
There are more races of that name, no doubt.
Yes, many of the name were here--rot here,
My uncle even--I should say my father.
But wherefore is your eye so fixed on me?
I know not; but I love to look on you.
Therefore I take my leave. The searching eye
Will oft discover more than it desires.
I fear it, Nathan; so, farewell. Let time,
Not curious prying, make us better known. (Exit.)
"The searching eye will oft discover more
Than it desires." As if he read my soul!
That, too, may chance to be. 'Tis not alone
His walk, his stature, but his very voice!
Leonard so bore himself--was even wont
To carry thus his sword upon his arm,
And thus to shade his eyebrow with his hand,
As if to hide the fire that fill'd his look.
So deeply graven images may seem
At times to lie asleep within the soul,
When all at once a single word--a tone--
Calls them to life again. Of Stauffen--right--
Filnek and Stauffen--I will soon know more.
But first to Saladin. Ha! Daja here--
And on the watch! Come nearer, Daja, come.
Daja,Nathan.
Well, both of you have something more at heart
Than to know what the Sultan wants with me.
And you can hardly blame her for it, sir.
You were beginning to converse with him
More trustingly yourself, when suddenly
The Sultan's message drove us from the window.
Go tell her, Daja, she may soon expect
A visit from the Templar.
What! indeed!
I think I may rely upon you, Daja.
Be on your guard, I beg, you'll not repent it.
Your conscience shall at length be satisfied,
But do not mar my plans. Inquire, explain,
But with reserve, with fitting modesty.
No need for such advice. I go, I go.
And you must follow; for, see, Hafi comes--
The Sultan sends a second messenger.
Nathan,Al-Hafi.
Ha! are you there? I have been seeking you.
Why in such haste? What can he want with me?
Who?
Saladin. But I am coming quickly.
To whom? To Saladin?
Has he not sent you?
Me? no--but has he sent already?
Yes.
Then it is so.
What's so?
That----I'm not guilty,
God knows, I'm not to blame; 'tis not my fault.
I've done my best--belied, and slandered you--
To save you from it.
Save me? and from what?
Be plain.
From being made his Defterdar.
I pity you--I cannot stay to see it.
I fly this hour--you know the road I take.
Speak, then, if I can serve you; but your wants
Must suit a wretch that's wholly destitute.
Quick, what's your pleasure?
Recollect yourself--
Your words are mystery. I know of nothing.
What do you mean?
You'll take your money--bags?
My money--bags!
Ay, bring your treasures forth--
The treasures you must shower on Saladin.
And is that all?
Ah! shall I witness it,
How, day by day, he'll scoop and pare you down,
Till nothing but a hollow, empty shell,
A husk as light as film, is left behind.
Nathan, you've yet to learn how spendthrift waste
From prudent bounty's never empty stores
Borrows and borrows, till there's not a crumb
Left to keep rats from starving. Do not think
That he who wants your gold will heed advice.
When has the Sultan listened to advice?
Hear what befel me with him.
Well--go on.
He played just now at chess with Sittah. She
Is a keen player. I drew near and watched.
The game which Saladin supposed was lost,
Stood yet upon the board. He had given in,
I marked, and cried, "The game's not lost at all!"
Oh! what a grand discovery for you.
He needed only to remove his king
Behind the castle--and the check was saved.
Could I but show you----
I believe it all!
Then with the castle free, he must have won.
I saw it, and I called him to the board.
What do you think he did?
He doubted you.
Not only that--he would not hear a word--
And with contempt he overthrew the board.
Indeed!
He said he chose it--would be mate.
Is that to play the game?
Most surely not.
'Twas rather playing with the game.
And yet
The stakes were high.
A trifle to the Sultan!
Money is nought to him. It is not that
Which galls, but not to hear Al-Hafi out--
Not to admire his comprehensive glance,
His eagle eye--'tis that demands revenge.
Say, am I right?
I only tell this tale
That you may know how much his head is worth.
But I am weary of him. All the day
I am running round to every wretched Moor
To borrow--money for him--I who ne'er
Ask for myself, am now obliged to sue
For others--and, according to my creed,
To borrow is to beg, as, when you lend
Your money upon usury, you steal.
Among my Ghebers on the Ganges' shores
I shall need neither; there I shall not be
The tool or pimp of any; there alone
Upon the Ganges honest men are found.
You, Nathan, you alone of all I see
Are worthy on the Ganges' banks to live.
Then come with me; leave him the wretched gold
That he would strip you of--'tis all he wants.
Little by little he will ruin you;
'Tis better to be quit of all at once;
Come, then, and I'll provide you with a staff.
Nay, that resource will still remain for us
As a last refuge. But I'll think of it.
Nay, ponder not upon a thing like this.
Then stay till I have seen the Sultan. Stay
Till I have bid farewell.
The man who stays
To hunt for motives, to search reasons out,
Who cannot boldly and at once resolve
To live a free man's life, must be the slave
Of others till his death. But as you please.
Farewell! my path is here, and yours is there!
But stay, Al-Hafi! till you have arranged
The state accounts.
Pah! Nathan, there's no need;
The balance in the chest is quickly told,
And my account, Sittah, or you, will vouch.
Farewell!(Exit.)
Yes, I will vouch it, honest, wild--
How shall I call him? Ah! the real beggar
Is, after all, the only real king. (Exit at opposite side.)
Recha,Daja.
Well, Daja, did my father really say
"That I might instantly expect him here?"
That surely meant that he would come at once,
And yet how many minutes have rolled by!
But I'll not dwell upon the moments gone,
I'll only live in those that are to come,
That one which brings him here must come in time.
But for the Sultan's ill-timed messenger
Nathan had brought him hither.
When he comes--
Oh! when this dearest of my inmost hopes
Shall be fulfilled--what then--what then?
What then?
Why then I trust the wish most dear to me
Will also be fulfilled.
And in its place
What wish shall take possession of my breast?
Which now forgets to heave, unless it pant
With some fond wish? Will nothing come? I shudder!
My wish shall then supplant the one fulfilled,
My wish to see you borne to Europe's shores
By hands well worthy of you.
You do err.
The very thought which makes you form this wish
Forbids it to be mine. Your native land
Attracts you, and has mine no charm for me?
Shall a remembrance of your cherished home,
Your absent kindred and your dearest friends,
Which years and distance have not yet effaced,
Rule in your soul with softer, mightier sway
Than what I know, and hear, and feel of mine.
'Tis vain to struggle, for the ways of Heaven
Are still the ways of Heaven. And who can say
If he who saved your life may not be doomed,
Through his God's arm, for whom he nobly fights.
To lead you to that people--to that land
To which you should belong by right of birth?
What are you saying, Daja? dearest Daja!
Indeed you have some strange and curious thoughts.
"HisGod!" whose God? To whom can God belong,
And how can God belong to any man,
Or need a human arm to fight his battles?
And who, among the scattered clods of earth
Can say for which of them himself was born,
Unless for that on which he was produced?
If Nathan heard thee! How has Nathan sinned,
That Daja seeks to paint my happiness
So far removed from his? What has he done,
That thus amongst the seeds of reason, which
He sowed unmixed and pure within my soul,
The hand of Daja must for ever seek
To plant the weeds, or flowers of her own land?
He has no wish to see upon this soil
Such rank luxuriant blossoms. I myself
Must own I faint beneath the sour--sick odour;
Your head is stronger and is used to it.
I find no fault with those of stronger nerves
Who can support it--mine, alas! give way.
Your angel too, how near befool'd was I
Through him; I blush whene'er I see my father.
As if, dear Recha, you alone were wise.
Folly! If I might speak----
And may you not?
Have I not listened gladly to your tales
About the valiant heroes of your faith?
Have I not freely on their deeds bestowed
My admiration--to their sufferings given
The tribute of my tears? Their faith, 'tis true,
Has never seemed to me their noblest boast,
But, therefore, Daja, I have only learnt
To find more consolation in the thought
That our devotion to the God of all
Depends not on our notions of that God.
My father has so often taught me this--
You have so often to this point agreed,
How can it be that you wish now alone
To undermine what you have built together?
But this is no discourse with which to wait
The friend whom we expect--and yet for me
'Tis of some moment whether he----But hark!
Hark! Some one comes this way.---If it were he!
The Templar,Daja,Recha.
(A servant ushers in theTemplar.)
This way, Sir Knight!--
(Rechastarts, composes herself, and is about to fall at his feet.)
'Tis he! my rescuer. Ah!
'Twas only to avoid this scene that I
So long postponed my visit.
At the feet
Of this proud man, I will thank God alone,
And not the man. He does not want my thanks--
As little as the bucket does which proved
Itself so useful at the fire, and let
Itself be filled and emptied; so this man,
He too was thrust by chance amid the flames;
I dropped by chance into his open arms,
By chance remained there, like a fluttering spark
Upon his mantle--till--I know not what
Expelled us from the flames. What room is here
For thanks?--In Europe wine excites the men
To greater deeds--The Templar knows his duty,
Performs his task, as well-trained spaniels do,
Who fetch alike from water and from flames.
O Daja, Daja! if in hasty hours
Of care and grief, this unchecked tongue of mine
Betrayed me into rudeness, why convey
To her each idle word that leaves my lips?
This is indeed too galling a revenge!
Yet, if henceforth, you will interpret better----
I question if these little stings, Sir Knight,
Were so shot forth as to have done you wrong.
How! you had cares, and were more covetous
Of them than of your life.
Thou best of beings,
How is my soul with eye and ear at strife?
No, 'twas not she I rescued from the fire,
For who could know her and forbear the deed?
In truth, disguised by terror----
(He gazes on her as if entranced.)
But to me
You still appear the same as then you seemed.
(A pause, till she resumes in order to interrupt his reverie.)
Tell me, Sir Knight, where have you been so long?
And--I might almost ask--where are you now?
I am where I, perhaps, ought not to be.
And been, perhaps, where you should not have been.
That is not well.
I have been up the mountain--
What is the name?--ay! Sinai!
I am glad;
For, doubtless, you can tell me if 'tis true----
If what is true? If holy people show
The spot where Moses stood before his God?
Oh no; not that. Wherever Moses stood
It was before his God. I know enough
About such things already. Is it true--
I wish to learn from you who have been there--
If it is not by far less difficult
To climb than to descend the holy mount?
For with all other mountains that I know,
'Tis quite the contrary. You turn away!
Why do you turn, Sir Knight? Nay, look at me.
I wish to hear you rather.
I perceive,
Because you do not wish that I should see
You smile at my simplicity. You smile
That I have not some more important thing
To ask about the holy hill of hills.
Is it so?
Must I meet those eyes again?
And now you cast them down, and check your smile.
How can I in those changeful features read
What I so plainly hear--the truth your words
So audibly declare, and yet would hide?
How truly did your father say to me,
"If you but knew her!"
Who said that to you?
Your father, and of you he spoke the words.
Have I not said it to you many times?
Where is your father now? with Saladin?
Doubtless he is.
Still there! Oh, I forget.
He cannot still be there. He waits for me,
As he appointed, near the cloister gate.
Forgive me, I must go in quest of him.
I will do that. Wait here, I'll bring him straight.
O no, O no! He is expecting me.
Besides, you cannot tell what may have chanced.
'Tis not unlikely he may be engaged
With Saladin--you do not know the Sultan--
In some unpleasant----Danger may ensue
If I delay.
Danger! for whom? for what?
Danger for me--for you--for him! unless
I go at once(Exit.)
Recha,Daja.
What is the matter, Daja?
So quick! what ails him--makes him fly from hence?
Let him alone. I think it no bad sign.
Sign! and of what?
That something vexes him.
It boils, but it must not boil over. Go,
'Tis your turn now.
My turn. You have become
Incomprehensible to me--like him.
Now you may pay him back with interest
All the unrest he once occasioned you.
But be not too vindictive--too severe.
Well, Daja, you must know your meaning best.
And are you then already calm once more?
In truth I am.
Confess at least, dear Recha,
That all this restlessness has brought you pleasure,
And that you have to thank his want of ease
For all the ease that you yourself enjoy.
I know not that, but I must still confess
That to myself it seems a mystery
How in this bosom, such a pleasing calm
Can suddenly succeed so rude a storm.
His countenance, his speech, his manner have----
By this time satisfied you.
No, not that.
Well, satisfied your more impatient want.
Well, well, if you must have it so.
Not I!
To me he must be ever dear. To me
He must remain more dear than life, although
My pulse no longer flutters at his name,
My heart no longer, when I think of him,
Beats with a fuller throb. What have I said?
Come, Daja, to the window once again
Which overlooks the palms.
I see 'tis not
Yet satisfied, that more impatient want.
Now, I shall see the palm--trees once again;
Not him alone amidst them.
Such a fit
Of coldness speaks of fevers yet to come.
Nay, I'm not cold, in truth I do not see
Less gladly that which I do calmly see.
(The Hall of Audience inSaladin'sPalace.)
Saladin,Sittah.
Bring the Jew here, as soon as he arrives.
He seems in no great haste.
Nay, Saladin,
Perhaps he was not found at home.
Ah, sister!
You look as if some contest were at hand.
Ay! and with weapons I'm not used to wield.
Must I then play the hypocrite--and frame
Precautions--lay a snare? Where learnt I that?
And for what end? To seek for money--money!
For money from a Jew? And to such arts
Must Saladin descend, that he may win
The most contemptible of paltry things?