Here lies the money still, and no one finds
The dervis yet—he’s probably got somewhere
Over a chess-board. Play would often make
The man forget himself, and why not, me.
Patience—Ha! what’s the matter.

Saladin and Ibrahim

IBRAHIM

Happy news—
Joy, sultan, joy, the caravan from Cairo
Is safe arrived and brings the seven years’ tribute
Of the rich Nile.

SALADIN

Bravo, my Ibrahim,
Thou always wast a welcome messenger,
And now at length—at length—accept my thanks
For the good tidings.

IBRAHIM (waiting)

Hither with them, sultan.

SALADIN

What art thou waiting for? Go.

IBRAHIM

Nothing further
For my glad news?

SALADIN

What further?

IBRAHIM

Errand boys
Earn hire—and when their message smiles i’ the telling,
The sender’s hire by the receiver’s bounty
Is oft outweighed. Am I to be the first
Whom Saladin at length has learnt to pay
In words? The first about whose recompense
The sultan higgled?

SALADIN

Go, pick up a purse.

IBRAHIM

No, not now—you might give them all away

SALADIN

All—hold, man. Here, come hither, take these two—
And is he really going—shall he conquer
Me then in generosity? for surely
’Tis harder for this fellow to refuse
Than ’tis for me to give. Here, Ibrahim—
Shall I be tempted, just before my exit,
To be a different man—small Saladin
Not die like Saladin, then wherefore live so?

Abdallah and Saladin

ABDALLAH

Hail, Sultan!

SALADIN

If thou comest to inform me
That the whole convoy is arrived from Egypt,
I know it already.

ABDALLAH

Do I come too late?

SALADIN

Too late, and why too late? There for thy tidings
Pick up a purse or two.

ABDALLAH

Does that make three?

SALADIN

So thou wouldst reckon—well, well, take them, take them.

ABDALLAH

A third will yet be here if he be able.

SALADIN

How so?

ABDALLAH

He may perhaps have broke his neck.
We three, as soon as certain of the coming
Of the rich caravan, each crossed our horses,
And galloped hitherward. The foremost fell,
Then I was foremost, and continued so
Into the city, but sly Ibrahim,
Who knows the streets—

SALADIN

But he that fell, go, seek him.

ABDALLAH

That will I quickly—if he lives, the half
Of what I’ve got is his.

[Goes.

SALADIN

What a fine fellow!
And who can boast such mamalukes as these;
And is it not allowed me to imagine
That my example helped to form them. Hence
With the vile thought at last to turn another.

A third Courier

Sultan—

SALADIN

Was’t thou who fell?

COURIER

No, I’ve to tell thee
That Emir Mansor, who conducts the convoy,
Alights.

SALADIN

O bring him to me—Ah, he’s there—
Be welcome, Emir. What has happened to thee?
For we have long expected thee.

Saladin and Emir

EMIR (after the wont obeisance)

This letter
Will show, that, in Thebais, discontents
Required thy Abulkassem’s sabred hand,
Ere we could march. Since that, our progress, sultan,
My zeal has sped most anxiously.

SALADIN

I trust thee—
But my good Mansor take without delay—
Thou art not loth to go further—fresh protection,
And with the treasure on to Libanon;
The greater part at least I have to lodge
With my old father.

EMIR

O, most willingly.

SALADIN

And take not a slight escort. Libanon
Is far from quiet, as thou wilt have heard;
The templars stir afresh, be therefore cautious.
Come, I must see thy troop, and give the orders.

[To a slave.

Say I shall be with Sittah when I’ve finished.

SCENE—A Place of Palms

The Templar walking to and fro

TEMPLAR

Into this house I go not—sure at last
He’ll show himself—once, once they used to see me
So instantly, so gladly—time will come
When he’ll send out most civilly to beg me
Not to pace up and down before his door.
Psha—and yet I’m a little nettled too;
And what has thus embittered me against him?
He answered yes. He has refused me nothing
As yet. And Saladin has undertaken
To bring him round. And does the Christian nestle
Deeper in me than the Jew lurks in him?
Who, who can justly estimate himself?
How comes it else that I should grudge him so
The little booty that he took such pains
To rob the Christians of? A theft, no less
Than such a creature tho’—but whose, whose creature?
Sure not the slave’s who floated the mere block
On to life’s barren strand, and then ran off;
But his the artist’s, whose fine fancy moulded
Upon the unowned block a godlike form,
Whose chisel graved it there. Recha’s true father,
Spite of the Christian who begot her, is,
Must ever be, the Jew. Alas, were I
To fancy her a simple Christian wench,
And without all that which the Jew has given,
Which only such a Jew could have bestowed—
Speak out my heart, what had she that would please thee?
No, nothing! Little! For her very smile
Shrinks to a pretty twisting of the muscles—
Be that, which makes her smile, supposed unworthy
Of all the charms in ambush on her lips?
No, not her very smile—I’ve seen sweet smiles
Spent on conceit, on foppery, on slander,
On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent,
And did they charm me then? then wake the wish
To flutter out a life beneath their sunshine?
Indeed not—Yet I’m angry with the man
Who alone gave this higher value to her.
How this, and why? Do I deserve the taunt
With which I was dismissed by Saladin?
’Tis bad enough that Saladin should think so;
How little, how contemptible must I
Then have appeared to him—all for a girl.
Conrade, this will not do—back, back—And if
Daya to boot had prated matter to me
Not easy to be proved—At last he’s coming,
Engaged in earnest converse—and with whom?
My friar in Nathan’s house! then he knows all—
Perhaps has to the patriarch been betrayed.
O Conrade, what vile mischiefs thou hast brooded
Out of thy cross-grained head, that thus one spark
Of that same passion, love, can set so much
O’ th’ brain in flame? Quick, then, determine, wretch,
What shalt thou say or do? Step back a moment
And see if this good friar will please to quit him.

Nathan and the Friar come together out of Nathan’s house

NATHAN

Once more, good brother, thanks.

FRIAR

The like to you.

NATHAN

To me, and why; because I’m obstinate—
Would force upon you what you have no use for?

FRIAR

The book besides was none of mine. Indeed
It must at any rate belong to th’ daughter;
It is her whole, her only patrimony—
Save she has you. God grant you ne’er have reason
To sorrow for the much you’ve done for her.

NATHAN

How should I? that can never be; fear nothing.

FRIAR

Patriarchs and templars—

NATHAN

Have not in their power
Evil enough to make me e’er repent.
And then—But are you really well assured
It is a templar who eggs on your patriarch?

FRIAR

It scarcely can be other, for a templar
Talked with him just before, and what I heard
Agreed with this.

NATHAN

But there is only one
Now in Jerusalem; and him I know;
He is my friend, a noble open youth.

FRIAR

The same. But what one is at heart, and what
One gets to be in active life, mayn’t always
Square well together.

NATHAN

No, alas, they do not.
Therefore unangered I let others do
Their best or worst. O brother, with your book
I set all at defiance, and am going
Straight with it to the Sultan.

FRIAR

God be with you!
Here I shall take my leave.

NATHAN

And have not seen her—
Come soon, come often to us. If to-day
The patriarch make out nothing—but no matter,
Tell him it all to-day, or when you will.

FRIAR

Not I—farewell!

NATHAN

Do not forget us, brother
My God, why may I not beneath thy sky
Here drop upon my knees; now the twined knot,
Which has so often made my thinkings anxious,
Untangles of itself—God, how I am eased,
Now that I’ve nothing in the world remaining
That I need hide—now that I can as freely
Walk before man as before thee, who only
Need’st not to judge a creature by his deeds—
Deeds which so seldom are his own—O God!

Nathan and Templar

TEMPLAR (coming forward)

Hoa, Nathan, take me with you.

NATHAN

Ha! Who calls?
Is it you, knight? And whither have you been
That you could not be met with at the Sultan’s?

TEMPLAR

We missed each other—take it not amiss.

NATHAN

I, no, but Saladin.

TEMPLAR

You was just gone.

NATHAN

O, then you spoke with him; I’m satisfied.

TEMPLAR

Yes—but he wants to talk with us together.

NATHAN

So much the better. Come with me, my step
Was eitherwise bent thither.

TEMPLAR

May I ask,
Nathan, who ’twas now left you?

NATHAN

Did you know him?

TEMPLAR

Was’t that good-hearted creature the lay-brother,
Whom the hoar patriarch has a knack of using
To feel his way out?

NATHAN

That may be. In fact
He’s at the patriarch’s.

TEMPLAR

’Tis no awkward hit
To make simplicity the harbinger
Of craft.

NATHAN

If the simplicity of dunces,
But if of honest piety?

TEMPLAR

This last
No patriarch can believe in.

NATHAN

I’ll be bound for’t
This last belongs to him who quitted me.
He’ll not assist his patriarch to accomplish
A vile or cruel purpose.

TEMPLAR

Such, at least,
He would appear—but has he told you then
Something of me?

NATHAN

Of you? No—not by name,
He can’t well be acquainted with your name.

TEMPLAR

No, that not.

NATHAN

He indeed spoke of a templar,
Who—

TEMPLAR

What?

NATHAN

But by this templar could not mean
To point out you.

TEMPLAR

Stay, stay, who knows? Let’s hear.

NATHAN

Who has accused me to his patriarch.

TEMPLAR

Accused thee, no, that by his leave is false.
Nathan do hear me—I am not the man
Who would deny a single of his actions;
What I have done, I did. Nor am I one
Who would defend all he has done as right—
Why be ashamed of failing? Am I not
Firmly resolved on better future conduct?
And am I not aware how much the man
That’s willing can improve? O, hear me, Nathan—
I am the templar your lay-brother talked of—
Who has accused—You know what made me angry,
What set the blood in all my veins on fire,
The mad-cap that I was—I had drawn nigh
To fling myself with soul and body whole
Into your arms—and you received me, Nathan—
How cold, how lukewarm, for that’s worse than cold.—
How with words weighed and measured, you took care
To put me off; and with what questioning
About my parentage, and God knows what,
You seemed to answer me—I must not think on’t
If I would keep my temper—Hear me, Nathan—
While in this ferment—Daya steps behind me,
Bolts out a secret in my ear, which seemed
At once to lend a clue to your behaviour.

NATHAN

How so?

TEMPLAR

Do hear me to the end. I fancied
That what you from the Christians had purloined
You wasn’t content to let a Christian have;
And so the project struck me short and good,
To hold the knife to your throat till—

NATHAN

Short and good;
And good—but where’s the good?

TEMPLAR

Yet hear me, Nathan,
I own I did not right—you are unguilty,
No doubt. The prating Daya does not know
What she reported—has a grudge against you—
Seeks to involve you in an ugly business—
May be, may be, and I’m a crazy looby,
A credulous enthusiast—both ways mad—
Doing ever much too much, or much too little—
That too may be—forgive me, Nathan.

NATHAN

If
Such be the light in which you view—

TEMPLAR

In short
I to the patriarch went. I named you not.
That, as I said, was false. I only stated
In general terms, the case, to learn his notion,
That too might have been let alone—assuredly.
For knew I not the patriarch then to be
A knave? And might I not have talked with you?
And ought I to have exposed the poor girl—ha!
To part with such a father? Now what happens?
The patriarch’s villainy consistent ever
Restored me to myself—O, hear me out—
Suppose he was to ferret out your name,
What then? What then? He cannot seize the maid,
Unless she still belong to none but you.
’Tis from your house alone that he could drag her
Into a convent; therefore grant her me—
Grant her to me, and let him come. By God—
Sever my wife from me—he’ll not be rash
Enough to think about it. Give her to me,
Be she or no thy daughter, Christian, Jewess,
Or neither, ’tis all one, all one—I’ll never
In my whole life ask of thee which she is,
Be’t as it may.

NATHAN

You may perhaps imagine
That I’ve an interest to conceal the truth.

TEMPLAR

Be’t as it may.

NATHAN

I neither have to you
Nor any one, whom it behooved to know it,
Denied that she’s a Christian, and no more
Than my adopted daughter. Why, to her
I have not yet betrayed it—I am bound
To justify only to her.

TEMPLAR

Of that
Shall be no need. Indulge, indulge her with
Never beholding you with other eyes—
Spare, spare her the discovery. As yet
You have her to yourself, and may bestow her;
Give her to me—oh, I beseech thee, Nathan,
Give her to me, I, only I can save her
A second time, and will.

NATHAN

Yes, could have saved her.
But ’tis all over now—it is too late.

TEMPLAR

How so, too late.

NATHAN

Thanks to the patriarch.

TEMPLAR

How
Thanks to the patriarch, and for what? Can he
Earn thanks of us. For what?

NATHAN

That now we know
To whom she is related—to whose hands
She may with confidence be now delivered.

TEMPLAR

He thank him who has more to thank him for.

NATHAN

From theirs you now have to obtain her, not
From mine.

TEMPLAR

Poor Recha—what befalls thee? Oh,
Poor Recha—what had been to other orphans
A blessing, is to thee a curse. But, Nathan,
Where are they, these new kinsmen?

NATHAN

Where they are?

TEMPLAR

Who are they?

NATHAN

Who—a brother is found out
To whom you must address yourself.

TEMPLAR

A brother!
And what is he, a soldier or a priest?
Let’s hear what I’ve to hope.

NATHAN

As I believe
He’s neither of the two—or both. Just now
I cannot say exactly.

TEMPLAR

And besides
He’s—

NATHAN

A brave fellow, and with whom my Recha
Will not be badly placed.

TEMPLAR

But he’s a Christian.
At times I know not what to make of you—
Take it not ill of me, good Nathan. Will she
Not have to play the Christian among Christians;
And when she has been long enough the actress
Not turn so? Will the tares in time not stifle
The pure wheat of your setting—and does that
Affect you not a whit—you yet declare
She’ll not be badly placed.

NATHAN

I think, I hope so.
And should she there have need of any thing
Has she not you and me?

TEMPLAR

Need at her brother’s—
What should she need when there? Won’t he provide
His dear new sister with all sorts of dresses,
With comfits and with toys and glittering jewels?
And what needs any sister wish for else—
Only a husband? And he comes in time.
A brother will know how to furnish that,
The Christianer the better. Nathan, Nathan,
O what an angel you had formed, and how
Others will mar it now!

NATHAN

Be not so downcast,
Believe me he will ever keep himself
Worthy our love.

TEMPLAR

No, say not that of mine.
My love allows of no refusal—none.
Were it the merest trifle—but a name.
Hold there—has she as yet the least suspicion
Of what is going forward?

NATHAN

That may be,
And yet I know not whence.

TEMPLAR

It matters not,
She shall, she must in either case from me
First learn what fate is threatening. My fixed purpose
To see her not again, nor speak to her,
Till I might call her mine, is gone. I hasten—

NATHAN

Stay, whither would you go?

TEMPLAR

To her, to learn
If this girl’s soul be masculine enough
To form the only resolution worthy
Herself.

NATHAN

What resolution?

TEMPLAR

This—to ask
No more about her brother and her father,
And—

NATHAN

And—

TEMPLAR

To follow me. E’en if she were
So doing to become a Moslem’s wife.

NATHAN

Stay, you’ll not find her—she is now with Sittah,
The Sultan’s sister.

TEMPLAR

How long since, and wherefore?

NATHAN

And would you there behold her brother, come
Thither with me.

TEMPLAR

Her brother, whose then? Sittah’s
Or Recha’s do you mean?

NATHAN

Both, both, perchance.
Come this way—I beseech you, come with me.

[Leads off the Templar with him.

Scene.—The Sultan’s Palace. A Room in Sittah’s Apartment

Sittah and Recha

SITTAH

How I am pleased with thee, sweet girl! But do
Shake off this perturbation, be not anxious,
Be not alarmed, I want to hear thee talk—
Be cheerful.

RECHA

Princess!

SITTAH

No, not princess, child.
Call me thy friend, or Sittah, or thy sister,
Or rather aunt, for I might well be thine;
So young, so good, so prudent, so much knowledge,
You must have read a great deal to be thus.

RECHA

I read—you’re laughing, Sittah, at your sister,
I scarce can read.

SITTAH

Scarce can, you little fibber.

RECHA

My father’s hand or so—I thought you spoke
Of books.

SITTAH

Aye, surely so I did, of books.

RECHA

Well really now it puzzles me to read them.

SITTAH

In earnest?

RECHA

Yes, in earnest, for my father
Hates cold book-learning, which makes an impression
With its dead letters only on the brain.

SITTAH

What say you? Aye, he’s not unright in that.
So then the greater part of what you know—

RECHA

I know but from his mouth—of most of it
I could relate to you, the how, the where,
The why he taught it me.

SITTAH

So it clings closer,
And the whole soul drinks in th’ instruction.

RECHA

Yes,
And Sittah certainly has not read much.

SITTAH

How so? Not that I’m vain of having read;
But what can be thy reason? Speak out boldly,
Thy reason for it.

RECHA

She is so right down,
Unartificial—only like herself
And books do seldom leave us so; my father
Says.

SITTAH

What a man thy father is, my Recha.

RECHA

Is not he?

SITTAH

How he always hits the mark.

RECHA

Does not he? And this father—

SITTAH

Love, what ails thee?

RECHA

This father—

SITTAH

God, thou’rt weeping

RECHA

And this father—
It must have vent, my heart wants room, wants room.

SITTAH

Child, child, what ails you, Recha?

RECHA

And this father
I am to lose.

SITTAH

Thou lose him, O no, never:
Arise, be calm, how so? It must not be.

RECHA

So shall thy offer not have been in vain,
To be my friend, my sister.

SITTAH

Maid, I am.
Rise then, or I must call for help.

RECHA

Forgive,
My agony made me awhile forgetful
With whom I am. Tears, sobbing, and despair,
Can not avail with Sittah. Cool calm reason
Alone is over her omnipotent;
Whose cause that pleads before her, he has conquered.

SITTAH

Well, then!

RECHA

My friend, my sister, suffer not
Another father to be forced upon me.

SITTAH

Another father to be forced upon thee—
Who can do that, or wish to do it, Recha?

RECHA

Who? Why my good, my evil genius, Daya,
She, she can wish it, will it—and can do it.
You do not know this dear good evil Daya.
God, God forgive it her—reward her for it;
So much good she has done me, so much evil.

SITTAH

Evil to thee—much goodness she can’t have.

RECHA

O yes, she has indeed.

SITTAH

Who is she?

RECHA

Who?
A Christian, who took care of all my childhood.
You cannot think how little she allowed me
To miss a mother—God reward her for it—
But then she has so teased, so tortured me.

SITTAH

And about what? Why, how, when?

RECHA

The poor woman,
I tell thee, is a Christian—and she must
From love torment—is one of those enthusiasts
Who think they only know the one true road
To God.

SITTAH

I comprehend thee.

RECHA

And who feel
Themselves in duty bound to point it out
To every one who is not in this path,
To lead, to drag them into it. And indeed
They can’t do otherwise consistently;
For if theirs really be the only road
On which ’tis safe to travel—they cannot
With comfort see their friends upon another
Which leads to ruin, to eternal ruin:
Else were it possible at the same instant
To love and hate the same man. Nor is ’t this
Which forces me to be aloud complainant.
Her groans, her prayers, her warnings, and her threats,
I willingly should have abided longer—
Most willingly—they always called up thoughts
Useful and good; and whom does it not flatter
To be by whomsoever held so dear,
So precious, that they cannot bear the thought
Of parting with us at some time for ever?

SITTAH

Most true.

RECHA

But—but—at last this goes too far;
I’ve nothing to oppose to it, neither patience,
Neither reflection—nothing.

SITTAH

How, to what?

RECHA

To what she has just now, as she will have it,
Discovered to me.

SITTAH

How discovered to thee?

RECHA

Yes, just this instant. Coming hitherward
We past a fallen temple of the Christians—
She all at once stood still, seemed inly struggling,
Turned her moist eyes to heaven, and then on me.
Come, says she finally, let us to the right
Thro’ this old fane—she leads the way, I follow.
My eyes with horror overran the dim
And tottering ruin—all at once she stops
By the sunk steps of a low Moorish altar.—
O how I felt, when there, with streaming tears
And wringing hands, prostrate before my feet
She fell

SITTAH

Good child—

RECHA

And by the holy Virgin,
Who there had hearkened many a prayer, and wrought
Many a wonder, she conjured, intreated,
With looks of heartfelt sympathy and love,
I would at length take pity of myself—
At least forgive, if she must now unfold
What claims her church had on me.

SITTAH

Ah! I guessed it.

RECHA

That I am sprung of Christian blood—baptised—
Not Nathan’s daughter—and he not my father.
God, God, he not my father! Sittah, Sittah,
See me once more low at thy feet.

SITTAH

O Recha,
Not so; arise, my brother’s coming, rise.

Saladin, Sittah, and Recha

SALADIN (entering)

What is the matter, Sittah?

SITTAH

She is swooned—
God—

SALADIN

Who?

SITTAH

You know sure.

SALADIN

What, our Nathan’s daughter?
What ails her?

SITTAH

Child, come to thyself, the sultan.

RECHA

No, I’ll not rise, not rise, not look upon
The Sultan’s countenance—I’ll not admire
The bright reflection of eternal justice
And mercy on his brow, and in his eye,
Before—

SALADIN

Rise, rise.

RECHA

Before he shall have promised—

SALADIN

Come, come, I promise whatsoe’er thy prayer.

RECHA

Nor more nor less than leave my father to me,
And me to him. As yet I cannot tell
What other wants to be my father. Who
Can want it, care I not to inquire. Does blood
Alone then make the father? blood alone?

SALADIN (raising her)

Who was so cruel in thy breast to shed
This wild suspicion? Is it proved, made clear?

RECHA

It must, for Daya had it from my nurse,
Whose dying lips intrusted it to her.

SALADIN

Dying, perhaps delirious; if ’twere true,
Blood only does not make by much the father,
Scarcely the father of a brute, scarce gives
The first right to endeavour at deserving
The name of father. If there be two fathers
At strife for thee, quit both, and take a third,
And take me for thy father.

SITTAH

Do it, do it.

SALADIN

I will be a kind father—but methinks
A better thought occurs, what hast thou need
Of father upon father? They will die,
So that ’tis better to look out by times
For one that starts fair, and stakes life with life
On equal terms. Knowst thou none such?

SITTAH

My brother,
Don’t make her blush.

SALADIN

Why that was half my project.
Blushing so well becomes the ugly, that
The fair it must make charming—I have ordered
Thy father Nathan hither, and another,
Dost guess who ’tis? one other.—Sittah, you
Will not object?

SITTAH

Brother—

SALADIN

And when he comes,
Sweet girl, then blush to crimson.

RECHA

Before whom—
Blush?

SALADIN

Little hypocrite—or else grow pale,
Just as thou willst and canst. Already there?

SITTAH (to a female slave who comes in)

Well, be they ushered in. Brother, ’tis they.

Saladin, Sittah, Recha, Nathan, and Templar

SALADIN

Welcome, my dear good friends. Nathan, to you
I’ve first to mention, you may send and fetch
Your monies when you will.

NATHAN

Sultan—

SALADIN

And now
I’m at your service.

NATHAN

Sultan—

SALADIN

For my treasures
Are all arrived. The caravan is safe.
I’m richer than I’ve been these many years.
Now tell me what you wish for, to achieve
Some splendid speculation—you in trade
Like us, have never too much ready cash.

NATHAN (going towards Recha)

Why first about this trifle?—I behold
An eye in tears, which ’tis far more important
To me to dry. My Recha thou hast wept,
What hast thou lost? Thou art still, I trust, my daughter.

RECHA

My father!

NATHAN

That’s enough, we are understood
By one another; but be calm, be cheerful.
If else thy heart be yet thy own—if else
No threatened loss thy trembling bosom wring
Thy father shall remain to thee.

RECHA

None, none.

TEMPLAR

None, none—then I’m deceived. What we don’t fear
To lose, we never fancied, never wished
Ourselves possessed of. But ’tis well, ’tis well.
Nathan, this changes all—all. Saladin,
At thy command we came, but I misled thee,
Trouble thyself no further.

SALADIN

Always headlong;
Young man, must every will then bow to thine,
Interpret all thy meanings?

TEMPLAR

Thou hast heard,
Sultan, hast seen.

SALADIN

Aye, ’twas a little awkward
Not to be certain of thy cause.

TEMPLAR

I now
Do know my doom,

SALADIN

Pride in an act of service
Revokes the benefit. What thou hast saved
Is therefore not thy own, or else the robber,
Urged by his avarice thro’ fire-crumbling halls,
Were like thyself a hero. Come, sweet maid,

[Advances toward Recha in order to lead her up to the Templar.

Come, stickle not for niceties with him.
Other—he were less warm and proud, and had
Paused, and not saved thee. Balance then the one
Against the other, and put him to the blush,
Do what he should have done—own thou thy love—
Make him thy offer, and if he refuse,
Or o’er forgot how infinitely more
By this thou do for him than he for thee—
What, what in fact has he then done for thee
But make himself a little sooty? That
(Else he has nothing of my Assad in him,
But only wears his mask) that was mere sport,
Come, lovely girl.

SITTAH

Go, go, my love, this step
Is for thy gratitude too short, too trifling.

[They are each taking one of Recha’s hands when Nathan with a solemn gesture of prohibition says,

NATHAN

Hold, Saladin—hold, Sittah.

SALADIN

Ha! thou too?

NATHAN

One other has to speak.

SALADIN

Who denies that?
Unquestionably, Nathan, there belongs
A vote to such a foster-father—and
The first, if you require it. You perceive
I know how all the matter lies.

NATHAN

Not all—
I speak not of myself. There is another,
A very different man, whom, Saladin,
I must first talk with.

SALADIN

Who?

NATHAN

Her brother.

SALADIN

Recha’s?

NATHAN

Yes, her’s.

RECHA

My brother—have I then a brother?

[The templar starts from his silent and sullen inattention.

TEMPLAR

Where is this brother? Not yet here? ’Twas here
I was to find him.

NATHAN

Patience yet a while.

TEMPLAR (very bitterly)

He has imposed a father on the girl,
He’ll find her up a brother.

SALADIN

That was wanting!
Christian, this mean suspicion ne’er had past
The lips of Assad. Go but on—

NATHAN

Forgive him,
I can forgive him readily. Who knows
What in his place, and at his time of life,
We might have thought ourselves? Suspicion, knight,

[Approaching the templar in a friendly manner.

Succeeds soon to mistrust. Had you at first
Favoured me with your real name.

TEMPLAR

How? what?

NATHAN

You are no Stauffen.

TEMPLAR

Who then am I? Speak.

NATHAN

Conrade of Stauffen is no name of yours.

TEMPLAR

What is my name then?

NATHAN

Guy of Filnek.

TEMPLAR

How?

NATHAN

You startle—

TEMPLAR

And with reason. Who says that?

NATHAN

I, who can tell you more. Meanwhile, observe
I do not tax you with a falsehood.

TEMPLAR

No?

NATHAN

May be you with propriety can wear
Yon name as well.

TEMPLAR

I think so too. (God—God
Put that speech on his tongue.)

NATHAN

In fact your mother—
She was a Stauffen: and her brother’s name,
(The uncle to whose care you were resigned,
When by the rigour of the climate chased,
Your parents quitted Germany to seek
This land once more) was Conrade. He perhaps
Adopted you as his own son and heir.
Is it long since you hither travelled with him?
Is he alive yet?

TEMPLAR

So in fact it stands.
What shall I say? Yes, Nathan, ’tis all right:
Tho’ he himself is dead. I came to Syria
With the last reinforcement of our order,
But—but what has all this long tale to do
With Recha’s brother, whom—

NATHAN

Your father—

TEMPLAR

Him,
Him did you know?

NATHAN

He was my friend.

TEMPLAR

Your friend?
And is that possible?

NATHAN

He called himself
Leonard of Filnek, but he was no German.

TEMPLAR

You know that too?

NATHAN

He had espoused a German,
And followed for a time your mother thither.

TEMPLAR

No more I beg of you—But Recha’s brother—

NATHAN

Art thou

TEMPLAR

I, I her brother—

RECHA

He, my brother?

SITTAH

So near akin—

RECHA (offers to clasp him)

My brother!

TEMPLAR (steps back)

Brother to her—

RECHA (turning to Nathan)

It cannot be, his heart knows nothing of it.
We are deceivers, God.

SALADIN (to the templar)

Deceivers, yes;
All is deceit in thee, face, voice, walk, gesture,
Nothing belongs to thee. How, not acknowledge
A sister such as she? Go.

TEMPLAR (modestly approaching him)

Sultan, Sultan
O do not misinterpret my amazement—
Thou never saw’st in such a moment, prince,
Thy Assad’s heart—mistake not him and me.

[Hastening towards Nathan.

O Nathan, you have taken, you have given,
Both with full hands indeed; and now—yes—yes,
You give me more than you have taken from me,
Yes, infinitely more—my sister—sister.

[Embraces Recha.

NATHAN

Blanda of Filnek.

TEMPLAR

Blanda, ha! not Recha,
Your Recha now no longer—you resign her,
Give her her Christian name again, and then
For my sake turn her off. Why Nathan, Nathan,
Why must she suffer for it? she for me?

NATHAN

What mean you? O my children, both my children—
For sure my daughter’s brother is my child,
So soon as he but will it!

[While they embrace Nathan by turns, Saladin draws nigh to Sittah.

SALADIN

What sayst thou
Sittah to this?

SITTAH

I’m deeply moved.

SALADIN

And I
Half tremble at the thought of the emotion
Still greater, still to come. Nathan, a word

[While he converses with Nathan, Sittah goes to express her sympathy to the others.

With thee apart. Wast thou not saying also
That her own father was no German born?
What was he then? Whence was he?

NATHAN

He himself
Never intrusted me with that. From him
I knew it not.

SALADIN

You say he was no Frank?

NATHAN

No, that he owned: he loved to talk the Persian.

SALADIN

The Persian—need I more? ’Tis he—’twas he!

NATHAN

Who?

SALADIN

Assad certainly, my brother Assad.

NATHAN

If thou thyself perceive it, be assured;
Look in this book—

[Gives the breviary.

SALADIN (eagerly looking.)

O ’tis his hand, his hand,
I recollect it well.

NATHAN

They know it not;
It rests with thee what they shall learn of this.

SALADIN (turning over the breviary.)

I not acknowledge my own brother’s children,
Not own my nephew—not my children—I
Leave them to thee? Yes, Sittah, it is they,

[Aloud.

They are my brother’s and thy brother’s children.

[Rushes to embrace them.

SITTAH

What do I hear? Could it be otherwise?

[The like.

SALADIN (to the templar)

Now, proud boy, thou shalt love me, thou must love me,

[To Recha.

And I am, what I offered to become,
With or without thy leave.

SITTAH

I too—I too.

SALADIN (to the templar.)

My son—my Assad—my lost Assad’s son.

TEMPLAR

I of thy blood—then those were more than dreams
With which they used to lull my infancy—
Much more.

[Falls at the Sultan’s feet.

SALADIN (raising him.)

Now mark his malice. Something of it
He knew, yet would have let me butcher him—
Boy, boy!

[During the silent continuance of reciprocal embraces the curtain falls.

Poprzedni 1 ...4 56

Inne książki tego autora

Czytaj

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing

Minna Von Barnhelm