Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts

Scene.—The Place of Palms, close to Nathan’s House

Nathan, attired, comes out with Recha

RECHA

You have been so very slow, my dearest father,
You now will hardly be in time to find him.

NATHAN

Well, if not here beneath the palms; yet, surely,
Elsewhere.  My child, be satisfied.  See, see,
Is not that Daya making towards us?

RECHA

She certainly has lost him then.

NATHAN

   Why so?

RECHA

Else she’d walk quicker.

NATHAN

   She may not have seen us.

RECHA

There, now she sees us.

NATHAN

   And her speed redoubles,
Be calm, my Recha.

RECHA

   Would you have your daughter
Be cool and unconcerned who ’twas that saved her,
Heed not to whom is due the life she prizes
Chiefly because she owed it first to thee?

NATHAN

I would not wish thee other than thou art,
E’en if I knew that in thy secret soul
A very different emotion throbs.

RECHA

Why—what my father?

NATHAN

   Dost thou ask of me,
So tremblingly of me, what passes in thee?
Whatever ’tis, ’tis innocence and nature.
Be not alarmed, it gives me no alarm;
But promise me that, when thy heart shall speak
A plainer language, thou wilt not conceal
A single of thy wishes from my fondness.

RECHA

Oh the mere possibility of wishing
Rather to veil and hide them makes me shudder.

NATHAN

Let this be spoken once for all.  Well, Daya—

Nathan, Recha, and Daya

DAYA

He still is here beneath the palms, and soon
Will reach yon wall.  See, there he comes.

RECHA

      And seems
Irresolute where next; if left or right.

DAYA

I know he mostly passes to the convent,
And therefore comes this path.  What will you lay me?

RECHA

Oh yes he does.  And did you speak to him?
How did he seem to-day?

DAYA

   As heretofore.

NATHAN

Don’t let him see you with me: further back;
Or rather to the house.

RECHA

   Just one peep more.
Now the hedge steals him from me.

DAYA

   Come away.
Your father’s in the right—should he perceive us,
’Tis very probable he’ll tack about.

RECHA

But for the hedge—

NATHAN

   Now he emerges from it.
He can’t but see you: hence—I ask it of you.

DAYA

I know a window whence we yet may—

RECHA

      Ay.

[Goes in with Daya.

NATHAN

I’m almost shy of this strange fellow, almost
Shrink back from his rough virtue.  That one man
Should ever make another man feel awkward!
And yet—He’s coming—ha!—by God, the youth
Looks like a man.  I love his daring eye,
His open gait.  May be the shell is bitter;
But not the kernel surely.  I have seen
Some such, methinks.  Forgive me, noble Frank.

Nathan and Templar

TEMPLAR

What?

NATHAN

   Give me leave.

TEMPLAR

      Well, Jew, what wouldst thou have?

NATHAN

The liberty of speaking to you!

TEMPLAR

   So—
Can I prevent it?  Quick then, what’s your business?

NATHAN

Patience—nor hasten quite so proudly by
A man, who has not merited contempt,
And whom, for evermore, you’ve made your debtor.

TEMPLAR

How so?  Perhaps I guess—No—Are you then—

NATHAN

My name is Nathan, father to the maid
Your generous courage snatched from circling flames,
And hasten—

TEMPLAR

   If with thanks, keep, keep them all.
Those little things I’ve had to suffer much from:
Too much already, far.  And, after all,
You owe me nothing.  Was I ever told
She was your daughter?  ’Tis a templar’s duty
To rush to the assistance of the first
Poor wight that needs him; and my life just then
Was quite a burden.  I was mighty glad
To risk it for another; tho’ it were
That of a Jewess.

NATHAN

   Noble, and yet shocking!
The turn might be expected.  Modest greatness
Wears willingly the mask of what is shocking
To scare off admiration: but, altho’
She may disdain the tribute, admiration,
Is there no other tribute she can bear with?
Knight, were you here not foreign, not a captive
I would not ask so freely.  Speak, command,
In what can I be useful?

TEMPLAR

   You—in nothing.

NATHAN

I’m rich.

TEMPLAR

   To me the richer Jew ne’er seemed
The bettor Jew.

NATHAN

   Is that a reason why
You should not use the better part of him,
His wealth?

TEMPLAR

   Well, well, I’ll not refuse it wholly,
For my poor mantle’s sake—when that is threadbare,
And spite of darning will not hold together,
I’ll come and borrow cloth, or money of thee,
To make me up a new one.  Don’t look solemn;
The danger is not pressing; ’tis not yet
At the last gasp, but tight and strong and good,
Save this poor corner, where an ugly spot
You see is singed upon it.  It got singed
As I bore off your daughter from the fire.

NATHAN (taking hold of the mantle)

’Tis singular that such an ugly spot
Bears better testimony to the man
Than his own mouth.  This brand—Oh I could kiss it!
Your pardon—that I meant not.

TEMPLAR

   What?

NATHAN

      A tear
Fell on the spot.

TEMPLAR

   You’ll find up more such tears—
(This Jew methinks begins to work upon me).

NATHAN

Would you send once this mantle to my daughter?

TEMPLAR

Why?

NATHAN

   That her lips may cling to this dear speck;
For at her benefactor’s feet to fall,
I find, she hopes in vain.

TEMPLAR

   But, Jew, your name
You said was Nathan—Nathan, you can join
Your words together cunningly—right well—
I am confused—in fact—I would have been—

NATHAN

Twist, writhe, disguise you, as you will, I know you,
You were too honest, knight, to be more civil;
A girl all feeling, and a she-attendant
All complaisance, a father at a distance—
You valued her good name, and would not see her.
You scorned to try her, lest you should be victor;
For that I also thank you.

TEMPLAR

   I confess,
You know how templars ought to think.

NATHAN

      Still templars—
And only ought to think—and all because
The rules and vows enjoin it to the order—
I know how good men think—know that all lands
Produce good men.

TEMPLAR

   But not without distinction.

NATHAN

In colour, dress, and shape, perhaps, distinguished.

TEMPLAR

Here more, there fewer sure?

NATHAN

      That boots not much,
The great man everywhere has need of room.
Too many set together only serve
To crush each others’ branches.  Middling good,
As we are, spring up everywhere in plenty.
Only let one not 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.

TEMPLAR

Well said: and yet, I trust, you know the nation,
That first began to strike at fellow men,
That first baptised itself the chosen people—
How now if I were—not to hate this people,
Yet for its pride could not forbear to scorn it,
The pride which it to Mussulman and Christian
Bequeathed, as were its God alone the true one,
You start, that I, a Christian and a templar,
Talk thus.  Where, when, has e’er the pious rage
To own the better god—on the whole world
To force this better, as the best of all—
Shown itself more, and in a blacker form,
Than here, than now?  To him, whom, here and now,
The film is not removing from his eye—
But be he blind that wills!  Forget my speeches
And leave me.

NATHAN

   Ah! indeed you do not know
How closer I shall cling to you henceforth.
We must, we will be friends.  Despise my nation—
We did not choose a nation for ourselves.
Are we our nations?  What’s a nation then?
Were Jews and Christians such, e’er they were men?
And have I found in thee one more, to whom
It is enough to be a man?

TEMPLAR

      That hast thou.
Nathan, by God, thou hast.  Thy hand.  I blush
To have mistaken thee a single instant.

NATHAN

And I am proud of it.  Only common souls
We seldom err in.

TEMPLAR

   And uncommon ones
Seldom forget.  Yes, Nathan, yes we must,
We will be friends.

NATHAN

   We are so.  And my Recha—
She will rejoice.  How sweet the wider prospect
That dawns upon me!  Do but know her—once.

TEMPLAR

I am impatient for it.  Who is that
Bursts from your house, methinks it is your Daya.

NATHAN

Ay—but so anxiously—

TEMPLAR

      Sure, to our Recha
Nothing has happened.

Nathan, Templar, and Daya

DAYA

   Nathan, Nathan.

NATHAN

      Well.

DAYA

Forgive me, knight, that I must interrupt you.

NATHAN

What is the matter?

TEMPLAR

   What?

DAYA

      The sultan sends—
The sultan wants to see you—in a hurry.
Jesus! the sultan—

NATHAN

   Saladin wants me?
He will be curious to see what wares,
Precious, or new, I brought with me from Persia.
Say there is nothing hardly yet unpacked.

DAYA

No, no: ’tis not to look at anything.
He wants to speak to you, to you in person,
And orders you to come as soon as may be.

NATHAN

I’ll go—return.

DAYA

   Knight, take it not amiss;
But we were so alarmed for what the sultan
Could have in view.

NATHAN

      That I shall soon discover.

Nathan and Templar

TEMPLAR

And don’t you know him yet, I mean his person?

NATHAN

Whose, Saladin’s?  Not yet.  I’ve neither shunned,
Nor sought to see him.  And the general voice
Speaks too well of him, for me not to wish,
Rather to take its language upon trust,
Than sift the truth out.  Yet—if it be so—
He, by the saving of your life, has now—

TEMPLAR

Yes: it is so.  The life I live he gave.

NATHAN

And in it double treble life to me.
This flings a bond about me, which shall tie me
For ever to his service: and I scarcely
Like to defer inquiring for his wishes.
For everything I am ready; and am ready
To own that ’tis on your account I am so.

TEMPLAR

As often as I’ve thrown me in his way,
I have not found as yet the means to thank him.
The impression that I made upon him came
Quickly, and so has vanished.  Now perhaps
He recollects me not, who knows?  Once more
At least, he must recall me to his mind,
Fully to fix my doom.  ’Tis not enough
That by his order I am yet in being,
By his permission live, I have to learn
According to whose will I must exist.

NATHAN

Therefore I shall the more avoid delay.
Perchance some word may furnish me occasion
To glance at you—perchance—Excuse me, knight,
I am in haste.  When shall we see you with us?

TEMPLAR

Soon as I may.

NATHAN

   That is, whene’er you will.

TEMPLAR

To-day, then.

NATHAN

   And your name?

TEMPLAR

      My name was—is
Conrade of Stauffen.

NATHAN

Conrade of Stauffen!  Stauffen!

TEMPLAR

Why does that strike so forcibly upon you?

NATHAN

There are more races of that name, no doubt.

TEMPLAR

Yes, many of that name were here—rot here.
My uncle even—I should say, my father.
But wherefore is your look so sharpened on me?

NATHAN

Nothing—how can I weary to behold you—

TEMPLAR

Therefore I quit you first.  The searching eye
Finds often more than it desires to see.
I fear it, Nathan.  Fare thee well.  Let time,
Not curiosity make us acquainted.

[Goes.

Nathan, and soon after, Daya

NATHAN

“The searching eye will oft discover more
Than it desires,” ’tis as he read my soul.
That too may chance to me.  ’Tis not alone
Leonard’s walk, stature, but his very voice.
Leonard so wore his head, was even wont
Just so to brush his eyebrows with his hand,
As if to mask the fire that fills his look.
Those deeply graven images at times
How they will slumber in us, seem forgotten,
When all at once a word a tone, a gesture,
Retraces all.  Of Stauffen?  Ay right—right—
Filnek and Stauffen—I will soon know more—
But first to Saladin—Ha, Daya there?
Why on the watch?  Come nearer.  By this time,
I’ll answer for’t, you’ve something more at heart
Than to know what the sultan wants with me.

DAYA

And do you take it ill in part of her?
You were beginning to converse with him
More confidentially, just as the message,
Sent by the sultan, tore us from the window.

NATHAN

Go tell her that she may expect his visit
At every instant.

DAYA

   What indeed—indeed?

NATHAN

I think I can rely upon thee, Daya:
Be on thy guard, I beg.  Thou’lt not repent it.
Be but discreet.  Thy conscience too will surely
Find its account in ’t.  Do not mar my plans
But leave them to themselves.  Relate and question
With modesty, with backwardness.

DAYA

      Oh fear not.
How come you to preach up all this to me?
I go—go too.  The sultan sends for you
A second time, and by your friend Al-Hafi.

Nathan and Hafi

HAFI

Ha! art thou here?  I was now seeking for thee.

NATHAN

Why in such haste?  What wants he then with me?

HAFI

Who?

NATHAN

   Saladin.  I’m coming—I am coming.

HAFI

Where, to the sultan’s?

NATHAN

      Was ’t not he who sent thee?

HAFI

Me?  No.  And has he sent already?

NATHAN

      Yes.

HAFI

Then ’tis all right.

NATHAN

   What’s right?

HAFI

      That I’m unguilty.
God knows I am not guilty, knows I said—
What said I not of thee—belied thee—slandered—
To ward it off.

NATHAN

   To ward off what—be plain.

HAFI

That them art now become his defterdar.
I pity thee.  Behold it I will not.
I go this very hour—my road I told thee.
Now—hast thou orders by the way—command,
And then, adieu.  Indeed they must not be
Such business as a naked man can’t carry.
Quick, what’s thy pleasure?

NATHAN

      Recollect yourself.
As yet all this is quite a riddle to me.
I know of nothing.

HAFI

   Where are then thy bags?

NATHAN

Bags?

HAFI

   Bags of money: bring the weightiest forth:
The money thou’rt to lend the sultan, Nathan.

NATHAN

And is that all?

HAFI

   Novice, thou’st yet to learn
How he day after day will scoop and scoop,
Till nothing but an hollow empty paring,
A husk as light as film, is left behind.
Thou’st yet to learn how prodigality
From prudent bounty’s never-empty coffers
Borrows and borrows, till there’s not a purse
Left to keep rats from starving.  Thou mayst fancy
That he who wants thy gold will heed thy counsel;
But when has he yet listened to advice?
Imagine now what just befell me with him.

NATHAN

Well—

HAFI

   I went in and found him with his sister,
Engaged, or rather rising up from chess.
Sittah plays—not amiss.  Upon the board
The game, that Saladin supposed was lost
And had given up, yet stood.  When I drew nigh,
And had examined it, I soon discovered
It was not gone by any means.

NATHAN

      For you
A blest discovery, a treasure-trove.

HAFI

He only needed to remove his king
Behind the tower t’ have got him out of check.
Could I but make you sensible—

NATHAN

      I’ll trust thee.

HAFI

Then with the knight still left.—I would have shown him
And called him to the board.—He must have won;
But what d’ye think he did?

NATHAN

   Dared doubt your insight?

HAFI

He would not listen; but with scorn o’erthrew
The standing pieces.

NATHAN

   Is that possible?

HAFI

And said, he chose to be check-mate—he chose it—
Is that to play the game?

NATHAN

   Most surely not:
’Tis to play with the game.

HAFI

      And yet the stake
Was not a nut-shell.

NATHAN

   Money here or there
Matters but little.  Not to listen to thee,
And on a point of such importance, Hafi,
There lies the rub.  Not even to admire
Thine eagle eye—thy comprehensive glance—
That calls for vengeance:—does it not, Al-Hafi?

HAFI

I only tell it to thee that thou mayst see
How his brain’s formed.  I bear with him no longer.
Here I’ve been running to each dirty Moor,
Inquiring who will lend him.  I, who ne’er
Went for myself a begging, go a borrowing,
And that for others.  Borrowing’s much the same
As begging; just as lending upon usury
Is much the same as thieving—decency
Makes not of lewdness virtue.  On the Ganges,
Among my ghebers, I have need of neither:
Nor need I be the tool or pimp of either—
Upon the Ganges only there are men.
Here, thou alone art somehow almost worthy
To have lived upon the Ganges.  Wilt thou with me?
And leave him with the captive cloak alone,
The booty that he wants to strip thee of.
Little by little he will flay thee clean.
Thins thou’lt be quit at once, without the tease
Of being sliced to death.  Come wilt thou with me?
I’ll find thee with a staff.

NATHAN

   I should have thought,
Come what come may, that thy resource remained:
But I’ll consider of it.  Stay.

HAFI

      Consider—
No; such things must not be considered.

NATHAN

      Stay:
Till I have seen the sultan—till you’ve had—

HAFI

He, who considers, looks about for motives
To forbear daring.  He, who can’t resolve
In storm and sunshine to himself to live,
Must live the slave of others all his life.
But as you please; farewell! ’tis you who choose.
My path lies yonder—and yours there—

NATHAN

      Al-Hafi,
Stay then; at least you’ll set things right—not leave them
At sixes and at sevens—

HAFI

      Farce!  Parade!
The balance in the chest will need no telling.
And my account—Sittah, or you, will vouch.
Farewell.

[Goes.

NATHAN

   Yes I will vouch it.  Honest, wild—
How shall I call you—Ah! the real beggar
Is, after all, the only real monarch.