Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts

Scene.—An Audience Room in the Sultan’s Palace

Sittah: Saladin giving directions at the door

SALADIN

Here, introduce the Jew, whene’er he comes—
He seems in no great haste.

SITTAH

      May be at first
He was not in the way.

SALADIN

   Ah, sister, sister!

SITTAH

You seem as if a combat were impending.

SALADIN

With weapons that I have not learnt to wield.
Must I disguise myself?  I use precautions?
I lay a snare?  When, where gained I that knowledge?
And this, for what?  To fish for money—money—
For money from a Jew—and to such arts
Must Saladin descend at last to come at
The least of little things?

SITTAH

      Each little thing
Despised too much finds methods of revenge.

SALADIN

’Tis but too true.  And if this Jew should prove
The fair good man, as once the dervis painted—

SITTAH

Then difficulties cease.  A snare concerns
The avaricious, cautious, fearful Jew;
And not the good wise man: for he is ours
Without a snare.  Then the delight of hearing
How such a man speaks out; with what stern strength
He tears the net, or with what prudent foresight
He one by one undoes the tangled meshes;
That will be all to boot—

SALADIN

      That I shall joy in.

SITTAH

What then should trouble thee?  For if he be
One of the many only, a mere Jew,
You will not blush to such a one to seem
A man, as he thinks all mankind to be.
One, that to him should bear a better aspect,
Would seem a fool—a dupe.

SALADIN

      So that I must
Act badly, lest the bad think badly of me.

SITTAH

Yes, if you call it acting badly, brother,
To use a thing after its kind.

SALADIN

   There’s nothing
That woman’s wit invents it can’t embellish.

SITTAH

Embellish—

SALADIN

   But their fine-wrought filligree
In my rude hand would break.  It is for those
That can contrive them to employ such weapons:
They ask a practised wrist.  But chance what may,
Well as I can—

SITTAH

   Trust not yourself too little.
I answer for you, if you have the will.
Such men as you would willingly persuade us
It was their swords, their swords alone that raised them.
The lion’s apt to be ashamed of hunting
In fellowship of the fox—’tis of his fellow
Not of the cunning that he is ashamed.

SALADIN

You women would so gladly level man
Down to yourselves.  Go, I have got my lesson.

SITTAH

What—must I go?

SALADIN

      Had you the thought of staying?

SITTAH

In your immediate presence not indeed,
But in the by-room.

SALADIN

      You could like to listen.
Not that, my sister, if I may insist.
Away! the curtain rustles—he is come.
Beware of staying—I’ll be on the watch.

[While Sittah retires through one door, Nathan enters at another, and Saladin seats himself.

Saladin and Nathan

SALADIN

Draw nearer, Jew, yet nearer; here, quite by me,
Without all fear.

NATHAN

   Remain that for thy foes!

SALADIN

Your name is Nathan?

NATHAN

      Yes.

SALADIN

      Nathan the wise?

NATHAN

No.

SALADIN

   If not thou, the people calls thee so.

NATHAN

May be, the people.

SALADIN

      Fancy not that I
Think of the people’s voice contemptuously;
I have been wishing much to know the man
Whom it has named the wise.

NATHAN

      And if it named
Him so in scorn.  If wise meant only prudent.
And prudent, one who knows his interest well.

SALADIN

Who knows his real interest, thou must mean.

NATHAN

Then were the interested the most prudent,
Then wise and prudent were the same.

SALADIN

         I hear
You proving what your speeches contradict.
You know man’s real interests, which the people
Knows not—at least have studied how to know them.
That alone makes the sage.

NATHAN

   Which each imagines
Himself to be.

SALADIN

   Of modesty enough!
Ever to meet it, where one seeks to hear
Dry truth, is vexing.  Let us to the purpose—
But, Jew, sincere and open—

NATHAN

   I will serve thee
So as to merit, prince, thy further notice.

SALADIN

Serve me—how?

NATHAN

   Thou shalt have the best I bring.
Shalt have them cheap.

SALADIN

   What speak you of?—your wares?
My sister shall be called to bargain with you
For them (so much for the sly listener), I
Have nothing to transact now with the merchant.

NATHAN

Doubtless then you would learn, what, on my journey,
I noticed of the motions of the foe,
Who stirs anew.  If unreserved I may—

SALADIN

Neither was that the object of my sending:
I know what I have need to know already.
In short I willed your presence—

NATHAN

      Sultan, order.

SALADIN

To gain instruction quite on other points.
Since you are a man so wise, tell me which law,
Which faith appears to you the better?

NATHAN

      Sultan,
I am a Jew.

SALADIN

   And I a Mussulman:
The Christian stands between us.  Of these three
Religions only one came be the true.
A man, like you, remains not just where birth
Has chanced to cast him, or, if he remains there,
Does it from insight, choice, from grounds of preference.
Share then with me your insight—let me hear
The grounds of preference, which I have wanted
The leisure to examine—learn the choice,
These grounds have motived, that it may be mine.
In confidence I ask it.  How you startle,
And weigh me with your eye!  It may well be
I’m the first sultan to whom this caprice,
Methinks not quite unworthy of a sultan,
Has yet occurred.  Am I not?  Speak then—Speak.
Or do you, to collect yourself, desire
Some moments of delay—I give them you—
(Whether she’s listening?—I must know of her
If I’ve done right.)  Reflect—I’ll soon return—

[Saladin steps into the room to which Sittah had retired.

NATHAN

Strange! how is this? what wills the sultan of me?
I came prepared with cash—he asks truth.  Truth?
As if truth too were cash—a coin disused
That goes by weight—indeed ’tis some such thing—
But a new coin, known by the stamp at once,
To be flung down and told upon the counter,
It is not that.  Like gold in bags tied up,
So truth lies hoarded in the wise man’s head
To be brought out.—Which now in this transaction
Which of us plays the Jew; he asks for truth,
Is truth what he requires, his aim, his end?
That this is but the glue to lime a snare
Ought not to be suspected, ’twere too little,
Yet what is found too little for the great—
In fact, through hedge and pale to stalk at once
Into one’s field beseems not—friends look round,
Seek for the path, ask leave to pass the gate—
I must be cautious.  Yet to damp him back,
And be the stubborn Jew is not the thing;
And wholly to throw off the Jew, still less.
For if no Jew he might with right inquire—
Why not a Mussulman—Yes—that may serve me.
Not children only can be quieted
With stories.  Ha! he comes—well, let him come.

SALADIN (returning)

So, there, the field is clear, I’m not too quick,
Thou hast bethought thyself as much as need is,
Speak, no one hears.

NATHAN

   Might the whole world but hear us.

SALADIN

Is Nathan of his cause so confident?
Yes, that I call the sage—to veil no truth,
For truth to hazard all things, life and goods.

NATHAN

Aye, when ’tis necessary and when useful.

SALADIN

Henceforth I hope I shall with reason bear
One of my titles—“Betterer of the world
And of the law.”

NATHAN

   In truth a noble title.
But, sultan, e’er I quite unfold myself
Allow me to relate a tale.

SALADIN

      Why not?
I always was a friend of tales well told.

NATHAN

Well told, that’s not precisely my affair.

SALADIN

Again so proudly modest, come begin.

NATHAN

In days of yore, there dwelt in east a man
Who from a valued hand received a ring
Of endless worth: the stone of it an opal,
That shot an ever-changing tint: moreover,
It had the hidden virtue him to render
Of God and man beloved, who in this view,
And this persuasion, wore it.  Was it strange
The eastern man ne’er drew it off his finger,
And studiously provided to secure it
For ever to his house.  Thus—He bequeathed it;
First, to the most beloved of his sons,
Ordained that he again should leave the ring
To the most dear among his children—and
That without heeding birth, the favourite son,
In virtue of the ring alone, should always
Remain the lord o’ th’ house—You hear me, Sultan?

SALADIN

I understand thee—on.

NATHAN

   From son to son,
At length this ring descended to a father,
Who had three sons, alike obedient to him;
Whom therefore he could not but love alike.
At times seemed this, now that, at times the third,
(Accordingly as each apart received
The overflowings of his heart) most worthy
To heir the ring, which with good-natured weakness
He privately to each in turn had promised.
This went on for a while.  But death approached,
And the good father grew embarrassed.  So
To disappoint two sons, who trust his promise,
He could not bear.  What’s to be done.  He sends
In secret to a jeweller, of whom,
Upon the model of the real ring,
He might bespeak two others, and commanded
To spare nor cost nor pains to make them like,
Quite like the true one.  This the artist managed.
The rings were brought, and e’en the father’s eye
Could not distinguish which had been the model.
Quite overjoyed he summons all his sons,
Takes leave of each apart, on each bestows
His blessing and his ring, and dies—Thou hearest me?

SALADIN

I hear, I hear, come finish with thy tale;
Is it soon ended?

NATHAN

      It is ended, Sultan,
For all that follows may be guessed of course.
Scarce is the father dead, each with his ring
Appears, and claims to be the lord o’ th’ house.
Comes question, strife, complaint—all to no end;
For the true ring could no more be distinguished
Than now can—the true faith.

SALADIN

      How, how, is that
To be the answer to my query?

NATHAN

      No,
But it may serve as my apology;
If I can’t venture to decide between
Rings, which the father got expressly made,
That they might not be known from one another.

SALADIN

The rings—don’t trifle with me; I must think
That the religions which I named can be
Distinguished, e’en to raiment, drink and food,

NATHAN

And only not as to their grounds of proof.
Are not all built alike on history,
Traditional, or written.  History
Must be received on trust—is it not so?
In whom now are we likeliest to put trust?
In our own people surely, in those men
Whose blood we are, in them, who from our childhood
Have given us proofs of love, who ne’er deceived us,
Unless ’twere wholesomer to be deceived.
How can I less believe in my forefathers
Than thou in thine.  How can I ask of thee
To own that thy forefathers falsified
In order to yield mine the praise of truth.
The like of Christians.

SALADIN

   By the living God,
The man is in the right, I must be silent.

NATHAN

Now let us to our rings return once more.
As said, the sons complained.  Each to the judge
Swore from his father’s hand immediately
To have received the ring, as was the case;
After he had long obtained the father’s promise,
One day to have the ring, as also was.
The father, each asserted, could to him
Not have been false, rather than so suspect
Of such a father, willing as he might be
With charity to judge his brethren, he
Of treacherous forgery was bold t’ accuse them.

SALADIN

Well, and the judge, I’m eager now to hear
What thou wilt make him say.  Go on, go on.

NATHAN

The judge said, If ye summon not the father
Before my seat, I cannot give a sentence.
Am I to guess enigmas?  Or expect ye
That the true ring should here unseal its lips?
But hold—you tell me that the real ring
Enjoys the hidden power to make the wearer
Of God and man beloved; let that decide.
Which of you do two brothers love the best?
You’re silent.  Do these love-exciting rings
Act inward only, not without?  Does each
Love but himself?  Ye’re all deceived deceivers,
None of your rings is true.  The real ring
Perhaps is gone.  To hide or to supply
Its loss, your father ordered three for one.

SALADIN

O charming, charming!

NATHAN

   And (the judge continued)
If you will take advice in lieu of sentence,
This is my counsel to you, to take up
The matter where it stands.  If each of you
Has had a ring presented by his father,
Let each believe his own the real ring.
’Tis possible the father chose no longer
To tolerate the one ring’s tyranny;
And certainly, as he much loved you all,
And loved you all alike, it could not please him
By favouring one to be of two the oppressor.
Let each feel honoured by this free affection.
Unwarped of prejudice; let each endeavour
To vie with both his brothers in displaying
The virtue of his ring; assist its might
With gentleness, benevolence, forbearance,
With inward resignation to the godhead,
And if the virtues of the ring continue
To show themselves among your children’s children,
After a thousand thousand years, appear
Before this judgment-seat—a greater one
Than I shall sit upon it, and decide.
So spake the modest judge.

SALADIN

   God!

NATHAN

      Saladin,
Feel’st thou thyself this wiser, promised man?

SALADIN

I dust, I nothing, God!

[Precipitates himself upon Nathan, and takes hold of his hand, which he does not quit the remainder of the scene.

NATHAN

   What moves thee, Sultan?

SALADIN

Nathan, my dearest Nathan, ’tis not yet
The judge’s thousand thousand years are past,
His judgment-seat’s not mine.  Go, go, but love me.

NATHAN

Has Saladin then nothing else to order?

SALADIN

No.

NATHAN

   Nothing?

SALADIN

      Nothing in the least, and wherefore?

NATHAN

I could have wished an opportunity
To lay a prayer before you.

SALADIN

      Is there need
Of opportunity for that?  Speak freely.

NATHAN

I come from a long journey from collecting
Debts, and I’ve almost of hard cash too much;
The times look perilous—I know not where
To lodge it safely—I was thinking thou,
For coming wars require large sums, couldst use it.

SALADIN (fixing Nathan)

Nathan, I ask not if thou sawst Al-Hafi,
I’ll not examine if some shrewd suspicion
Spurs thee to make this offer of thyself.

NATHAN

Suspicion—

SALADIN

   I deserve this offer.  Pardon,
For what avails concealment, I acknowledge
I was about—

NATHAN

   To ask the same of me?

SALADIN

Yes.

NATHAN

   Then ’tis well we’re both accommodated.
That I can’t send thee all I have of treasure
Arises from the templar; thou must know him,
I have a weighty debt to pay to him.

SALADIN

A templar!  How, thou dost not with thy gold
Support my direst foes.

NATHAN

   I speak of him
Whose life the sultan—

SALADIN

   What art thou recalling?
I had forgot the youth, whence is he, knowest thou?

NATHAN

Hast thou not heard then how thy clemency
To him has fallen on me.  He at the risk
Of his new-spared existence, from the flames
Rescued my daughter.

SALADIN

   Ha!  Has he done that;
He looked like one that would—my brother too,
Whom he’s so like, bad done it.  Is he here still?
Bring him to me—I have so often talked
To Sittah of this brother, whom she knew not,
That I must let her see his counterfeit.
Go fetch him.  How a single worthy action,
Though but of whim or passion born, gives rise
To other blessings!  Fetch him.

NATHAN

      In an instant.
The rest remains as settled.

SALADIN

   O, I wish
I had let my sister listen.  Well, I’ll to her.
How shall I make her privy to all this?