Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts

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

Nathan, attired, comes out with RechaRECHAYou have been so very slow, my dearest father,You now will hardly be in time to find him.NATHANWell, if not here beneath the palms; yet, surely,Elsewhere.  My child, be satisfied.  See, see,Is not that Daya making towards us?RECHAShe certainly has lost him then.NATHAN   Why so?RECHAElse she’d walk quicker.NATHAN   She may not have seen us.RECHAThere, now she sees us.NATHAN   And her speed redoubles,Be calm, my Recha.RECHA   Would you have your daughterBe cool and unconcerned who ’twas that saved her,Heed not to whom is due the life she prizesChiefly because she owed it first to thee?NATHANI would not wish thee other than thou art,E’en if I knew that in thy secret soulA very different emotion throbs.RECHAWhy—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 speakA plainer language, thou wilt not concealA single of thy wishes from my fondness.RECHAOh the mere possibility of wishingRather to veil and hide them makes me shudder.NATHANLet this be spoken once for all.  Well, Daya—Nathan, Recha, and DayaDAYAHe still is here beneath the palms, and soonWill reach yon wall.  See, there he comes.RECHA      And seemsIrresolute where next; if left or right.DAYAI know he mostly passes to the convent,And therefore comes this path.  What will you lay me?RECHAOh yes he does.  And did you speak to him?How did he seem to-day?DAYA   As heretofore.NATHANDon’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.RECHABut for the hedge—NATHAN   Now he emerges from it.He can’t but see you: hence—I ask it of you.DAYAI know a window whence we yet may—RECHA      Ay.[Goes in with Daya.NATHANI’m almost shy of this strange fellow, almostShrink back from his rough virtue.  That one manShould ever make another man feel awkward!And yet—He’s coming—ha!—by God, the youthLooks like a man.  I love his daring eye,His open gait.  May be the shell is bitter;But not the kernel surely.  I have seenSome such, methinks.  Forgive me, noble Frank.Nathan and TemplarTEMPLARWhat?NATHAN   Give me leave.TEMPLAR      Well, Jew, what wouldst thou have?NATHANThe liberty of speaking to you!TEMPLAR   So—Can I prevent it?  Quick then, what’s your business?NATHANPatience—nor hasten quite so proudly byA man, who has not merited contempt,And whom, for evermore, you’ve made your debtor.TEMPLARHow so?  Perhaps I guess—No—Are you then—NATHANMy name is Nathan, father to the maidYour 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 toldShe was your daughter?  ’Tis a templar’s dutyTo rush to the assistance of the firstPoor wight that needs him; and my life just thenWas quite a burden.  I was mighty gladTo risk it for another; tho’ it wereThat of a Jewess.NATHAN   Noble, and yet shocking!The turn might be expected.  Modest greatnessWears willingly the mask of what is shockingTo 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 captiveI would not ask so freely.  Speak, command,In what can I be useful?TEMPLAR   You—in nothing.NATHANI’m rich.TEMPLAR   To me the richer Jew ne’er seemedThe bettor Jew.NATHAN   Is that a reason whyYou 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 yetAt the last gasp, but tight and strong and good,Save this poor corner, where an ugly spotYou see is singed upon it.  It got singedAs I bore off your daughter from the fire.NATHAN (taking hold of the mantle)’Tis singular that such an ugly spotBears better testimony to the manThan his own mouth.  This brand—Oh I could kiss it!Your pardon—that I meant not.TEMPLAR   What?NATHAN      A tearFell on the spot.TEMPLAR   You’ll find up more such tears—(This Jew methinks begins to work upon me).NATHANWould you send once this mantle to my daughter?TEMPLARWhy?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 nameYou said was Nathan—Nathan, you can joinYour words together cunningly—right well—I am confused—in fact—I would have been—NATHANTwist, 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-attendantAll 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 becauseThe rules and vows enjoin it to the order—I know how good men think—know that all landsProduce good men.TEMPLAR   But not without distinction.NATHANIn colour, dress, and shape, perhaps, distinguished.TEMPLARHere more, there fewer sure?NATHAN      That boots not much,The great man everywhere has need of room.Too many set together only serveTo 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 pretendNot to have started from the common earth.TEMPLARWell 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 ChristianBequeathed, 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 rageTo own the better god—on the whole worldTo 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 speechesAnd leave me.NATHAN   Ah! indeed you do not knowHow 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 whomIt is enough to be a man?TEMPLAR      That hast thou.Nathan, by God, thou hast.  Thy hand.  I blushTo have mistaken thee a single instant.NATHANAnd I am proud of it.  Only common soulsWe seldom err in.TEMPLAR   And uncommon onesSeldom forget.  Yes, Nathan, yes we must,We will be friends.NATHAN   We are so.  And my Recha—She will rejoice.  How sweet the wider prospectThat dawns upon me!  Do but know her—once.TEMPLARI am impatient for it.  Who is thatBursts from your house, methinks it is your Daya.NATHANAy—but so anxiously—TEMPLAR      Sure, to our RechaNothing has happened.Nathan, Templar, and DayaDAYA   Nathan, Nathan.NATHAN      Well.DAYAForgive me, knight, that I must interrupt you.NATHANWhat 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.DAYANo, 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.NATHANI’ll go—return.DAYA   Knight, take it not amiss;But we were so alarmed for what the sultanCould have in view.NATHAN      That I shall soon discover.Nathan and TemplarTEMPLARAnd don’t you know him yet, I mean his person?NATHANWhose, Saladin’s?  Not yet.  I’ve neither shunned,Nor sought to see him.  And the general voiceSpeaks 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—TEMPLARYes: it is so.  The life I live he gave.NATHANAnd in it double treble life to me.This flings a bond about me, which shall tie meFor ever to his service: and I scarcelyLike to defer inquiring for his wishes.For everything I am ready; and am readyTo own that ’tis on your account I am so.TEMPLARAs 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 cameQuickly, and so has vanished.  Now perhapsHe recollects me not, who knows?  Once moreAt least, he must recall me to his mind,Fully to fix my doom.  ’Tis not enoughThat by his order I am yet in being,By his permission live, I have to learnAccording to whose will I must exist.NATHANTherefore I shall the more avoid delay.Perchance some word may furnish me occasionTo glance at you—perchance—Excuse me, knight,I am in haste.  When shall we see you with us?TEMPLARSoon as I may.NATHAN   That is, whene’er you will.TEMPLARTo-day, then.NATHAN   And your name?TEMPLAR      My name was—isConrade of Stauffen.NATHANConrade of Stauffen!  Stauffen!TEMPLARWhy does that strike so forcibly upon you?NATHANThere are more races of that name, no doubt.TEMPLARYes, 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?NATHANNothing—how can I weary to behold you—TEMPLARTherefore I quit you first.  The searching eyeFinds 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, DayaNATHAN“The searching eye will oft discover moreThan it desires,” ’tis as he read my soul.That too may chance to me.  ’Tis not aloneLeonard’s walk, stature, but his very voice.Leonard so wore his head, was even wontJust so to brush his eyebrows with his hand,As if to mask the fire that fills his look.Those deeply graven images at timesHow 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 heartThan to know what the sultan wants with me.DAYAAnd do you take it ill in part of her?You were beginning to converse with himMore confidentially, just as the message,Sent by the sultan, tore us from the window.NATHANGo tell her that she may expect his visitAt every instant.DAYA   What indeed—indeed?NATHANI 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 surelyFind its account in ’t.  Do not mar my plansBut leave them to themselves.  Relate and questionWith 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 youA second time, and by your friend Al-Hafi.Nathan and HafiHAFIHa! art thou here?  I was now seeking for thee.NATHANWhy in such haste?  What wants he then with me?HAFIWho?NATHAN   Saladin.  I’m coming—I am coming.HAFIWhere, to the sultan’s?NATHAN      Was ’t not he who sent thee?HAFIMe?  No.  And has he sent already?NATHAN      Yes.HAFIThen ’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.HAFIThat 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 beSuch 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?NATHANBags?HAFI   Bags of money: bring the weightiest forth:The money thou’rt to lend the sultan, Nathan.NATHANAnd is that all?HAFI   Novice, thou’st yet to learnHow 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 prodigalityFrom prudent bounty’s never-empty coffersBorrows and borrows, till there’s not a purseLeft to keep rats from starving.  Thou mayst fancyThat 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.NATHANWell—HAFI   I went in and found him with his sister,Engaged, or rather rising up from chess.Sittah plays—not amiss.  Upon the boardThe game, that Saladin supposed was lostAnd had given up, yet stood.  When I drew nigh,And had examined it, I soon discoveredIt was not gone by any means.NATHAN      For youA blest discovery, a treasure-trove.HAFIHe only needed to remove his kingBehind the tower t’ have got him out of check.Could I but make you sensible—NATHAN      I’ll trust thee.HAFIThen with the knight still left.—I would have shown himAnd called him to the board.—He must have won;But what d’ye think he did?NATHAN   Dared doubt your insight?HAFIHe would not listen; but with scorn o’erthrewThe standing pieces.NATHAN   Is that possible?HAFIAnd 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 stakeWas not a nut-shell.NATHAN   Money here or thereMatters but little.  Not to listen to thee,And on a point of such importance, Hafi,There lies the rub.  Not even to admireThine eagle eye—thy comprehensive glance—That calls for vengeance:—does it not, Al-Hafi?HAFII only tell it to thee that thou mayst seeHow 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’erWent for myself a begging, go a borrowing,And that for others.  Borrowing’s much the sameAs begging; just as lending upon usuryIs much the same as thieving—decencyMakes 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 worthyTo 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 teaseOf 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—HAFIHe, who considers, looks about for motivesTo forbear daring.  He, who can’t resolveIn 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 themAt 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 beggarIs, after all, the only real monarch.

ACT III

Scene.—A Room in Nathan’s House

Recha and DayaRECHAWhat, Daya, did my father really sayI might expect him, every instant, here?That meant—now did it not? he would come soon.And yet how many instants have rolled by!—But who would think of those that are elapsed?—To the next moment only I’m alive.—At last the very one will come that brings him.DAYABut for the sultan’s ill-timed message, NathanHad brought him in.RECHA   And when this moment comes,And when this warmest inmost of my wishesShall be fulfilled, what then? what then?DAYA      What then?Why then I hope the warmest of my wishesWill have its turn, and happen.RECHA      ’Stead of this,What wish shall take possession of my bosom,Which now without some ruling wish of wishesKnows not to heave?  Shall nothing? ah, I shudder.DAYAYes: mine shall then supplant the one fulfilled—My wish to see thee placed one day in EuropeIn hands well worthy of thee.RECHA      No, thou errest—The very thing that makes thee form this wishPrevents its being mine.  The country draws thee,And shall not mine retain me?  Shall an image,A fond remembrance of thy home, thy kindred,Which years and distance have not yet effaced,Be mightier o’er thy soul, than what I hear,See, feel, and hold, of mine.DAYA      ’Tis vain to struggle—The ways of heaven are the ways of heaven.Is he the destined saviour, by whose armHis God, for whom he fights, intends to lead theeInto the land, which thou wast born for—RECHA         Daya,What art thou prating of?  My dearest Daya,Indeed thou hast some strange unseemly notions.“His God—for whom he fights”—what is a GodBelonging to a man—needing anotherTo fight his battles?  And can we pronounceFor which among the scattered clods of earthYou, I was born; unless it be for thatOn which we were produced.  If Nathan heard thee—What has my father done to thee, that thouHast ever sought to paint my happinessAs lying far remote from him and his.What has he done to thee that thus, amongThe seeds of reason, which he sowed unmixed,Pure in my soul, thou ever must be seekingTo plant the weeds, or flowers, of thy own land.He wills not of these pranking gaudy blossomsUpon this soil.  And I too must acknowledgeI feel as if they had a sour-sweet odour,That makes me giddy—that half suffocates.Thy head is wont to bear it.  I don’t blameThose stronger nerves that can support it.  Mine—Mine it behoves not.  Latterly thy angelHad made me half a fool.  I am ashamed,Whene’er I see my father, of the folly.DAYAAs if here only wisdom were at home—Folly—if I dared speak.RECHA   And dar’st thou not?When was I not all ear, if thou beganstTo talk about the heroes of thy faith?Have I not freely on their deeds bestowedMy admiration, to their sufferings yieldedThe tribute of my tears?  Their faith indeedHas never seemed their most heroic sideTo me: yet, therefore, have I only learntTo find more consolation in the thought,That our devotion to the God of allDepends not on our notions about God.My father has so often told us so—Thou hast so often to this point consented—How can it be that thou alone art restlessTo undermine what you built up together?This is not the most fit discussion, Daya,To usher in our friend to; tho’ indeedI should not disincline to it—for to meIt is of infinite importance ifHe too—but hark—there’s some one at the door.If it were he—stay—hush—(A Slave who shows in the Templar.)      They are—here this way.Templar, Daya, and RechaRECHA(starts—composes herself—then offers to fall at his feet)’Tis he—my saviour! ah!TEMPLAR      This to avoidHave I alone deferred my call so long.RECHAYes, at the feet of this proud man, I willThank—God alone.  The man will have no thanks;No more than will the bucket which was busyIn showering watery damps upon the flame.That was filled, emptied—but to me, to theeWhat boots it?  So the man—he too, he tooWas thrust, he knew not how, and the fire.I dropped, by chance, into his open arm.By chance, remained there—like a fluttering sparkUpon his mantle—till—I know not whatPushed us both from amid the conflagration.What room is here for thanks?  How oft in EuropeWine urges men to very different deeds!Templars must so behave; it is their office,Like better taught or rather handier spaniels,To fetch from out of fire, as out of water.TEMPLAROh Daya, Daya, if, in hasty momentsOf care and of chagrin, my unchecked temperBetrayed me into rudeness, why conveyTo her each idle word that left my tongue?This is too piercing a revenge indeed;Yet if henceforth thou wilt interpret better—DAYAI question if these barbed words, Sir Knight,Alighted so, as to have much disserved you.RECHAHow, you had cares, and were more covetousOf them than of your life?TEMPLAR(who has been viewing her with wonder and perturbation)   Thou best of beings,How is my soul ’twixt eye and ear divided!No: ’twas not she I snatched from amid fire:For who could know her and forbear to do it?—Indeed—disguised by terror—[Pause: during which he gazes on her as it were entranced.RECHA      But to meYou still appear the same you then appeared.[Another like pause—till she resumes, in order to interrupt him.Now tell me, knight, where have you been so long?It seems as might I ask—where are you now?TEMPLARI am—where I perhaps ought not to be.RECHAWhere have you been? where you perhaps ought not—That is not well.TEMPLAR      Up—how d’ye call the mountain?Up Sinai.RECHA   Oh, that’s very fortunate.Now I shall learn for certain if ’tis true—TEMPLARWhat! if the spot may yet be seen where MosesStood before God; when first—RECHA      No, no, not that.Where’er he stood, ’twas before God.  Of thisI know enough already.  Is it true,I wish to learn from you that—that it is notBy far so troublesome to climb this mountainAs to get down—for on all mountains else,That I have seen, quite the reverse obtains.Well, knight, why will you turn away from me?Not look at me?TEMPLAR   Because I wish to hear you.RECHABecause you do not wish me to perceiveYou smile at my simplicity—You smileThat I can think of nothing more importantTo ask about the holy hill of hills:Do you not?TEMPLAR   Must I meet those eyes again?And now you cast them down, and damp the smile—Am I in doubtful motions of the featuresTo read what I so plainly hear—what youSo audibly declare; yet will conceal?—How truly said thy father “Do but know her!”RECHAWho has—of whom—said so to thee?TEMPLAR      Thy fatherSaid to me “Do but know her,” and of thee.DAYAAnd have not I too said so, times and oft.TEMPLARBut where is then your father—with the sultan?RECHASo I suppose.TEMPLAR   Yet there?  Oh, I forget,He cannot be there still.  He is waiting for meMost certainly below there by the cloister.’Twas so, I think, we had agreed, Forgive,I go in quest of him.DAYA      Knight, I’ll do that.Wait here, I’ll bring him hither instantly.TEMPLAROh no—Oh no.  He is expecting me.Besides—you are not aware what may have happened.’Tis not unlikely he may be involvedWith Saladin—you do not know the sultan—In some unpleasant—I must go, there’s dangerIf I forbear.RECHA   Danger—of what? of what?TEMPLARDanger for me, for thee, for him; unlessI go at once.[Goes.Recha and DayaRECHA   What is the matter, Daya?So quick—what comes across him, drives him hence?DAYALet him alone, I think it no bad sign.RECHASign—and of what?DAYA      That something passes in him.It boils—but it must not boil over.  Leave him—Now ’tis your turn.RECHA   My turn?  Thou dost becomeLike him incomprehensible to me.DAYANow you may give him back all that unrestHe once occasioned.  Be not too severe,Nor too vindictive.RECHA      Daya, what you meanYou must know best.DAYA      And pray are you againSo calm.RECHA   I am—yes that I am.DAYA      At leastOwn—that this restlessness has given you pleasure,And that you have to thank his want of easeFor what of ease you now enjoy.RECHA      Of thatI am unconscious.  All I could confessWere, that it does seem strange unto myself,How, in this bosom, such a pleasing calmCan suddenly succeed to such a tossing.DAYAHis countenance, his speech, his manner, hasBy this the satiated thee.RECHA   Satiated,I will not say—not by a good deal yet.DAYABut satisfied the more impatient craving.RECHAWell, well, if you must have it so.DAYA      I? no.RECHATo me he will be ever dear, will everRemain more dear than my own life; altho’My pulse no longer flutters at his name,My heart no longer, when I think about him,Beats stronger, swifter.  What have I been prating?Come, Daya, let us once more to the windowWhich overlooks the palms.DAYA      So that ’tis notYet satisfied—the more impatient craving.RECHANow I shall see the palm-trees once again,Not him alone amid them.DAYA      This cold fitIs but the harbinger of other fevers.RECHACold—cold—I am not cold; but I observe notLess willingly what I behold with calmness.

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

Sittah: Saladin giving directions at the doorSALADINHere, introduce the Jew, whene’er he comes—He seems in no great haste.SITTAH      May be at firstHe was not in the way.SALADIN   Ah, sister, sister!SITTAHYou seem as if a combat were impending.SALADINWith 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 artsMust Saladin descend at last to come atThe least of little things?SITTAH      Each little thingDespised too much finds methods of revenge.SALADIN’Tis but too true.  And if this Jew should proveThe fair good man, as once the dervis painted—SITTAHThen difficulties cease.  A snare concernsThe avaricious, cautious, fearful Jew;And not the good wise man: for he is oursWithout a snare.  Then the delight of hearingHow such a man speaks out; with what stern strengthHe tears the net, or with what prudent foresightHe one by one undoes the tangled meshes;That will be all to boot—SALADIN      That I shall joy in.SITTAHWhat then should trouble thee?  For if he beOne of the many only, a mere Jew,You will not blush to such a one to seemA 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 mustAct badly, lest the bad think badly of me.SITTAHYes, if you call it acting badly, brother,To use a thing after its kind.SALADIN   There’s nothingThat woman’s wit invents it can’t embellish.SITTAHEmbellish—SALADIN   But their fine-wrought filligreeIn my rude hand would break.  It is for thoseThat 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 usIt was their swords, their swords alone that raised them.The lion’s apt to be ashamed of huntingIn fellowship of the fox—’tis of his fellowNot of the cunning that he is ashamed.SALADINYou women would so gladly level manDown to yourselves.  Go, I have got my lesson.SITTAHWhat—must I go?SALADIN      Had you the thought of staying?SITTAHIn 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 NathanSALADINDraw nearer, Jew, yet nearer; here, quite by me,Without all fear.NATHAN   Remain that for thy foes!SALADINYour name is Nathan?NATHAN      Yes.SALADIN      Nathan the wise?NATHANNo.SALADIN   If not thou, the people calls thee so.NATHANMay be, the people.SALADIN      Fancy not that IThink of the people’s voice contemptuously;I have been wishing much to know the manWhom it has named the wise.NATHAN      And if it namedHim so in scorn.  If wise meant only prudent.And prudent, one who knows his interest well.SALADINWho knows his real interest, thou must mean.NATHANThen were the interested the most prudent,Then wise and prudent were the same.SALADIN         I hearYou proving what your speeches contradict.You know man’s real interests, which the peopleKnows not—at least have studied how to know them.That alone makes the sage.NATHAN   Which each imaginesHimself to be.SALADIN   Of modesty enough!Ever to meet it, where one seeks to hearDry truth, is vexing.  Let us to the purpose—But, Jew, sincere and open—NATHAN   I will serve theeSo as to merit, prince, thy further notice.SALADINServe 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 youFor them (so much for the sly listener), IHave nothing to transact now with the merchant.NATHANDoubtless then you would learn, what, on my journey,I noticed of the motions of the foe,Who stirs anew.  If unreserved I may—SALADINNeither 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.SALADINTo 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 threeReligions only one came be the true.A man, like you, remains not just where birthHas 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 hearThe grounds of preference, which I have wantedThe 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 beI’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, desireSome moments of delay—I give them you—(Whether she’s listening?—I must know of herIf I’ve done right.)  Reflect—I’ll soon return—[Saladin steps into the room to which Sittah had retired.NATHANStrange! 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 disusedThat 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 headTo be brought out.—Which now in this transactionWhich 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 snareOught 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 onceInto 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 quietedWith 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.SALADINIs 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.NATHANAye, when ’tis necessary and when useful.SALADINHenceforth I hope I shall with reason bearOne of my titles—“Betterer of the worldAnd of the law.”NATHAN   In truth a noble title.But, sultan, e’er I quite unfold myselfAllow me to relate a tale.SALADIN      Why not?I always was a friend of tales well told.NATHANWell told, that’s not precisely my affair.SALADINAgain so proudly modest, come begin.NATHANIn days of yore, there dwelt in east a manWho from a valued hand received a ringOf endless worth: the stone of it an opal,That shot an ever-changing tint: moreover,It had the hidden virtue him to renderOf God and man beloved, who in this view,And this persuasion, wore it.  Was it strangeThe eastern man ne’er drew it off his finger,And studiously provided to secure itFor ever to his house.  Thus—He bequeathed it;First, to the most beloved of his sons,Ordained that he again should leave the ringTo the most dear among his children—andThat without heeding birth, the favourite son,In virtue of the ring alone, should alwaysRemain the lord o’ th’ house—You hear me, Sultan?SALADINI 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 receivedThe overflowings of his heart) most worthyTo heir the ring, which with good-natured weaknessHe privately to each in turn had promised.This went on for a while.  But death approached,And the good father grew embarrassed.  SoTo disappoint two sons, who trust his promise,He could not bear.  What’s to be done.  He sendsIn secret to a jeweller, of whom,Upon the model of the real ring,He might bespeak two others, and commandedTo 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 eyeCould not distinguish which had been the model.Quite overjoyed he summons all his sons,Takes leave of each apart, on each bestowsHis blessing and his ring, and dies—Thou hearest me?SALADINI 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 ringAppears, 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 distinguishedThan now can—the true faith.SALADIN      How, how, is thatTo be the answer to my query?NATHAN      No,But it may serve as my apology;If I can’t venture to decide betweenRings, which the father got expressly made,That they might not be known from one another.SALADINThe rings—don’t trifle with me; I must thinkThat the religions which I named can beDistinguished, e’en to raiment, drink and food,NATHANAnd only not as to their grounds of proof.Are not all built alike on history,Traditional, or written.  HistoryMust be received on trust—is it not so?In whom now are we likeliest to put trust?In our own people surely, in those menWhose blood we are, in them, who from our childhoodHave given us proofs of love, who ne’er deceived us,Unless ’twere wholesomer to be deceived.How can I less believe in my forefathersThan thou in thine.  How can I ask of theeTo own that thy forefathers falsifiedIn 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.NATHANNow let us to our rings return once more.As said, the sons complained.  Each to the judgeSwore from his father’s hand immediatelyTo 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 himNot have been false, rather than so suspectOf such a father, willing as he might beWith charity to judge his brethren, heOf treacherous forgery was bold t’ accuse them.SALADINWell, and the judge, I’m eager now to hearWhat thou wilt make him say.  Go on, go on.NATHANThe judge said, If ye summon not the fatherBefore my seat, I cannot give a sentence.Am I to guess enigmas?  Or expect yeThat the true ring should here unseal its lips?But hold—you tell me that the real ringEnjoys the hidden power to make the wearerOf God and man beloved; let that decide.Which of you do two brothers love the best?You’re silent.  Do these love-exciting ringsAct inward only, not without?  Does eachLove but himself?  Ye’re all deceived deceivers,None of your rings is true.  The real ringPerhaps is gone.  To hide or to supplyIts loss, your father ordered three for one.SALADINO charming, charming!NATHAN   And (the judge continued)If you will take advice in lieu of sentence,This is my counsel to you, to take upThe matter where it stands.  If each of youHas had a ring presented by his father,Let each believe his own the real ring.’Tis possible the father chose no longerTo tolerate the one ring’s tyranny;And certainly, as he much loved you all,And loved you all alike, it could not please himBy favouring one to be of two the oppressor.Let each feel honoured by this free affection.Unwarped of prejudice; let each endeavourTo vie with both his brothers in displayingThe virtue of his ring; assist its mightWith gentleness, benevolence, forbearance,With inward resignation to the godhead,And if the virtues of the ring continueTo show themselves among your children’s children,After a thousand thousand years, appearBefore this judgment-seat—a greater oneThan I shall sit upon it, and decide.So spake the modest judge.SALADIN   God!NATHAN      Saladin,Feel’st thou thyself this wiser, promised man?SALADINI 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?SALADINNathan, my dearest Nathan, ’tis not yetThe judge’s thousand thousand years are past,His judgment-seat’s not mine.  Go, go, but love me.NATHANHas Saladin then nothing else to order?SALADINNo.NATHAN   Nothing?SALADIN      Nothing in the least, and wherefore?NATHANI could have wished an opportunityTo lay a prayer before you.SALADIN      Is there needOf opportunity for that?  Speak freely.NATHANI come from a long journey from collectingDebts, and I’ve almost of hard cash too much;The times look perilous—I know not whereTo 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 suspicionSpurs thee to make this offer of thyself.NATHANSuspicion—SALADIN   I deserve this offer.  Pardon,For what avails concealment, I acknowledgeI was about—NATHAN   To ask the same of me?SALADINYes.NATHAN   Then ’tis well we’re both accommodated.That I can’t send thee all I have of treasureArises from the templar; thou must know him,I have a weighty debt to pay to him.SALADINA templar!  How, thou dost not with thy goldSupport my direst foes.NATHAN   I speak of himWhose life the sultan—SALADIN   What art thou recalling?I had forgot the youth, whence is he, knowest thou?NATHANHast thou not heard then how thy clemencyTo him has fallen on me.  He at the riskOf his new-spared existence, from the flamesRescued 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 talkedTo 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 riseTo other blessings!  Fetch him.NATHAN      In an instant.The rest remains as settled.SALADIN   O, I wishI had let my sister listen.  Well, I’ll to her.How shall I make her privy to all this?