+ ^: THE LIFE AND WORKS OF GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING. From the German of Adolf Stahr. By E. P. Evans, Ph.D., Late Professor of Modern Languages and Literature in the University of Michigan. 2 vols. 8vo, $5.00. " A work of permanent value. It is the best of the many books which have been written and compiled for the purpose of portraying the char- acter and career of one of the most illustrious scholars and thinkers that even Germany has ever produced. It combines judicious selection with ample information, criticism with narration, and presents, with compara- tive brevity, an outline of labors, the benefits of which the world is now enjoying in almost every department of learning and culture." — Nation. HENRY HOLT CO., Publishers, N. Y. Nathan the Wise /3I8" A Dramatic Poem by GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LeSSING Translated by Ellen Frothingham Preceded by a brief account of the Poet and his works, and followed by Kuno Fischer's Essay on the Poem THIRD EDITION, REVISED NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1873. .** Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S67, liY LEYPOLDT & HOLT, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York, By Transfer JUN 5 1907 Chas. E. Wilbour, Printer, 20S-2H EA'iT T2TH St., NEW YORK. Publishers' Notice To the First Edition. Nathan the Wise is the third of a uniform series of great foreign poems which the publishers have lately begun to issue. The first one was King Rene's Daughter, from the Danish, which is now in the second edition. It was followed by Frithiof's Saga, the national epic of Sweden, edited by Bayard Taylor. The fourth of the series, Selections from the Kalevala, the national epic of Finland, trans- lated from a close German version by the late Pro- fessor John A. Porter, of Yale College, will be ready for publication a few days after the issue of the present volume. Others will be added as rapidly as the public appreciation may warrant. Among those in contemplation are Calderon's Life is a Dream ; Tasso's Aminta, translated by Leigh Hunt ; The Wooing of the King's Daughter, from the Norwegian of Muench ; Boris Godounoff, from the Russian of Pouschkine ; Nala and Damajanti, iv PUBLISHERS' NOTICE. translated from the Sanscrit by Milman ; a transla- tion of Bodenstedt's version of the Turkish songs of Mirza Schaffy, and an English version of the Sakoontala. With the exception of Goethe's Faust, there is no poem in German literature which has received so much special study as Nathan the Wise, or which has so well rewarded it. Probably the best critical monograph which it has generated is the essay by Kuno Fischer. This has been translated by the translator of the poem, pruned of some of its Ger- man redundancy, and put into a form better suited than the original one, to the Anglo-Saxon require- ments of terseness and directness. The modified Version will be found at the end of this volume. W Sketch of Lessing. " If God held all truth shut in his right hand, and in his left nothing but the ever-restless instinct for truth, though with the condition of for ever and ever erring, and should say to me, Choose ! I would bow reverently to his left hand, and say, Father, give ! Pure truth is for Thee alone \" Two years ago, it would have been safe to say that a vague recollection of having somewhere seen a sentence like the one we have quoted, was all the knowledge of Gotthold Ephraim Lessing possessed by the majority of educated Americans. Of course there are men who have long known and appre- ciated him ; but the number of such is surprisingly small. He has not had one reader where Goethe, or Schiller, or Jean Paul, has had a hundred. The only one of his works yet published in this country is Minna von Barnhelm — surely not his most char- acteristic production — and this was reprinted by a VI SKETCH OF LESSING. publisher of school-books from an English edition adapted for the use of students of German. It is but a year since Mr. Spencer published Professor Evans' excellent translation of Stahr's Life of Les- sing. The ' criticisms ' which the volume received, clearly displayed the ignorance existing in regard to its subject. Among the few notable exceptions were a short notice in the Nation, and an article in the North American Review for April, 1867, by Professor Lowell, in which he gave an admirable sketch of Lessing's life and character. A 'Review/ pub- lished in New York, contained an ' essay, ' the first half of which was translated from the Nouvelle Bio- graphie Generate, and the other half taken from Ap- pleton's Cyclopcedia. As far as we have been able to learn, the American press has supplied little more than these meagre materials for a knowledge of that great and unique man. The neglect that he has received cannot be ac- counted for by any proportionate inferiority to his better known countrymen. He was the generator of modern German literature, and it is not on the partly accidental position of a pioneer that his claims rest. He had a greatness of his own, whose half prophetic character does much to explain the neglect which has fallen upon it. The hack- neyed term, "in advance of his age," has a very deep significance when applied to him. But we are beginning to catch up with him, and the peculiar SKETCH OF LESSIXG. Vll progress of our people has already made them specially, fitted for his teachings. For a knowledge of the poet and his other works, we recommend the sources already named. We have gleaned from them, for the benefit of readers unwise enough to slight this recommendation, the facts embodied in the following sketch. On the 2 2d of January, 1729, Deacon, afterward Pastor Primarius, John Gottfried Lessing, of Ka- menz, in Upper Lusatia, rejoiced, it is to be sup- posed, over the birth of his eldest son. The little Lessing began life with a line of ancestors at his back who, through scholarly attainments and lib- eral ideas, legitimately gave him the power which afterward made him great. For half-a-dozen gen- erations, his family had been one of jurists, curates, and burgomasters. His grandfather's thesis, on taking his degree of Doctor of Laws, was, "De Religionum Tokra?itia." Added to the boy's other 'inherited conditions/ was a fine physical consti- tution. When Lessing was about twelve years old, the rector of the Kamenz public school, where Lessing went, published an article defending the theme that "The Stage is a School of Eloquence." This brought all the big-wigs of the town down upon him. Pastor Primarius Lessing assailed his prin- ciples in the pulpit, and at last he had to leave the place. A friend of his — Mylius by name, whom VI 11 SKETCH OF LESSING. we shall meet again — wrote a satirical poem on the circumstance, in consequence of which he was imprisoned, forced to apologize, and fined. This affair probably presented the Stage for the first time to the notice of the future founder of the German drama. The immediate effect was, that he had to go to another school — that of St. Afra, established by the Elector Maurice of Saxony, in Meissen. On the 21st of June, 1841, a festival was held at that same school, in honor of the cen- tennial anniversary of Lessing's entrance. The old pastor took him there to have him prepared for the ministry. After Lessing left, he said that he had 11 already at Meissen understood how one must learn much there which one cannot use in the world." That was more than a hundred years ago. Perhaps schools have changed since then. At Meissen, Lessing's favorite authors were Theophrastus, Plau- tus, and Terence, and he said that he got self- knowledge by reading " comedies." At this school he wrote parts of a poem "On the Plurality of Worlds." One expression in it is — "They make glorious shipwreck who are lost in seeking worlds." He also began his first dramatic work — a comedy — "The Young Scholar," of which he says that at that time, when he ' { knew men only from books, a young scholar was the only species of fool" which he could not have been unacquainted with. In September, 1746, when he was seventeen years SKETCH OF LESSING. IX old, he entered the University of Leipzic. While there, he studied the literature of the ancients with an interest far removed from the pedantic study of their languages then in vogue. He was also one of a little coterie who talked philosophy with Kaestnerj a young professor of great talent and enthusiasm. The world of Leipzic made Lessing realize, as he wrote to his mother, that " books might make him learned, but would never make him a man/' He felt himself pedantic, awkward, and boorish ; and in order to correct these defects, learned dan- cing, fencing, and riding, and sought society. The theatre at once attracted him. He became ac- quainted with Madame Neuber, the head of the dramatic company — a woman who, Lessing says, "had manly views, and a perfect knowledge of her art. " Meanwhile, he had fallen in with Mylius, the youth who got put in prison for his poem, who became a strong influence in directing the course of Lessing's life. Mylius was now one of the little philosophical coterie gathered about Professor Kaest- ner ; he was a man of great talent, very unorthodox opinions, and irregular life. He published popu- lar journals on scientific subjects, for which Lessing occasionally wrote poetic burlesques of scientific discussions. This man led Lessing more among the stage-people, and Lessing, of course, fell in love, very platonically, we are assured, with one of the young actresses. These associations led him to X SKETCH OF LESSING. finish "The Young Scholar," and it was played with great success by Madame Neuber's company. It is not much to the discredit of the poor old Pastor Primarius that, in an age when actors were considered too vile for Christian burial, he thought that, in such company, his son was going to per- dition. He pretended that Lessing's mother was dying, and sent for him to come to her. A heavy frost set in after the mailing of the letter, and Les- sing started without waiting for winter clothing. The parents were softened when their boy stood before them shivering with the severe cold, and he was made welcome. After three months, he went back to college. His parents considering that he had dwelt so long in the tents of the ungodly that it would be a desecration of the priestly office for him to embrace it, tried to make him a student of medicine. ■ He yielded so far as to attend several courses of medical lectures. Madame Neuber's theatre was soon broken up, and Lessing had gone security for so many of the debts of the actors, that, as no help could be looked for from home, he was obliged to leave Leip- zic. Going to Berlin, where Mylius was already editing a paper, he concluded to abandon study, and to try to relieve himself from his debts with his pen. Mylius did all he could for his friend, not stop- ping short at real sacrifices. But the influence of SKETCH OF LESSING. XJ 4 'the free-thinker" was greatly dreaded by the good people at Kamenz, and they were further exercised by frequent rumors of their son's predilection for the stage. Their letters were full of urging to leave Berlin, and complaints at his course of life and irreligious opinions. A few sentences from his re- plies will throw light on some points in his charac- ter. " I shall not return home, neither shall I. go to any university; because my stipends" (allow- ances made by his native town for the support of a few of its young men at a university) "are not suffi- cient to pay my debts, and I cannot ask the neces- sary sum of you. . . . Wherever I may be, I shall continue to write, and I shall never forget the benefits I have so long received at your hands. The Christian religion is not a thing thai ought to be received on trust from one's parents. The great mass of mankind, it is true, inherit it as they do their property ; but their conduct shows what Christians they are." The ideas in this latter para- graph are common-place enough now, but Lessing wrote them in Germany a hundred and twenty years ago, when he was twenty years old. With the exception of part of 1752, spent in Wit- tenberg in studying for his degree of Master of Arts, the next ten years were mainly passed in Berlin. Lessing began work in Berlin by making trans- lations from the modern languages. He knew Xll SKETCH OF LEASING. French, Spanish, Italian, and English. Soon he founded, in connection with Mylius, a periodical devoted to dramatic subjects, ancient as well as modern. He withdrew from this publication be- cause Mylius was ignorant enough to assert in it that there had been no Italian drama. He then began writing for Voss's Gazelle. By this time he began to attract attention. German criticism was divided between the followers of Gottsched, who in- sisted on exact imitation in form and fact, and the Zurich school, who set no bounds to the imagina- tion. Lessing struck out a new path, by declaring that there are no a priori principles in art, that the only established canons are those that can be in- duced from works of art already existing, and that a fresh genius gives material for fresh canons. In other words, he applied to art trie ' experience ' principle of philosophy. He began hitting hard blows at the pedantry as well as the sentimentalism of the time, and directed them particularly against the French influence which was spreading both. The French classic drama was the model in Ger- many, and it was believed that classic themes were the only ones for tragedy. Lessing's English culture showed him so many illustrations of the falsity of this view, that he hunted out the principles which prove that man at one time is as much a subject for art as at another — that the soul of man, and not his surroundings, is the seat of all that is great in SKETCH OF LES8ING. Xlll dramatic poetry. In illustration of his realistic prin- ciples, he wrote, in 1753-5, "Miss Sara Sampson" — a tragedy in prose, the scene laid in England, and the time contemporaneous. The play was a suc- cess, and emancipated the German playwrights from their previous limitations. Carrying the same disregard of precedent and the same adherence to broad principles, into religion, he began quite early in his Berlin career to strike out such thoughts as these: "Well-doing is the main thing: belief is secondary." . . . "It is not agreement in opinions, but agreement in virtuous actions, that renders the world virtuous and happy." Of a romance whose scene was laid in Constanti- nople, he said : ' ' If a pious Moslem should read the book, he would constantly be constrained to cry out, 'What blasphemies!' and yet it is these very blasphemies which will edify many an honest Chris- tian." Nor did his religious views stop short of self-application. He carried about in his poverty a calm, cheerful philosophy, which prevented his believing that "one should thank God only for good things," and led him to believe that in man "it does not concern his conscience how useful he is, but how useful he would be." Lessing fur- ther carried out his healthy ideas against the licen- tiousness creeping into literature from the French influence. The central point of his theories of suc- cess in art was the character of the artist. To one I XIV SKETCH OF LESSING. trying to write for the stage, he says, "Study ethics, . . . cultivate your own character." His mode of life during these years must be judged with reference to the current views of the age. He was temperately fond of his wine-cellar, as the most sedate Germans are to-day, but he gambled a great deal harder than present ideas ap- prove. He continued this practice for many years, and said that "the eager attention which he gave the faro-table set his clogged machine in motion — brought the stagnant juices into circulation." There is no evidence that he gambled for gain, and all his views and generous habits forbid such a supposi- tion. He had not been in Berlin long before he began to make valuable friendships. Among the best and most enduring were those with Nicolai and Moses Mendelssohn — the grandfather of Felix. The friend- ship with Mendelssohn was life-long, and naturally has given rise to the notion that in Nathan the Wise, Lessing intended to portray his Jewish friend. Not only was he honored in these great friends, but was likewise honored in a still greater enemy — Voltaire. The acrid philosopher was then engaged in his dis- graceful lawsuit with Hirsch, and employed Lessing to translate some of the papers into German. This drew Lessing into Voltaire's society daily for some time. Lessing learned how to appreciate him ; but he was not the man to appreciate Lessing - SKETCH OF LESSING. X? and when Lessing borrowed from his secretary the manuscript of the newly completed Siecle de Louis XIV. , Voltaire finding it out, feared some trans- lating and reprinting plot. He wrote two insult- ing letters to Lessing, and received the replies he merited. This little affair naturally did not tend to soften the criticism which Lessing always felt it his duty to give Voltaire's imaginative writings, but it can hardly be regretted if it had any influence in inspiring what sometimes seems the best bon moi in all literature. Nicolai once said to Lessing, " You must admit that Voltaire has lately said many new and good things." "Certainly," answered Lessing, "but the new things are not good, and the good things are not new." In 1760, Lessing was driven by his poverty to ac- cept a position as assistant of General Von Tauen- zien, the director of Frederic's Mint at Breslau. Up to this time, his writings had consisted almost en- tirely of special criticisms and polemic letters. His only other works had been his Fabeln, the beautiful little tragedy of Philotas, and two dramas on the subject of Faust — one of which is lost, and the other exists but in fragments. At Breslau he re- mained five years. He was in comparative pros- perity, though not as great as it might have been had he not used his knowledge of the mint opera- tions most conscientiously. His peace of mind had two drawbacks — his family, who made the XVI SKETCH OF LESSING. most shameless demands on his finances, which he was too tender-hearted to treat wisely; and his Berlin friends, who bewailed his absence from them as a waste of time, and said that without him they could not continue the " Letters on Literature," which had been the most important vehicles of German criticism. His life seems to have been full of di- version and full of work. Goethe says that Lessing "was fond of casting off personal dignity, because he was confident that he could resume it at any time ; and delighted at that period to lead a dissipated life in taverns and society, since he needed con- stantly a strong counterpoise to his powerfully labo- rious soul." The fact that his soul was "powerfully laborious" during the Breslau period, is proven by the production of the first works that support his enduring fame — Minna von Barnhelm — a military drama, founded on his army associations, among which had been his presence at the siege of Schweid- nitz, and the Laokoon — one of the greatest syste- matic treatises on art criticism in existence. During the summer of 1764, when he was thirty- five years old, Lessing broke down into an inflamma- tory fever. It was his first hard sickness. When convalescing, he wrote : "I hope that this will soon pass away, and then I shall be as new-born. All changes of our temperament, I believe, are con- nected with the processes of our animal economy. The crisis of my life approaches ; I begin to be a id SKETCH OF LESSING. XV11 man, and flatter myself that in this burning fever 1 have laved away the last trace of my youthful follies. You wish me to be healthy ; but ought poets to wish for robust health ? The Horaces dwell in feeble bodies, the healthy Lessings become game- sters and tipplers. Yet wish me healthy, dear friend ; but, if possible, healthy with a slight memento, a thorn in the flesh, which shall make the poet feel from time to time the frailty of the man. " The next year Lessing returned to Berlin, bringing with him nothing but a library, which he afteiward sold at a great sacrifice. He fought poverty with his pen for a couple of years, was disappointed in an effort to get the place of royal Librarian from Frederic, and in 1767 accepted the position of theatre director at Hamburg. This led to his writ- ing a series of dramatic essays, preserved under the title of Dramaturgie. Its position among works of dramatic criticism is not unworthy of comparison ' /ith the place which the Laokoon occupies in rela- tion to art in general. At the close of the Drama- turgfo he expresses the following interesting estimate of his own powers : "I am neither actor nor poet. . . . I do not feel in myself the living fountain which lifts itself by its own strength, and by its own strength sports and spreads in radiations so rich, so fresh, so pure ! With me it is all squeezing and pumping ! I should be altogether poor, and cold, and short-sighted, did I not know 7 how to borrow XVI 11 SKETCH OF LESSING. occasionally, with discretion, from foreign treasures, to warm myself at another man's fire, and to strengthen my sight with the optic glasses of art. I have, therefore, always been ashamed and angry when I have heard or read anything derogatory to criticism. Criticism, it is said, stifles genius ; whereas I flatter myself that I have received from it something that comes very near to genius. " Yet, Goethe said, " Lessing wished to disclaim the title of poet, but his immortal works testify against him- self." The author of the Dramaturgie found it impossible to keep peace in the theatrical camp while he indulged in special criticism ; and after he had expressed his views on the general principles of dramatic art, there was no further practicable field for his efforts. A publishing enterprise, into which he had gone, failed, and left him in debt. His works were bringing him nothing ; in no small degree because they could be reprinted and re-acted in every petty province of Germany without the author receiving any reward ; for the German nations were no nearer a civilized position regarding international copyright, a hundred years ago, than the United States of America are to-day. Relief, however, seemed at hand. Frederick William Ferdinand, Duke of Brunswick, a literary toady, heard that such an ornamental appendage to his court as Lessing would make, could be had SKETCH OF LESSIXG, XIX cheap, and offered him the positon of librarian at Wolfenbtittel, at a very modest salary. Lessingwas now about forty years old, and his poverty was the more irksome because he wished to many. In Hamburg, he was a favored friend in the family of a certain Konig, and there is reason to believe that he had to smother a feeling toward his friend's wife, which, as it appeared hopeless, made him desirous of leaving the city. But his friend Konig died in 1769, and within a reasonable time Lessing and Eva Konig were engaged. These circumstances made him ready to accept a fixed occupation, even to the prejudice of his literary pursuits, and he accepted the duke's offer. The residence at Wolfenbtittel occupied six years that were anything but happy. The place was un- healthy, he had no congenial society, was liable to interruption at all times, had to do an immense amount of purely routine work, and was constantly sick at heart from hope deferred. The letters pass- ing between him and Eva are full of the most beau- tiful sincerity, unselfishness, and common sense regarding all matters of the intellect and emotions ; but they are not the letters of people possessing a healthy capacity for cutting the gordian knots of circumstances. Konig's affairs were left in such a complicated condition that it was hard to settle his estate for the best advantage of his wife and four children, and XX SKETCH OF LESSING. Eva felt that she ought not to marry while the finances of the little ones were in such an uncertain condition. Lessing, on his part, had little more to depend upon than the illusive promises by which the Duke kept him in his place. Six years wore away in separation and anxious uncertainty. As may be imagined, they were not very productive years for Lessing. During them he gave to the world the ( ' Wolfenbtittel Fragments," which led to the controversy with Gotze. This affair is described in the essay at the end of this volume. He also finished Emilia Galotti* a tragedy that he had begun fifteen years before, while he was warm with enthusiasm for the regeneration of dramatic art. The motive of this tragedy is that of Virginius ap- plied to modern circumstances. In dramatic merit, it is Lessing's best production, and it is at the same time a consistent embodiment and beautiful illus- tration of those principles of dramatic art, of which, considering his time and circumstances, he may be called a creator. In 1775, Lessing went into Italy with the crown- prince of Brunswick, and was received everywhere with great attention. In Vienna, Emilia Galotti was played, and the poet was received with an ovation. Maria Theresa sent for him, and sought his opin- ions regarding the intellectual development of the * Now while we write, this play, in the original German, is on the programme of the leading theatre in New York. SKETCH OF LESSING. XXI empire. At Rome, he was presented to the Pope, and treated by the dignitaries in a manner which contrasted honorably with his treatment by eminent nersons at home. In 1776, he returned to Wolfenbtittel, and he and Eva were married. She was worthy of him, and he seemed entering on a new career of usefulness and happiness. In a year a son was born, but he lived only a day, and his mother died a few days after. This is the first overwhelming sorrow we know of in Lessing's life. To our mind, nothing in all the letteis he wrote at the time reveals its intensity so much as this: "I was so sorry to lose him, this son, for he had so much sense ! so much sense ! Do not think that my few hours of fatherhood have already made me such an ape of a father ! I know what I say ! Did it not show his sense that they were obliged to draw him into the world with for- ceps? that he so soon became disgusted with his new abode ? Was he not wise in seizing ttie first opportunity to make off again ?" We hope that not many of our readers know what this ten- dency to turn one's own sorrow into a jest means. Shakspeare knew it : if he did not, he could not have written this strange passage in Hamlet : Ghost [beneath]. Swear 1 Hamlet. Ah, ha, hoy ! say'st thou so ? Art thou there, truepenny ? ♦ * * * * * t Ghost [beneath]. Swear! Hamlet. Well said, old mole I Canst work V th' ground so fast ? XX11 SKETCH OF LESSING. The death of Lessing's wife re-made him. There- after, the dominant passion in his heart was not criticism, but sympathy. But he was dragged into controversy, and he had not lost the old heroic nature which made him, early in life, say that he never was at his best unless against an antagonist. Yet his fighting, and nearly all else that he did, was directly intended to promote the spiritual and moral progress of mankind. He devoted himself more to the profound questions of philosophy, and seems to have reached that plane of thought and interests which lies at the foundation of all other human effort. But little more than three years were left him. They were full of loneliness, though not from lack of friends, and of privation and weariness. Here are a few passages in one of his letters to Eliza Reimarus : " I must pay dearly for a single year that I lived with a rational woman. I must sacrifice all, all, in order not to expose myself to a suspicion which is utterly intolerable to me." In this, he alluded to his having again gone into debt for the sake of securing his wife's property to her children. "How often," he continues, "do I feel tempted to curse the day when I even once wished to be as happy as other people !" . . . " Yet I am too proud to acknowledge myself unhappy — only set the teeth, and let the boatVirift at the mercy of the winds and waves. Enough that I will not upset it myself." But to the outer wcyld, he was very calm \ SKETCH OF LESSING. XX111 and strong. While these great forces were tugging at his soul, he produced "Nathan the Wise" — a poem worthy of such a birth, and probably impossi- ble without it. During these last years, he also wrote the "Five Conversations, for Freemasons/' in which he expressed his ideas of government and society, and " The Education of the Human Race," in which he stated his views of religious development. The first of the three is here to speak for itself. The other two are full of pregnant ideas, and, indeed, the very title of the latter was considered a happy em- bodiment of suggestive thought when it reappeared, a few years since, in "Essays and Reviews." Lessing died while on a visit to Brunswick, on the fifteenth of February, 1781. The newspapers in Hamburg were forbidden to publish anything in his praise, and the clergy endeavored to prevent a public ceremony in honor of his memory. Thus he shared the fate which, so far, has been appointed for the great Teachers. While it cannot be claimed that his labors are to be classed with those of the few men who are universally honored as finders of fundamental truths, the attainments he did make, after having forced his path through the errors of a strangely artificial and distorted age, give room to believe that had he been left to live a rounded life, he would have placed himself among those who are remembered not only always, but everywhere. H. H. NATHAN THE WISE. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Sultan Saladin. Sittah, his Sister. Nathan, a rich Jew of Jerusalem. Recha, his adopted Daughter. Data, a Christian woman, living in the Jew's house as Recha's companion. A Young Templar. A Dervise. The Patriarch of Jerusalem. A Lay-Brother. An Emir. Mamelukes in Saladin's service. The scene is in Jerusalem. ACT FIRST. Scene I. Hall in Nathans House. Nathan reluming from a journey. Daja meeting hinu Daja. Tis he ; 'tis Nathan ! God be ever praised That you're returned to us again at last ! Nathan. Ay, Daja ; God be praised ! But why " at last ?" Was it my purpose to have come before ? Could I have come before ? for Babylon Is from Jerusalem, as I was forced To travel, turning oft to right and left, A good two hundred leagues. Collecting debts, Besides, is not a work to be dispatched In haste, or easily turned off. Daja. Oh, Nathan, What misery, what misery meanwhile Might have befallen you here ! Your house — 4 NATHAN THE WISE. Nathan. Took fire, That have I heard already. God but grant I've heard the whole ! Daja. And might have easily Been leveled with the ground. Nathan. Then had we built Another and a better. Daja. True ; but Recha, Within a hair's breadth was she burned to death. Nathan. Burned ! — who ? — my Recha ? That I had not heard. Why, then, a house I should no more have needed. Within a hair's breadth burned to death ! She was— Was burned to death ! Speak out — speak out, I say I Slay me and torture me no longer ! Yes, She has been burned to death ! Daja. And if she were, Should I be telling it ? Nathan. Why fright me then? O Recha ! O my Recha ! NATHAN TEE WISE. 5 Daja. Yours — your Recha ? Nathan. God grant I ne'er may have to unlearn the use Of calling her my child ! Daja. And call you all That you possess, with equal right your own ? Nathan. Naught with a greater. All I else possess Has been bestowed by Nature and by Fortune. This is the only gift I owe to Virtue. Daja. O Nathan, what a price you make me pay For all your kindness ! if aught exercised From such a motive can be called a kindness. Nathan. From such a motive ? What ? Daja. My conscience — Nathan. Daja, Let me but tell you first — Daja. I say my conscience — * 6 NATHAN THE WISE. Nathan. What stuffs in Babylon I bought for you ! So precious and so tasteful. Recha's own Are scarcely fairer. Data. All in vain. My conscience, I tell you, will no more be lulled to sleep. Nathan. And how you will delight in all the jewels, The rings, the clasps, the ear-rings, and the chains, That in Damascus I selected for you, I'm eager to behold. Data. How like yourself ! You must be always giving, always giving. Nathan. Take gladly, as I give you, and — be silent ! Data. Be silent ! Doubts there any one that Nathan Is honor, generosity itself? And yet — Nathan. I'm but a Jew. Is that your meaning ? Data. You know my meaning better. NATHAN THE WISE. 7 Nathan. Then be silent. Daja. 1 will be silent. What of guilt grow hence In sight of God, which I cannot prevent, I cannot change — cannot, — fall on your head. Nathan. Fall on my head ! But tell me where she is. Where tarries she ? Ah, should you have deceived me! Knows she I'm here ? Daja. I might retort the question. Her every nerve still trembles with affright Her fancy colors with a glow of fire Whate'er it paints. In sleep her spirit wakes ; Awake, it sleeps : inferior now to brutes, Superior now to angels. Nathan. Ah, poor child ! What are we men ! Daja. This morning long she lay, With eyelids closed, as she were dead. Then quick Sprang up, cried, "Hark, my father's camels come! Hark, his own gentle voice !" Then drooped again Her eyelids, and, the arm's support withdrawn, 8 NATHAN TEE WISE. Her head once more fell back upon the pillows. I hasted through the gate, and, lo ! 'twas you — 'Twas you, indeed, approaching ! And what won- der? For her whole soul has since been but with you — And him. Nathan. And him ! What him ? Data. Who from the fire Preserved her. Nathan. Who was that ? Where is he now ? Who was it that preserved my Recha for me ? Data. A Templar, who, some days before a prisoner, Was hither brought, and pardoned by the Sultan. Nathan. A Templar granted life by Saladin ? Could no less miracle have saved my Recha ? God! Data. But for him who boldly risked again His unexpected boon, she had been lost. Nathan. . Where is this noble man ? Where is he, Daja ? NATHAN THE WISE. 9 Conduct me to his feet. Whatever treasure Was left you, you bestowed on him at once ; Gave all ; with promises of more — much more? Data. How could we ? Nathan. Did you not ? Data. He came, but whence None knew ; he went, and whither none could tell. A stranger to the house, his ear alone To guide him, onward through the smoke and flame, With outstretched mantle, fearlessly he pressed Toward the voice that cried to us for help. Already had we given him up for lost, When suddenly, from out the smoke and flame, He stood before us, bearing her aloft In his strong arms. By our exultant thanks Unmoved, he laid his burden on the ground, Pressed through the multitude his way, and vanished. Nathan. But not, I hope, forever. Data. Many days We saw him yonder, walking to and fro Beneath the palms that shade the sepulchre IO NATHAN THE WISE. Of our ascended Lord. I went to him With rapture; thanked him, praised, commanded, begged He would but once behold the grateful girl, Who could not rest till at her savior's feet She'd wept her thanks. Nathan. Well? Data. Useless ; he was deaf To our entreaties, and he poured, besides, Such scorn upon me — Nathan. You were frightened off. Data. Nay ; anything but that. Day after day I went to him again ; day after day Let him again insult me. There is nothing I've not end'ared from him ; nothing that gladly I'd not have still endured. But long he's ceased To walk beneath the palms that shade the grave Of our ascended Lord, and no one knows His dwelling-place. — You are amazed; you pon- der? Nathan. I ponder the effect this must produce Upon a mind like Recha's. To be scorned NATHAX THE WISE. II By one whom she is bound to prize so highly : To be at once repelled and yet attracted. *Twixt head and heart long contest must ensue, If sorrow or misanthropy shall conquer. Xt neither triumphs, and imagination Becoming party in the strife, creates A dreamer, in whom now the head usurps The place of heart, and now the heart plays head Sad interchange ! If I mistake not Recha, The latter is her fate. She yields to fancies. Data. But then so pure, so lovely ! Nathan. Fancies still. Data. Above the rest, one — fancy, if you will — She cherishes. Her Templar, as she deems, Is not a mortal being, not of earth. One of the angels, to whose guardian care, Her little heart from childhood fondly thought Itself intrusted, stepped from out the cloud Beneath w r hose veil he hitherto had hovered About her even in the fire, and stood Revealed as Templar. — Do not smile ! Who knows ? At least, if smile you must, do not destroy A fancy shared alike by Christian, Jew, And Mussulman, — so beautiful a fancy. 12 NATHAN TUB WISE. Nathan, And beautiful to me. — Go, trusty Daja, See how she is — if I may speak with her. Then I will seek this freakish guardian angel ; - And if it be his pleasure still to dwell Among us on the earth, and wear the guise Of so unmannerly a knight, doubt not I shall discover and conduct him hither. Daja. You promise much. Nathan. Should then this sweet conceit Be changed to sweeter truth — for, trust me, Daja, To human heart more dear is man than angel — You'll surely not with me — with me — be vexed If so this angel-dreamer shall be cured. Daja. How good you are, and yet how bad withal ! I go. But hark ! but see I She comes herselfl Scene II. Recha and the preceding. Recha. Is it in very truth yourself, my father ? I thought you had but sent your voice before. NATHAN THE WISE. ^ Where tarry you? What deserts or what moun- tains, What rivers, separate us now ? We breathe Beneath one roof, and yet you hasten not. To clasp your Recha, who was burned meanwhile ! Poor Recha ! Almost, only almost burned. Nay, shudder not ! Oh, 'tis an ugly death To die by fire 1 Nathan. My child ! my darling child ! Recha. You had to cross the Euphrates, Tigris, Jordan, — W^ho knows how many more ? Oft for your life I trembled till the fire enveloped me ; But since the fire enveloped me, to die By water seems refreshment, solace, balm. But you have not been drowned, nor I been burned. We will rejoice, and give God thanks. He bore Your boat and you upon the unseen wings Of angels over all the faithless streams : He bade my angel visibly unfold His snowy wings, and bear me through the fire. Nathan. (His snowy wings ! Ah, yes ; the Templar's mantle, Outstretched and white.) Recha. Ay ; visibly to bear me 14 NATHAN THE WISE. From out the flames, fanned backward by his wings. Thus have I seen an angel face to face— My guardian-angel. Nathan. Recha would be worth An angel's visiting, and would in him See naught more fair than he in her. Recha {smiling). My father, Whom flatter you — the angel or yourself? Nathan. Had but a human being, such a man As Nature daily grants, this service rendered, He must for you have been an angel ; ay, He must and would. Recha. Not such an angel. No ; This was in truth, in very truth an angel. Have you yourself not taught me to believe That angels are ; that God for them that love Him Can yet work miracles ? I love Him. Nathan. Yes ; And He loves you ; and hourly miracles For you, and such as you, is working now ; From all eternity has worked them for you. NATHAN TEE WISE. 1 5 Recita. I love to hear it. Nathan. Natural it sounds And commonplace to have a Templar save you ; But is it therefore less a miracle ? The greatest miracle of all is this : That-true and genuine miracles become Of no significance. Without that wonder Scarce would a thoughtful man bestow the name On things that only children should admire, Who, gaping, follow what is new and strange. Data (Jo Naihaii). Would you to bursting strain her o'erwrought brain With all your subtleties ? Nathan. Trust her to me ! Were it not miracle enough for Recha To be delivered by a human being, Himself by no small miracle first saved ? Not small indeed ! Who ever heard before Of Templar being spared by Saladin — Of Templar asking to be spared, or hoping — Or offering more for freedom than the girth That holds his sword, or, at the most, his dagger ? Recha. That proves for me. my father. For that reason He was no actual Templar — only seemed it. 1 6 NATHAN THE WISE. Since never to Jerusalem there came A captive Templar save to certain death ; Since none e'er walked Jerusalem so free, How could one voluntarily, at night, Have come to save me ? Nathan. . Most ingenious, Recha ! — Speak, Daja : 'twas from you I learned he came A prisoner hither ; you must know yet more. Daja. So runs the story. It is said, besides, That Saladin preserved the Templar's life Because of the resemblance that he bore A favorite brother. But as twenty years Have passed away since this dear brother's death- His name I know not — know not where he died- It sounds so — so incredible the whole May be but fiction. Nathan. Wherefore, Daja, sounds it Incredible, but that you would believe — As is the case — things more incredible ? Why should not Saladin, whose family Are all so dear to him, in younger days Have loved one brother with peculiar love ? Look not two countenances oft alike ? Are old impressions, therefore, vanished ones? NATHAN THE WISE. I7 Works the same cause no longer one effect? Since when ? Where lies in this the incredible ? I grant you, Daja, it were then for you No more a miracle. Your miracles Alone demand — deserve, I mean — belief. Daja. You laugh at me. Nathan. Laughed you not too at me ?— Thus was your rescue still a miracle, Dear Recha, possible alone to Him Who oft is pleased to guide, by feeble threads, The set decrees and purpose absolute Of kings — his toys, if not his scorn. Recha. ♦My father, If I am wrong, not willingly I err. Nathan. Willingly rather learn. See now — a forehead Arched thus, or so ; the outline of a nose Drawn this way more than that ; brows curving so. Or so, according as the bone is sharp Or round ; a line, crease, angle, spot, a nothing Upon the face of one wild European — And you are rescued from the fire in Asia ! Is that no miracle, ye wonder-seekers ? What need to trouble an angel with it then ? 2* j8 NATHAN TEE WISE. Daja. What harm — if I may speak — in the belief An angel rather than a man has saved us ? Feel we not so much nearer brought to Him Of the deliverance the mysterious cause ? Nathan. Pride, Daja, naught but pride ! The iron pot Would have itself be lifted from the fire By silver tongs, that it may deem itself A silver pot. Pah ! What the harm, you ask ? What harm? What good, I might retort. 'Tis nonsense, Or blasphemy, this " feeling nearer God." But harm it does — ay, actual harm ; for listen : To your deliverer, be he man or angel, Would you not both, and you especially, Desire to render great and various service ? But how perform such service to an angel ? Thank him you can, and sigh to him and pray ; Can melt away in ecstasies before him ; Can keep a fast upon his sacred day ; Can give your charities ; — all that is naught. Your neighbor and yourself are more the gainers, It seems to me, than he. He grows not fat By all your fasting ; all your charities Make him not rich ; no greater is his glory For all your ecstasies ; his power no greater For all your faith ; is it not so ? But man — ■ NATHAN THE WISE. jg Daja. A man indeed more opportunity Had given to serve him. What our readiness, God knows. But he was so above all wants, Was in and for himself so all-sufficient, As only angels are or angels can be. Recha. And when at last he vanished — Nat h ax. Vanished ! How ? No longer showed himself beneath the palms ? Or have you really further searched for him ? Daja, That we have not. Nathan. Not, Daja ? See what harm ! You cruel enthusiasts ! What if this angel Had been — been sick ? Recha. Sick! Daja. Sick ! He cannot be ! Recha, A shudder chills me. Daja, feel — my brow, So warm but now, is turned to ice 1 20 NATHAN THE WISE. Nathan. A Frank He is, a stranger to our climate ; young; To all the hard requirements of his Order — To hunger, watching, unaccustomed. Recha. Sick! Data. He only means, that it were possible. Nathan. See, there he lies, without a friend, or gold To purchase friends — Recha. Alas ! my father 1 Nathan. Iks Without attendance, counsel, sympathy- — A prey to sorrows, and perhaps to death. Recha. Where ? Where ? Nathan. ' He who for one he never knew Nor saw — enough it was a human being — Had leaped into the flames — Data. Oh, spare her, Nathan 1 nathan the wise, 21 Nathan. Who would not know more nearly, would not see What he had saved, that he might not be thanked— Data. Oh, Nathan, spare her — spare her I Nathan. Had no wish To see again, unless a second time He might deliver ; for enough for him It was a human being — Data. Hush ! Ah, see ! Nathan. He, dying, has no other solace, none, Besides the memory of his deed. Data. Hush! hush! You're killing her. Nathan. And so did you kill him ; Or so you might have killed him. Recha ! Recha I Tis medicine, not poison, that I give you ! He lives I Come, be yourself ! He is not sick — Not even sick ! Recha. Quite sure ? Not dead ? Not sick ? zz nathan the wise. Nathan. Not surely dead ; for God rewards even here The good that here is done. But have you learned That pious ecstasies are easier far Than virtuous deeds ; how gladly idleness, Concealing its true motive from itself, Would stand excused from virtuous deeds, and plead Its pious ecstasies instead ? Recha. My father, Leave, leave your Recha nevermore alone ! — He has but left Jerusalem perhaps ? Nathan. Assuredly. — Yonder a Mussulman, With curious eye, observes my loaded camels. Look ! Know you him ? Daja. It is your dervise. Nathan. Who? Daja. Your dervise ; your antagonist at chess. Nathan. Al-Hafi ! That Al-Hafi ! Daja. Treasurer now OfSaladin. nathan the wise. 2$ Nathan. Dream you again ? Al-Hafi ! — Tis he— 'tis he indeed ! He comes toward us. Quick, back into the house ! — What will he tell me? Scene III. Nathan and the Dervise. Dervise. Now let your eyes be opened to their widest ! Nathan. Is it yourself or not ? In this attire — A dervise ? Dervise. Well, why not ? Can dervises Be turned to no account whatever then ? Nathan. To plenty. But I had supposed a dervise, A genuine dervise, would be turned to none. . Dervise. By the Prophet ! May be I'm no genuine one. Yet, if one must — Nathan. Must — dervise ? Dervise must ? Nay, no man must ; why must a dervise then ? What must he, pray ? 24 nathan the wise, Dervise. What is desired of him In faith and honor, and he knows is right — That must a dervise. Nathan. There you speak the truth. Let me embrace you, man, and call you friend ! Dervise. Before you learn to what I've been promoted ? Nathan. In spite of your promotion. Dervise. I'm become A fellow in the State, perhaps, w r hose friendship Were inconvenient. Nathan. I will take the risk, If but your heart continue dervise still. The fellow in the State is but your gown. Dervise. But that craves honor too. What think you ? Guess 1 What were I at your court ? Nathan. Dervise — no more ; Unless you might besides be — cook. NATHAN THE WISE. 2$ Dervise. Goto! I should unlearn my trade with you. A cook ! Not butler too ? — Confess that Saladin Could better read me. I'm his treasurer ! Nathan. You — his ? Dervise. But of the smaller treasure, mind — That for his house. His father holds the greater. Nathan. His house is great. Dervise. Ay, greater than you think ; For every beggar forms a part of it. Nathan. Yet Saladin is so opposed to beggars — Dervise. He would exterminate them root and branch, Though he himself thereby be made a beggar. Nathan. I thought so. Dervise. Is one now in fact. Each day His treasury contains, at sunset, less Than nothing. Let the tide be e'er so high At morning, long ere noon 'tis all run out. 3 26 NATHAN THE WISE. Nathan. Because canals, alike impossible To fill or stay, are feeding from it: Dervise. Right ! Nathan. I know it all. Dervise. When princes are the vultures Amidst^the carrion, that is bad enough ; But when they are the carrion 'midst the vultures, 'Tis ten times worse. Nathan. Oh; never, never that ! Dervise. Ah, you may talk ! — But come, what will you give If I resign my office to you ? Eh ? Nathan. What yields your office ? Dervise. Me indeed not much ; But for yourself 'twould yield abundantly. For when the tide is low, as low it will be, Lift up your own flood-gates, advance your money, And take in interest whatsoe'er you will. 1 NATHAN THE WISE. 2 J Nat h ax. Perhaps charge interest on the interest Of interest ? Dervise. Yes. Nathan. Till my capital Becomes all interest. Dervise. That tempts you not ? Then write at once the quittance of our friendship ; For I had counted much on you. Nathan. How so ? Dervise. That you would help me hold my post with honor ; Your purse be open always to my need. You shake your head ? Nathan. Let's understand each other. There's a distinction here. To you — why not ? Al-Hafi, dervise, shall to all I have Be ever warmly welcome. But Al-Hafi, The treasurer of the Sultan — he — to him — Dervise. Did I not guess it ? — How your goodness ever 28 NATHAN THE WISE. Keeps pace with prudence, prudence with your wis- dom ; But patience, and this difference in Al-Hafi, Shall trouble you no more. — Behold this robe Of honor that the Sultan decked me with. Ere it be faded and in rags, fit clothing For dervise' wear, within Jerusalem It shall be hanging, while beside the Ganges, Barefoot and light, I walk the burning sands Among my teachers. Nathan. Like yourself ! Dervise. And play At chess with them. Nathan. Your highest good. Dervise. Consider What tempted me ;- — that I might beg no longer ? Might play the part of rich man amongst beggars ? Might have the power of making in a twinkling A poor rich man out of the richest beggar ? Nathan. Not surely that. Dervise. Far more absurd than that. NATHAN THE WISH. 29 The first time in my life I had been flattered, By Saladin's kind-hearted fancy flattered. Nathan, What fancy ? Dervise. That a beggar only knew The feelings of a beggar ; that a beggar Alone had learned kind dealings with a beggar. "Your predecessor/' he said, "was cold and harsh, He gave unkindly, if he gave at all ; Must always first ungraciously inquire About the asker — not content to know He was in want ; he must discover, too, The reason of the want, and make his gifts, . His stingy gifts, proportionate to that. Not so Al-Hafi. So unkindly kind He will not suffer Saladin to seem. Al-Hafi is not like those foul, clogged pipes, That give back troubled and impure the water That was so clear and still when they received it, Al-Hafi thinks, Al-Hafi feels with me." Thus sweetly sang the fowler's voice, and lured The silly bird within the net. O fool ! The fool too of a fool ! Nathan. But gently, gently, My dervise I 30 nathan the wise. Dervise. What ! Is it not foolery To oppress one's brother-men by hundreds, thou- sands — To waste their strength, to plunder, torture, kill them — Yet wish to appear the savior of a few ? Is it not foolery to try to ape The mercy of the Highest — who, impartial, On evil and on good, on. field and waste, Spreadeth Himself abroad in sun and rain — Yet not to have the overflowing hand Of the Almighty ? Is't not foolery — Nathan. Enough ! Have done ! Dervise. Not till I have confessed My equal foolery. Say, was it none In me that I was always tracing out The kindly side of fooleries like these, As my apology for sharing in them ? Call you that none ? Nathan. Al-Hafi, make all haste To get into your wilderness again. I fear lest, living among men, you'll cease To be a man yourself. , 1siathan the wise. 3 1 Dervise. I fear it too. Farewell ! Nathan. So hasty ? Hold, Al-Hafi, hold ! Fear you the desert will escape ? Stay — stay ! Will he not hear me ? Ho, Al-Hafi — here ! No, he is gone ; and I had asked so gladly About our Templar : he must know the knight. Scene IV. Data entering hastily. Nathan. Daja. O Nathan, Nathan ! Nathan. Well, what is it, Daja ? Daja. He has appeared again — appeared again ! Nathan. Who, Daja ? Daja. He! ' Nathan. He ? When appeared he not ? Aha ! 'tis only your he that is he. That is not well ; not though he were an angel. 32 nathan the wise. Daja. Beneath the palms he's walking to and fro, And breaking ever and anon the dates. Nathan. And eating ? As a Templar ? Daja. Tease me not ! Beneath the palm-trees' thickly woven shade Her greedy eye discovered him, and follows Unwaveringly ; and she entreats, conjures you, Without delay, to go to him. Oh, haste ! She's at her window, and will sign to you Which way to seek him. Haste ! Nathan. • Just from my camels ? Would that be courteous ? Haste to him yourself, And tell him my return. It was his honor Alone forbade his entering my house While I was absent. He'll be glad to come When 'tis the father that invites him. Go, Say I invite him, cordially invite — Daja. In vain ; he will not come to you. In short, He comes not to a Jew. Nathan. Yet go ; at least Detain him — keep at least your eye upon him. Go first ; I follow instantly. Go — go ! FATHAX THE WISE. 33 Scene V. A square planted with palm-trees, wider which the Templar is walking to and fro. A Lay-brother follows hint at a little distance, as if he would speak with him. Templar. 'Tis not from idleness he follows me. See how he glances towards my hands. — Good brother — Or may I call you father ? Lay-brother. Brother only. A poor lay-brother only, at your service. Templar. Good brother, had I aught myself — By heaven, By heaven, I've nothing — Lay-brother. Still, take hearty thanks. May God return to you a thousand-fold What you would give me. For the w T ill it is That makes the giver — not the gift. Besides, I was not sent to beg the knight for alms. Templar. Then you were sent ? 54 NATHAN THE WI8M. Lay-brother. Yes ; from the monastery. Templar. Where I had hoped but now to find a morsel Of pilgrim's fare ? Lay-brother. The tables then were filled. But let the knight return with me. Templar. Why so ? 'Tis many a day since I have tasted meat. Besides, what need ? The dates are ripe. Lay-brother. The knight Should be upon his guard against the fruit ; Too much is dangerous. It clogs the spleen, Breeds melancholy. Templar. And if I now prefer Being melancholy ? But to give that warning You were not sent. Lay-brother. Oh no ; I was but sent To sound the knight somewhat — to feel his pulse, Templar. You tell me that yourself? NATHAN THE WISE. 35 Lay-brother. And wherefore not ? Templar. (A crafty brother. ) Does the monastery Have many such as you ? Lay-brother. I do not know. I must obey, sir knight. Templar. So you obey, And ask no questions ? Lay-brother. Were aught else obeying, Sir knight ? Templar. (See how simplicity is sure . To come off best ! ) Could you not further tell The name of him who seeks such knowledge of me ? My oath, 'tis not yourself. Lay-brother. Were it becoming In me, or profitable ? Templar. Whom could it profit, Or whom become to be so curious ? 36 NATHAN THE WISE. Lay-brother. The Patriarch, I conclude, since he it was Who sent me here. Templar. The Patriarch ? Knows he not The white cloak's bloody cross ? Lay-brother. Even I know that. Templar. Well then ! I am a Templar, and a captive. And if I add that I was taken at Tebnin, The fortress that we vainly tried to scale Before the truce expired, and thus lay open A passage into Sidon, — if I add, That twenty more were taken captive with me, But I alone received the Sultan's pardon, — Then has the Patriarch all he needs to know — More than he needs. Lay-brother. Scarce more, though, than he knew, He fain would know the reason why the knight Was pardoned by the Sultan — he alone. Templar. I know not that myself. My neck was bared, And on my mantle kneeling I awaited The final stroke, when more intent his eyes NATHAN TEE WISE. 37 The Sultan fixes on me, toward me springs, And motions. I am raised ; my chains fall off; I tiy to thank him ; tears are in his eyes ; Silent is he — am I ; he goes, I stay. What now the meaning of it all may be, The Patriarch must unriddle for himself. Lay-brother. His inference is that God must have reserved you For great, great enterprises. Templar. Great indeed ! For rescuing a Jewess from the fire, Conducting curious pilgrims up Mount Sinai, And more as great. Lay-brother. The rest will come. Meanwhile 'Tis not a bad beginning. Greater things Already for the knight the Patriarch May have in store. Templar. Ah, brother, think you so ? Has any hint been dropped of such ? Lay-brother. Ay, ay. But first I am to sound the knight to learn If he's the man. 3b NATHAN THE WISE. Templar. All right ; sound on ! (Let's see How he will sound me !) Well ? Lay-brother. The shortest way Were honestly to set before the knight The Patriarch's wish. Templar. Good ! Lay-brother. He desires to send A little letter by the knight. Templar. By me ? I am no carrier. So then, that's the work He holds more glorious than the rescuing A Jewess from the fire ? Lay-brother. It must be ; for — The Patriarch says — upon this little letter The interests of all Christendom depend. God will reward the safe delivery of it — The Patriarch says — with a peculiar crown In heaven ; and of this crown — the Patriarch says- Is none more worthy than the knight. NAx'HAN THE WISE. y Templar. Than I ? Lay-Brother. Because to earn this crown — the Patriarch says — Is none more fitted than the knight. Templar. Than I ? Lay-Brother. You have your freedom here ; can everything Examine at your will ; you understand How cities should be stormed; and how defended ; Can duly estimate — the Patriarch says — The strength and weakness of that inner wall Just built by Saladin ; and can minutely Describe it to the soldiers of the Cross. Templar. Could you not further tell me the contents, Good brother, of the letter ? Lay-brother. The contents — I know not quite myself. But to King Philip The letter is addressed. The Patriarch — I oft have wondered that a holy man, Whose walk is else in heaven, should deign to keep So well informed of the affairs of earth. It must be very burdensome to him. 40 nathan the wise, Templar. Go on ; the Patriarch — Lay-brothee. Knows beyond a doubt Exactly how and where, with how great force, From what direction, Saladin will open The next campaign, should war break out afresh Templar. He does ? Lay-brother. He does, and would inform King Philip ; That he may judge if danger be so great, 'Twere better to renew at any cost The truce with Saladin, so lately broken By your brave Order. Templar. What a Patriarch ! No common messenger he seeks in me, Good honest man ; he wants — a spy. Go, tell him, As far as you could sound me, worthy brother, He had mistaken his man ; that I am bound To hold myself still captive ; and that Templars Have one profession, that of arms — know naught Of playing the spy. Lay-brother. I thought so ! None the worse My judgment of the knight. The best remains. NATHAN THE WISE. 4 1 The Patriarch has ferreted out the fortress, What name it bears, and where on Lebanon It Kes, wherein are stored the enormous sums From which the Sultan's prudent father pays The army, and defrays all costs of war. Thither, from time to time, the Sultan goes, By lonely roads, and almost unattended. You understand ? Templar, Not I! Lay-brother. How easy now To overpower the Sultan, or — despatch him. You shudder ? Nay ; two pious Maronites Have volunteered already for the deed, If but some valiant man be found to lead them. Templar. And did the Patriarch look to me again To be this valiant leader ? Lay-brother. He believes That out of Ptolemais can King Philip Give most effectual aid. Templar. To me — to me ? Have you not heard, have you not just been told, What obligations bind me to the Sultan ? 4* 4 2 NATHAN, THE WISE. Lay-brother. I heard. Templar. And yet- — Lay-brother. Oh, yes — the Patriarch says — That may be very well ; but God, your Order — Templar. Change naught ; command no villany ! Lay-brother. Oh no; But then— the Patriarch says — a villany In man's esteem may not be one in God's. Templar. My life I owe the Sultan. Shall my hand Rob him of his ? Lay-brother. As long — the Patriarch says — As Saladin remains the enemy Of Christendom, he can acquire no right To be your friend. Templar. My friend ? A man to whom I only would not play the thankless villain. Lay-brother. True ; but — the. Patriarch says— the debt of thanks NATHAN THE WISH. 43 Is cancelled, cancelled before God and man, For service rendered on account of others. And as — the Patriarch says — it is reported The Sultan spared you only for a something, In face or bearing, that recalled a brother — Templar. That too the Patriarch knew ; and even yet — Oh were I sure of that ! Ah, Saladin ! Could Nature fashion but a single feature In likeness of your brother, yet my soul Receive no answering trait ; or could such trait, To do a Patriarch's pleasure, be suppressed ? Nature, so liest thou not ; not so does God Belie himself upon his works ! Go, brother ; Provoke me not to anger. Go ! Lay-brother. I go; And readier than I came. Forgive me, knight. We brothers have no choice but to obey. Scene VI. The Templar and Data. Daja has been watching from a distance, and now approaches. Daja. The brother's visit left him not, methinks, In happiest humor. Still, I needs must venture. 44 nathan the wise. Templar. Ah, excellent ! The proverb holds — th? rr