Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts

Scene.—A Place of Palms

The Templar walking to and fro, a Friar following him at some distance, as if desirous of addressing him.

TEMPLAR

This fellow does not follow me for pastime.
How skaunt he eyes his hands!  Well, my good brother—
Perhaps I should say, father; ought I not?

FRIAR

No—brother—a lay-brother at your service.

TEMPLAR

Well, brother, then; if I myself had something—
But—but, by God, I’ve nothing.

FRIAR

   Thanks the same;
And God reward your purpose thousand-fold!
The will, and not the deed, makes up the giver.
Nor was I sent to follow you for alms—

TEMPLAR

Sent then?

FRIAR

   Yes, from the monastery.

TEMPLAR

      Where
I was just now in hopes of coming in
For pilgrims’ fare.

FRIAR

   They were already at table:
But if it suit with you to turn directly—

TEMPLAR

Why so?  ’Tis true, I have not tasted meat
This long time.  What of that?  The dates are ripe.

FRIAR

O with that fruit go cautiously to work.
Too much of it is hurtful, sours the humours,
Makes the blood melancholy.

TEMPLAR

   And if I
Choose to be melancholy—For this warning
You were not sent to follow me, I ween.

FRIAR

Oh, no: I only was to ask about you,
And feel your pulse a little.

TEMPLAR

      And you tell me
Of that yourself?

FRIAR

   Why not?

TEMPLAR

      A deep one! troth:
And has your cloister more such?

FRIAR

      I can’t say.
Obedience is our bounden duty.

TEMPLAR

   So—
And you obey without much scrupulous questioning?

FRIAR

Were it obedience else, good sir?

TEMPLAR

   How is it
The simple mind is ever in the right?
May you inform me who it is that wishes
To know more of me?  ’Tis not you yourself,
I dare be sworn.

FRIAR

   Would it become me, sir,
Or benefit me?

TEMPLAR

   Whom can it become,
Whom can it benefit, to be so curious?

FRIAR

The patriarch, I presume—’twas he that sent me.

TEMPLAR

The patriarch?  Knows he not my badge, the cross
Of red on the white mantle?

FRIAR

   Can I say?

TEMPLAR

Well, brother, well!  I am a templar, taken
Prisoner at Tebnin, whose exalted fortress,
Just as the truce expired, we sought to climb,
In order to push forward next to Sidon.
I was the twentieth captive, but the only
Pardoned by Saladin—with this, the patriarch
Knows all, or more than his occasions ask.

FRIAR

And yet no more than he already knows,
I think.  But why alone of all the captives
Thou hast been spared, he fain would learn—

TEMPLAR

      Can I
Myself tell that?  Already, with bare neck,
I kneeled upon my mantle, and awaited
The blow—when Saladin with steadfast eye
Fixed me, sprang nearer to me, made a sign—
I was upraised, unbound, about to thank him—
And saw his eye in tears.  Both stand in silence.
He goes.  I stay.  How all this hangs together,
Thy patriarch may unriddle.

FRIAR

   He concludes,
That God preserved you for some mighty deed.

TEMPLAR

Some mighty deed?  To save out of the fire
A Jewish girl—to usher curious pilgrims
About Mount Sinai—to—

FRIAR

   The time may come—
And this is no such trifle—but perhaps
The patriarch meditates a weightier office.

TEMPLAR

Think you so, brother?  Has he hinted aught?

FRIAR

Why, yes; I was to sift you out a little,
And hear if you were one to—

TEMPLAR

   Well—to what?
I’m curious to observe how this man sifts.

FRIAR

The shortest way will be to tell you plainly
What are the patriarch’s wishes.

TEMPLAR

   And they are—

FRIAR

To send a letter by your hand.

TEMPLAR

   By me?
I am no carrier.  And were that an office
More meritorious than to save from burning
A Jewish maid?

FRIAR

   So it should seem; must seem—
For, says the patriarch, to all Christendom
This letter is of import; and to bear it
Safe to its destination, says the patriarch,
God will reward with a peculiar crown
In heaven; and of this crown, the patriarch says,
No one is worthier than you—

TEMPLAR

   Than I?

FRIAR

For none so able, and so fit to earn
This crown, the patriarch says, as you.

TEMPLAR

      As I?

FRIAR

The patriarch here is free, can look about him,
And knows, he says, how cities may be stormed,
And how defended; knows, he says, the strengths
And weaknesses of Saladin’s new bulwark,
And of the inner rampart last thrown up;
And to the warriors of the Lord, he says,
Could clearly point them out;—

TEMPLAR

   And can I know
Exactly the contents of this same letter?

FRIAR

Why, that I don’t pretend to vouch exactly—
’Tis to King Philip: and our patriarch—
I often wonder how this holy man,
Who lives so wholly to his God and heaven,
Can stoop to be so well informed about
Whatever passes here—’Tis a hard task!

TEMPLAR

Well—and your patriarch—

FRIAR

   Knows, with great precision,
And from sure hands, how, when, and with what force,
And in which quarter, Saladin, in case
The war breaks out afresh, will take the field.

TEMPLAR

He knows that?

FRIAR

   Yes; and would acquaint King Philip,
That he may better calculate, if really
The danger be so great as to require
Him to renew at all events the truce
So bravely broken by your body.

TEMPLAR

   So?
This is a patriarch indeed!  He wants
No common messenger; he wants a spy.
Go tell your patriarch, brother, I am not,
As far as you can sift, the man to suit him.
I still esteem myself a prisoner, and
A templar’s only calling is to fight,
And not to ferret out intelligence.

FRIAR

That’s much as I supposed, and, to speak plainly,
Not to be blamed.  The best is yet behind.
The patriarch has made out the very fortress,
Its name, and strength, and site on Libanon,
Wherein the mighty sums are now concealed,
With which the prudent father of the sultan
Provides the cost of war, and pays the army.
He knows that Saladin, from time to time,
Goes to this fortress, through by-ways and passe
With few attendants.

TEMPLAR

   Well—

FRIAR

      How easy ’twere
To seize his person in these expeditions,
And make an end of all!  You shudder, sir—
Two Maronites, who fear the Lord, have offer
To share the danger of the enterprise,
Under a proper leader.

TEMPLAR

   And the patriarch
Had cast his eye on me for this brave office?

FRIAR

He thinks King Philip might from Ptolemais
Best second such a deed.

TEMPLAR

   On me? on me?
Have you not heard then, just now heard, the favour
Which I received from Saladin?

FRIAR

      Oh, yes!

TEMPLAR

And yet?

FRIAR

   The patriarch thinks—that’s mighty well—
God, and the order’s interest—

TEMPLAR

   Alter nothing,
Command no villainies.

FRIAR

   No, that indeed not;
But what is villainy in human eyes
May in the sight of God, the patriarch thinks,
Not be—

TEMPLAR

   I owe my life to Saladin,
And might take his?

FRIAR

   That—fie!  But Saladin,
The patriarch thinks, is yet the common foe
Of Christendom, and cannot earn a right
To be your friend.

TEMPLAR

   My friend—because I will not
Behave like an ungrateful scoundrel to him.

FRIAR

Yet gratitude, the patriarch thinks, is not
A debt before the eye of God or man,
Unless for our own sakes the benefit
Had been conferred; and, it has been reported,
The patriarch understands that Saladin
Preserved your life merely because your voice,
Your air, or features, raised a recollection
Of his lost brother.

TEMPLAR

   He knows this? and yet—
If it were sure, I should—ah, Saladin!
How! and shall nature then have formed in me
A single feature in thy brother’s likeness,
With nothing in my soul to answer to it?
Or what does correspond shall I suppress
To please a patriarch?  So thou dost not cheat us,
Nature—and so not contradict Thyself,
Kind God of all.—Go, brother, go away:
Do not stir up my anger.

FRIAR

   I withdraw
More gladly than I came.  We cloister-folk
Are forced to vow obedience to superiors.

[Goes.

Templar and Daya

DAYA

The monk, methinks, left him in no good mood:
But I must risk my message.

TEMPLAR

   Better still
The proverb says that monks and women are
The devil’s clutches; and I’m tossed to-day
From one to th’ other.

DAYA

   Whom do I behold?—
Thank God!  I see you, noble knight, once more.
Where have you lurked this long, long space?  You’ve not
Been ill?

TEMPLAR

   No.

DAYA

      Well, then?

TEMPLAR

      Yes.

DAYA

      We’ve all been anxious
Lest something ailed you.

TEMPLAR

   So?

DAYA

   Have you been journeying?

TEMPLAR

Hit off!

DAYA

   How long returned?

TEMPLAR

      Since yesterday.

DAYA

Our Recha’s father too is just returned,
And now may Recha hope at last—

TEMPLAR

      For what?

DAYA

For what she often has requested of you.
Her father pressingly invites your visit.
He now arrives from Babylon, with twenty
High-laden camels, brings the curious drugs,
And precious stones, and stuffs, he has collected
From Syria, Persia, India, even China.

TEMPLAR

I am no chap.

DAYA

   His nation honours him,
As if he were a prince, and yet to hear him
Called the wise Nathan by them, not the rich,
Has often made me wonder.

TEMPLAR

   To his nation
Are rich and wise perhaps of equal import.

DAYA

But above all he should be called the good.
You can’t imagine how much goodness dwells
Within him.  Since he has been told the service
You rendered to his Recha, there is nothing
That he would grudge you.

TEMPLAR

   Aye?

DAYA

      Do—see him, try him.

TEMPLAR

A burst of feeling soon is at an end.

DAYA

And do you think that I, were he less kind,
Less bountiful, had housed with him so long:
That I don’t feel my value as a Christian:
For ’twas not o’er my cradle said, or sung,
That I to Palestina should pursue
My husband’s steps, only to educate
A Jewess.  My husband was a noble page
In Emperor Frederic’s army.

TEMPLAR

      And by birth
A Switzer, who obtained the gracious honour
Of drowning in one river with his master.
Woman, how often you have told me this!
Will you ne’er leave off persecuting me?

DAYA

My Jesus! persecute—

TEMPLAR

      Aye, persecute.
Observe then, I henceforward will not see,
Not hear you, nor be minded of a deed
Over and over, which I did unthinking,
And which, when thought about, I wonder at.
I wish not to repent it; but, remember,
Should the like accident occur again,
’Twill be your fault if I proceed more coolly,
Ask a few questions, and let burn what’s burning.

DAYA

My God forbid!

TEMPLAR

   From this day forth, good woman,
Do me at least the favour not to know me:
I beg it of you; and don’t send the father.
A Jew’s a Jew, and I am rude and bearish.
The image of the maid is quite erased
Out of my soul—if it was ever there—

DAYA

But yours remains with her.

TEMPLAR

   Why so—what then—
Wherefore give harbour to it?—

DAYA

   Who knows wherefore?
Men are not always what they seem to be.

TEMPLAR

They’re seldom better than they seem to be.

DAYA

Ben’t in this hurry.

TEMPLAR

   Pray, forbear to make
These palm-trees odious.  I have loved to walk here.

DAYA

Farewell then, bear.  Yet I must track the savage.