Kitabı oku: «Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts», sayfa 2

Scene.—A Place of Palms

The Templar walking to and fro, a Friar following him at some distance, as if desirous of addressing him.

TEMPLAR

 
This fellow does not follow me for pastime.
How skaunt he eyes his hands!  Well, my good brother—
Perhaps I should say, father; ought I not?
 

FRIAR

 
No—brother—a lay-brother at your service.
 

TEMPLAR

 
Well, brother, then; if I myself had something—
But—but, by God, I’ve nothing.
 

FRIAR

 
   Thanks the same;
And God reward your purpose thousand-fold!
The will, and not the deed, makes up the giver.
Nor was I sent to follow you for alms—
 

TEMPLAR

 
Sent then?
 

FRIAR

 
   Yes, from the monastery.
 

TEMPLAR

 
      Where
I was just now in hopes of coming in
For pilgrims’ fare.
 

FRIAR

 
   They were already at table:
But if it suit with you to turn directly—
 

TEMPLAR

 
Why so?  ’Tis true, I have not tasted meat
This long time.  What of that?  The dates are ripe.
 

FRIAR

 
O with that fruit go cautiously to work.
Too much of it is hurtful, sours the humours,
Makes the blood melancholy.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   And if I
Choose to be melancholy—For this warning
You were not sent to follow me, I ween.
 

FRIAR

 
Oh, no: I only was to ask about you,
And feel your pulse a little.
 

TEMPLAR

 
      And you tell me
Of that yourself?
 

FRIAR

 
   Why not?
 

TEMPLAR

 
      A deep one! troth:
And has your cloister more such?
 

FRIAR

 
      I can’t say.
Obedience is our bounden duty.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   So—
And you obey without much scrupulous questioning?
 

FRIAR

 
Were it obedience else, good sir?
 

TEMPLAR

 
   How is it
The simple mind is ever in the right?
May you inform me who it is that wishes
To know more of me?  ’Tis not you yourself,
I dare be sworn.
 

FRIAR

 
   Would it become me, sir,
Or benefit me?
 

TEMPLAR

 
   Whom can it become,
Whom can it benefit, to be so curious?
 

FRIAR

 
The patriarch, I presume—’twas he that sent me.
 

TEMPLAR

 
The patriarch?  Knows he not my badge, the cross
Of red on the white mantle?
 

FRIAR

 
   Can I say?
 

TEMPLAR

 
Well, brother, well!  I am a templar, taken
Prisoner at Tebnin, whose exalted fortress,
Just as the truce expired, we sought to climb,
In order to push forward next to Sidon.
I was the twentieth captive, but the only
Pardoned by Saladin—with this, the patriarch
Knows all, or more than his occasions ask.
 

FRIAR

 
And yet no more than he already knows,
I think.  But why alone of all the captives
Thou hast been spared, he fain would learn—
 

TEMPLAR

 
      Can I
Myself tell that?  Already, with bare neck,
I kneeled upon my mantle, and awaited
The blow—when Saladin with steadfast eye
Fixed me, sprang nearer to me, made a sign—
I was upraised, unbound, about to thank him—
And saw his eye in tears.  Both stand in silence.
He goes.  I stay.  How all this hangs together,
Thy patriarch may unriddle.
 

FRIAR

 
   He concludes,
That God preserved you for some mighty deed.
 

TEMPLAR

 
Some mighty deed?  To save out of the fire
A Jewish girl—to usher curious pilgrims
About Mount Sinai—to—
 

FRIAR

 
   The time may come—
And this is no such trifle—but perhaps
The patriarch meditates a weightier office.
 

TEMPLAR

 
Think you so, brother?  Has he hinted aught?
 

FRIAR

 
Why, yes; I was to sift you out a little,
And hear if you were one to—
 

TEMPLAR

 
   Well—to what?
I’m curious to observe how this man sifts.
 

FRIAR

 
The shortest way will be to tell you plainly
What are the patriarch’s wishes.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   And they are—
 

FRIAR

 
To send a letter by your hand.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   By me?
I am no carrier.  And were that an office
More meritorious than to save from burning
A Jewish maid?
 

FRIAR

 
   So it should seem; must seem—
For, says the patriarch, to all Christendom
This letter is of import; and to bear it
Safe to its destination, says the patriarch,
God will reward with a peculiar crown
In heaven; and of this crown, the patriarch says,
No one is worthier than you—
 

TEMPLAR

 
   Than I?
 

FRIAR

 
For none so able, and so fit to earn
This crown, the patriarch says, as you.
 

TEMPLAR

 
      As I?
 

FRIAR

 
The patriarch here is free, can look about him,
And knows, he says, how cities may be stormed,
And how defended; knows, he says, the strengths
And weaknesses of Saladin’s new bulwark,
And of the inner rampart last thrown up;
And to the warriors of the Lord, he says,
Could clearly point them out;—
 

TEMPLAR

 
   And can I know
Exactly the contents of this same letter?
 

FRIAR

 
Why, that I don’t pretend to vouch exactly—
’Tis to King Philip: and our patriarch—
I often wonder how this holy man,
Who lives so wholly to his God and heaven,
Can stoop to be so well informed about
Whatever passes here—’Tis a hard task!
 

TEMPLAR

 
Well—and your patriarch—
 

FRIAR

 
   Knows, with great precision,
And from sure hands, how, when, and with what force,
And in which quarter, Saladin, in case
The war breaks out afresh, will take the field.
 

TEMPLAR

 
He knows that?
 

FRIAR

 
   Yes; and would acquaint King Philip,
That he may better calculate, if really
The danger be so great as to require
Him to renew at all events the truce
So bravely broken by your body.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   So?
This is a patriarch indeed!  He wants
No common messenger; he wants a spy.
Go tell your patriarch, brother, I am not,
As far as you can sift, the man to suit him.
I still esteem myself a prisoner, and
A templar’s only calling is to fight,
And not to ferret out intelligence.
 

FRIAR

 
That’s much as I supposed, and, to speak plainly,
Not to be blamed.  The best is yet behind.
The patriarch has made out the very fortress,
Its name, and strength, and site on Libanon,
Wherein the mighty sums are now concealed,
With which the prudent father of the sultan
Provides the cost of war, and pays the army.
He knows that Saladin, from time to time,
Goes to this fortress, through by-ways and passe
With few attendants.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   Well—
 

FRIAR

 
      How easy ’twere
To seize his person in these expeditions,
And make an end of all!  You shudder, sir—
Two Maronites, who fear the Lord, have offer
To share the danger of the enterprise,
Under a proper leader.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   And the patriarch
Had cast his eye on me for this brave office?
 

FRIAR

 
He thinks King Philip might from Ptolemais
Best second such a deed.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   On me? on me?
Have you not heard then, just now heard, the favour
Which I received from Saladin?
 

FRIAR

 
      Oh, yes!
 

TEMPLAR

 
And yet?
 

FRIAR

 
   The patriarch thinks—that’s mighty well—
God, and the order’s interest—
 

TEMPLAR

 
   Alter nothing,
Command no villainies.
 

FRIAR

 
   No, that indeed not;
But what is villainy in human eyes
May in the sight of God, the patriarch thinks,
Not be—
 

TEMPLAR

 
   I owe my life to Saladin,
And might take his?
 

FRIAR

 
   That—fie!  But Saladin,
The patriarch thinks, is yet the common foe
Of Christendom, and cannot earn a right
To be your friend.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   My friend—because I will not
Behave like an ungrateful scoundrel to him.
 

FRIAR

 
Yet gratitude, the patriarch thinks, is not
A debt before the eye of God or man,
Unless for our own sakes the benefit
Had been conferred; and, it has been reported,
The patriarch understands that Saladin
Preserved your life merely because your voice,
Your air, or features, raised a recollection
Of his lost brother.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   He knows this? and yet—
If it were sure, I should—ah, Saladin!
How! and shall nature then have formed in me
A single feature in thy brother’s likeness,
With nothing in my soul to answer to it?
Or what does correspond shall I suppress
To please a patriarch?  So thou dost not cheat us,
Nature—and so not contradict Thyself,
Kind God of all.—Go, brother, go away:
Do not stir up my anger.
 

FRIAR

 
   I withdraw
More gladly than I came.  We cloister-folk
Are forced to vow obedience to superiors.
 

[Goes.

Templar and Daya

DAYA

 
The monk, methinks, left him in no good mood:
But I must risk my message.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   Better still
The proverb says that monks and women are
The devil’s clutches; and I’m tossed to-day
From one to th’ other.
 

DAYA

 
   Whom do I behold?—
Thank God!  I see you, noble knight, once more.
Where have you lurked this long, long space?  You’ve not
Been ill?
 

TEMPLAR

 
   No.
 

DAYA

 
      Well, then?
 

TEMPLAR

 
      Yes.
 

DAYA

 
      We’ve all been anxious
Lest something ailed you.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   So?
 

DAYA

 
   Have you been journeying?
 

TEMPLAR

 
Hit off!
 

DAYA

 
   How long returned?
 

TEMPLAR

 
      Since yesterday.
 

DAYA

 
Our Recha’s father too is just returned,
And now may Recha hope at last—
 

TEMPLAR

 
      For what?
 

DAYA

 
For what she often has requested of you.
Her father pressingly invites your visit.
He now arrives from Babylon, with twenty
High-laden camels, brings the curious drugs,
And precious stones, and stuffs, he has collected
From Syria, Persia, India, even China.
 

TEMPLAR

 
I am no chap.
 

DAYA

 
   His nation honours him,
As if he were a prince, and yet to hear him
Called the wise Nathan by them, not the rich,
Has often made me wonder.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   To his nation
Are rich and wise perhaps of equal import.
 

DAYA

 
But above all he should be called the good.
You can’t imagine how much goodness dwells
Within him.  Since he has been told the service
You rendered to his Recha, there is nothing
That he would grudge you.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   Aye?
 

DAYA

 
      Do—see him, try him.
 

TEMPLAR

 
A burst of feeling soon is at an end.
 

DAYA

 
And do you think that I, were he less kind,
Less bountiful, had housed with him so long:
That I don’t feel my value as a Christian:
For ’twas not o’er my cradle said, or sung,
That I to Palestina should pursue
My husband’s steps, only to educate
A Jewess.  My husband was a noble page
In Emperor Frederic’s army.
 

TEMPLAR

 
      And by birth
A Switzer, who obtained the gracious honour
Of drowning in one river with his master.
Woman, how often you have told me this!
Will you ne’er leave off persecuting me?
 

DAYA

 
My Jesus! persecute—
 

TEMPLAR

 
      Aye, persecute.
Observe then, I henceforward will not see,
Not hear you, nor be minded of a deed
Over and over, which I did unthinking,
And which, when thought about, I wonder at.
I wish not to repent it; but, remember,
Should the like accident occur again,
’Twill be your fault if I proceed more coolly,
Ask a few questions, and let burn what’s burning.
 

DAYA

 
My God forbid!
 

TEMPLAR

 
   From this day forth, good woman,
Do me at least the favour not to know me:
I beg it of you; and don’t send the father.
A Jew’s a Jew, and I am rude and bearish.
The image of the maid is quite erased
Out of my soul—if it was ever there—
 

DAYA

 
But yours remains with her.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   Why so—what then—
Wherefore give harbour to it?—
 

DAYA

 
   Who knows wherefore?
Men are not always what they seem to be.
 

TEMPLAR

 
They’re seldom better than they seem to be.
 

DAYA

 
Ben’t in this hurry.
 

TEMPLAR

 
   Pray, forbear to make
These palm-trees odious.  I have loved to walk here.
 

DAYA

 
Farewell then, bear.  Yet I must track the savage.
 

ACT II

Scene.—The Sultan’s Palace.—An outer room of Sittah’s apartment

Saladin and Sittah, playing chess

SITTAH

 
Wherefore so absent, brother?  How you play!
 

SALADIN

 
Not well?  I thought—
 

SITTAH

 
   Yes; very well for me,
Take back that move.
 

SALADIN

 
   Why?
 

SITTAH

 
      Don’t you see the knight
Becomes exposed?
 

SALADIN

 
   ’Tis true: then so.
 

SITTAH

 
      And so
I take the pawn.
 

SALADIN

 
   That’s true again.  Then, check!
 

SITTAH

 
That cannot help you.  When my king is castled
All will be safe.
 

SALADIN

 
   But out of my dilemma
’Tis not so easy to escape unhurt.
Well, you must have the knight.
 

SITTAH

 
      I will not have him,
I pass him by.
 

SALADIN

 
   In that, there’s no forbearance:
The place is better than the piece.
 

SITTAH

 
      Maybe.
 

SALADIN

 
Beware you reckon not without your host:
This stroke you did not think of.
 

SITTAH

 
      No, indeed;
I did not think you tired of your queen.
 

SALADIN

 
My queen?
 

SITTAH

 
   Well, well!  I find that I to-day
Shall earn a thousand dinars to an asper.
 

SALADIN

 
How so, my sister?
 

SITTAH

 
   Play the ignorant—
As if it were not purposely thou losest.
I find not my account in ’t; for, besides
That such a game yields very little pastime,
When have I not, by losing, won with thee?
When hast thou not, by way of comfort to me
For my lost game, presented twice the stake?
 

SALADIN

 
So that it may have been on purpose, sister,
That thou hast lost at times.
 

SITTAH

 
      At least, my brother’s
Great liberality may be one cause
Why I improve no faster.
 

SALADIN

 
   We forget
The game before us: lot us make an end of it.
 

SITTAH

 
I move—so—now then—check! and check again!
 

SALADIN

 
This countercheck I wasn’t aware of, Sittah;
My queen must fall the sacrifice.
 

SITTAH

 
      Let’s see—
Could it be helped?
 

SALADIN

 
   No, no, take off the queen!
That is a piece which never thrives with me.
 

SITTAH

 
Only that piece?
 

SALADIN

 
      Off with it!  I shan’t miss it.
Thus I guard all again.
 

SITTAH

 
      How civilly
We should behave to queens, my brother’s lessons
Have taught me but too well.
 

SALADIN

 
      Take her, or not,
I stir the piece no more.
 

SITTAH

 
   Why should I take her?
Check!
 

SALADIN

 
   Go on.
 

SITTAH

 
      Check!—
 

SALADIN

 
      And check-mate?
 

SITTAH

 
   Hold! not yet.
You may advance the knight, and ward the danger,
Or as you will—it is all one.
 

SALADIN

 
   It is so.
You are the winner, and Al-Hafi pays.
Let him be called.  Sittah, you was not wrong;
I seem to recollect I was unmindful—
A little absent.  One isn’t always willing
To dwell upon some shapeless bits of wood
Coupled with no idea.  Yet the Imam,
When I play with him, bends with such abstraction—
The loser seeks excuses.  Sittah, ’twas not
The shapeless men, and the unmeaning squares,
That made me heedless—your dexterity,
Your calm sharp eye.
 

SITTAH

 
   And what of that, good brother,
Is that to be th’ excuse for your defeat?
Enough—you played more absently than I.
 

SALADIN

 
Than you!  What dwells upon your mind, my Sittah?
Not your own cares, I doubt—
 

SITTAH

 
      O Saladin,
When shall we play again so constantly?
 

SALADIN

 
An interruption will but whet our zeal.
You think of the campaign.  Well, let it come.
It was not I who first unsheathed the sword.
I would have willingly prolonged the truce,
And willingly have knit a closer bond,
A lasting one—have given to my Sittah
A husband worthy of her, Richard’s brother.
 

SITTAH

 
You love to talk of Richard.
 

SALADIN

 
   Richard’s sister
Might then have been allotted to our Melek.
O what a house that would have formed—the first—
The best—and what is more—of earth the happiest!
You know I am not loth to praise myself;
Why should I?—Of my friends am I not worthy?
O we had then led lives!
 

SITTAH

 
   A pretty dream.
It makes me smile.  You do not know the Christians.
You will not know them.  ’Tis this people’s pride
Not to be men, but to be Christians.  Even
What of humane their Founder felt, and taught,
And left to savour their found superstition,
They value not because it is humane,
Lovely, and good for man; they only prize it
Because ’twas Christ who taught it, Christ who did it.
’Tis well for them He was so good a man:
Well that they take His goodness all for granted,
And in His virtues put their trust.  His virtues—
’Tis not His virtues, but His name alone
They wish to thrust upon us—’Tis His name
Which they desire should overspread the world,
Should swallow up the name of all good men,
And put the best to shame.  ’Tis His mere name
They care for—
 

SALADIN

 
   Else, my Sittah, as thou sayst,
They would not have required that thou, and Melek,
Should be called Christians, ere you might be suffered
To feel for Christians conjugal affection.
 

SITTAH

 
As if from Christians only, and as Christians,
That love could be expected which our Maker
In man and woman for each other planted.
 

SALADIN

 
The Christians do believe such idle notions,
They well might fancy this: and yet thou errest.
The templars, not the Christians, are in fault.
’Tis not as Christians, but as templars, that
They thwart my purpose.  They alone prevent it.
They will on no account evacuate Acca,
Which was to be the dower of Richard’s sister,
And, lest their order suffer, use this cant—
Bring into play the nonsense of the monk—
And scarcely would await the truce’s end
To fall upon us.  Go on so—go on,
To me you’re welcome, sirs.  Would all things else
Went but as right!
 

SITTAH

 
   What else should trouble thee,
If this do not?
 

SALADIN

 
   Why, that which ever has.
I’ve been on Libanon, and seen our father.
He’s full of care.
 

SITTAH

 
   Alas!
 

SALADIN

 
      He can’t make shift,
Straitened on all sides, put off, disappointed;
Nothing comes in.
 

SITTAH

 
   What fails him, Saladin?
 

SALADIN

 
What? but the thing I scarcely deign to name,
Which, when I have it, so superfluous seems,
And, when I have it not, so necessary.
Where is Al-Hafi then—this fatal money—
O welcome, Hafi!
 

Hafi, Saladin, and Sittah

HAFI

 
   I suppose the gold
From Egypt is arrived.
 

SALADIN

 
      Hast tidings of it?
 

HAFI

 
I? no, not I.  I thought to have ta’en it here.
 

SALADIN

 
To Sittah pay a thousand dinars.
 

HAFI

 
   Pay?
And not receive—that’s something less than nothing.
To Sittah and again to Sittah—and
Once more for loss at chess?  Is this your game?
 

SITTAH

 
Dost grudge me my good fortune?
 

HAFI (examining the board)

 
   Grudge! you know—
 

SITTAH (making signs to Hafi)

 
Hush, Hafi, hush!
 

HAFI

 
   And were the white men yours?
You gave the check?
 

SITTAH

 
   ’Tis well he does not hear.
 

HAFI

 
And he to move?
 

SITTAH (approaching Hafi)

 
   Say then aloud that I
Shall have my money.
 

HAFI (still considering the game)

 
   Yes, yes! you shall have it—
As you have always had it.
 

SITTAH

 
      Are you crazy?
 

HAFI

 
The game is not decided; Saladin,
You have not lost.
 

SALADIN (scarcely hearkening)

 
   Well, well!—pay, pay.
 

HAFI

 
   Pay, pay—
There stands your queen.
 

SALADIN (still walking about)

 
   It boots not, she is useless.
 

SITTAH (low to Hafi)

 
Do say that I may send and fetch the gold.
 

HAFI

 
Aye, aye, as usual—But although the queen
Be useless, you are by no means check-mate.
 

SALADIN (dashes down the board)

 
I am.  I will then—
 

HAFI

 
   So! small pains, small gains;
As got, so spent.
 

SALADIN (to Sittah)

 
   What is he muttering there?
 

SITTAH (to Saladin, winking meanwhile to Hafi)

 
You know him well, and his unyielding way.
He chooses to be prayed to—maybe he’s envious—
 

SALADIN

 
No, not of thee, not of my sister, surely.
What do I hear, Al-Hafi, are you envious?
 

HAFI

 
Perhaps.  I’d rather have her head than mine,
Or her heart either.
 

SITTAH

 
   Ne’ertheless, my brother,
He pays me right, and will again to-day.
Let him alone.  There, go away, Al-Hafi;
I’ll send and fetch my dinars.
 

HAFI

 
   No, I will not;
I will not act this farce a moment longer:
He shall, must know it.
 

SALADIN

 
   Who? what?
 

SITTAH

 
      O Al-Hafi,
Is this thy promise, this thy keeping word?
 

HAFI

 
How could I think it was to go so far?
 

SALADIN

 
Well, what am I to know?
 

SITTAH

 
   I pray thee, Hafi,
Be more discreet.
 

SALADIN

 
   That’s very singular.
And what can Sittah then so earnestly,
So warmly have to sue for from a stranger,
A dervis, rather than from me, her brother?
Al-Hafi, I command.  Dervis, speak out.
 

SITTAH

 
Let not a trifle, brother, touch you nearer
Than is becoming.  You know I have often
Won the same sum of you at chess, and, as
I have not just at present need of money,
I’ve left the sum at rest in Hafi’s chest,
Which is not over-full; and thus the stakes
Are not yet taken out—but, never fear,
It is not my intention to bestow them
On thee, or Hafi.
 

HAFI

 
   Were it only this—
 

SITTAH

 
Some more such trifles are perhaps unclaimed;
My own allowance, which you set apart,
Has lain some months untouched.
 

HAFI

 
      Nor is that all—
 

SALADIN

 
Nor yet—speak then!
 

HAFI

 
   Since we have been expecting
The treasure out of Egypt, she not only—
 

SITTAH

 
Why listen to him?
 

HAFI

 
   Has not had an asper;—
 

SALADIN

 
Good creature—but has been advancing to thee—
 

HAFI

 
Has at her sole expense maintained thy state.
 

SALADIN (embracing her)

 
My sister—ah!
 

SITTAH

 
   And who but you, my brother,
Could make me rich enough to have the power?
 

HAFI

 
And in a little time again will leave thee
Poor as himself.
 

SALADIN

 
   I, poor—her brother, poor?
When had I more, when less than at this instant?
A cloak, a horse, a sabre, and a God!—
What need I else?  With them what can be wanting?
And yet, Al-Hafi, I could quarrel with thee
For this.
 

SITTAH

 
   A truce to that, my brother.  Were it
As easy to remove our father’s cares!
 

SALADIN

 
Ah! now my joy thou hast at once abated:
To me there is, there can be, nothing wanting;
But—but to him—and, in him, to us all.
What shall I do?  From Egypt maybe nothing
Will come this long time.  Why—God only knows.
We hear of no stir.  To reduce, to spare,
I am quite willing for myself to stoop to,
Were it myself, and only I, should suffer—
But what can that avail?  A cloak, a horse,
A sword I ne’er can want;—as to my God,
He is not to be bought; He asks but little,
Only my heart.  I had relied, Al-Hafi,
Upon a surplus in my chest.
 

HAFI

 
      A surplus?
And tell me, would you not have had me impaled,
Or hanged at least, if you had found me out
In hoarding up a surplus?  Deficits—
Those one may venture on.
 

SALADIN

 
      Well, but how next?
Could you have found out no one where to borrow
Unless of Sittah?
 

SITTAH

 
   And would I have borne
To see the preference given to another?
I still lay claim to it.  I am not as yet
Entirely bare.
 

SALADIN

 
   Not yet entirely—This
Was wanting still.  Go, turn thyself about;
Take where, and as, thou canst; be quick, Al-Hafi.
Borrow on promise, contract, anyhow;
But heed me—not of those I have enriched—
To borrow there might seem to ask it back.
Go to the covetous.  They’ll gladliest lend—
They know how well their money thrives with me—
 

HAFI

 
I know none such.
 

SITTAH

 
   I recollect just now
I heard, Al-Hafi, of thy friend’s return.
 

HAFI (startled)

 
Friend—friend of mine—and who should that be?
 

SITTAH

 
      Who?
Thy vaunted Jew!
 

HAFI

 
   A Jew, and praised by me?
 

SITTAH

 
To whom his God (I think I still retain
Thy own expression used concerning him)
To whom, of all the good things of this world,
His God in full abundance has bestowed
The greatest and the least.
 

HAFI

 
   What could I mean
When I said so?
 

SITTAH

 
   The least of good things, riches;
The greatest, wisdom.
 

HAFI

 
   How—and of a Jew
Could I say that?
 

SITTAH

 
   Didst thou not—of thy Nathan?
 

HAFI

 
Hi ho! of him—of Nathan?  At that moment
He did not come across me.  But, in fact,
He is at length come home; and, I suppose,
Is not ill off.  His people used to call him
The wise—also the rich.
 

SITTAH

 
   The rich he’s named
Now more than ever.  The whole town resounds
With news of jewels, costly stuffs, and stores,
That he brings back.
 

HAFI

 
   Is he the rich again—
He’ll be, no fear of it, once more the wise.
 

SITTAH

 
What thinkst thou, Hafi, of a call on him?
 

HAFI

 
On him—sure not to borrow—why, you know him—
He lend?  Therein his very wisdom lies,
That he lends no one.
 

SITTAH

 
   Formerly thon gav’st
A very different picture of this Nathan.
 

HAFI

 
In case of need he’ll lend you merchandise,
But money, money, never.  He’s a Jew,
There are but few such! he has understanding,
Knows life, plays chess; but is in bad notorious
Above his brethren, as he is in good.
On him rely not.  To the poor indeed
He vies perhaps with Saladin in giving:
Though he distributes less, he gives as freely,
As silently, as nobly, to Jew, Christian,
Mahometan, or Parsee—’tis all one.
 

SITTAH

 
And such a man should be—
 

SALADIN

 
      How comes it then
I never heard of him?
 

SITTAH

 
   Should be unwilling
To lend to Saladin, who wants for others,
Not for himself.
 

HAFI

 
   Aye, there peeps out the Jew,
The ordinary Jew.  Believe me, prince,
He’s jealous, really envious of your giving.
To earn God’s favour seems his very business.
He lends not that he may always have to give.
The law commandeth mercy, not compliance:
And thus for mercy’s sake he’s uncomplying.
’Tis true, I am not now on the best terms
With Nathan, but I must entreat you, think not
That therefore I would do injustice to him.
He’s good in everything, but not in that—
Only in that.  I’ll knock at other doors.
I just have recollected an old Moor,
Who’s rich and covetous—I go—I go.
 

SITTAH

 
Why in such hurry, Hafi?
 

SALADIN

 
      Let him go.
 

Saladin and Sittah

SITTAH

 
He hastens like a man who would escape me;
Why so?  Was he indeed deceived in Nathan,
Or does he play upon us?
 

SALADIN

 
   Can I guess?
I scarcely know of whom you have been talking,
And hear to-day, for the first time, of Nathan.
 

SITTAH

 
Is’t possible the man were hid from thee,
Of whom ’tis said, he has found out the tombs
Of Solomon and David, knows the word
That lifts their marble lids, and thence obtains
The golden oil that feeds his shining pomp?
 

SALADIN

 
Were this man’s wealth by miracle created,
’Tis not at David’s tomb, or Solomon’s,
That ’twould be wrought.  Not virtuous men lie there.
 

SITTAH

 
His source of opulence is more productive
And more exhaustless than a cave of Mammon.
 

SALADIN

 
He trades, I hear.
 

SITTAH

 
   His ships fill every harbour;
His caravans through every desert toil.
This has Al-Hafi told me long ago:
With transport adding then—how nobly Nathan
Bestows what he esteems it not a meanness
By prudent industry to have justly earned—
How free from prejudice his lofty soul—
His heart to every virtue how unlocked—
With every lovely feeling how familiar.
 

SALADIN

 
Yet Hafi spake just now so coldly of him.
 

SITTAH

 
Not coldly; but with awkwardness, confusion,
As if he thought it dangerous to praise him,
And yet knew not to blame him undeserving,
Or can it really be that e’en the best
Among a people cannot quite escape
The tinges of the tribe; and that, in fact,
Al-Hafi has in this to blush for Nathan?
Be that as’t may—be he the Jew or no—
Is he but rich—that is enough for us.
 

SALADIN

 
You would not, sister, take his wealth by force.
 

SITTAH

 
What do you mean by force—fire, sword?  Oh no!
What force is necessary with the weak
But their own weakness?  Come awhile with me
Into my harem: I have bought a songstress,
You have not heard her, she came yesterday:
Meanwhile I’ll think somewhat about a project
I have upon this Nathan.  Follow, brother.