Г. Э. Лессинг Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts
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Scene.—An Audience Room in the Sultan’s Palace
Sittah: Saladin giving directions at the door
SALADIN
Here, introduce the Jew, whene’er he comes— He seems in no great haste.
SITTAH
May be at first He was not in the way.
SALADIN
Ah, sister, sister!
SITTAH
You seem as if a combat were impending.
SALADIN
With weapons that I have not learnt to wield. Must I disguise myself? I use precautions? I lay a snare? When, where gained I that knowledge? And this, for what? To fish for money—money— For money from a Jew—and to such arts Must Saladin descend at last to come at The least of little things?
SITTAH
Each little thing Despised too much finds methods of revenge.
SALADIN
’Tis but too true. And if this Jew should prove The fair good man, as once the dervis painted—
SITTAH
Then difficulties cease. A snare concerns The avaricious, cautious, fearful Jew; And not the good wise man: for he is ours Without a snare. Then the delight of hearing How such a man speaks out; with what stern strength He tears the net, or with what prudent foresight He one by one undoes the tangled meshes; That will be all to boot—
SALADIN
That I shall joy in.
SITTAH
What then should trouble thee? For if he be One of the many only, a mere Jew, You will not blush to such a one to seem A man, as he thinks all mankind to be. One, that to him should bear a better aspect, Would seem a fool—a dupe.
SALADIN
So that I must Act badly, lest the bad think badly of me.
SITTAH
Yes, if you call it acting badly, brother, To use a thing after its kind.
SALADIN
There’s nothing That woman’s wit invents it can’t embellish.
SITTAH
Embellish—
SALADIN
But their fine-wrought filligree In my rude hand would break. It is for those That can contrive them to employ such weapons: They ask a practised wrist. But chance what may, Well as I can—
SITTAH
Trust not yourself too little. I answer for you, if you have the will. Such men as you would willingly persuade us It was their swords, their swords alone that raised them. The lion’s apt to be ashamed of hunting In fellowship of the fox—’tis of his fellow Not of the cunning that he is ashamed.
SALADIN
You women would so gladly level man Down to yourselves. Go, I have got my lesson.
SITTAH
What—must I go?
SALADIN
Had you the thought of staying?
SITTAH
In your immediate presence not indeed, But in the by-room.
SALADIN
You could like to listen. Not that, my sister, if I may insist. Away! the curtain rustles—he is come. Beware of staying—I’ll be on the watch.
[While Sittah retires through one door, Nathan enters at another, and Saladin seats himself.
Saladin and Nathan
SALADIN
Draw nearer, Jew, yet nearer; here, quite by me, Without all fear.
NATHAN
Remain that for thy foes!
SALADIN
Your name is Nathan?
NATHAN
Yes.
SALADIN
Nathan the wise?
NATHAN
No.
SALADIN
If not thou, the people calls thee so.
NATHAN
May be, the people.
SALADIN
Fancy not that I Think of the people’s voice contemptuously; I have been wishing much to know the man Whom it has named the wise.
NATHAN
And if it named Him so in scorn. If wise meant only prudent. And prudent, one who knows his interest well.
SALADIN
Who knows his real interest, thou must mean.
NATHAN
Then were the interested the most prudent, Then wise and prudent were the same.
SALADIN
I hear You proving what your speeches contradict. You know man’s real interests, which the people Knows not—at least have studied how to know them. That alone makes the sage.
NATHAN
Which each imagines Himself to be.
SALADIN
Of modesty enough! Ever to meet it, where one seeks to hear Dry truth, is vexing. Let us to the purpose— But, Jew, sincere and open—
NATHAN
I will serve thee So as to merit, prince, thy further notice.
SALADIN
Serve me—how?
NATHAN
Thou shalt have the best I bring. Shalt have them cheap.
SALADIN
What speak you of?—your wares? My sister shall be called to bargain with you For them (so much for the sly listener), I Have nothing to transact now with the merchant.
NATHAN
Doubtless then you would learn, what, on my journey, I noticed of the motions of the foe, Who stirs anew. If unreserved I may—
SALADIN
Neither was that the object of my sending: I know what I have need to know already. In short I willed your presence—
NATHAN
Sultan, order.
SALADIN
To gain instruction quite on other points. Since you are a man so wise, tell me which law, Which faith appears to you the better?
NATHAN
Sultan, I am a Jew.
SALADIN
And I a Mussulman: The Christian stands between us. Of these three Religions only one came be the true. A man, like you, remains not just where birth Has chanced to cast him, or, if he remains there, Does it from insight, choice, from grounds of preference. Share then with me your insight—let me hear The grounds of preference, which I have wanted The leisure to examine—learn the choice, These grounds have motived, that it may be mine. In confidence I ask it. How you startle, And weigh me with your eye! It may well be I’m the first sultan to whom this caprice, Methinks not quite unworthy of a sultan, Has yet occurred. Am I not? Speak then—Speak. Or do you, to collect yourself, desire Some moments of delay—I give them you— (Whether she’s listening?—I must know of her If I’ve done right.) Reflect—I’ll soon return—
[Saladin steps into the room to which Sittah had retired.
NATHAN
Strange! how is this? what wills the sultan of me? I came prepared with cash—he asks truth. Truth? As if truth too were cash—a coin disused That goes by weight—indeed ’tis some such thing— But a new coin, known by the stamp at once, To be flung down and told upon the counter, It is not that. Like gold in bags tied up, So truth lies hoarded in the wise man’s head To be brought out.—Which now in this transaction Which of us plays the Jew; he asks for truth, Is truth what he requires, his aim, his end? That this is but the glue to lime a snare Ought not to be suspected, ’twere too little, Yet what is found too little for the great— In fact, through hedge and pale to stalk at once Into one’s field beseems not—friends look round, Seek for the path, ask leave to pass the gate— I must be cautious. Yet to damp him back, And be the stubborn Jew is not the thing; And wholly to throw off the Jew, still less. For if no Jew he might with right inquire— Why not a Mussulman—Yes—that may serve me. Not children only can be quieted With stories. Ha! he comes—well, let him come.
SALADIN (returning)
So, there, the field is clear, I’m not too quick, Thou hast bethought thyself as much as need is, Speak, no one hears.
NATHAN
Might the whole world but hear us.
SALADIN
Is Nathan of his cause so confident? Yes, that I call the sage—to veil no truth, For truth to hazard all things, life and goods.
NATHAN
Aye, when ’tis necessary and when useful.
SALADIN
Henceforth I hope I shall with reason bear One of my titles—“Betterer of the world And of the law.”
NATHAN
In truth a noble title. But, sultan, e’er I quite unfold myself Allow me to relate a tale.
SALADIN
Why not? I always was a friend of tales well told.
NATHAN
Well told, that’s not precisely my affair.
SALADIN
Again so proudly modest, come begin.
NATHAN
In days of yore, there dwelt in east a man Who from a valued hand received a ring Of endless worth: the stone of it an opal, That shot an ever-changing tint: moreover, It had the hidden virtue him to render Of God and man beloved, who in this view, And this persuasion, wore it. Was it strange The eastern man ne’er drew it off his finger, And studiously provided to secure it For ever to his house. Thus—He bequeathed it; First, to the most beloved of his sons, Ordained that he again should leave the ring To the most dear among his children—and That without heeding birth, the favourite son, In virtue of the ring alone, should always Remain the lord o’ th’ house—You hear me, Sultan?
SALADIN
I understand thee—on.
NATHAN
From son to son, At length this ring descended to a father, Who had three sons, alike obedient to him; Whom therefore he could not but love alike. At times seemed this, now that, at times the third, (Accordingly as each apart received The overflowings of his heart) most worthy To heir the ring, which with good-natured weakness He privately to each in turn had promised. This went on for a while. But death approached, And the good father grew embarrassed. So To disappoint two sons, who trust his promise, He could not bear. What’s to be done. He sends In secret to a jeweller, of whom, Upon the model of the real ring, He might bespeak two others, and commanded To spare nor cost nor pains to make them like, Quite like the true one. This the artist managed. The rings were brought, and e’en the father’s eye Could not distinguish which had been the model. Quite overjoyed he summons all his sons, Takes leave of each apart, on each bestows His blessing and his ring, and dies—Thou hearest me?
SALADIN
I hear, I hear, come finish with thy tale; Is it soon ended?
NATHAN
It is ended, Sultan, For all that follows may be guessed of course. Scarce is the father dead, each with his ring Appears, and claims to be the lord o’ th’ house. Comes question, strife, complaint—all to no end; For the true ring could no more be distinguished Than now can—the true faith.
SALADIN
How, how, is that To be the answer to my query?
NATHAN
No, But it may serve as my apology; If I can’t venture to decide between Rings, which the father got expressly made, That they might not be known from one another.
SALADIN
The rings—don’t trifle with me; I must think That the religions which I named can be Distinguished, e’en to raiment, drink and food,
NATHAN
And only not as to their grounds of proof. Are not all built alike on history, Traditional, or written. History Must be received on trust—is it not so? In whom now are we likeliest to put trust? In our own people surely, in those men Whose blood we are, in them, who from our childhood Have given us proofs of love, who ne’er deceived us, Unless ’twere wholesomer to be deceived. How can I less believe in my forefathers Than thou in thine. How can I ask of thee To own that thy forefathers falsified In order to yield mine the praise of truth. The like of Christians.
SALADIN
By the living God, The man is in the right, I must be silent.
NATHAN
Now let us to our rings return once more. As said, the sons complained. Each to the judge Swore from his father’s hand immediately To have received the ring, as was the case; After he had long obtained the father’s promise, One day to have the ring, as also was. The father, each asserted, could to him Not have been false, rather than so suspect Of such a father, willing as he might be With charity to judge his brethren, he Of treacherous forgery was bold t’ accuse them.
SALADIN
Well, and the judge, I’m eager now to hear What thou wilt make him say. Go on, go on.
NATHAN
The judge said, If ye summon not the father Before my seat, I cannot give a sentence. Am I to guess enigmas? Or expect ye That the true ring should here unseal its lips? But hold—you tell me that the real ring Enjoys the hidden power to make the wearer Of God and man beloved; let that decide. Which of you do two brothers love the best? You’re silent. Do these love-exciting rings Act inward only, not without? Does each Love but himself? Ye’re all deceived deceivers, None of your rings is true. The real ring Perhaps is gone. To hide or to supply Its loss, your father ordered three for one.
SALADIN
O charming, charming!
NATHAN
And (the judge continued) If you will take advice in lieu of sentence, This is my counsel to you, to take up The matter where it stands. If each of you Has had a ring presented by his father, Let each believe his own the real ring. ’Tis possible the father chose no longer To tolerate the one ring’s tyranny; And certainly, as he much loved you all, And loved you all alike, it could not please him By favouring one to be of two the oppressor. Let each feel honoured by this free affection. Unwarped of prejudice; let each endeavour To vie with both his brothers in displaying The virtue of his ring; assist its might With gentleness, benevolence, forbearance, With inward resignation to the godhead, And if the virtues of the ring continue To show themselves among your children’s children, After a thousand thousand years, appear Before this judgment-seat—a greater one Than I shall sit upon it, and decide. So spake the modest judge.
SALADIN
God!
NATHAN
Saladin, Feel’st thou thyself this wiser, promised man?
SALADIN
I dust, I nothing, God!
[Precipitates himself upon Nathan, and takes hold of his hand, which he does not quit the remainder of the scene.
NATHAN
What moves thee, Sultan?
SALADIN
Nathan, my dearest Nathan, ’tis not yet The judge’s thousand thousand years are past, His judgment-seat’s not mine. Go, go, but love me.
NATHAN
Has Saladin then nothing else to order?
SALADIN
No.
NATHAN
Nothing?
SALADIN
Nothing in the least, and wherefore?
NATHAN
I could have wished an opportunity To lay a prayer before you.
SALADIN
Is there need Of opportunity for that? Speak freely.
NATHAN
I come from a long journey from collecting Debts, and I’ve almost of hard cash too much; The times look perilous—I know not where To lodge it safely—I was thinking thou, For coming wars require large sums, couldst use it.
SALADIN (fixing Nathan)
Nathan, I ask not if thou sawst Al-Hafi, I’ll not examine if some shrewd suspicion Spurs thee to make this offer of thyself.
NATHAN
Suspicion—
SALADIN
I deserve this offer. Pardon, For what avails concealment, I acknowledge I was about—
NATHAN
To ask the same of me?
SALADIN
Yes.
NATHAN
Then ’tis well we’re both accommodated. That I can’t send thee all I have of treasure Arises from the templar; thou must know him, I have a weighty debt to pay to him.
SALADIN
A templar! How, thou dost not with thy gold Support my direst foes.
NATHAN
I speak of him Whose life the sultan—
SALADIN
What art thou recalling? I had forgot the youth, whence is he, knowest thou?
NATHAN
Hast thou not heard then how thy clemency To him has fallen on me. He at the risk Of his new-spared existence, from the flames Rescued my daughter.
SALADIN
Ha! Has he done that; He looked like one that would—my brother too, Whom he’s so like, bad done it. Is he here still? Bring him to me—I have so often talked To Sittah of this brother, whom she knew not, That I must let her see his counterfeit. Go fetch him. How a single worthy action, Though but of whim or passion born, gives rise To other blessings! Fetch him.
NATHAN
In an instant. The rest remains as settled.
SALADIN
O, I wish I had let my sister listen. Well, I’ll to her. How shall I make her privy to all this?
Scene.—The Place of Palms
The Templar walking and agitated
TEMPLAR
Here let the weary victim pant awhile.— Yet would I not have time to ascertain What passes in me; would not snuff beforehand The coming storm. ’Tis sure I fled in vain; But more than fly I could not do, whatever Comes of it. Ah! to ward it off—the blow Was given so suddenly. Long, much, I strove To keep aloof; but vainly. Once to see her— Her, whom I surely did not court the sight of, To see her, and to form the resolution, Never to lose sight of her here again, Was one—The resolution?—Not ’tis will, Fixt purpose, made (for I was passive in it) Sealed, doomed. To see her, and to feel myself Bound to her, wove into her very being, Was one—remains one. Separate from her To live is quite unthinkable—is death. And wheresoever after death we be, There too the thought were death. And is this love? Yet so in troth the templar loves—so—so— The Christian loves the Jewess. What of that? Here in this holy land, and therefore holy And dear to me, I have already doffed Some prejudices.—Well—what says my vow? As templar I am dead, was dead to that From the same hour which made me prisoner To Saladin. But is the head he gave me My old one? No. It knows no word of what Was prated into yon, of what had bound it. It is a better; for its patrial sky Fitter than yon. I feel—I’m conscious of it, With this I now begin to think, as here My father must have thought; if tales of him Have not been told untruly. Tales—why tales? They’re credible—more credible than ever— Now that I’m on the brink of stumbling, where He fell. He fell? I’d rather fall with men, Than stand with children. His example pledges His approbation, and whose approbation Have I else need of? Nathan’s? Surely of his Encouragement, applause, I’ve little need To doubt—O what a Jew is he! yet easy To pass for the mere Jew. He’s coming—swiftly— And looks delighted—who leaves Saladin With other looks? Hoa, Nathan!
Nathan and Templar
NATHAN
Are you there?
TEMPLAR
Your visit to the sultan has been long.
NATHAN
Not very long; my going was indeed Too much delayed. Troth, Conrade, this man’s fame Outstrips him not. His fame is but his shadow. But before all I have to tell you—
TEMPLAR
What?
NATHAN
That he would speak with you, and that directly. First to my house, where I would give some orders, Then we’ll together to the sultan.
TEMPLAR
Nathan, I enter not thy doors again before—
NATHAN
Then you’ve been there this while—have spoken with her. How do you like my Recha?
TEMPLAR
Words cannot tell— Gaze on her once again—I never will— Never—no never: unless thou wilt promise That I for ever, ever, may behold her.
NATHAN
How should I take this?
TEMPLAR (falling suddenly upon his neck)
Nathan—O my father!
NATHAN
Young man!
TEMPLAR (quitting him as suddenly)
Not son?—I pray thee, Nathan—ha!
NATHAN
Thou dear young man!
TEMPLAR
Not son?—I pray thee, Nathan, Conjure thee by the strongest bonds of nature, Prefer not those of later date, the weaker.— Be it enough to thee to be a man! Push me not from thee!
NATHAN
Dearest, dearest friend!—
TEMPLAR
Not son? Not son? Not even—even if Thy daughter’s gratitude had in her bosom Prepared the way for love—not even if Both wait thy nod alone to be but one?— You do not speak?
NATHAN
Young knight, you have surprised me.
TEMPLAR
Do I surprise thee—thus surprise thee, Nathan, With thy own thought? Canst thou not in my mouth Know it again? Do I surprise you?
NATHAN
Ere I know, which of the Stauffens was your father?
TEMPLAR
What say you, Nathan?—And in such a moment Is curiosity your only feeling?
NATHAN
For see, once I myself well knew a Stauffen, Whose name was Conrade.
TEMPLAR
Well, and if my father Was bearer of that name?
NATHAN
Indeed?
TEMPLAR
My name Is from my father’s, Conrade.
NATHAN
Then thy father Was not my Conrade. He was, like thyself, A templar, never wedded.
TEMPLAR
For all that—
NATHAN
How?
TEMPLAR
For all that he may have been my father.
NATHAN
You joke.
TEMPLAR
And you are captious. Boots it then To be true-born? Does bastard wound thine ear? The race is not to be despised: but hold, Spare me my pedigree; I’ll spare thee thine. Not that I doubt thy genealogic tree. O, God forbid! You may attest it all As far as Abraham back; and backwarder I know it to my heart—I’ll swear to it also.
NATHAN
Knight, you grow bitter. Do I merit this? Have I refused you ought? I’ve but forborne To close with you at the first word—no more.
TEMPLAR
Indeed—no more? O then forgive—
NATHAN
’Tis well. Do but come with me.
TEMPLAR
Whither? To thy house? No? there not—there not: ’tis a burning soil. Here I await thee, go. Am I again To see her, I shall see her times enough: If not I have already gazed too much.
NATHAN
I’ll try to be soon back.
[Goes.
TEMPLAR
Too much indeed— Strange that the human brain, so infinite Of comprehension, yet at times will fill Quite full, and all at once, of a mere trifle— No matter what it teems with. Patience! Patience! The soul soon calms again, th’ upboiling stuff Makes itself room and brings back light and order. Is this then the first time I love? Or was What by that name I knew before, not love— And this, this love alone that now I feel?
Daya and Templar
DAYA
Sir knight, sir knight.
TEMPLAR
Who calls? ha, Daya, you?
DAYA
I managed to slip by him. No, come here (He’ll see us where you stand) behind this tree.
TEMPLAR
Why so mysterious? What’s the matter, Daya?
DAYA
Yes, ’tis a secret that has brought me to you A twofold secret. One I only know, The other only you. Let’s interchange, Intrust yours first to me, then I’ll tell mine.
TEMPLAR
With pleasure when I’m able to discover What you call me. But that yours will explain. Begin—
DAYA
That is not fair, yours first, sir knight; For be assured my secret serves you not Unless I have yours first. If I sift it out You’ll not have trusted me, and then my secret Is still my own, and yours lost all for nothing. But, knight, how can you men so fondly fancy You ever hide such secrets from us women.
TEMPLAR
Secrets we often are unconscious of.
DAYA
May be—So then I must at last be friendly, And break it to you. Tell me now, whence came it That all at once you started up abruptly And in the twinkling of an eye were fled? That you left us without one civil speech! That you return no more with Nathan to us— Has Recha then made such a slight impression, Or made so deep a one? I penetrate you. Think you that on a limed twig the poor bird Can flutter cheerfully, or hop at ease With its wing pinioned? Come, come, in one word Acknowledge to me plainly that you love her, Love her to madness, and I’ll tell you what.
TEMPLAR
To madness, oh, you’re very penetrating.
DAYA
Grant me the love, and I’ll give up the madness.
TEMPLAR
Because that must be understood of course— A templar love a Jewess—
DAYA
Seems absurd, But often there’s more fitness in a thing Than we at once discern; nor were this time The first, when through an unexpected path The Saviour drew his children on to him Across the tangled maze of human life.
TEMPLAR
So solemn that—(and yet if in the stead Of Saviour, I were to say Providence, It would sound true) you make me curious, Daya, Which I’m unwont to be.
DAYA
This is the place For miracles
TEMPLAR
For wonders—well and good— Can it be otherwise, where the whole world Presses as toward a centre. My dear Daya, Consider what you asked of me as owned; That I do love her—that I can’t imagine How I should live without her—that
DAYA
Indeed! Then, knight, swear to me you will call her yours, Make both her present and eternal welfare.
TEMPLAR
And how, how can I, can I swear to do What is not in my power?
DAYA
’Tis in your power, A single word will put it in your power.
TEMPLAR
So that her father shall not be against it.
DAYA
Her father—father? he shall be compelled.
TEMPLAR
As yet he is not fallen among thieves— Compelled?
DAYA
Aye to be willing that you should.
TEMPLAR
Compelled and willing—what if I inform thee That I have tried to touch this string already, It vibrates not responsive.
DAYA
He refused thee?
TEMPLAR
He answered in a tone of such discordance That I was hurt.
DAYA
What do you say? How, you Betrayed the shadow of a wish for Recha, And he did not spring up for joy, drew back, Drew coldly back, made difficulties?
TEMPLAR
Almost.
DAYA
Well then I’ll not deliberate a moment.
TEMPLAR
And yet you are deliberating still.
DAYA
That man was always else so good, so kind, I am so deeply in his debt. Why, why Would he not listen to you? God’s my witness That my heart bleeds to come about him thus.
TEMPLAR
I pray you, Daya, once for all, to end This dire uncertainty. But if you doubt Whether what ’tis your purpose to reveal Be right or wrong, be praiseworthy or shameful, Speak not—I will forget that you have had Something to hide.
DAYA
That spurs me on still more. Then learn that Recha is no Jewess, that She is a Christian.
TEMPLAR
I congratulate you, ’Twas a hard labour, but ’tis out at last; The pangs of the delivery won’t hurt you. Go on with undiminished zeal, and people Heaven, when no longer fit to people earth.
DAYA
How, knight, does my intelligence deserve Such bitter scorn? That Recha is a Christian On you a Christian templar, and her lover, Confers no joy.
TEMPLAR
Particularly as She is a Christian of your making, Daya.
DAYA
O, so you understand it—well and good— I wish to find out him that might convert her. It is her fate long since to have been that Which she is spoiled for being.
TEMPLAR
Do explain— Or go.
DAYA
She is a Christian child—of Christian Parents was born and is baptised.
TEMPLAR (hastily)
And Nathan—
DAYA
Is not her father.
TEMPLAR
Nathan not her father— And are you sure of what you say?
DAYA
I am, It is a truth has cost me tears of blood. No, he is not her father.
TEMPLAR
And has only Brought her up as his daughter, educated The Christian child a Jewess.
DAYA
Certainly.
TEMPLAR
And she is unacquainted with her birth? Has never learnt from him that she was born A Christian, and no Jewess?
DAYA
Never yet.
TEMPLAR
And he not only let the child grow up In this mistaken notion, but still leaves The woman in it.
DAYA
Aye, alas!
TEMPLAR
How, Nathan, The wise good Nathan thus allow himself To stifle nature’s voice? Thus to misguide Upon himself th’ effusions of a heart Which to itself abandoned would have formed Another bias, Daya—yes, indeed You have intrusted an important secret That may have consequences—it confounds me, I cannot tell what I’ve to do at present, Therefore go, give me time, he may come by And may surprise us.
DAYA
I should drop for fright.
TEMPLAR
I am not able now to talk, farewell; And if you chance to meet him, only say That we shall find each other at the sultan’s.
DAYA
Let him not see you’ve any grudge against him. That should be kept to give the proper impulse To things at last, and may remove your scruples Respecting Recha. But then, if you take her Back with you into Europe, let not me Be left behind.