Chapter XIV: Act II: Scene I.--The Sultan's Palace

Saladin and Sittah (_playing at chess_).

SITTAH.

Where are your thoughts? How ill you play, dear brother!

SALADIN.

Not well in truth--and yet I thought----

SITTAH.

Oh, yes!
You're playing well for me; take back that move.

SALADIN.

Why?
SITTAH.

Don't you see you leave your knight exposed?

SALADIN.

Ay, true!--then so.

SITTAH.

And now I take your pawn.

SALADIN.

That's true again, dear Sittah! Well, then, check!

SITTAH.

That will not help you--I protect my king,
And all is safe again.

SALADIN.

Well, out of this
Dilemma 'tis not easy to escape.
I cannot save the knight.

SITTAH.

I pass him by;
I will not take him.

SALADIN.

Well, I owe you nothing;
The place you gain is better than the piece.
SITTAH.

Perhaps.
SALADIN.

But reckon not without your host;
You did not see that move.

SITTAH.

Not I, indeed;
I did not think you weary of your queen.

SALADIN.

My queen!
SITTAH.

Well, well! I see that I to-day
Shall win my thousand dinars and no more.

SALADIN.

Why so?
SITTAH.

Why so? Because designedly
You lose the game! You vex me, Saladin!
I find no pleasure in a game like this.
And even when I lose, I come off well;
For, to console me for the games you win,
You force me to accept a double stake.

SALADIN.

In that case, then, it may be by design
That you have sometimes lost. Is that the truth?

SITTAH.

At least your generosity's to blame
That I improve so little in my play.

SALADIN.

But we forget the game; come, finish it.

SITTAH.

Well, 'tis my move; now, check to king and queen!

SALADIN.

Indeed! I did not see the double check.
I lose my queen.

SITTAH.

Let's see! Can it be helped?

SALADIN.

No, take the queen--I have no luck with her.

SITTAH.

Only with her?
SALADIN.

Remove her from the board,
I shall not miss her. Now I am right again.

SITTAH.

I know from lessons which yourself have taught
How courteously we should behave to queens.
(_Offering to restore the piece_.)

SALADIN.

Take her or not, I shall not move her more.

SITTAH.

Why need I take her? Check, and check!

SALADIN.

Go on.
SITTAH.

Check, check, and check again!

SALADIN.

'Tis checkmate now.

SITTAH.

Hold!--no, not yet. You may advance the knight,
And ward the danger. But 'twill be the same.

SALADIN.

You are the winner, and Al-Hafi pays.
Let him be called, Sittah! You were not wrong.
My thoughts were wandering--were not in the game,
But who gives us so oft these shapeless bits
Of wood? which speak of naught--suggest no thought.
Was it with Iman that I've played--Well, well,
Ill-luck is ever wont to seek excuse.
Not the unmeaning squares or shapeless men
Have made me heedless; your dexterity,
Your calm, sharp eye, dear Sittah!

SITTAH.

What of that?
Is that to blunt the sting of your defeat?
Enough--your thoughts were wandering more than mine.

SALADIN.

Than yours? What subject could engage your thoughts?

SITTAH.

Far different cares than those which trouble you.
But, Saladin, say, when shall we again
Resume this pleasant pastime?

SALADIN.

Dearest Sittah,
This interruption will but whet our zeal.
Your thoughts are on the war: well, let it come--
'Twas not my arm that first unsheathed the sword;
I would have willingly prolonged the truce,
And willingly have knit a tender bond,
For Sittah's sake, with Richard's noble brother.

SITTAH.

How pleased you are, can you but praise your Richard.

SALADIN.

If Richard's sister had but been bestowed
Upon our brother Melek, what a house
Had then been ours! the best, the happiest
The earth could boast. You know I am not slow
To praise myself: I'm worthy of my friends.
What men these unions would have given us!

SITTAH.

Did I not smile at once at your fine dreams?
You do not, will not, know the Christian race.
It is their pride not to be men, but Christians.
The virtue which their founder felt and taught,
The charity He mingled with their creed,
Is valued, not because it is humane,
And good, and lovely, but for this alone,
That it was 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 on trust,
And in His virtues put their faith. His virtues!
'Tis not His virtues, but His name alone
They wish to thrust upon us--His mere name,
Which they desire should overspread the world,
Should swallow up the name of all good men,
And put the rest to shame. 'Tis for His name
Alone they care.

SALADIN.

Else, Sittah, as you say,
They would not have required that you and Melek
Should be called Christians, ere they suffered you
To feel for Christians the pure flame of love.

SITTAH.

As if from Christians, and from them alone,
That love can be expected, which the hand
Of our Creator gives to man and wife.

SALADIN.

Christians believe such vain absurdities,
That this may be among them. And yet, Sittah,
The Templars, not the Christians, are in this
To blame. 'Tis they alone who thwart my plans;
'Tis they who still hold Acca, pledged to us
By treaty as the dower of Richard's sister.
And, to maintain their order's interests,
They use this cant--the nonsense of the monk.
Scarce would they wait until the truce expired
To fall upon us. But, go on, good sirs!
Would that all else may thrive as well as this!

SITTAH.

Why, what else troubles you? What other care
Have you to struggle with?

SALADIN.

That constant grief--
I've been to Lebanon, and seen our father.
He's full of care.

SITTAH.

Alas!

SALADIN.

He must give way.
Straitened on every side, no aid, no help,
Nothing comes in.

SITTAH.

What ails him, Saladin?

SALADIN.

The only thing that I am loth to name,
Which, when I have it, so superfluous seems,
And, when I have it not, so necessary.
Where is Al-Hafi? Have they gone for him?
Will no one go? Oh, fatal, cursed money!
Welcome, Al-Hafi! You are come at last.

Scene II.

_The_ Dervise Al-Hafi, Saladin, _and_ Sittah.

AL-HAFI.

The gold from Egypt, I suppose, is come.
Say, is it much?

SALADIN.

What! have you heard of it?

AL-HAFI.

Not I. I thought I should receive it here.

SALADIN (_pacing thoughtfully to and fro_).

Sittah has won a thousand dinars, pay them.

AL-HAFI.

Pay without getting. That is worse than nothing!
And still to Sittah--once again for chess!
But let us see the board; how stands the game?

SITTAH.

You grudge me my good fortune?

AL-HAFI (_examining the board_).

Grudge you? When--
You know too well----

SITTAH (_making signs to him_).

Oh, hush! Al-Hafi, hush!

AL-HAFI (_still examining the board_).

Don't grudge it to yourself.

SITTAH.

Al-Hafi, hush!

AL-HAFI.

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

SITTAH.

'Tis well he does not hear.

AL-HAFI.

The move is his.

SITTAH (_approaching nearer_).

Then promise me that I shall have the money.

AL-HAFI (_still intent upon the board_).

You shall receive it as you've always done.

SITTAH.

How! are you mad?

AL-HAFI.

The game's not over yet.
You have not lost it, Saladin.

SALADIN (_paying no attention_).

Oh, yes;
Pay down the money.

AL-HAFI.

Pay! here stands the queen.

SALADIN (_still heedless_).

She's of no use; she's lost.

SITTAH.

Do say that I
May send and fetch the gold.

AL-HAFI (_still studying the game_).

Oh, yes! of course.
But though the queen be lost, you are not mate.

SALADIN (_dashing down the board_).

I say I am. I will be mate.

AL-HAFI.

If so,
Small pains, small gains, say I. So got, so spent.

SALADIN.

What is he muttering there?

SITTAH (_to_ Saladin, _making a sign meanwhile to_ Al-Hafi).

You know him well.
He likes entreaties--loves to be implored.
Who knows if he be not a little jealous?

SALADIN.

Well, not of thee--not of my sister, surely.
What do I hear? Al-Hafi, are you jealous?

AL-HAFI.

Perhaps I am. I wish I had her head,
Or that I were as good as she.

SITTAH.

My brother,
He always pays me fairly, and to-day
He'll do the same. Let him alone. Now go!
Al-Hafi! go! I'll have the money----

AL-HAFI.

No, not I.
I'll act this farce no more. He must know soon.

SALADIN.

Who? what?
SITTAH.

Al-Hafi! say, is this your promise?
Is't thus you keep your word?

AL-HAFI.

Could I foresee
That it would come to this?

SALADIN.

Well, tell me all.

SITTAH.

Al-Hafi! I implore you, be discreet.

SALADIN.

'Tis very strange; and what can Sittah have
So earnestly to sue for, from a stranger--
A Dervise--rather than from me, her brother?
Al-Hafi, I command you. Dervise, speak.

SITTAH.

Let not a trifle touch my brother nearer
Than is becoming, for you know that I
Have often won as much from you at chess.
But as I stand in little need of gold,
I've left the money in Al-Hafi's chest,
Which is not over full; but never fear,
It is not my intention to bestow
My wealth on either of you.

AL-HAFI.

Were this all!

SITTAH.

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

AL-HAFI.

Nor is this all.

SALADIN.

Then tell the whole.

AL-HAFI.

Whilst we've been waiting for
The gold from Egypt, she----

SITTAH.

Nay, hear him not.

AL-HAFI.

Not only has had nothing,----

SALADIN.

Dearest sister I--
But also has been lending it to you?

AL-HAFI.

Ay! at her sole expense maintained your state.

SALADIN (_embracing her_).

So like my sister!

SITTAH.

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

AL-HAFI.

And soon he'll make her once again as poor
As he is now.

SALADIN.

I poor! her brother poor!
When had I more--when had I less than now?
A cloak, a horse, a sabre, and my God!
What need I else? and these ne'er can I lack.
And yet, Al-Hafi, I could scold you now.

SITTAH.

Nay, brother, do not scold. I would that I
Could thus also relieve our father's cares!

SALADIN.

Ah! now my joy has vanished all at once.
We can want nothing; but he's destitute.
And whilst he wants, we all are poor indeed.
What shall I do? From Egypt we can hope
For nothing--though God only knows the cause.
'Tis general peace around, and as for me,
I could live sparingly, reduce, retrench,
If none else suffered; but 'twould not 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 asks my heart.
I had relied, Al-Hafi, on your chest,
Upon the surplus there.

AL-HAFI.

A surplus there!
Say, should I not have been impaled or hanged,
If I had been detected hoarding up
A surplus? Deficits I might have ventured.

SALADIN.

Well, but what next? Could you have found out none
To borrow from, but Sittah?

SITTAH.

And would I
Have borne it, had another been preferred?
I claim that privilege. I am not yet
Quite beggared.

SALADIN.

No, not quite. Dear Sittah, this
Alone was wanting. But, Al-Hafi, go,
Inquire about, take where and what you can;
Borrow on promise, contract, anyhow;
But, mark me, not from those I have enriched.
'Twould seem as if I wished to have it back.
Go to the covetous. They gladliest lend.
They know how well their money thrives with me.

AL-HAFI.

I know of none.
SITTAH.

I recollect just now,
I heard, Al-Hafi, of your friend's return.

AL-HAFI (_starting_).

Friend! friend of mine! and who can that be, pray?

SITTAH.

Your boasted Jew.

AL-HAFI.

A Jew! and praised by me!

SITTAH.

On whom his God--I think I recollect
The very words you used, as touching him--
On whom his God, of all the choicest goods
Of earth, in full abundance, has bestowed
The greatest and the least.

AL-HAFI.

What could I mean

When I said so?

SITTAH.

The least of good things--wealth.
The greatest--wisdom!

AL-HAFI.

How! and of a Jew
Did I say that?

SITTAH.

Ay, that you did--of Nathan.

AL-HAFI.

Oh, true! of Nathan--yes! He did not now
Occur to me. But he's returned at last,
Then do not doubt that he's well off. He's called
The Wise, the Rich, by all the Jewish folk.

SITTAH.

Now more than ever is he named the Rich.
The town resounds with news of costly stuffs
And priceless treasures he has brought with him.

AL-HAFI.

Is he the Rich once more? Then, do not fear,
He'll be the Wise again.

SITTAH.

What think you? Will
You visit him, Al-Hafi?

AL-HAFI.

What, to borrow?
You know him, surely! Think you he will lend?
His very wisdom lies in this--that he
Will lend to no one.

SITTAH.

Formerly you gave
A picture very different of him.

AL-HAFI.

In case of need he'll lend you merchandise;
But money--money--never! He's a Jew,
Who has not many equals 'mongst his tribe.
He's wise, knows how to live, can play at chess;
Excels in evil, too, as well as good.
Rely not on him. To the poor, indeed,
He vies with Saladin himself in gifts;
And if not quite so much, he gives as freely,
To Jew, and Christian, and Mahometan--
To all alike.

SITTAH.

And such a man as this----

SALADIN.

How comes it, then, I never heard of him?

SITTAH.

Can he refuse to lend to Saladin,
Who wants for others--never for himself.

AL-HAFI.

Ay, there peeps out the Jew--the vulgar Jew:
Believe me, he is jealous, envious
Of generosity. It seems as though
To earn God's favour were his special mission.
And that he may possess wherewith to give,
He never lends. The law he serves, commands
That he show mercy, but not complaisance.
Thus him has mercy made the rudest churl
In all the world. 'Tis true I have not been
This long time past on friendly terms with him,
But do not think that I would do him wrong,
He's good in all things else, but not in that;
Therefore I'll go and knock at other doors.
I recollect this instant an old Moor,
Who's rich and covetous: I'll go to him. (_Exit_.)

SITTAH.

Why in such haste, Al-Hafi?

SALADIN.

Let him go.

Scene III.

Sittah, Saladin.

SITTAH.

He speeds away, as though he would escape.
Why so? Is he indeed himself deceived,
Or would he now mislead me?

SALADIN.

Can I guess?
I scarcely know the man of whom you speak,
And, for the first time, hear to-day of him.

SITTAH.

Can it be possible you know him not
Who, it is said, has visited the
Of Solomon and David; knows the spell
To ope their marble lids, and thence obtain
The boundless stores that claim no lesser source.

SALADIN.

Were this man's wealth by miracle procured,
'Tis not at Solomon's or David's tomb
That it is found. Mere mortal fools lie there.

SITTAH.

Or knaves!--But still his source of opulence
Is more productive, more exhaustless than
A cave of Mammon.

SALADIN.

For he trades, I'm told.

SITTAH.

His caravans through every desert toil,
His laden camels throng the public roads,
His ships in every harbour furl their sails.
Al-Hafi long ago has told me this,
Adding, with pride, how Nathan gives away,
What he esteems it noble to have earned
By patient industry, for others' wants;
How free from bias is his lofty soul,
His heart to every virtue how unlocked,
To every lovely feeling how allied!

SALADIN.

And yet Al-Hafi spoke with coldness of him.

SITTAH.

Not coldness, but unwillingness, as if
He deemed it dangerous to praise too much,
Yet knew not how to blame without a cause.
Or can it be, in truth, that e'en the best
Amongst a tribe can never quite escape
The foibles of their race, and that, in fact,
Al-Hafi has in this to blush for Nathan?
But come what may, let him be Jew or not,
If he be rich, that is enough for me.

SALADIN.

You would not, sister, take his--wealth by force?

SITTAH.

By force? What mean you? Fire and 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--she came but yesterday.
Meanwhile I'll think upon a subtle plan
For this same Nathan. Follow, Saladin!

Scene IV.

_The Place of Palms, near_ Nathan's _house, from which_ Recha _and_ Nathan _are coming_; Daja, _meeting them_.

RECHA.

Dear father! you have been so slow, that you
Will scarcely meet him now.

NATHAN.

Well, well, my child;
If not beneath the palms, be sure that we
Shall meet him somewhere else. Be satisfied.
Is not that Daja whom I see approaching?

RECHA.

She certainly has lost him.

NATHAN.

Wherefore so?

RECHA.

Her pace were quicker else.

NATHAN.

She has not seen us.

RECHA.

There, now she spies us.

NATHAN.

And her speed redoubles.
Recha, be calm!

RECHA.

What! would you have your child
Be cold and unconcerned about his fate
To whom her life is due?--a life to her
But dear because she owed it first to you.

NATHAN.

I would not wish you other than you are,
E'en if I knew that in your secret soul
Another and a different feeling throbs.

RECHA.

What means my father?

NATHAN.

Do you ask of me--
So tremblingly of me? What passes now
Within your soul is innocence and nature.
Nay, fear not, for it gives me no alarm.
But promise, if the heart shall ever speak
A plainer language, you will not conceal
One single of your wishes from my love.

RECHA.

Oh, the bare thought that I should ever wish
To hide them from my father, makes me shudder.

NATHAN.

Recha, enough of this. Now, what says Daja?

DAJA.

He's still beneath the palms, and presently
He'll reach yon wall. See! here he comes at last.

RECHA.

He seems irresolute which way to turn,
To left or right!

DAJA.

His custom is to seek
The convent walls, so he will pass this way.
What will you wager? Yes, he comes to us.

RECHA.

Right! Did you speak to him? How did he look?

DAJA.

As usual.

NATHAN.

Do not let him see you here.
Stand farther back, or to the house retire.

RECHA.

Just one look more. Ah! the trees hide him now.

DAJA.

Come, come away! Recha, your father's right.
Should he observe us he'll retire at once.

RECHA.

Alas! the trees----

NATHAN.

Now he emerges from them.
He can't but see you. Hence! I beg of you.

DAJA.

Come, Recha, come! I know a window whence
We may observe him better.

RECHA.

Come, then, come.
(_They both retire_.)

Scene V.

Nathan (_who is presently joined by the_ Templar).

NATHAN.

I almost shrink from meeting this strange fellow--
Recoil from his rough virtue! That one man
Should ever make another feel confused!
But see, he comes! he seems a noble youth;
Looks like a man. I like his daring eye,
His honest gait. Although the shell is bitter,
The kernel may not be so. I have seen
One like him somewhere. Pardon, noble Frank----

TEMPLAR.

What would you?

NATHAN.

Pardon me----

TEMPLAR.

What would you, Jew?

NATHAN.

The privilege of speaking to you.

TEMPLAR.

Well!
How can I help it? Quick, then--what's your wish?

NATHAN.

Patience! nor pass with such contempt and pride
One who must be your debtor evermore.

TEMPLAR.

How so? I almost guess. No; are you then----

NATHAN.

My name is Nathan, father to the maid
Your generous courage rescued from the flames.
I come to----

TEMPLAR.

If you come to render thanks,
Spare them. I have already been compelled
To bear too many thanks for this small act.
Besides, you owe me nothing. Could I know
The maiden was your daughter? I was bound--
It is a Templar's duty--to assist
All who need succour; and my life just then
Was a mere burden. It was a relief
To risk it for another, even though
The task were to preserve a Jewess' life.

NATHAN.

Great--great yet horrible--I understand
The turn. The modest greatness will assume
The hideous mask to ward off gratitude.
But though he may disdain our proffer'd thanks,
Is there no other tribute we can pay?
Sir Knight! if you were not a stranger here,
And not a pris'ner, I were not so bold.
But, come, what service can I render you?

TEMPLAR.

You!--nothing.

NATHAN.

I am rich.

TEMPLAR.

The richer Jew
Was ne'er in my esteem the better Jew.

NATHAN.

Is that a reason why you should not use
The better part of him--his wealth?

TEMPLAR.

Well, well,
I'll not refuse it wholly, for the sake
Of my poor mantle; when it is well worn,
And spite of darning will not hold together,
I'll come and borrow cloth or gold of you,
To make a new one. Nay, Sir, do not start;
The danger is not pressing--'tis not yet
Quite worthless; it is sound, and strong, and good.
Save in one corner, where an ugly spot
Is singed, and that is from a burn it got
When I bore off your daughter from the fire.

NATHAN (_taking hold of the mantle_).

'Tis strange, indeed, that such a spot as this
Should bear far better witness to the man
Than his own lips. This spot! Oh, I could kiss it.
Your pardon, Sir, in truth, I meant it not!

TEMPLAR.

What?

NATHAN.

'Twas a tear that fell.

TEMPLAR.

Well, 'tis no matter.
'Tis not the first. (This Jew doth puzzle me.)

NATHAN.

Would you but send this mantle to my daughter!

TEMPLAR.

Why?

NATHAN.

That she, too, may press it to her lips;
For at her benefactor's feet to fall
She now may hope in vain.

TEMPLAR.

But, Jew, your name?
Tis Nathan, is it not? You choose your words
With skill--I am confused. I did not think

NATHAN.

Feign, Templar, and dissemble as you may,
I see the truth. I see your generous heart,
Too honest and too good to be polite.
A grateful girl, all feeling, and her maid
Swift to obey--a father far from home,
You valued her fair fame, and would not see her.
You scorned to tempt lest you should victor prove.
For this too I must tender you my thanks.

TEMPLAR.

You know at least how Templars _ought_ to feel.

NATHAN.

Why Templars only? and why ought to feel?
Is it because your rules and vows enjoin
These duties to _your order_? Sir, I know
How good men all should feel, and know as well
That every country can produce good men.

TEMPLAR.

You'll make distinctions?

NATHAN.

Yes, in colour, form,
And dress, perhaps.

TEMPLAR.

Ay, and in number too--
Here more--there less.

NATHAN.

The difference is not much.
Great men, like trees, have ever need of room;
Too many set together only serve
To crush each other's boughs. The middling sort,
Like us, are found in numbers, they abound;
Only let not one scar and bruise the other,
Let not the gnarl be angry with the stump,
Let not the upper branch alone pretend
Not to have started from the common earth.

TEMPLAR.

Well said. And yet what nation was the first
To scatter discord 'mongst their fellow-men?
To claim the title of "the chosen people?"
How now if I were not to hate them, but
To scorn this upstart nation, for their pride?
That pride which it bequeathed to Mussulman
And Christian, as if God were theirs alone.
You start to hear a Christian and a Templar
Talk thus. But when and where has all this rage,
This pious rage, to win the better God,
And force this better God on all the world,
Shown itself more, or in a blacker form,
Than here, and now? Who here, who now retains
The blinding scales upon his eyes--and yet
Let him be blind who will!--forget my words,
And leave me (_is going_).

NATHAN.

Templar! you but little know
How closer henceforth I shall cling to you.
We must, we must be friends. Despise my people--
We did not choose a nation for ourselves.
Are we our nation's? What then is a nation?
Were Jews or Christians such, ere they were men?
Ah! would that I had found in you one man
To whom it were enough to be a man.

TEMPLAR.

Thou hast so, Nathan! Yes, by Heaven, thou hast.
Thy hand. I blush to have mistaken thee.

NATHAN.

Now I feel proud. 'Tis only common souls
In whom we seldom err.

TEMPLAR.

Uncommon ones
We do not oft forget. Nathan, we must,
We must be friends.

NATHAN.

We are so. And my Recha
Will now rejoice. How bright the prospect grows
That dawns upon me! If you did but know her.

TEMPLAR.

I grow impatient, Nathan. But who now
Comes from your house? Methinks it is your Daja.

NATHAN.

Yes, and her look how full of care! God grant----

TEMPLAR.

That nothing may have chanced to our Recha!

Scene VI.

Daja (_rushing in_).

DAJA.

Nathan, dear Nathan!

NATHAN.

Well.

DAJA.

Forgive me, Knight,
That I must interrupt you.

NATHAN.

What has happened?

DAJA.

The Sultan sends for you--commands you straight
To speak with him. Protect us, Heaven! the Sultan!

NATHAN.

The Sultan sends for me! He would inspect
The goods--the precious wares that I have brought
From Persia. Say there's nothing yet unpacked.

DAJA.

No, no; 'tis not to look at anything;
He wants to speak to you in person, Nathan,
And orders you to come at once.

NATHAN.

I go.

Daja, return.

DAJA.

Knight, take it not amiss.
We were alarmed for what the Sultan might
Require of Nathan.

NATHAN.

That I soon shall know. (_Exit Daja_.)

Scene VII.

Nathan, _the_ Templar.

TEMPLAR.

Are you then not acquainted with him yet?

NATHAN.

Who, Saladin? Not yet. I've neither shunned
Nor sought to see him. And the public voice
Proclaims his fame so loud, that I could wish
Rather to take its language upon trust,
Than sift the truth. And yet if it be true
That he has spared your life----

TEMPLAR.

Yes, so it is.
The life I live, he gave.

NATHAN.

Then he bestows
A double, treble life on me. And thus
He flings a bond around me, which secures
My duty to his service; and henceforth
I burn to know his wishes. Now, for all
I am prepared; and further, will confess
'Tis for your sake alone that I am thus.

TEMPLAR.

Often I've sought to meet him, but as yet
Have found no means to render him my thanks.
The impress which his mind received of me
Was transient, and ere now has disappeared.
Who knows if he may still remember me?
And yet once more at least he must recall
Me to his thoughts--to fix my future lot!
'Tis not enough that by his gracious will
I still have of life; I've yet to learn
According to whose will I have to live.

NATHAN.

Therefore 'twere well I did not tarry now.
Perchance some happy word may give excuse
To speak of you. Now, pardon me, farewell!
I must away. When shall we meet again?

TEMPLAR.

Whenever 'tis permitted.

NATHAN.

When you will.

TEMPLAR.

To-day, then.

NATHAN.

And your name?

TEMPLAR.

My name was--is--
Conrad of Stauffen.

NATHAN.

Conrad of Stauffen! Stauffen!

TEMPLAR.

What is there in my name to wonder at?

NATHAN.

There are more races of that name, no doubt.

TEMPLAR.

Yes, many of the name were here--rot here,
My uncle even--I should say my father.
But wherefore is your eye so fixed on me?

NATHAN.

I know not; but I love to look on you.

TEMPLAR.

Therefore I take my leave. The searching eye
Will oft discover more than it desires.
I fear it, Nathan; so, farewell. Let time,
Not curious prying, make us better known. (_Exit_.)

NATHAN (_looking after him with astonishment_).

"The searching eye will oft discover more
Than it desires." As if he read my soul!
That, too, may chance to be. 'Tis not alone
His walk, his stature, but his very voice!
Leonard so bore himself--was even wont
To carry thus his sword upon his arm,
And thus to shade his eyebrow with his hand,
As if to hide the fire that fill'd his look.
So deeply graven images may seem
At times to lie asleep within the soul,
When all at once a single word--a tone--
Calls them to life again. Of Stauffen--right--
Filnek and Stauffen--I will soon know more.
But first to Saladin. Ha! Daja here--
And on the watch! Come nearer, Daja, come.

Scene VIII.

Daja, Nathan.

NATHAN.

Well, both of you have something more at heart
Than to know what the Sultan wants with me.

DAJA.

And you can hardly blame her for it, sir.
You were beginning to converse with him
More trustingly yourself, when suddenly
The Sultan's message drove us from the window.

NATHAN.

Go tell her, Daja, she may soon expect
A visit from the Templar.

DAJA.

What! indeed!

NATHAN.

I think I may rely upon you, Daja.
Be on your guard, I beg, you'll not repent it.
Your conscience shall at length be satisfied,
But do not mar my plans. Inquire, explain,
But with reserve, with fitting modesty.

DAJA.

No need for such advice. I go, I go.
And you must follow; for, see, Hafi comes--
The Sultan sends a second messenger.

Scene IX.

Nathan, Al-Hafi.

AL-HAFI.

Ha! are you there? I have been seeking you.

NATHAN.

Why in such haste? What can he want with me?

AL-HAFI.

Who?

NATHAN.

Saladin. But I am coming quickly.

AL-HAFI.

To whom? To Saladin?

NATHAN.

Has he not sent you?

AL-HAFI.

Me? no--but has he sent already?

NATHAN.

Yes.

AL-HAFI.

Then it is so.

NATHAN.

What's so?

AL-HAFI.

That----I'm not guilty,
God knows, I'm not to blame; 'tis not my fault.
I've done my best--belied, and slandered you--
To save you from it.

NATHAN.

Save me? and from what?
Be plain.

AL-HAFI.

From being made his Defterdar.
I pity you--I cannot stay to see it.
I fly this hour--you know the road I take.
Speak, then, if I can serve you; but your wants
Must suit a wretch that's wholly destitute.
Quick, what's your pleasure?

NATHAN.

Recollect yourself--
Your words are mystery. I know of nothing.
What do you mean?

AL-HAFI.

You'll take your money--bags?

NATHAN.

My money--bags!

AL-HAFI.

Ay, bring your treasures forth--
The treasures you must shower on Saladin.

NATHAN.

And is that all?

AL-HAFI.

Ah! shall I witness it,
How, day by day, he'll scoop and pare you down,
Till nothing but a hollow, empty shell,
A husk as light as film, is left behind.
Nathan, you've yet to learn how spendthrift waste
From prudent bounty's never empty stores
Borrows and borrows, till there's not a crumb
Left to keep rats from starving. Do not think
That he who wants your gold will heed advice.
When has the Sultan listened to advice?
Hear what befel me with him.

NATHAN.

Well--go on.

AL-HAFI.

He played just now at chess with Sittah. She
Is a keen player. I drew near and watched.
The game which Saladin supposed was lost,
Stood yet upon the board. He had given in,
I marked, and cried, "The game's not lost at all!"

NATHAN.

Oh! what a grand discovery for you.

AL-HAFI.

He needed only to remove his king
Behind the castle--and the check was saved.
Could I but show you----

NATHAN.

I believe it all!

AL-HAFI.

Then with the castle free, he must have won.
I saw it, and I called him to the board.
What do you think he did?

NATHAN.

He doubted you.

AL-HAFI.

Not only that--he would not hear a word--
And with contempt he overthrew the board.

NATHAN.

Indeed!

AL-HAFI.

He said he chose it--would be mate.
Is that to play the game?

NATHAN.

Most surely not.
'Twas rather playing with the game.

AL-HAFI.

And yet
The stakes were high.

NATHAN.

A trifle to the Sultan!
Money is nought to him. It is not that
Which galls, but not to hear Al-Hafi out--
Not to admire his comprehensive glance,
His eagle eye--'tis that demands revenge.
Say, am I right?

AL-HAFI.

I only tell this tale
That you may know how much his head is worth.
But I am weary of him. All the day
I am running round to every wretched Moor
To borrow--money for him--I who ne'er
Ask for myself, am now obliged to sue
For others--and, according to my creed,
To borrow is to beg, as, when you lend
Your money upon usury, you steal.
Among my Ghebers on the Ganges' shores
I shall need neither; there I shall not be
The tool or pimp of any; there alone
Upon the Ganges honest men are found.
You, Nathan, you alone of all I see
Are worthy on the Ganges' banks to live.
Then come with me; leave him the wretched gold
That he would strip you of--'tis all he wants.
Little by little he will ruin you;
'Tis better to be quit of all at once;
Come, then, and I'll provide you with a staff.

NATHAN.

Nay, that resource will still remain for us
As a last refuge. But I'll think of it.

AL-HAFI.

Nay, ponder not upon a thing like this.

NATHAN.

Then stay till I have seen the Sultan. Stay
Till I have bid farewell.

AL-HAFI.

The man who stays
To hunt for motives, to search reasons out,
Who cannot boldly and at once resolve
To live a free man's life, must be the slave
Of others till his death. But as you please.
Farewell! my path is here, and yours is there!

NATHAN.

But stay, Al-Hafi! till you have arranged
The state accounts.

AL-HAFI.

Pah! Nathan, there's no need;
The balance in the chest is quickly told,
And my account, Sittah, or you, will vouch.
Farewell! (_Exit_.)

NATHAN (_looking after him_).

Yes, I will vouch it, honest, wild--
How shall I call him? Ah! the real beggar
Is, after all, the only real king. (_Exit at opposite side_.)