Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts

SCENE.—The Hall in Nathan’s House, as in the first scene; the things there mentioned unpacked and displayed

Daya and NathanDAYAO how magnificent, how tasty, charming—All such as only you could give—and whereWas this thin silver stuff with sprigs of goldWoven?  What might it cost?  Yes, this is worthyTo be a wedding-garment.  Not a queenCould wish a handsomer.NATHAN   Why wedding-garment?DAYAPerhaps of that you thought not when you bought it;But Nathan, it must be so, must indeed.It seems made for a bride—the pure white ground,Emblem of innocence—the branching gold,Emblem of wealth—Now is not it delightful?NATHANWhat’s all this ingenuity of speech for?Over whose wedding-gown are you displayingYour emblematic learning?  Have you foundA bridegroom?DAYA   I—NATHAN      Who then?DAYA         I—Gracious God!NATHANWho then?  Whose wedding-garment do you speak of?For this is all your own and no one’s else.DAYAMine—is’t for me and not for Recha?NATHAN      WhatI brought for Recha is in another bale.Come, clear it off: away with all your rubbish.DAYAYou tempter—No—Were they the precious thingsOf the whole universe, I will not touch themUntil you promise me to seize uponSuch an occasion as heaven gives not twice.NATHANSeize upon what occasion?  For what end?DAYAThere, do not act so strange.  You must perceiveThe templar loves your Recha—Give her to him;Then will your sin, which I can hide no longer,Be at an end.  The maid will come once moreAmong the Christians, will be once againWhat she was born to, will be what she was;And you, by all the benefits, for whichWe cannot thank you enough, will not have heapedMore coals of fire upon your head.NATHAN      AgainHarping on the old string, new tuned indeed,But so as neither to accord nor hold.DAYAHow so?NATHAN   The templar pleases me indeed,I’d rather he than any one had Recha;But—do have patience.DAYA   Patience—and is thatNot the old string you harp on?NATHAN      Patience, patience,For a few days—no more.  Ha! who comes here?A friar—ask what he wants.DAYA (going)      What can he want?NATHANGive, give before he begs.  O could I tellHow to come at the templar, not betrayingThe motive of my curiosity—For if I tell it, and if my suspicionBe groundless, I have staked the father idly.What is the matter?DAYA (returning)   He must speak to you.NATHANThen let him come to me.  Go you meanwhile.[Daya goes.How gladly would I still remain my Recha’sFather.  And can I not remain so, thoughI cease to wear the name.  To her, to herI still shall wear it, when she once perceives[Friar enters.How willingly I were so.  Pious brother,What can be done to serve you?Nathan and FriarFRIAR      O not much;And yet I do rejoice to see you yetSo well.NATHAN   You know me then—FRIAR      Who knows you not?You have impressed your name in many a hand,And it has been in mine these many years.NATHAN (feeling for his purse)Here, brother, I’ll refresh it.FRIAR      Thank you, thank you—From poorer men I’d steal—but nothing now!Only allow me to refresh my nameIn your remembrance; for I too may boastTo have of old put something in your handNot to be scorned.NATHAN   Excuse me, I’m ashamed,What was it?  Claim it of me sevenfold,I’m ready to atone for my forgetting.FRIARBut before all, hear how this very dayI was reminded of the pledge I brought you.NATHANA pledge to me intrusted?FRIAR      Some time since,I dwelt as hermit on the Quarantana,Not far from Jericho, but Arab robbersCame and broke up my cell and oratory,And dragged me with them.  Fortunately IEscaped, and with the patriarch sought a refuge,To beg of him some other still retreat,Where I may serve my God in solitudeUntil my latter end.NATHAN   I stand on coals—Quick, my good brother, let me know what pledgeYou once intrusted to me.FRIAR      Presently,Good Nathan, presently.  The patriarchHas promised me a hermitage on Thabor,As soon as one is vacant, and meanwhileEmploys me as lay-brother in the convent,And there I am at present: and I pineA hundred times a day for Thabor; forThe patriarch will set me about all work,And some that I can’t brook—as for example—NATHANBe speedy, I beseech you.FRIAR   Now it happensThat some one whispered in his ear to-day,There lives hard by a Jew, who educatesA Christian child as his own daughter.NATHAN (startled)      HowFRIARHear me quite out.  So he commissions me,If possible to track him out this Jew:And stormed most bitterly at the misdeed;Which seems to him to be the very sinAgainst the Holy Ghost—That is, the sinOf all most unforgiven, most enormous;But luckily we cannot tell exactlyWhat it consists in—All at once my conscienceWas roused, and it occurred to me that IPerhaps had given occasion to this sin.Now do not you remember a knight’s squire,Who eighteen years ago gave to your handsA female child a few weeks old?NATHAN      How that?In fact such was—FRIAR   Now look with heed at me,And recollect.  I was the man on horsebackWho brought the child.NATHAN   Was you?FRIAR      And he from whomI brought it was methinks a lord of Filnek—Leonard of Filnek.NATHAN   Right!FRIAR      Because the mother.Died a short time before; and he, the father,Had on a sudden to make off to Gazza,Where the poor helpless thing could not go with him;Therefore he sent it you—that was my message.Did not I find you out at Darun? thereConsign it to you?NATHAN   Yes.FRIAR      It were no wonderMy memory deceived me.  I have hadMany a worthy master, and this oneI served not long.  He fell at Askalon—But he was a kind lord.NATHAN   O yes, indeed;For much have I to thank him, very much—He more than once preserved me from the sword.FRIARO brave—you therefore will with double pleasureHave taken up this daughter.NATHAN      You have said it.FRIARWhere is she then?  She is not dead, I hope—I would not have her dead, dear pretty creature.If no one else know anything about itAll is yet safe.NATHAN   Aye all!FRIAR      Yes, trust me, Nathan,This is my way of thinking—if the goodThat I propose to do is somehow twinedWith mischief, then I let the good alone;For we know pretty well what mischief is,But not what’s for the best.  ’Twas naturalIf you meant to bring up the Christian childRight well, that you should rear it as your own;And to have done this lovingly and truly,For such a recompense—were horrible.It might have been more prudent to have had itBrought up at second hand by some good ChristianIn her own faith.  But your friend’s orphan childYou would not then have loved.  Children need love,Were it the mute affection of a brute,More at that age than Christianity.There’s always time enough for that—and ifThe maid have but grown up before your eyesWith a sound frame and pious—she remainsStill in her maker’s eye the same.  For is notChristianity all built on Judaism?Oh, it has often vexed me, cost me tears,That Christians will forget so often thatOur Saviour was a Jew.NATHAN   You, my good brother,Shall be my advocate, when bigot hateAnd hard hypocrisy shall rise upon me—And for a deed—a deed—thou, thou shalt know it—But take it with thee to the tomb.  As yetHas vanity ne’er tempted me to tell itTo living soul—only to thee I tell it,To simple piety alone; for itAlone can feel what deeds the man who trustsIn God can gain upon himself.FRIAR      You seemAffected, and your eye-balls swim in water.NATHAN’Twas at Darun you met me with the child;But you will not have known that a few daysBefore, the Christians murdered every Jew in Gath,Woman and child; that among these, my wifeWith seven hopeful sons were found, who allBeneath my brother’s roof which they had fled to,Were burnt alive.FRIAR   Just God!NATHAN      And when you came,Three nights had I in dust and ashes lainBefore my God and wept—aye, and at timesArraigned my maker, raged, and cursed myselfAnd the whole world, and to ChristianitySwore unrelenting hate.FRIAR   Ah, I believe you.NATHANBut by degrees returning reason came,She spake with gentle voice—And yet God is,And this was his decree—now exerciseWhat thou hast long imagined, and what surelyIs not more difficult to exerciseThan to imagine—if thou will it once.I rose and called out—God, I will—I will,So thou but aid my purpose—And beholdYou was just then dismounted, and presentedTo me the child wrapt in your mantle.  WhatYou said, or I, occurs not to me now—Thus much I recollect—I took the child,I bore it to my couch, I kissed it, flungMyself upon my knees and sobbed—my God,Now have I one out of the seven again!FRIARNathan, you are a Christian!  Yes, by GodYou are a Christian—never was a better.NATHANHeaven bless us!  What makes me to you a ChristianMakes you to me a Jew.  But let us ceaseTo melt each other—time is nigh to act,And though a sevenfold love had bound me soonTo this strange only girl, though the mere thought,That I shall lose in her my seven sonsA second time distracts me—yet I will,If providence require her at my hands,Obey.FRIAR   The very thing I should advise you;But your good genius has forestalled my thought.NATHANThe first best claimant must not seek to tearHer from me.FRIAR   No most surely not.NATHAN      And he,That has not stronger claims than I, at leastOught to have earlier.FRIAR   Certainly.NATHAN      By natureAnd blood conferred.FRIAR   I mean so too.NATHAN      Then nameThe man allied to her as brother, uncle,Or otherwise akin, and I from himWill not withhold her—she who was createdAnd was brought up to be of any house,Of any faith, the glory—I, I hope,That of your master and his race you knewMore than myself.FRIAR   I hardly think that, Nathan;For I already told you that I passedA short time with him.NATHAN      Can you tell at leastThe mother’s family name?  She was, I think,A Stauffen.FRIAR   May be—yes, in fact, you’re right.NATHANConrade of Stauffen was her brother’s name—He was a templar.FRIAR      I am clear it was.But stay, I recollect I’ve yet a book,’Twas my dead lord’s—I drew it from his bosom,While we were burying him at Askalon.NATHANWell!FRIAR   There are prayers in’t, ’tis what we callA breviary.  This, thought I, may yet serveSome Christian man—not me indeed, for ICan’t read.NATHAN   No matter, to the thing.FRIARThis book is written at both ends quite full,And, as I’m told, contains, in his hand-writingAbout both him and her what’s most material.NATHANGo, run and fetch the book—’tis fortunate;I am ready with its weight in gold to pay it,And thousand thanks beside—Go, run.FRIAR      Most gladly;But ’tis in Arabic what he has written.[Goes.NATHANNo matter—that’s all one—do fetch it—Oh!If by its means I may retain the daughter,And purchase with it such a son-in-law;But that’s unlikely—well, chance as it may.Who now can have been with the patriarchTo tell this tale?  That I must not forgetTo ask about.  If ’t were of Daya’s?Nathan and DayaDAYA (anxiously breaks in)         Nathan!NATHANWell!DAYA   Only think, she was quite frightened at it,Poor child, a message—NATHAN   From the patriarch?DAYA      No—The sultan’s sister, princess Sittah, sends.NATHANAnd not the patriarch?DAYA   Can’t you hear?  The princessHas sent to see your Recha.NATHAN   Sent for RechaHas Sittah sent for Recha?  Well, if Sittah,And not the patriarch, sends.DAYA      Why think of him?NATHANHave you heard nothing from him lately—reallySeen nothing of him—whispered nothing to him?DAYAHow, I to him?NATHAN   Where are the messengers?DAYAThere, just before you.NATHAN   I will talk with themOut of precaution.  If there’s nothing lurkingBeneath this message of the patriarch’s doing—[Goes.DAYAAnd I—I’ve other fears.  The only daughter,As they suppose, of such a rich, rich Jew,Would for a Mussulman be no bad thing;I bet the templar will be choused, unlessI risk the second step, and to herselfDiscover who she is.  Let me for thisEmploy the first short moments we’re alone;And that will be—oh, as I am going with her.A serious hint upon the road I thinkCan’t be amiss—yes, now or never—yes.

ACT V

Scene.—A Room in the Palace; the Purses still in a pile

Saladin, and, soon after, several Mamalukes.

Saladin (as he comes in)Here lies the money still, and no one findsThe dervis yet—he’s probably got somewhereOver a chess-board.  Play would often makeThe man forget himself, and why not, me.Patience—Ha! what’s the matter.Saladin and IbrahimIBRAHIM      Happy news—Joy, sultan, joy, the caravan from CairoIs safe arrived and brings the seven years’ tributeOf the rich Nile.SALADIN   Bravo, my Ibrahim,Thou always wast a welcome messenger,And now at length—at length—accept my thanksFor the good tidings.IBRAHIM (waiting)   Hither with them, sultan.SALADINWhat art thou waiting for?  Go.IBRAHIM      Nothing furtherFor my glad news?SALADIN   What further?IBRAHIM      Errand boysEarn hire—and when their message smiles i’ the telling,The sender’s hire by the receiver’s bountyIs oft outweighed.  Am I to be the firstWhom Saladin at length has learnt to payIn words?  The first about whose recompenseThe sultan higgled?SALADIN   Go, pick up a purse.IBRAHIMNo, not now—you might give them all awaySALADINAll—hold, man.  Here, come hither, take these two—And is he really going—shall he conquerMe then in generosity? for surely’Tis harder for this fellow to refuseThan ’tis for me to give.  Here, Ibrahim—Shall I be tempted, just before my exit,To be a different man—small SaladinNot die like Saladin, then wherefore live so?Abdallah and SaladinABDALLAHHail, Sultan!SALADIN   If thou comest to inform meThat the whole convoy is arrived from Egypt,I know it already.ABDALLAH   Do I come too late?SALADINToo late, and why too late?  There for thy tidingsPick up a purse or two.ABDALLAH      Does that make three?SALADINSo thou wouldst reckon—well, well, take them, take them.ABDALLAHA third will yet be here if he be able.SALADINHow so?ABDALLAH   He may perhaps have broke his neck.We three, as soon as certain of the comingOf the rich caravan, each crossed our horses,And galloped hitherward.  The foremost fell,Then I was foremost, and continued soInto the city, but sly Ibrahim,Who knows the streets—SALADIN      But he that fell, go, seek him.ABDALLAHThat will I quickly—if he lives, the halfOf 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 imagineThat my example helped to form them.  HenceWith the vile thought at last to turn another. A third CourierSultan—SALADIN   Was’t thou who fell?COURIER      No, I’ve to tell theeThat 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 EmirEMIR (after the wont obeisance)      This letterWill show, that, in Thebais, discontentsRequired 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 lodgeWith my old father.EMIR   O, most willingly.SALADINAnd take not a slight escort.  LibanonIs 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 froTEMPLARInto this house I go not—sure at lastHe’ll show himself—once, once they used to see meSo instantly, so gladly—time will comeWhen he’ll send out most civilly to beg meNot 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 nothingAs yet.  And Saladin has undertakenTo bring him round.  And does the Christian nestleDeeper in me than the Jew lurks in him?Who, who can justly estimate himself?How comes it else that I should grudge him soThe little booty that he took such painsTo rob the Christians of?  A theft, no lessThan such a creature tho’—but whose, whose creature?Sure not the slave’s who floated the mere blockOn to life’s barren strand, and then ran off;But his the artist’s, whose fine fancy mouldedUpon 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 ITo 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 smileShrinks to a pretty twisting of the muscles—Be that, which makes her smile, supposed unworthyOf all the charms in ambush on her lips?No, not her very smile—I’ve seen sweet smilesSpent on conceit, on foppery, on slander,On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent,And did they charm me then? then wake the wishTo flutter out a life beneath their sunshine?Indeed not—Yet I’m angry with the manWho alone gave this higher value to her.How this, and why?  Do I deserve the tauntWith which I was dismissed by Saladin?’Tis bad enough that Saladin should think so;How little, how contemptible must IThen have appeared to him—all for a girl.Conrade, this will not do—back, back—And ifDaya to boot had prated matter to meNot 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 broodedOut of thy cross-grained head, that thus one sparkOf that same passion, love, can set so muchO’ th’ brain in flame?  Quick, then, determine, wretch,What shalt thou say or do?  Step back a momentAnd see if this good friar will please to quit him.Nathan and the Friar come together out of Nathan’s houseNATHANOnce more, good brother, thanks.FRIAR      The like to you.NATHANTo me, and why; because I’m obstinate—Would force upon you what you have no use for?FRIARThe book besides was none of mine.  IndeedIt 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 reasonTo sorrow for the much you’ve done for her.NATHANHow should I? that can never be; fear nothing.FRIARPatriarchs and templars—NATHAN   Have not in their powerEvil enough to make me e’er repent.And then—But are you really well assuredIt is a templar who eggs on your patriarch?FRIARIt scarcely can be other, for a templarTalked with him just before, and what I heardAgreed with this.NATHAN   But there is only oneNow in Jerusalem; and him I know;He is my friend, a noble open youth.FRIARThe same.  But what one is at heart, and whatOne gets to be in active life, mayn’t alwaysSquare well together.NATHAN   No, alas, they do not.Therefore unangered I let others doTheir best or worst.  O brother, with your bookI set all at defiance, and am goingStraight 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-dayThe patriarch make out nothing—but no matter,Tell him it all to-day, or when you will.FRIARNot I—farewell!NATHAN   Do not forget us, brotherMy God, why may I not beneath thy skyHere 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 remainingThat I need hide—now that I can as freelyWalk before man as before thee, who onlyNeed’st not to judge a creature by his deeds—Deeds which so seldom are his own—O God!Nathan and TemplarTEMPLAR (coming forward)Hoa, Nathan, take me with you.NATHAN      Ha!  Who calls?Is it you, knight?  And whither have you beenThat you could not be met with at the Sultan’s?TEMPLARWe missed each other—take it not amiss.NATHANI, no, but Saladin.TEMPLAR   You was just gone.NATHANO, then you spoke with him; I’m satisfied.TEMPLARYes—but he wants to talk with us together.NATHANSo much the better.  Come with me, my stepWas eitherwise bent thither.TEMPLAR   May I ask,Nathan, who ’twas now left you?NATHAN      Did you know him?TEMPLARWas’t that good-hearted creature the lay-brother,Whom the hoar patriarch has a knack of usingTo feel his way out?NATHAN   That may be.  In factHe’s at the patriarch’s.TEMPLAR   ’Tis no awkward hitTo make simplicity the harbingerOf craft.NATHAN   If the simplicity of dunces,But if of honest piety?TEMPLAR      This lastNo patriarch can believe in.NATHANI’ll be bound for’tThis last belongs to him who quitted me.He’ll not assist his patriarch to accomplishA vile or cruel purpose.TEMPLAR   Such, at least,He would appear—but has he told you thenSomething of me?NATHAN   Of you?  No—not by name,He can’t well be acquainted with your name.TEMPLARNo, that not.NATHAN   He indeed spoke of a templar,Who—TEMPLAR   What?NATHAN      But by this templar could not meanTo point out you.TEMPLAR   Stay, stay, who knows?  Let’s hear.NATHANWho has accused me to his patriarch.TEMPLARAccused thee, no, that by his leave is false.Nathan do hear me—I am not the manWho would deny a single of his actions;What I have done, I did.  Nor am I oneWho would defend all he has done as right—Why be ashamed of failing?  Am I notFirmly resolved on better future conduct?And am I not aware how much the manThat’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 nighTo fling myself with soul and body wholeInto 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 careTo put me off; and with what questioningAbout my parentage, and God knows what,You seemed to answer me—I must not think on’tIf I would keep my temper—Hear me, Nathan—While in this ferment—Daya steps behind me,Bolts out a secret in my ear, which seemedAt once to lend a clue to your behaviour.NATHANHow so?TEMPLAR   Do hear me to the end.  I fanciedThat what you from the Christians had purloinedYou 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 knowWhat 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      IfSuch be the light in which you view—TEMPLAR      In shortI to the patriarch went.  I named you not.That, as I said, was false.  I only statedIn general terms, the case, to learn his notion,That too might have been let alone—assuredly.For knew I not the patriarch then to beA 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 everRestored 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 herInto 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 rashEnough 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 neverIn my whole life ask of thee which she is,Be’t as it may.NATHAN   You may perhaps imagineThat I’ve an interest to conceal the truth.TEMPLARBe’t as it may.NATHAN   I neither have to youNor any one, whom it behooved to know it,Denied that she’s a Christian, and no moreThan my adopted daughter.  Why, to herI have not yet betrayed it—I am boundTo justify only to her.TEMPLAR      Of thatShall be no need.  Indulge, indulge her withNever beholding you with other eyes—Spare, spare her the discovery.  As yetYou 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 herA second time, and will.NATHAN   Yes, could have saved her.But ’tis all over now—it is too late.TEMPLARHow so, too late.NATHAN   Thanks to the patriarch.TEMPLAR      HowThanks to the patriarch, and for what?  Can heEarn thanks of us.  For what?NATHAN   That now we knowTo whom she is related—to whose handsShe may with confidence be now delivered.TEMPLARHe thank him who has more to thank him for.NATHANFrom theirs you now have to obtain her, notFrom mine.TEMPLAR   Poor Recha—what befalls thee?  Oh,Poor Recha—what had been to other orphansA 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 outTo 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 believeHe’s neither of the two—or both.  Just nowI cannot say exactly.TEMPLAR   And besidesHe’s—NATHAN   A brave fellow, and with whom my RechaWill 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 sheNot have to play the Christian among Christians;And when she has been long enough the actressNot turn so?  Will the tares in time not stifleThe pure wheat of your setting—and does thatAffect you not a whit—you yet declareShe’ll not be badly placed.NATHAN   I think, I hope so.And should she there have need of any thingHas she not you and me?TEMPLAR      Need at her brother’s—What should she need when there?  Won’t he provideHis 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 howOthers will mar it now!NATHAN      Be not so downcast,Believe me he will ever keep himselfWorthy 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 suspicionOf 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 meFirst learn what fate is threatening.  My fixed purposeTo see her not again, nor speak to her,Till I might call her mine, is gone.  I hasten—NATHANStay, whither would you go?TEMPLAR      To her, to learnIf this girl’s soul be masculine enoughTo form the only resolution worthyHerself.NATHAN   What resolution?TEMPLAR      This—to askNo more about her brother and her father,And—NATHAN   And—TEMPLAR      To follow me.  E’en if she wereSo doing to become a Moslem’s wife.NATHANStay, you’ll not find her—she is now with Sittah,The Sultan’s sister.TEMPLAR   How long since, and wherefore?NATHANAnd would you there behold her brother, comeThither with me.TEMPLAR   Her brother, whose then?  Sittah’sOr Recha’s do you mean?NATHANBoth, both, perchance.Come this way—I beseech you, come with me.[Leads off the Templar with him.