ACT III.
Scene I.--A room in Nathan's house.
Recha, Daja.
RECHA.
Well, Daja, did my father really say
"That I might instantly expect him here?"
That surely meant that he would come at once,
And yet how many minutes have rolled by!
But I'll not dwell upon the moments gone,
I'll only live in those that are to come,
That one which brings him here must come in time.
DAJA.
But for the Sultan's ill-timed messenger
Nathan had brought him hither.
RECHA.
When he comes--
Oh! when this dearest of my inmost hopes
Shall be fulfilled--what then--what then?
DAJA.
What then?
Why then I trust the wish most dear to me
Will also be fulfilled.
RECHA.
And in its place
What wish shall take possession of my breast?
Which now forgets to heave, unless it pant
With some fond wish? Will nothing come? I shudder!
DAJA.
My wish shall then supplant the one fulfilled,
My wish to see you borne to Europe's shores
By hands well worthy of you.
RECHA.
You do err.
The very thought which makes you form this wish
Forbids it to be mine. Your native land
Attracts you, and has mine no charm for me?
Shall a remembrance of your cherished home,
Your absent kindred and your dearest friends,
Which years and distance have not yet effaced,
Rule in your soul with softer, mightier sway
Than what I know, and hear, and feel of mine.
DAJA.
'Tis vain to struggle, for the ways of Heaven
Are still the ways of Heaven. And who can say
If he who saved your life may not be doomed,
Through his God's arm, for whom he nobly fights.
To lead you to that people--to that land
To which you should belong by right of birth?
RECHA.
What are you saying, Daja? dearest Daja!
Indeed you have some strange and curious thoughts.
"His God!" whose God? To whom can God belong,
And how can God belong to any man,
Or need a human arm to fight his battles?
And who, among the scattered clods of earth
Can say for which of them himself was born,
Unless for that on which he was produced?
If Nathan heard thee! How has Nathan sinned,
That Daja seeks to paint my happiness
So far removed from his? What has he done,
That thus amongst the seeds of reason, which
He sowed unmixed and pure within my soul,
The hand of Daja must for ever seek
To plant the weeds, or flowers of her own land?
He has no wish to see upon this soil
Such rank luxuriant blossoms. I myself
Must own I faint beneath the sour--sick odour;
Your head is stronger and is used to it.
I find no fault with those of stronger nerves
Who can support it--mine, alas! give way.
Your angel too, how near befool'd was I
Through him; I blush whene'er I see my father.
DAJA.
As if, dear Recha, you alone were wise.
Folly! If I might speak----
RECHA.
And may you not?
Have I not listened gladly to your tales
About the valiant heroes of your faith?
Have I not freely on their deeds bestowed
My admiration--to their sufferings given
The tribute of my tears? Their faith, 'tis true,
Has never seemed to me their noblest boast,
But, therefore, Daja, I have only learnt
To find more consolation in the thought
That our devotion to the God of all
Depends not on our notions of that God.
My father has so often taught me this--
You have so often to this point agreed,
How can it be that you wish now alone
To undermine what you have built together?
But this is no discourse with which to wait
The friend whom we expect--and yet for me
'Tis of some moment whether he----But hark!
Hark! Some one comes this way.---If it were he!