SITTAH.But paltry things, despised too much, are sureTo find some method of revenge.SALADIN.'Tis true!What, if this Jew should prove an upright man,Such as the Dervise painted him?SITTAH.Why, then,Your difficulty ceases; for a snareImplies an avaricious, cheating Jew,And not an upright man. Then he is oursWithout a snare. 'Twill give us joy to hearHow such a man will speak--with what stern strengthHe'll tear the net, or with what cunning skillUntangle all its meshes, one by one.SALADIN.True, Sittah! 'twill afford me rare delight.SITTAH.What, then, need trouble you? For if he be,Like all his nation, a mere cozening Jew,You need not blush, if you appear to himNo better than he deems all other men.But if to him you wear a different look,You'll be a fool--his dupe!SALADIN.So I must, then,Do ill, lest bad men should think ill of me.SITTAH.Yes, brother, if you call it doing illTo put a thing to its intended use.SALADIN.Well, there is nothing woman's wit inventsIt cannot palliate----SITTAH.How, palliate?SALADIN.Sittah, I fear such fine-wrought filagreeWill break in my rude hand. It is for thoseWho frame such plots to bring them into play.The execution needs the inventor's skill.But let it pass.--I'll dance as best I can--Yet sooner would I do it ill than well.SITTAH.Oh, brother, have more courage in yourself!Have but the will, I'll answer for the rest.How strange that men like you are ever proneTo think it is their swords alone that raise them.When with the fox the noble lion hunts,'Tis of the fellowship he feels ashamed,But of the cunning, never.SALADIN.Well, 'tis strangeThat women so delight to bring mankindDown to their level. But, dear Sittah, go;I think I know my lesson.SITTAH.Must I go?SALADIN.You did not mean to stay?SITTAH.No, not with you,But in this neighb'ring chamber.SALADIN.What! to listen?Not so, my sister, if I shall succeed.Away! the curtain rustles--he is come.Beware of lingering! I'll be on the watch.(WhileSittahretires through, one door,Nathanenters at another, andSaladinseats himself.)SceneV.Saladin,Nathan.SALADIN.Draw nearer, Jew--yet nearer--close to me!Lay fear aside.NATHAN.Fear, Sultan, 's for your foes.SALADIN.Your name is Nathan?NATHAN.Yes.SALADIN.Nathan the Wise.NATHAN.No.SALADIN.But, at least the people call you so.NATHAN.That may be true. The people!SALADIN.Do not thinkI treat the people's voice contemptuously.I have been wishing long to know the manWhom it has called the Wise.NATHAN.What, if it namedHim so in scorn? If wise means prudent only--And prudent, one who knows his interest well?SALADIN.Who knows his real interest, you mean.NATHAN.Then, Sultan, selfish men were the most prudent,And wise, and prudent, then, would mean the same.SALADIN.You're proving what your speeches contradict.You know the real interests of man:The people know them not--have never soughtTo know them. That alone can make man wise.NATHAN.Which every man conceives himself to be.SALADIN.A truce to modesty! To meet it ever,When we are seeking truth is wearisome (springs up).So, let us to the point. Be candid, Jew,Be frank and honest.NATHAN.I will serve you, prince,And prove that I am worthy of your favour.SALADIN.How will you serve me?NATHAN.You shall have the bestOf all I have, and at the cheapest rate.SALADIN.What mean you? Not your wares?--My sister, then,Shall make the bargain with you. (That's for the listener!)I am not versed in mercantile affairs,And with a merchant's craft I've nought to do.NATHAN.Doubtless you would inquire if I have markedUpon my route the movements of the foe?Whether he's stirring? If I may presume----SALADIN.Neither was that my object. On that pointI know enough. But hear me.NATHAN.I obey.SALADIN.It is another, a far different thingOn which I seek for wisdom; and since youAre called the Wise, tell me which faith or lawYou deem the best.NATHAN.Sultan, I am a Jew.SALADIN.And I a Mussulman. The Christian standsBetween us. Here are three religions, then,And of these three one only can be true.A man like you remains not where his birthBy accident has cast him; or if so,Conviction, choice, or ground of preference,Supports him. Let me, Nathan, hear from you,In confidence, the reasons of your choice,Which I have lacked the leisure to examine.It may be, Nathan, that I am the firstSultan who has indulged this strange caprice,Which need not, therefore, make a Sultan blush.Am I the first? Nay, speak; or if you seekA brief delay to shape your scattered thoughts,I yield it freely. (Has she overheard?She will inform me if I've acted right.)Reflect then, Nathan, I shall soon return.(Exit.)SceneVI.NATHAN(alone).Strange! how is this? What can the Sultan want?I came prepared for cash--he asks for truth!Truth! as if truth were cash! A coin disused--Valued by weight! If so, 'twere well, indeed!But coin quite new, not coin but for the die,To be flung down and on the counter told----It is not that. Like gold tied up in bags,Will truth lie hoarded in the wise man's head,To be produced at need? Now, in this case,Which of us plays the Jew? He asks for truth.Is truth what he requires? his aim, his end?Or does he use it as a subtle snare?That were too petty for his noble mind.Yet what is e'er too petty for the great?Did he not rush at once into the house,Whilst, as a friend, he would have paused or knocked?I must beware. Yet to repel him nowAnd act the stubborn Jew, is not the thing;And wholly to fling off the Jew, still less.For if no Jew, he might with justice ask,Why not a Mussulman?--That thought may serve.--Others than children may be quietedWith tales well told. But see, he comes--he comes.SceneVII.Saladin,Nathan.SALADIN.(Aside) (The coast is clear)--I am not come too soon?Have you reflected on this matter, Nathan?Speak! no one hears.NATHAN.Would all the world might hear!SALADIN.And are you of your cause so confident?'Tis wise, indeed, of you to hide no truth,For truth to hazard all, even life and goods.NATHAN.Ay, when necessity and profit bid.SALADIN.I hope that henceforth I shall rightly bearOne of my names, "Reformer of the worldAnd of the law!"NATHAN.A noble title, truly;But, Sultan, ere I quite explain myself,Permit me to relate a tale.SALADIN.Why not?I ever was a friend of tales well told.NATHAN.Well told! Ah, Sultan! that's another thing.SALADIN.What! still so proudly modest? But begin.NATHAN.In days of yore, there dwelt in Eastern landsA man, who from a valued hand receivedA ring of priceless worth. An opal stoneShot from within an ever-changing hue,And held this virtue in its form concealed,To render him of God and man beloved,Who wore it in this fixed unchanging faith.No wonder that its Eastern owner ne'erWithdrew it from his finger, and resolvedThat to his house the ring should be secured.Therefore he thus bequeathed it: first to himWho was the most beloved of his sons,Ordaining then that he should leave the ringTo the most dear among his children; then,That without heeding birth, the fav'rite son,In virtue of the ring alone, should stillBe lord of all the house. You hear me, Sultan?SALADIN.I understand. Proceed.NATHAN.From son to son,The ring at length descended to a sireWho had three sons, alike obedient to him,And whom he loved with just and equal love.The first, the second, and the third, in turn,According as they each apart receivedThe overflowings of his heart, appearedMost worthy as his heir, to take the ring,Which, with good-natured weakness, he in turnHad promised privately to each; and thusThings lasted for a while. But death approached,The father now embarrassed, could not bearTo disappoint two sons, who trusted him.What's to be done? In secret he commandsThe jeweller to come, that from the formOf the true ring, he may bespeak two more.Nor cost nor pains are to be spared, to makeThe rings alike--quite like the true one. ThisThe artist managed. When the rings were broughtThe father's eye could not distinguish whichHad been the model. Overjoyed, he callsHis sons, takes leave of each apart--bestowsHis blessing and his ring on each--and dies.You hear me?SALADIN(who has turned away in perplexity).Ay! I hear. Conclude the tale.NATHAN.'Tis ended, Sultan! All that follows nextMay well be guessed. Scarce is the father dead,When with his ring, each separate son appears,And claims to be the lord of all the house.Question arises, tumult and debate--But all in vain--the true ring could no moreBe then distinguished than----(after a pause, in which he awaits the Sultan's reply) the true faith now.SALADIN.Is that your answer to my question?NATHAN.No!But it may serve as my apology.I cannot venture to decide betweenRings which the father had expressly made,To baffle those who would distinguish them.SALADIN.Rings, Nathan! Come, a truce to this! The creedsWhich I have named have broad, distinctive marks,Differing in raiment, food, and drink!NATHAN.'Tis true!But then they differ not in their foundation.Are not all built on history alike,Traditional or written? HistoryMust be received on trust. Is it not so?In whom are we most likely to put trust?In our own people? in those very menWhose blood we are? who, from our earliest youthHave proved their love for us, have ne'er deceived,Except in cases where 'twere better so?Why should I credit my forefathers lessThan you do yours? or can I ask of youTo charge your ancestors with falsehood, thatThe praise of truth may be bestowed on mine?And so of Christians.SALADIN.By our Prophet's faith,The man is right. I have no more to say.NATHAN.Now let us to our rings once more return.We said the sons complained; each to the judgeSwore from his father's hand immediatelyTo have received the ring--as was the case--In virtue of a promise, that he shouldOne day enjoy the ring's prerogative.In this they spoke the truth. Then each maintainedIt was not possible that to himselfHis father had been false. Each could not thinkHis father guilty of an act so base.Rather than that, reluctant as he wasTo judge his brethren, he must yet declareSome treach'rous act of falsehood had been done.SALADIN.Well! and the judge? I'm curious now to hearWhat you will make him say. Go on, go on!NATHAH.The judge said: If the father is not broughtBefore my seat, I cannot judge the case.Am I to judge enigmas? Do you thinkThat the true ring will here unseal its lips?But, hold! You tell me that the real ringEnjoys the secret power to make the manWho wears it, both by God and man, beloved.Let that decide. Who of the three is lovedBest by his brethren? Is there no reply?What! do these love--exciting rings aloneAct inwardly? Have they no outward charm?Does each one love himself alone? You're allDeceived deceivers. All your rings are false.The real ring, perchance, has disappeared;And so your father, to supply the loss,Has caused three rings to fill the place of one.SALADIN.O, charming, charming!NATHAN.And,--the judge continued:--If you insist on judgment, and refuseMy counsel, be it so. I recommendThat you consider how the matter stands.Each from his father has received a ring:Let each then think the real ring his own.Your father, possibly, desired to freeHis power from one ring's tyrannous control.He loved you all with an impartial love,And equally, and had no inward wishTo prove the measure of his love for oneBy pressing heavily upon the rest.Therefore, let each one imitate this love;So, free from prejudice, let each one aimTo emulate his brethren in the strifeTo prove the virtues of his several ring,By offices of kindness and of love,And trust in God. And if, in years to come,The virtues of the ring shall reappearAmongst your children's children, then, once more,Come to this judgment--seat. A greater farThan I shall sit upon it, and decide.So spake the modest judge.SALADIN.Oh God, O God!NATHAN.And if now, Saladin, you think you're he----SALADIN.(ApproachesNathan,and takes his hand, which he retains to the end of the scene.)This promised judge--I?--Dust! I?--Nought! oh God!NATHAN.What is the matter, Sultan?SALADIN.Dearest Nathan!That judge's thousand years are not yet past;His judgment-seat is not for me. But go,And still remain my friend.NATHAN.Has SaladinAught else to say?SALADIN.No.NATHAN.Nothing?SALADIN.Truly nothing.But why this eagerness?NATHAN.I could have wishedAn opportunity to ask a boon.SALADIN.Wait not for opportunity. Speak now.NATHAN.I have been traveling, and am just returnedFrom a long journey, from collecting debts.Hard cash is troublesome these perilous times,I know not where I may bestow it safely.These coming wars need money; and, perchance,You can employ it for me, Saladin?SALADIN(fixing his eyes uponNathan).I ask not, Nathan, have you seen Al-Hafi?Nor if some shrewd suspicion of your ownMoves you to make this offer.NATHAN.What suspicion?SALADIN.I do not ask--forgive me,--it is just,For what avails concealment? I confessI was about----NATHAN.To ask this very thing?SALADIN.Yes!NATHAN.Then our objects are at once fulfilled,And if I cannot send you all my store,The Templar is to blame for that. You knowThe man. I owe a heavy debt to him.SALADIN.The Templar! Surely, Nathan, with your goldYou do not aid my direst foes?NATHAN.I speakOf him whose life was spared by Saladin.SALADIN.Of what do you remind me? I had quiteForgot the youth. Where is he? Know you him?NATHAN.Have you not heard, then, how your clemencyThrough him has flowed to me? How, at the riskOf the existence which your mercy gave,He saved my daughter from the raging flames?SALADIN.Ha! did he so? He looked like one that would!My brother, too--his image--would have done it.Is he still here? Bring him to me at once.I have so often spoken to my sisterOf this same brother, whom she never knew,That I must let her see his counterfeit.Go, fetch him. How a single noble deed,Though but the offspring of the merest whim,Gives birth to other blessings! Bring him to me.NATHAN(loosingSaladin'shand).I'll go--the other matter then is settled. (Exit.)SALADIN.I wish I had but let my sister listen.I'll go at once to her and tell it all.(Exit on the opposite side.)SceneVIII.The Place of Palms in the neighbourhood of the Convent, where theTemplarawaitsNathan.TEMPLAR(walking to and fro, in conflict with himself.)The panting victim here may rest awhile.So far 'tis well. I dare not ask myselfWhat change has sprung within me, nor inquireWhat yet may happen. Flight has proved in vain,And, come what may, I could no more than flee,The stroke was far too sudden to escape.Long--much--I strove to keep aloof, in vain.But once to see her, e'en against my will,To see her, and to frame a firm resolveNever to lose her. What, then, is resolve?Resolve is purpose--action, while--in truth--I was but passive. But to see her once,And feel that I was woven into her being,Was then and still remains the self-same thing.To live apart from her--oh, bitter thought!--Were death; and after death--where'er we were--'Twould there be death too. Say, then, is this love?And doth the Templar love? A Christian lovesA Jewish maiden! Well, and what of that?This is the holy land; holy to me,And dear, because I have of late renouncedFull many a prejudice. What says my vow?In the same hour that made me prisonerTo Saladin. The head he gave me back,Was it the old one? No. I'm newly framed,I know no fragment of the ancient formsThat bound me once. My brain is clearer now,More fit for my paternal home above.Now I can think as once my father thought,If tales of him are not untruly told--Tales that were ne'er so credible as now,When I am stumbling where my father fell.Fell! yet 'twere better far to fall with menThan stand with boys. His conduct guaranteesHis approbation. And what need I moreThan Nathan's approbation? Of his praiseI cannot doubt. Oh, what a Jew is he!And yet he would appear the simple Jew.But, see, he comes--he comes in haste--delightBeams from his eye. But who leaves SaladinWith other looks? Ho! Nathan!SceneIX.Nathan,theTemplar.NATHAN.Are you there?TEMPLAR.Your visit to the Sultan has been long.NATHAN.Not over long. My audience was delayed.But, Conrad, this man well supports his fame--His fame is but his shadow. But I mustWithout delay inform you that he would----TEMPLAR.Say on.NATHAN.Would speak with you. So, come with me at once.I have some brief commands to give at home,Then to the Sultan.TEMPLAR.Nathan, I will ne'erEnter your door again----NATHAN.Then you've been thereAlready--spoken with her. Tell me all.How do you like my Recha?TEMPLAR.Words would failTo tell how much. I dare not trust myselfAlone with her again, unless you sayThat I may gaze upon her form for ever.NATHAN.What can this mean?TEMPLAR(after a short pause, embracing him suddenly).My father!NATHAN.How, young man?TEMPLAR(withdrawing himself as suddenly).Call me your son! I do implore you, Nathan.NATHAN.Dear youth!TEMPLAR.And not your son! I pray you, Nathan,Conjure you, by the strongest ties of Nature,Let it content you now to be a man:Repel me not.NATHAN.My dearest friend!TEMPLAR.Say son!Why not your son? What, if in Recha's heartMere gratitude had paved the way for love,And if we both but waited your assentTo crown our union! You are silent, sir!NATHAN.I am astonished at your words, young Knight.TEMPLAR.Astonished! Do I then astonish youWith your own thoughts, although you know them notWhen uttered by my lips. Astonished, Nathan?NATHAN.Would that I knew what Stauffen was your father!TEMPLAR.What say you, Nathan? At a time like this,Can you indulge such empty, curious thoughts?NATHAN.I knew a Stauffen once whose name was Conrad.TEMPLAR.What, if my father bore that very name?NATHAN.And did he so?TEMPLAR.I bear my father's name,I am called Conrad.NATHAN.So! And yet the manI knew was not your father, for, like you,He was a Templar, and was never married.TEMPLAR.And what of that?NATHAN.How?TEMPLAR.He might still have beenMy father.NATHAN.Nay, you jest.TEMPLAR.You're far too good.What matters it? Does bastard wound your ear?The race, good sir, is not to be despised.But spare my pedigree, and I'll spare yours.Great God! forbid my words should ever castThe smallest doubt on your ancestral tree.You can attest it backwards, leaf by leaf,To Abraham. And from that point--I know it well,Myself--can even swear to it.NATHAN.Your words are bitter. Do I merit this?What have I e'er refused you? I have butForborn assent at the first word you spoke.No more!TEMPLAR.Oh! true, no more. Forgive me, Nathan.NATHAN.Well, come with me, come.TEMPLAR.Whither? to your house?That will I not--it burns. I'll wait you here.Farewell. If I'm to see her once again,I then shall see her often; and if not,I have already seen her too--too much.SceneX.TheTemplar,Daja.TEMPLAR.Too much, indeed! Strange that the human brainSo infinite of comprehension, shouldAt times with a mere trifle be engrossed,Suddenly filled, and all at once quite full,No matter what it teems with. But the soulSoon calms again, and the fermenting stuffMakes itself room, restoring life and order.And is this, then, the first time that I love?And was the glow to which I gave that nameNot love at all? And is this love aloneWhich now with burning flame consumes my heart?DAJA(who has crept up to his side).Sir Knight! Sir Knight!TEMPLAR.Who calls? What, Daja, you!DAJA.Yes, I am here; I managed to slip by him.But he can see us where we stand. Come nearer,And place yourself with me behind this tree.TEMPLAR.Why so mysterious? What's the secret, Daja?DAJA.Yes, 'tis a secret which has brought me hither--A twofold secret. Part is known to me,The other part to you. Come, let us change:First tell me yours, and then I'll tell you mine.TEMPLAR.Yes, willingly, when I have ascertainedWhat you call mine. But yours will throw a lightUpon the whole. Begin, then.DAJA.That's not fair;You must begin, Sir Knight, and I will follow.For be assured my secret's nothing worth,Unless I hear yours first. Then lose no time,For if I guess it, you've not trusted me;My secret, then, will be my own, and yoursWorth nothing. But do you suppose, Sir Knight,That you can hide such secrets from a woman?TEMPLAR.Secrets we often are unconscious of.DAJA.Perhaps. But I must prove myself your friendAnd tell you all. Confess how happened itThat you so suddenly took leave of us,And that with Nathan you will not return?Has Recha, then, made no impression on you,Or made too deep a one, perchance? Oh yes!Too deep--too deep! You are a hapless birdWhose fluttering wing the fatal twig has limed,Confess it, plainly, with a word, you love--Love her to madness, and I'll tell you then----TEMPLAR.To madness? Ah! you understand it well.DAJA.Well, grant the love, the madness I'll resign.TEMPLAR.Because, of course, there is no doubt of it.A Templar love a Jewess!----DAJA.Why, it seemsAbsurd. But often there's more fitness inSome things than we can readily discern;And 'twould not be the first time that our LordHad drawn us to Him by a secret pathWhich we had ne'er discovered of ourselves.TEMPLAR.Solemnly spoken I (and if for our LordI substituted Providence, 'twere true).You make me curious, far beyond my wont.DAJA.This is the land of miracles!TEMPLAR.Ay, true,Of miracles! Can it be otherwise,When all the world flocks hither? Dearest Daja,You have your wish; so take it as confessedThat I do love her, nor can comprehendHow I can live without her.DAJA.Can this be?Then swear, Sir Knight, to make her yours--to saveHer here on earth--to save her there for ever.TEMPLAR.How can I this? How can I swear to doWhat stands not in my power.DAJA.'Tis in your power!One single word brings it within your power.TEMPLAR.But will her father smile upon my suit?DAJA.Her father, truly! He shall be compelled.TEMPLAR.Compell'd! What, has he fallen among thieves?Compell'd!DAJA.Then hear me. Nathan will consent:He must consent.TEMPLAR.Consent! and must! Oh, Daja!I have already tried to touch that chord;It vibrates not responsive.DAJA.What! reject you?TEMPLAR.He answered me in such discordant toneThat I was hurt.DAJA.What say you? Did you breatheThe shadow of a wish to marry Recha.And did not Nathan leap for joy? Did heDraw coldly back--raise obstacles?TEMPLAR.He did.DAJA.Then I'll deliberate no moment more.TEMPLAR(after a pause).And yet you are deliberating still.DAJA.Nathan in all things has been ever good.I owe him much. Did he refuse to listen?God knows it grieves me to constrain him thus.TEMPLAR.I pray you, Daja, now to terminateThis dire uncertainty. But if you doubtWhether the thing you would impart to meBe right or wrong, worthy of shame or honour,Then tell it not, and henceforth I'll forgetYou have a secret it were well to hide.DAJA.Your words but spur me on to tell you all.Then learn that Recha is no Jewess--thatShe is a Christian maid.TEMPLAR(coldly).I wish you joy!At last the tedious labour's at an end.The birth-pangs have not hurt you. Still go onWith undiminished zeal, and people heavenWhen you are fit no more to people earth.DAJA.How, Knight! and does the news I bring deserveSuch bitter taunts? Does it confer no joyOn you to hear that Recha is a Christian,On you, her lover, and a Christian knight?TEMPLAR.And more especially since Recha isA Christian of your making?DAJA.Think you so?Then I would fain see him that may convert her.It is her fate long since to have been thatWhich she can now no more become.TEMPLAR.Explain,Or leave me.DAJA.Well! she is a Christian maid,Of Christian parents born--and is baptised.TEMPLAR(hastily).And Nathan!DAJA.Not her father.TEMPLAR.Nathan notHer father? Are you sure of that?DAJA.I am;The truth has cost me tears of blood. He's not.TEMPLAR.But as his daughter he has brought her up,Brought up the Christian maiden as a Jewess?DAJA.Just so.TEMPLAR.And knows she aught about her birth?Has she not learnt from him that she was bornA Christian and no Jewess?DAJA.Never yet.TEMPLAR.And he not only let the child grow upIn this mistaken notion, but he leavesThe woman in it.DAJA.Ay, alas!TEMPLAR.Oh, Nathan!How can the wise, good Nathan lend himselfTo stifle Nature's voice--to misdirectThe yearnings of a heart in such a wayWhich, to itself abandoned, would have formedAnother bias, Daja? Ay, in truth,The secret is of moment, and may haveImportant issues. But I feel perplexed:I know not how I ought to act. But go,Let me have breathing time. He may approach,He may surprise us suddenly. Farewell!DAJA.I tremble with affright.TEMPLAR.And I can scarceExpress my thoughts. But go; and should you chanceTo meet him, say he'll find me at the Sultan's.DAJA.Let him not see that you have any thingAgainst him. That 'twere well to keep reserved,To give the proper turn to things at last.It may remove your scruples, touching Recha.But if you take her back to Europe, Knight,You will not leave me here?TEMPLAR.We'll see, now go!
But paltry things, despised too much, are sure
To find some method of revenge.
'Tis true!
What, if this Jew should prove an upright man,
Such as the Dervise painted him?
Why, then,
Your difficulty ceases; for a snare
Implies an avaricious, cheating Jew,
And not an upright man. Then he is ours
Without a snare. 'Twill give us joy to hear
How such a man will speak--with what stern strength
He'll tear the net, or with what cunning skill
Untangle all its meshes, one by one.
True, Sittah! 'twill afford me rare delight.
What, then, need trouble you? For if he be,
Like all his nation, a mere cozening Jew,
You need not blush, if you appear to him
No better than he deems all other men.
But if to him you wear a different look,
You'll be a fool--his dupe!
So I must, then,
Do ill, lest bad men should think ill of me.
Yes, brother, if you call it doing ill
To put a thing to its intended use.
Well, there is nothing woman's wit invents
It cannot palliate----
How, palliate?
Sittah, I fear such fine-wrought filagree
Will break in my rude hand. It is for those
Who frame such plots to bring them into play.
The execution needs the inventor's skill.
But let it pass.--I'll dance as best I can--
Yet sooner would I do it ill than well.
Oh, brother, have more courage in yourself!
Have but the will, I'll answer for the rest.
How strange that men like you are ever prone
To think it is their swords alone that raise them.
When with the fox the noble lion hunts,
'Tis of the fellowship he feels ashamed,
But of the cunning, never.
Well, 'tis strange
That women so delight to bring mankind
Down to their level. But, dear Sittah, go;
I think I know my lesson.
Must I go?
You did not mean to stay?
No, not with you,
But in this neighb'ring chamber.
What! to listen?
Not so, my sister, if I shall succeed.
Away! the curtain rustles--he is come.
Beware of lingering! I'll be on the watch.
(WhileSittahretires through, one door,Nathanenters at another, andSaladinseats himself.)
Saladin,Nathan.
Draw nearer, Jew--yet nearer--close to me!
Lay fear aside.
Fear, Sultan, 's for your foes.
Your name is Nathan?
Yes.
Nathan the Wise.
No.
But, at least the people call you so.
That may be true. The people!
Do not think
I treat the people's voice contemptuously.
I have been wishing long to know the man
Whom it has called the Wise.
What, if it named
Him so in scorn? If wise means prudent only--
And prudent, one who knows his interest well?
Who knows his real interest, you mean.
Then, Sultan, selfish men were the most prudent,
And wise, and prudent, then, would mean the same.
You're proving what your speeches contradict.
You know the real interests of man:
The people know them not--have never sought
To know them. That alone can make man wise.
Which every man conceives himself to be.
A truce to modesty! To meet it ever,
When we are seeking truth is wearisome (springs up).
So, let us to the point. Be candid, Jew,
Be frank and honest.
I will serve you, prince,
And prove that I am worthy of your favour.
How will you serve me?
You shall have the best
Of all I have, and at the cheapest rate.
What mean you? Not your wares?--My sister, then,
Shall make the bargain with you. (That's for the listener!)
I am not versed in mercantile affairs,
And with a merchant's craft I've nought to do.
Doubtless you would inquire if I have marked
Upon my route the movements of the foe?
Whether he's stirring? If I may presume----
Neither was that my object. On that point
I know enough. But hear me.
I obey.
It is another, a far different thing
On which I seek for wisdom; and since you
Are called the Wise, tell me which faith or law
You deem the best.
Sultan, I am a Jew.
And I a Mussulman. The Christian stands
Between us. Here are three religions, then,
And of these three one only can be true.
A man like you remains not where his birth
By accident has cast him; or if so,
Conviction, choice, or ground of preference,
Supports him. Let me, Nathan, hear from you,
In confidence, the reasons of your choice,
Which I have lacked the leisure to examine.
It may be, Nathan, that I am the first
Sultan who has indulged this strange caprice,
Which need not, therefore, make a Sultan blush.
Am I the first? Nay, speak; or if you seek
A brief delay to shape your scattered thoughts,
I yield it freely. (Has she overheard?
She will inform me if I've acted right.)
Reflect then, Nathan, I shall soon return.(Exit.)
Strange! how is this? What can the Sultan want?
I came prepared for cash--he asks for truth!
Truth! as if truth were cash! A coin disused--
Valued by weight! If so, 'twere well, indeed!
But coin quite new, not coin but for the die,
To be flung down and on the counter told----
It is not that. Like gold tied up in bags,
Will truth lie hoarded in the wise man's head,
To be produced at need? Now, in this case,
Which of us plays the Jew? He asks for truth.
Is truth what he requires? his aim, his end?
Or does he use it as a subtle snare?
That were too petty for his noble mind.
Yet what is e'er too petty for the great?
Did he not rush at once into the house,
Whilst, as a friend, he would have paused or knocked?
I must beware. Yet to repel him now
And act the stubborn Jew, is not the thing;
And wholly to fling off the Jew, still less.
For if no Jew, he might with justice ask,
Why not a Mussulman?--That thought may serve.--
Others than children may be quieted
With tales well told. But see, he comes--he comes.
Saladin,Nathan.
(Aside) (The coast is clear)--I am not come too soon?
Have you reflected on this matter, Nathan?
Speak! no one hears.
Would all the world might hear!
And are you of your cause so confident?
'Tis wise, indeed, of you to hide no truth,
For truth to hazard all, even life and goods.
Ay, when necessity and profit bid.
I hope that henceforth I shall rightly bear
One of my names, "Reformer of the world
And of the law!"
A noble title, truly;
But, Sultan, ere I quite explain myself,
Permit me to relate a tale.
Why not?
I ever was a friend of tales well told.
Well told! Ah, Sultan! that's another thing.
What! still so proudly modest? But begin.
In days of yore, there dwelt in Eastern lands
A man, who from a valued hand received
A ring of priceless worth. An opal stone
Shot from within an ever-changing hue,
And held this virtue in its form concealed,
To render him of God and man beloved,
Who wore it in this fixed unchanging faith.
No wonder that its Eastern owner ne'er
Withdrew it from his finger, and resolved
That to his house the ring should be secured.
Therefore he thus bequeathed it: first to him
Who was the most beloved of his sons,
Ordaining then that he should leave the ring
To the most dear among his children; then,
That without heeding birth, the fav'rite son,
In virtue of the ring alone, should still
Be lord of all the house. You hear me, Sultan?
I understand. Proceed.
From son to son,
The ring at length descended to a sire
Who had three sons, alike obedient to him,
And whom he loved with just and equal love.
The first, the second, and the third, in turn,
According as they each apart received
The overflowings of his heart, appeared
Most worthy as his heir, to take the ring,
Which, with good-natured weakness, he in turn
Had promised privately to each; and thus
Things lasted for a while. But death approached,
The father now embarrassed, could not bear
To disappoint two sons, who trusted him.
What's to be done? In secret he commands
The jeweller to come, that from the form
Of the true ring, he may bespeak two more.
Nor cost nor pains are to be spared, to make
The rings alike--quite like the true one. This
The artist managed. When the rings were brought
The father's eye could not distinguish which
Had been the model. Overjoyed, he calls
His sons, takes leave of each apart--bestows
His blessing and his ring on each--and dies.
You hear me?
Ay! I hear. Conclude the tale.
'Tis ended, Sultan! All that follows next
May well be guessed. Scarce is the father dead,
When with his ring, each separate son appears,
And claims to be the lord of all the house.
Question arises, tumult and debate--
But all in vain--the true ring could no more
Be then distinguished than----(after a pause, in which he awaits the Sultan's reply) the true faith now.
Is that your answer to my question?
No!
But it may serve as my apology.
I cannot venture to decide between
Rings which the father had expressly made,
To baffle those who would distinguish them.
Rings, Nathan! Come, a truce to this! The creeds
Which I have named have broad, distinctive marks,
Differing in raiment, food, and drink!
'Tis true!
But then they differ not in their foundation.
Are not all built on history alike,
Traditional or written? History
Must be received on trust. Is it not so?
In whom are we most likely to put trust?
In our own people? in those very men
Whose blood we are? who, from our earliest youth
Have proved their love for us, have ne'er deceived,
Except in cases where 'twere better so?
Why should I credit my forefathers less
Than you do yours? or can I ask of you
To charge your ancestors with falsehood, that
The praise of truth may be bestowed on mine?
And so of Christians.
By our Prophet's faith,
The man is right. I have no more to say.
Now let us to our rings once more return.
We said the sons complained; each to the judge
Swore from his father's hand immediately
To have received the ring--as was the case--
In virtue of a promise, that he should
One day enjoy the ring's prerogative.
In this they spoke the truth. Then each maintained
It was not possible that to himself
His father had been false. Each could not think
His father guilty of an act so base.
Rather than that, reluctant as he was
To judge his brethren, he must yet declare
Some treach'rous act of falsehood had been done.
Well! and the judge? I'm curious now to hear
What you will make him say. Go on, go on!
The judge said: If the father is not brought
Before my seat, I cannot judge the case.
Am I to judge enigmas? Do you think
That the true ring will here unseal its lips?
But, hold! You tell me that the real ring
Enjoys the secret power to make the man
Who wears it, both by God and man, beloved.
Let that decide. Who of the three is loved
Best by his brethren? Is there no reply?
What! do these love--exciting rings alone
Act inwardly? Have they no outward charm?
Does each one love himself alone? You're all
Deceived deceivers. All your rings are false.
The real ring, perchance, has disappeared;
And so your father, to supply the loss,
Has caused three rings to fill the place of one.
O, charming, charming!
And,--the judge continued:--
If you insist on judgment, and refuse
My counsel, be it so. I recommend
That you consider how the matter stands.
Each from his father has received a ring:
Let each then think the real ring his own.
Your father, possibly, desired to free
His power from one ring's tyrannous control.
He loved you all with an impartial love,
And equally, and had no inward wish
To prove the measure of his love for one
By pressing heavily upon the rest.
Therefore, let each one imitate this love;
So, free from prejudice, let each one aim
To emulate his brethren in the strife
To prove the virtues of his several ring,
By offices of kindness and of love,
And trust in God. And if, in years to come,
The virtues of the ring shall reappear
Amongst your children's children, then, once more,
Come to this judgment--seat. A greater far
Than I shall sit upon it, and decide.
So spake the modest judge.
Oh God, O God!
And if now, Saladin, you think you're he----
(ApproachesNathan,and takes his hand, which he retains to the end of the scene.)
This promised judge--I?--Dust! I?--Nought! oh God!
What is the matter, Sultan?
Dearest Nathan!
That judge's thousand years are not yet past;
His judgment-seat is not for me. But go,
And still remain my friend.
Has Saladin
Aught else to say?
No.
Nothing?
Truly nothing.
But why this eagerness?
I could have wished
An opportunity to ask a boon.
Wait not for opportunity. Speak now.
I have been traveling, and am just returned
From a long journey, from collecting debts.
Hard cash is troublesome these perilous times,
I know not where I may bestow it safely.
These coming wars need money; and, perchance,
You can employ it for me, Saladin?
I ask not, Nathan, have you seen Al-Hafi?
Nor if some shrewd suspicion of your own
Moves you to make this offer.
What suspicion?
I do not ask--forgive me,--it is just,
For what avails concealment? I confess
I was about----
To ask this very thing?
Yes!
Then our objects are at once fulfilled,
And if I cannot send you all my store,
The Templar is to blame for that. You know
The man. I owe a heavy debt to him.
The Templar! Surely, Nathan, with your gold
You do not aid my direst foes?
I speak
Of him whose life was spared by Saladin.
Of what do you remind me? I had quite
Forgot the youth. Where is he? Know you him?
Have you not heard, then, how your clemency
Through him has flowed to me? How, at the risk
Of the existence which your mercy gave,
He saved my daughter from the raging flames?
Ha! did he so? He looked like one that would!
My brother, too--his image--would have done it.
Is he still here? Bring him to me at once.
I have so often spoken to my sister
Of this same brother, whom she never knew,
That I must let her see his counterfeit.
Go, fetch him. How a single noble deed,
Though but the offspring of the merest whim,
Gives birth to other blessings! Bring him to me.
I'll go--the other matter then is settled. (Exit.)
I wish I had but let my sister listen.
I'll go at once to her and tell it all.
(Exit on the opposite side.)
The Place of Palms in the neighbourhood of the Convent, where theTemplarawaitsNathan.
The panting victim here may rest awhile.
So far 'tis well. I dare not ask myself
What change has sprung within me, nor inquire
What yet may happen. Flight has proved in vain,
And, come what may, I could no more than flee,
The stroke was far too sudden to escape.
Long--much--I strove to keep aloof, in vain.
But once to see her, e'en against my will,
To see her, and to frame a firm resolve
Never to lose her. What, then, is resolve?
Resolve is purpose--action, while--in truth--
I was but passive. But to see her once,
And feel that I was woven into her being,
Was then and still remains the self-same thing.
To live apart from her--oh, bitter thought!--
Were death; and after death--where'er we were--
'Twould there be death too. Say, then, is this love?
And doth the Templar love? A Christian loves
A Jewish maiden! Well, and what of that?
This is the holy land; holy to me,
And dear, because I have of late renounced
Full many a prejudice. What says my vow?
In the same hour that made me prisoner
To Saladin. The head he gave me back,
Was it the old one? No. I'm newly framed,
I know no fragment of the ancient forms
That bound me once. My brain is clearer now,
More fit for my paternal home above.
Now I can think as once my father thought,
If tales of him are not untruly told--
Tales that were ne'er so credible as now,
When I am stumbling where my father fell.
Fell! yet 'twere better far to fall with men
Than stand with boys. His conduct guarantees
His approbation. And what need I more
Than Nathan's approbation? Of his praise
I cannot doubt. Oh, what a Jew is he!
And yet he would appear the simple Jew.
But, see, he comes--he comes in haste--delight
Beams from his eye. But who leaves Saladin
With other looks? Ho! Nathan!
Nathan,theTemplar.
Are you there?
Your visit to the Sultan has been long.
Not over long. My audience was delayed.
But, Conrad, this man well supports his fame--
His fame is but his shadow. But I must
Without delay inform you that he would----
Say on.
Would speak with you. So, come with me at once.
I have some brief commands to give at home,
Then to the Sultan.
Nathan, I will ne'er
Enter your door again----
Then you've been there
Already--spoken with her. Tell me all.
How do you like my Recha?
Words would fail
To tell how much. I dare not trust myself
Alone with her again, unless you say
That I may gaze upon her form for ever.
What can this mean?
My father!
How, young man?
Call me your son! I do implore you, Nathan.
Dear youth!
And not your son! I pray you, Nathan,
Conjure you, by the strongest ties of Nature,
Let it content you now to be a man:
Repel me not.
My dearest friend!
Say son!
Why not your son? What, if in Recha's heart
Mere gratitude had paved the way for love,
And if we both but waited your assent
To crown our union! You are silent, sir!
I am astonished at your words, young Knight.
Astonished! Do I then astonish you
With your own thoughts, although you know them not
When uttered by my lips. Astonished, Nathan?
Would that I knew what Stauffen was your father!
What say you, Nathan? At a time like this,
Can you indulge such empty, curious thoughts?
I knew a Stauffen once whose name was Conrad.
What, if my father bore that very name?
And did he so?
I bear my father's name,
I am called Conrad.
So! And yet the man
I knew was not your father, for, like you,
He was a Templar, and was never married.
And what of that?
How?
He might still have been
My father.
Nay, you jest.
You're far too good.
What matters it? Does bastard wound your ear?
The race, good sir, is not to be despised.
But spare my pedigree, and I'll spare yours.
Great God! forbid my words should ever cast
The smallest doubt on your ancestral tree.
You can attest it backwards, leaf by leaf,
To Abraham. And from that point--I know it well,
Myself--can even swear to it.
Your words are bitter. Do I merit this?
What have I e'er refused you? I have but
Forborn assent at the first word you spoke.
No more!
Oh! true, no more. Forgive me, Nathan.
Well, come with me, come.
Whither? to your house?
That will I not--it burns. I'll wait you here.
Farewell. If I'm to see her once again,
I then shall see her often; and if not,
I have already seen her too--too much.
TheTemplar,Daja.
Too much, indeed! Strange that the human brain
So infinite of comprehension, should
At times with a mere trifle be engrossed,
Suddenly filled, and all at once quite full,
No matter what it teems with. But the soul
Soon calms again, and the fermenting stuff
Makes itself room, restoring life and order.
And is this, then, the first time that I love?
And was the glow to which I gave that name
Not love at all? And is this love alone
Which now with burning flame consumes my heart?
Sir Knight! Sir Knight!
Who calls? What, Daja, you!
Yes, I am here; I managed to slip by him.
But he can see us where we stand. Come nearer,
And place yourself with me behind this tree.
Why so mysterious? What's the secret, Daja?
Yes, 'tis a secret which has brought me hither--
A twofold secret. Part is known to me,
The other part to you. Come, let us change:
First tell me yours, and then I'll tell you mine.
Yes, willingly, when I have ascertained
What you call mine. But yours will throw a light
Upon the whole. Begin, then.
That's not fair;
You must begin, Sir Knight, and I will follow.
For be assured my secret's nothing worth,
Unless I hear yours first. Then lose no time,
For if I guess it, you've not trusted me;
My secret, then, will be my own, and yours
Worth nothing. But do you suppose, Sir Knight,
That you can hide such secrets from a woman?
Secrets we often are unconscious of.
Perhaps. But I must prove myself your friend
And tell you all. Confess how happened it
That you so suddenly took leave of us,
And that with Nathan you will not return?
Has Recha, then, made no impression on you,
Or made too deep a one, perchance? Oh yes!
Too deep--too deep! You are a hapless bird
Whose fluttering wing the fatal twig has limed,
Confess it, plainly, with a word, you love--
Love her to madness, and I'll tell you then----
To madness? Ah! you understand it well.
Well, grant the love, the madness I'll resign.
Because, of course, there is no doubt of it.
A Templar love a Jewess!----
Why, it seems
Absurd. But often there's more fitness in
Some things than we can readily discern;
And 'twould not be the first time that our Lord
Had drawn us to Him by a secret path
Which we had ne'er discovered of ourselves.
Solemnly spoken I (and if for our Lord
I substituted Providence, 'twere true).
You make me curious, far beyond my wont.
This is the land of miracles!
Ay, true,
Of miracles! Can it be otherwise,
When all the world flocks hither? Dearest Daja,
You have your wish; so take it as confessed
That I do love her, nor can comprehend
How I can live without her.
Can this be?
Then swear, Sir Knight, to make her yours--to save
Her here on earth--to save her there for ever.
How can I this? How can I swear to do
What stands not in my power.
'Tis in your power!
One single word brings it within your power.
But will her father smile upon my suit?
Her father, truly! He shall be compelled.
Compell'd! What, has he fallen among thieves?
Compell'd!
Then hear me. Nathan will consent:
He must consent.
Consent! and must! Oh, Daja!
I have already tried to touch that chord;
It vibrates not responsive.
What! reject you?
He answered me in such discordant tone
That I was hurt.
What say you? Did you breathe
The shadow of a wish to marry Recha.
And did not Nathan leap for joy? Did he
Draw coldly back--raise obstacles?
He did.
Then I'll deliberate no moment more.
And yet you are deliberating still.
Nathan in all things has been ever good.
I owe him much. Did he refuse to listen?
God knows it grieves me to constrain him thus.
I pray you, Daja, now to terminate
This dire uncertainty. But if you doubt
Whether the thing you would impart to me
Be right or wrong, worthy of shame or honour,
Then tell it not, and henceforth I'll forget
You have a secret it were well to hide.
Your words but spur me on to tell you all.
Then learn that Recha is no Jewess--that
She is a Christian maid.
I wish you joy!
At last the tedious labour's at an end.
The birth-pangs have not hurt you. Still go on
With undiminished zeal, and people heaven
When you are fit no more to people earth.
How, Knight! and does the news I bring deserve
Such bitter taunts? Does it confer no joy
On you to hear that Recha is a Christian,
On you, her lover, and a Christian knight?
And more especially since Recha is
A Christian of your making?
Think you so?
Then I would fain see him that may convert her.
It is her fate long since to have been that
Which she can now no more become.
Explain,
Or leave me.
Well! she is a Christian maid,
Of Christian parents born--and is baptised.
And Nathan!
Not her father.
Nathan not
Her father? Are you sure of that?
I am;
The truth has cost me tears of blood. He's not.
But as his daughter he has brought her up,
Brought up the Christian maiden as a Jewess?
Just so.
And knows she aught about her birth?
Has she not learnt from him that she was born
A Christian and no Jewess?
Never yet.
And he not only let the child grow up
In this mistaken notion, but he leaves
The woman in it.
Ay, alas!
Oh, Nathan!
How can the wise, good Nathan lend himself
To stifle Nature's voice--to misdirect
The yearnings of a heart in such a way
Which, to itself abandoned, would have formed
Another bias, Daja? Ay, in truth,
The secret is of moment, and may have
Important issues. But I feel perplexed:
I know not how I ought to act. But go,
Let me have breathing time. He may approach,
He may surprise us suddenly. Farewell!
I tremble with affright.
And I can scarce
Express my thoughts. But go; and should you chance
To meet him, say he'll find me at the Sultan's.
Let him not see that you have any thing
Against him. That 'twere well to keep reserved,
To give the proper turn to things at last.
It may remove your scruples, touching Recha.
But if you take her back to Europe, Knight,
You will not leave me here?
We'll see, now go!