Scene V.
Nathan and the Templar.
(The latter advancing towards him from the side.)
TEMPLAR.
Hold, Nathan, hold! Take me along with you.
NATHAN.
Who calls? You, Templar! Where can you have been
That you could not be met with at the Sultan's?
TEMPLAR.
We missed each other; do not be displeased.
NATHAN.
Not I, but Saladin.
TEMPLAR.
You had just gone.
NATHAN.
Oh, 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; I go
Direct to him.
TEMPLAR.
Say, Nathan, may I ask
Who left you even now?
NATHAN.
What! don't you know?
TEMPLAR.
Was it that worthy fellow, the good friar,
Whom the old Patriarch employs at will
To work his ends?
NATHAN.
The same--the very same.
TEMPLAR.
'Tis a prime hit to make simplicity
The workman of deceit.
NATHAN.
Yes, if he use
The fool, and not the pious man.
TEMPLAR.
This last
The Patriarch ne'er trusts.
NATHAN.
Depend on this,
That man will not assist the Patriarch
To a wicked end.
TEMPLAR.
Well, so I think myself.
But has he told you aught of me?
NATHAN.
Of you?
He scarcely knows your name.
TEMPLAR.
That's like enough.
NATHAN.
He spoke to me about a Templar, who----
TEMPLAR.
Who what?
NATHAN.
But then he never mentioned you.
TEMPLAR.
Who knows? Come tell me, Nathan, all he said.
NATHAN.
Who has accused me to the Patriarch?
TEMPLAR.
Accused you! With his leave, that is untrue.
No! Hear me, Nathan! I am not the man
E'er to deny my actions. What I've done
I've done--and there's an end. Nor am I one
Who would maintain that all I've done is right.
But should one fault condemn me? Am I not
Resolved on better deeds for time to come?
And who is ignorant how much the man
Who wills it may improve? Then hear me, Nathan:
I am the Templar talked of by the Friar,
Who has accused--you know what maddened me,
What set my blood on fire within my veins--
Fool that I was! I had almost resolved
To fling myself both soul and body, straight
Into your arms. But how was I received?
How did you meet me, Nathan? Cold--or worse.
Lukewarm--far worse than cold. With cautious words,
Well weighed and measured, Nathan, you took care
To put me off, and with calm questions, asked
About my parentage, and God knows what,
You sought to meet my suit. I cannot now
Dwell on it and be patient. Hear me further.
While in this ferment, Daja suddenly
Drew near to me and whispered in my ear
A secret which cleared up the mystery.
NATHAN.
What was it?
TEMPLAR.
Hear me to the end. I thought
The treasure you had from the Christians stolen,
You would not promptly to a Christian yield;
And so the project struck me, with good speed,
To bring you to extremities.
NATHAN.
Good speed?
Good, good? pray where's the good!
TEMPLAR.
But hear me out.
I own my error; you are free from guilt;
That prating Daja knows not what she says.
She's hostile to you, and she seeks to twine
A dangerous snare around you. Be it so.
I'm but a crazed enthusiast, doubly mad,
Aiming at far too much, or much too little.
That may be also true. Forgive me, Nathan.
NATHAN.
If you conceive thus of me----
TEMPLAR.
Well, in short.
I saw the Patriarch--but named you not.
'Twas false to say so, for I only told
The case in general terms, to sound his mind.
And that I also might have left undone,
For knew I not the Patriarch to be
An arrant, subtle knave? And might I not
As well have told you all the case at first?
Or was it right in me to risk the loss
Of such a father to the hapless maid?
But what has happened now? The Patriarch,
Ever consistent in his villainy,
Has all at once restored me to myself.
For hear me, Nathan, hear me! Were he now
To learn your name, what more could then occur?
He cannot seize the maid, if she belong
To some one else, and not to you alone.
'Tis from your house alone she can be dragged
Into a convent: grant her, then, I pray,
Grant her to me! Then come the Patriarch!
He'll hardly dare to take my wife from me.
Oh! give her to me. Be she yours or not--
Your daughter--Christian--Jewess--'tis all one--
Or be she nothing--I will ne'er inquire,
Or in my lifetime ask you what she is,
'Tis all alike to me.
NATHAN.
Do you then think
That to conceal the truth I am compelled?
TEMPLAR.
No matter.
NATHAN.
I have ne'er denied the truth
To you, or any one whom it concerned
To know the fact, that she's of Christian birth,
And that the maid is my adopted child.
Why I have not informed her of the truth,
I need explain to none but to herself.
TEMPLAR.
Nathan; no need of that, it were not well
That she should see you in a different light;
Then spare her the discovery. As yet
She's yours alone--no other's--to bestow.
Then grant her to me, Nathan, I implore--
Grant her to me: I only, I alone,
Can rescue her a second time--and will.
NATHAN.
Yes, you could once have saved her, but alas!
'Tis now too late.
TEMPLAR.
Too late! ah! say not so.
NATHAN.
Thanks to the Patriarch.
TEMPLAR.
Why, thanks to him?
Why should we thank the Patriarch! For what?
NATHAN.
That now we know her relatives, and know
Into whose hands Recha may be restored.
TEMPLAR.
Let him give thanks who shall have better cause
To thank him.
NATHAN.
But you must receive her now
From other hands than mine.
TEMPLAR.
Alas, poor maid!
O hapless Recha! what has chanced to thee,
That what to other orphans had appeared
A real blessing, is to thee a curse!
But, Nathan, where are these new relatives?
NATHAN.
Where are they?
TEMPLAR.
Ay, both where and who are they?
NATHAN.
Her brother is discovered, and to him
You must address yourself.
TEMPLAR.
Her brother! Ha!
And what is he--a soldier or a priest?
Tell me at once what I've to hope from him.
NATHAN.
I hear he's neither--or he's both. As yet
I do not know him thoroughly.
TEMPLAR.
What more?
NATHAN.
He is a gallant fellow, and with him
Recha may be content.
TEMPLAR.
But he's a Christian.
At times I know not what to make of you.
Take it not ill, good Nathan, that I ask,
Must she not henceforth play the Christian,
Associate with Christians, and at last
Become the character she long has played?
Will not the tares at length grow up and choke
The pure wheat you have sown? And does not that
Affect you? Yet you say she'll be content
When with her brother.
NATHAN.
As I think and hope.
For should she e'er have need of anything,
Has she not you and me?
TEMPLAR.
What can she need
When with her brother. Gladly he'll provide
His dear new sister with a thousand robes,
With dainties, and with toys and finery.
And what could any sister wish for more--
Unless, perhaps, a husband? And him too,
Him too the brother, in due time, will find;
And the more Christian he, the better!--Nathan,
How sad to think the angel you have formed,
Should now be marred by others!
NATHAN.
Be assured
He'll always prove deserving of our love.
TEMPLAR.
Nay speak not so; of my love, speak not so,
For it can brook no loss, however small,
Not e'en a name. But, hold! Has she as yet
Any suspicion of these late events?
NATHAN.
'Tis possible, and yet I know not how.
TEMPLAR.
It matters not; she must, in either case,
First learn from me what fate is threat'ning her.
My purpose not to speak with her again,
And ne'er to see her more, till I should call
Your Recha mine, is gone. I take my leave.
NATHAN.
Nay, whither would you go?
TEMPLAR.
At once to her,
To learn if she be bold enough at heart,
To fix upon the only course that now
Is worthy of her.
NATHAN.
Name it.
TEMPLAR.
It is this:
That henceforth she should never care to know
Aught of her brother or of you.
NATHAN.
What more?
TEMPLAR.
To follow me--even if it were her fate
To wed a Mussulman.
NATHAN.
Stay, Templar, stay!
You will not find her. She's with Sittah now,
The Sultan's sister.
TEMPLAR.
Wherefore, and since when?
NATHAN.
If you desire to see her brother, come,
Follow me straight.
TEMPLAR.
Her brother, say you? Whose?
Recha's, or Sittah's?
NATHAN.
Both--ay, both, perhaps.
But come this way, I pray you. Come with me.
(Nathan leads the Templar away.)
Scene VI.--Sittah's harem.
Sittah and Recha engaged in conversation.
SITTAH.
How I am pleased with you, sweet girl. But, come,
Shake off these fears, and be no more alarmed,
Be happy, cheerful. Let me hear you talk.
RECHA.
Princess!
SITTAH.
Nay, child, not princess! Call me friend,
Or Sittah--or your sister--or dear mother,
For I might well be so to you--so good,
So prudent, and so young! How much you know,
How much you must have read!
RECHA.
Read, Sittah! now
You're mocking me, for I can scarcely read.
SITTAH.
Scarce read, you young deceiver!
RECHA.
Yes, perhaps
My father's hand; I thought you spoke of books.
SITTAH.
And so I did--of books.
RECHA.
They puzzle me
To read.
SITTAH.
Indeed!
RECHA.
I speak, in veriest truth.
My father hates book-learning, which he says,
Makes an impression only on the brain
With lifeless letters.
SITTAH.
Well, he's right in that.
And so the greater part of what you know----
RECHA.
I've learnt from his own mouth, and I can tell
The when, the where, and why he taught it me.
SITTAH.
So it clings closer, and the soul drinks in
The full instruction.
RECHA.
Yes, and Sittah, too,
Has not read much.
SITTAH.
How so? I am not vain
Of having read, and yet why say you so?
Speak boldly. Tell the reason.
RECHA.
She's so plain--
So free from artifice--so like herself.
SITTAH.
Well!
RECHA.
And my father says 'tis rarely books
Work that effect.
SITTAH.
Oh, what a man he is,
Dear Recha!
RECHA.
Is he not?
SITTAH.
He never fails
To hit the mark.
RECHA.
Yes, yes; and yet this father----
SITTAH.
What ails you, love?
RECHA.
This father----
SITTAH.
Oh my God!
You're weeping.
RECHA.
And this father--it must forth--
My heart wants room, wants room----
(Throws herself in tears at Sittah's feet.)
SITTAH.
What ails you, Recha?
RECHA.
Yes, I must lose this father!
SITTAH.
Lose him--never!
Why so? Be calm. Courage! it must not be.
RECHA.
Your offer to be friend and sister to me
Will now not be in vain.
SITTAH.
Yes, I am both.
Arise, arise, or I must call for help.
RECHA.
O pardon! I forget, through agony,
With whom I speak. Tears, sobbing, and despair
Are naught with Sittah. Reason, calm and cool,
Is over her alone omnipotent.
No other argument avails with her.
SITTAH.
Well, then?
RECHA.
My friend and sister, suffer not
Another father to be forced on me.
SITTAH.
Another father to be forced on you!
Who can do that, or wish to do it, love?
RECHA.
Who but my good, my evil genius, Daja?
She can both wish it and perform the deed.
You do not know this good, this evil Daja.
May God forgive her, and reward her, too,
For she has done me good and evil, both.
SITTAH.
Evil? Then she has little goodness left.
RECHA.
Oh, she has much.
SITTAH.
Who is she?
RECHA.
Who? a Christian,
Who cared for me in childhood's early years.
You cannot know how little she allowed
That I should miss a mother's tender cares--
May God reward her for it!--but she has
Worried and tortured me.
SITTAH.
Wherefore, and how?
RECHA.
Poor woman, she's a Christian, and from love
Has tortured me: a warm enthusiast,
Who thinks she only knows the real road
That leads to God.
SITTAH.
I understand you now.
RECHA.
And one of those who feel in duty bound
To point it out to every one who strays
From the plain path, to lead, to drag them in.
And who can censure them? for if the road
They travel is the only one that's safe,
They cannot, without pain, behold their friends
Pursue a path that lead to endless woe,
Else, at the self-same time, 'twere possible
To love and hate another. Nor does this
Alone compel me to complain aloud.
Her groans, her prayers, her warnings, and her threats
I could have borne much longer willingly.
They always called up good and wholesome thoughts.
Who is not flattered to be held so dear,
And precious by another, that the thought
Of parting pierces him with lasting pain?
SITTAH.
This is most true.
RECHA.
And yet this goes too far,
And I have nothing to oppose to it--
Patience, reflection, nothing.
SITTAH.
How? to what?
RECHA.
To what she has disclosed to me.
SITTAH.
Say, when?
RECHA.
'Tis scarce an instant. Coming hither
We passed a Christian temple on our way;
She all at once stood still, seemed inly moved,
Raised her moist eyes to heaven, then looked on me.
"Come," she exclaimed at length, "come straight on here,
Through this old fane." She leads, I follow her.
My eyes with horror overrun the dim
And tottering ruin: all at once she stops
By a low ruined altar's sunken steps.
O, how I felt, when there, with streaming eyes
And wringing hands, down at my feet she fell!
SITTAH.
Good child!
RECHA.
And, by the Holy Virgin, who had heard
So many suppliants' prayers, and had performed
Full many a wonder there, she begged, implored
With looks of heart-felt sympathy and love,
That I would now take pity on myself,
And pardon her for daring to unfold
The nature of the Church's claims on me.
SITTAH.
I guessed as much.
RECHA.
I'm born of Christian blood,
Have been baptised, and am not Nathan's child!
Nathan is not my father! God, O God!
He's not my father, Sittah! Now, behold,
I'm once more prostrate at your feet.
SITTAH.
Arise!
Recha, arise! behold, my brother comes.