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.