Scene I.--The room in Saladin's Palace. The treasure still piled up.

(Saladin, and several Mamelukes.)

SALADIN (as he enters).

There lies the gold--and no one yet has seen

The Dervise. He will probably be found

Over the chess-board. Play can often make

A man forget himself. Then why not me?

But patience. What's the matter?

1ST MAMELUKE.

Oh, good news!

Joy, Sultan! joy. The Cairo caravan

Is safe arrived, and from the Nile it brings

The seven years' tribute.

SALADIN.

Bravo, Ibrahim!

You always were a welcome messenger,

And now at length--accept my heartfelt thanks

For the good tidings.

1ST MAMELUKE (waiting).

(Let me have them, then!)

SALADIN.

What are you waiting for? Go.

1ST MAMELUKE.

Nothing more

For my good news?

SALADIN.

What further?

1ST MAMELUKE.

Messengers

Of good are paid. Am I to be the first

Whom Saladin has learnt to pay with words?

The first to whom he proves ungenerous?

SALADIN.

Go, take a purse.

1ST MAMELUKE.

No, no--not now. Not if

You'd give them all to me.

SALADIN.

All? Hold, young man!

Come hither. Take these purses--take these two.

What, going? And shall I be conquered thus

In generosity? for surely 'tis

More difficult for this man to refuse

Than for the Sultan to bestow. Then, here

Here, Ibrahim! Shall I be tempted, just

Before my death, to be a different man?

Shall Saladin not die like Saladin?

Then wherefore has he lived like Saladin?

(Enter a second Mameluke.)

2ND MAMELUKE.

Hail, Sultan!

SALADIN.

If you come and bring the news----

2ND MAMELUKE.

That the Egyptian convoy is arrived.

SALADIN.

I know it.

2ND MAMELUKE.

Then I come too late.

SALADIN.

Too late?

Wherefore too late? There, for your tidings take

A purse or two.

2ND MAMELUKE.

Say three.

SALADIN.

You reckon well;

But take them.

2ND MAMELUKE.

A third messenger will come

Ere long, if he be able.

SALADIN.

Wherefore so?

2ND MAMELUKE.

He may perhaps, ere this, have brok'n his neck.

We three, when we had heard of the approach

Of the rich caravan, mounted our steeds,

And galloped hitherward. The foremost fell,

Then I was first, and I continued so

Into the town; but that sly fellow there,

Who knew the streets----

SALADIN.

But where is he who fell?

Go seek him out.

2ND MAMELUKE.

That I will quickly do,

And if he lives, one half of this is his. (Exit.)

SALADIN.

Oh, what a noble fellow! who can boast

Such Mamelukes as these? And may I not,

Without conceit, imagine that my life

Has helped to make them so? Avaunt the thought!

That I should ever teach them otherwise.

3RD MAMELUKE.

Sultan!

SALADIN.

Are you the man who fell?

3RD MAMELUKE.

No, Sire.

I have to tell you that the Emir Mansor,

Who led the caravan, is just arrived.

SALADIN.

Then bring him quickly.--There he is already.

Scene II.

The Emir Mansor and Saladin.

SALADIN.

Emir, you're welcome! What has happened to you,

Mansor? we have expected you for long.

MANSOR.

This letter will explain how, in Thebais,

Some discontents required the sabred hand

Of Abulkassen. But, since then, our march

Has been pressed forward.

SALADIN.

I believe it all.

But take, good Mansor--take, without delay,

Another escort if you will proceed,

And take the treasure on to Lebanon:

The greater part is destined for my father.

MANSOR.

Most willingly.

SALADIN.

And let your escort be

A strong and trusty one, for Lebanon

Is far from quiet, and the Templars there

Are on the stir again; be cautious, then

Come, I must see your troop, and order all.

(To a slave.) Say I shall presently return to Sittah.

Scene III.

(The palm-trees before Nathan's house.)

The Templar, walking up and down.

TEMPLAR.

Into this house I never enter more:

He'll come to me at last. Yet, formerly,

They used to watch for me with longing eyes;

And now----The time may come he'll send to beg,

Most civilly, that I will get me hence,

And not pace up and down before his door!

No matter: though I feel a little hurt.

I know not what has thus embittered me:

He answered yes, and has refused me naught,

So far, and Saladin has pledged himself

To bring him round. Say, does the Christian live

Deeper in me than the Jew lurks in him?

Ah! who can truly estimate himself?

How comes it else that I should grudge him so

The trifling booty, which he took such pains

To rob the Christians of? No trifling theft!

No less than such a creature! And to whom

Does she belong? Oh, surely not to him,

The thoughtless slave, who floated the mere block

On to life's barren strand, then disappeared.

Rather to him, the artist, whose fine soul

Has from the block moulded this godlike form,

And graved it there. And yet in spite of him,

The Christian, who begot this beauteous maid,

Recha's true father must be still the Jew.

Were I to fancy her a Christian now,

Bereft of all the Jew has given to her--

Which only such a Jew could have bestowed--

Speak out, my heart--where would have been her charm'

It had been nothing--little; then her smile

Had been a pretty twisting of the mouth

And that which caused it were unworthy deemed

Of the enchantment blooming on her lips.

No: not her very smile! I've seen sweet smiles

Squandered on pride, on foppery, on lies,

On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent:

And did they charm me then? Did they awake

The wish to flutter out existence in

Their sunshine? And I'm angry now with him

Who gave this higher value to the maid?

And wherefore so? Do I deserve the taunt

With which I was dismissed by Saladin?

'Twas bad enough he should think thus of me.

How wicked, how contemptible, alas!

I must have seemed to him! And for a girl!

Conrad, this will not do. Avaunt such thoughts!

And what if Daja has been chattering

Of things not easy to be proved? But see,

He comes, engaged in converse; and with whom?

With him, the Friar. Then he knows all: perhaps

He has betrayed him to the Patriarch.

O Conrad! what vile mischief hast thou done!

O! that one spark of love, that wayward passion,

Should so inflame the brain! But, quick! resolve;

What's to be done? Stay, step aside awhile;

Perhaps the Friar will leave him. Let us see.

Scene IV.

Nathan and the Friar.

NATHAN (approaching him).

Good brother, once more, thanks.

FRIAR.

The same to you.

NATHAN.

Why thanks from you? Because I'm wayward, and

Would force upon you what you cannot use?

FRIAR.

The book you have did not belong to me.

It is the maid's, is all her property,

Her only patrimony--save yourself.

God grant you ne'er have reason to repent

Of what you've done for her!

NATHAN.

Impossible!

That cannot be. Fear not.

FRIAR.

Alas! alas!

These Patriarchs and Templars----

NATHAN.

Cannot work

Such evil as to force me to repent.

But are you sure it is a Templar who

Urges the Patriarch?

FRIAR.

It is none else;

A Templar talked with him just now, and all

I hear confirms the rumour.

NATHAN.

But there is

Only one Templar in Jerusalem,

And him I know. He is a friend of mine,

A noble, open-hearted youth.

FRIAR.

The same.

But what one is at heart, and what one must

Appear in active life, are not the same.

NATHAN.

Alas! 'tis true. And so let every one

Act as he will, and do his best, or worst.

With your book, brother, I defy them all!

I'm going straightway with it to the Sultan.

FRIAR.

Then God be with you! Here I take my leave.

NATHAN.

What! without seeing her? But come again,

Come soon--come often. If the Patriarch

To-day learns nothing. Well! no matter now!

Tell him the whole to-day, or when you will.

FRIAR.

Not I. Farewell! (Exit.)

NATHAN.

Do not forget us, brother!

O God! I could sink down upon my knees,

Here on this spot! Behold, the knotted skein

Which has so often troubled me, at last

Untangles of itself. I feel at ease,

Since henceforth nothing in this world remains

That I need hide. Henceforth, I am as free

Before mankind, as in the sight of God.

Who only does not need to judge us men

By deeds, which oftentimes are not our own.

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.

Scene VII.

Saladin, Sittah, and Recha.