We will praise God—the kind good God, who bore thee,
Upon the buoyant wings of unseen angels,
Across the treacherous stream—the God who bade
My angel visibly on his white wing
Athwart the roaring flame—

NATHAN (aside)

White wing?—oh, aye
The broad white fluttering mantle of the templar.

RECHA

Yes, visibly he bore me through the fire,
O’ershadowed by his pinions.—Face to face
I’ve seen an angel, father, my own angel.

NATHAN

Recha deserves it, and would see in him
No fairer form than he beheld in her,

RECHA

Whom are you flattering, father—tell me now—
The angel, or yourself?

NATHAN

Yet had a man,
A man of those whom Nature daily fashions,
Done you this service, he to you had seemed,
Had been an angel.

RECHA

No, not such a one.
Indeed it was a true and real angel.
And have not you yourself instructed me
How possible it is there may be angels;
That God for those who love him can work miracles—
And I do love him, father—

NATHAN

And he thee;
And both for thee, and all like thee, my child,
Works daily wonders, from eternity
Has wrought them for you.

RECHA

That I like to hear.

NATHAN

Well, and although it sounds quite natural,
An every day event, a simple story,
That you was by a real templar saved,
Is it the less a miracle? The greatest
Of all is this, that true and real wonders
Should happen so perpetually, so daily.
Without this universal miracle
A thinking man had scarcely called those such,
Which only children, Recha, ought to name so,
Who love to gape and stare at the unusual
And hunt for novelty—

DAYA

Why will you then
With such vain subtleties, confuse her brain
Already overheated?

NATHAN

Let me manage.—
And is it not enough then for my Recha
To owe her preservation to a man,
Whom no small miracle preserved himself.
For whoe’er heard before that Saladin
Let go a templar; that a templar wished it,
Hoped it, or for his ransom offered more
Than taunts, his leathern sword-belt, or his dagger?

RECHA

That makes for me; these are so many reasons
He was no real knight, but only seemed it.
If in Jerusalem no captive templar,
Appears alive, or freely wanders round,
How could I find one, in the night, to save me?

NATHAN

Ingenious! dextrous! Daya, come in aid.
It was from you I learnt he was a prisoner;
Doubtless you know still more about him, speak.

DAYA

’Tis but report indeed, but it is said
That Saladin bestowed upon this youth
His gracious pardon for the strong resemblance
He bore a favourite brother—dead, I think
These twenty years—his name, I know it not—
He fell, I don’t know where—and all the story
Sounds so incredible, that very likely
The whole is mere invention, talk, romance.

NATHAN

And why incredible? Would you reject
This story, tho’ indeed, it’s often done,
To fix on something more incredible,
And give that faith? Why should not Saladin,
Who loves so singularly all his kindred,
Have loved in early youth with warmer fondness
A brother now no more. Do we not see
Faces alike, and is an old impression
Therefore a lost one? Do resembling features
Not call up like emotions. Where’s th’ incredible?
Surely, sage Daya, this can be to thee
No miracle, or do thy wonders only
Demand—I should have said deserve belief?

DAYA

You’re on the bite.

NATHAN

Were you quite fair with me?
Yet even so, my Recha, thy escape
Remains a wonder, only possible
To Him, who of the proud pursuits of princes
Makes sport—or if not sport—at least delights
To head and manage them by slender threads.

RECHA

If I do err, it is not wilfully,
My father.

NATHAN

No, you have been always docile.
See now, a forehead vaulted thus, or thus—
A nose bow’d one way rather than another—
Eye-brows with straiter, or with sharper curve—
A line, a mole, a wrinkle, a mere nothing
I’ th’ countenance of an European savage—
And thou—art saved, in Asia, from the fire.
Ask ye for signs and wonders after that?
What need of calling angels into play?

DAYA

But Nathan, where’s the harm, if I may speak,
Of fancying one’s self by an angel saved,
Rather than by a man? Methinks it brings us
Just so much the nearer the incomprehensive
First cause of preservation.

NATHAN

Pride, rank pride!
The iron pot would with a silver prong
Be lifted from the furnace—to imagine
Itself a silver vase. Paha! Where’s the harm?
Thou askest. Where’s the good? I might reply.
For thy it brings us nearer to the Godhead
Is nonsense, Daya, if not blasphemy.
But it does harm: yes, yes, it does indeed.
Attend now. To the being, who preserved you,
Be he an angel or a man, you both,
And thou especially wouldst gladly show
Substantial services in just requital.
Now to an angel what great services
Have ye the power to do? To sing his praise—
Melt in transporting contemplation o’er him—
Fast on his holiday—and squander alms—
What nothingness of use! To me at least
It seems your neighbour gains much more than he
By all this pious glow. Not by your fasting
Is he made fat; not by your squandering, rich;
Nor by your transports is his glory exalted;
Nor by your faith his might. But to a man—

DAYA

Why yes; a man indeed had furnished us
With more occasions to be useful to him.
God knows how readily we should have seized them.
But then he would have nothing—wanted nothing—
Was in himself wrapped up, and self-sufficient,
As angels are.

RECHA

And when at last he vanished—

NATHAN

Vanished? How vanished? Underneath the palms
Escaped your view, and has returned no more.
Or have you really sought for him elsewhere?

DAYA

No, that indeed we’ve not.

NATHAN

Not, Daya, not?
See it does harm, hard-hearted, cold enthusiasts,
What if this angel on a bed of illness—

RECHA

Illness?

DAYA

Ill! sure he is not.

RECHA

A cold shudder
Creeps over me; O Daya, feel my forehead,
It was so warm, ’tis now as chill as ice.

NATHAN

He is a Frank, unused to this hot climate,
Is young, and to the labours of his calling,
To fasting, watching, quite unused—

RECHA

Ill—ill!

DAYA

Thy father only means ’twere possible.

NATHAN

And there he lies, without a friend, or money
To buy him friends—

RECHA

Alas! my father.

NATHAN

Lies
Without advice, attendance, converse, pity,
The prey of agony, of death—

RECHA

Where—where?

NATHAN

He, who, for one he never knew, or saw—
It is enough for him he is a man—
Plunged into fire.

DAYA

O Nathan, Nathan, spare her.

NATHAN

Who cared not to know aught of her he saved,
Declined her presence to escape her thanks—

DAYA

Do, spare her!

NATHAN

Did not wish to see her more
Unless it were a second time to save her—
Enough for him he is a man—

DAYA

Stop, look!

NATHAN

He—he, in death, has nothing to console him,
But the remembrance of this deed.

DAYA

You kill her!

NATHAN

And you kill him—or might have done at least—
Recha ’tis medicine I give, not poison.
He lives—come to thyself—may not be ill—
Not even ill—

RECHA

Surely not dead, not dead.

NATHAN

Dead surely not—for God rewards the good
Done here below, here too. Go; but remember
How easier far devout enthusiasm is
Than a good action; and how willingly
Our indolence takes up with pious rapture,
Tho’ at the time unconscious of its end,
Only to save the toil of useful deeds.

RECHA

Oh never leave again thy child alone!—
But can he not be only gone a journey?

NATHAN

Yes, very likely. There’s a Mussulman
Numbering with curious eye my laden camels,
Do you know who he is?

DAYA

Oh, your old dervis.

NATHAN

Who—who?

DAYA

Your chess companion.

NATHAN

That, Al-Hafi?

DAYA

And now the treasurer of Saladin.

NATHAN

Al-Hafi? Are you dreaming? How was this?
In fact it is so. He seems coming hither.
In with you quick.—What now am I to hear?

Nathan and Hafi

HAFI

Aye, lift thine eyes in wonder.

NATHAN

Is it you?
A dervis so magnificent!—

HAFI

Why not?
Can nothing then be made out of a dervis?

NATHAN

Yes, surely; but I have been wont to think
A dervis, that’s to say a thorough dervis,
Will allow nothing to be made of him.

HAFI

May-be ’tis true that I’m no thorough dervis;
But by the prophet, when we must—

NATHAN

Must, Hafi?
Needs must—belongs to no man: and a dervis—

HAFI

When he is much besought, and thinks it right,
A dervis must.

NATHAN

Well spoken, by our God!
Embrace me, man, you’re still, I trust, my friend.

HAFI

Why not ask first what has been made of me?

NATHAN

Ask climbers to look back!

HAFI

And may I not
Have grown to such a creature in the state
That my old friendship is no longer welcome?

NATHAN

If you still bear your dervis-heart about you
I’ll run the risk of that. Th’ official robe
Is but your cloak.

HAFI

A cloak, that claims some honour.
What think’st thou? At a court of thine how great
Had been Al-Hafi?

NATHAN

Nothing but a dervis.
If more, perhaps—what shall I say—my cook.

HAFI

In order to unlearn my native trade.
Thy cook—why not thy butler too? The Sultan,
He knows me better, I’m his treasurer.

NATHAN

You, you?

HAFI

Mistake not—of the lesser purse—
His father manages the greater still—
The purser of his household.

NATHAN

That’s not small.

HAFI

’Tis larger than thou think’st; for every beggar
Is of his household.

NATHAN

He’s so much their foe—

HAFI

That he’d fain root them out—with food and raiment—
Tho’ he turn beggar in the enterprize.

NATHAN

Bravo, I meant so.

HAFI

And he’s almost such.
His treasury is every day, ere sun-set,
Poorer than empty; and how high so e’er
Flows in the morning tide, ’tis ebb by noon.

NATHAN

Because it circulates through such canals
As can be neither stopped, nor filled.

HAFI

Thou hast it.

NATHAN

I know it well.

HAFI

Nathan, ’tis woeful doing
When kings are vultures amid caresses:
But when they’re caresses amid the vultures
’Tis ten times worse.

NATHAN

No, dervis, no, no, no.

HAFI

Thou mayst well talk so. Now then, let me hear
What wouldst thou give me to resign my office?

NATHAN

What does it bring you in?

HAFI

To me, not much;
But thee, it might indeed enrich: for when,
As often happens, money is at ebb,
Thou couldst unlock thy sluices, make advances,
And take in form of interest all thou wilt.

NATHAN

And interest upon interest of the interest—

HAFI

Certainly.

NATHAN

Till my capital becomes
All interest.

HAFI

How—that does not take with thee?
Then write a finis to our book of friendship;
For I have reckoned on thee.

NATHAN

How so, Hafi?

HAFI

That thou wouldst help me to go thro’ my office
With credit, grant me open chest with thee—
Dost shake thy head?

NATHAN

Let’s understand each other.
Here’s a distinction to be made. To you,
To dervis Hafi, all I have is open;
But to the defterdar of Saladin,
To that Al-Hafi—

HAFI

Spoken like thyself!
Thou hast been ever no less kind than cautious.
The two Al-Hafis thou distinguishest
Shall soon be parted. See this coat of honour,
Which Saladin bestowed—before ’tis worn
To rags, and suited to a dervis’ back,—
Will in Jerusalem hang upon the hook;
While I along the Ganges scorching strand,
Amid my teachers shall be wandering barefoot.

NATHAN

That’s like you.

HAFI

Or be playing chess among them.

NATHAN

Your sovereign good.

HAFI

What dost thou think seduced me.
The wish of having not to beg in future—
The pride of acting the rich man to beggars—
Would these have metamorphosed a rich beggar
So suddenly into a poor rich man?

NATHAN

No, I think not.

HAFI

A sillier, sillier weakness,
For the first time my vanity was tempter,
Flattered by Saladin’s good-hearted notion—

NATHAN

Which was?

HAFI

That all a beggar’s wants are only
Known to a beggar: such alone can tell
How to relieve them usefully and wisely.
“Thy predecessor was too cold for me,
(He said) and when he gave, he gave unkindly;
Informed himself with too precautious strictness
Concerning the receiver, not content
To leant the want, unless he knew its cause,
And measuring out by that his niggard bounty.
Thou wilt not thus bestow. So harshly kind
Shall Saladin not seem in thee. Thou art not
Like the choked pipe, whence sullied and by spurts
Flow the pure waters it absorbs in silence.
Al-Hafi thinks and feels like me.” So nicely
The fowler whistled, that at last the quail
Ran to his net. Cheated, and by a cheat—

NATHAN

Tush! dervis, gently.

HAFI

What! and is’t not cheating,
Thus to oppress mankind by hundred thousands,
To squeeze, grind, plunder, butcher, and torment,
And act philanthropy to individuals?—
Not cheating—thus to ape from the Most High
The bounty, which alike on mead and desert,
Upon the just and the unrighteous, falls
In sunshine or in showers, and not possess
The never-empty hand of the Most High?—
Not cheating—

NATHAN

Cease!

HAFI

Of my own cheating sure
It is allowed to speak. Were it not cheating
To look for the fair side of these impostures,
In order, under colour of its fairness,
To gain advantage from them—ha?

NATHAN

Al-Hafi,
Go to your desert quickly. Among men
I fear you’ll soon unlearn to be a man.

HAFI

And so do I—farewell.

NATHAN

What, so abruptly?
Stay, stay, Al-Hafi; has the desert wings?
Man, ’twill not run away, I warrant you—
Hear, hear, I want you—want to talk with you—
He’s gone. I could have liked to question him
About our templar. He will likely know him.

Nathan and Daya

Daya (bursting in)

O Nathan, Nathan!

NATHAN

Well, what now?

DAYA

He’s there.
He shows himself again.

NATHAN

Who, Daya, who?

DAYA

He! he!

NATHAN

When cannot He be seen? Indeed
Your He is only one; that should not be,
Were he an angel even.

DAYA

’Neath the palms
He wanders up and down, and gathers dates.

NATHAN

And eats?—and as a templar?

DAYA

How you tease us!
Her eager eye espied him long ago,
While he scarce gleamed between the further stems,
And follows him most punctually. Go,
She begs, conjures you, go without delay;
And from the window will make signs to you
Which way his rovings bend. Do, do make haste.

NATHAN

What! thus, as I alighted from my camel,
Would that be decent? Swift, do you accost him,
Tell him of my return. I do not doubt,
His delicacy in the master’s absence
Forbore my house; but gladly will accept
The father’s invitation. Say, I ask him,
Most heartily request him—