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

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

Think you so, brother? Has he hinted aught?

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

And they are—

FRIAR

To send a letter by your hand.

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

Than I?

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

As I?

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

Well—and your patriarch—

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

He knows that?

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

Well—

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

Oh, yes!

TEMPLAR

And yet?

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

Alter nothing,
Command no villainies.

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

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

TEMPLAR

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

FRIAR

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

[Goes.

Templar and Daya

DAYA

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

TEMPLAR

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

DAYA

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

TEMPLAR

No.

DAYA

Well, then?

TEMPLAR

Yes.

DAYA

We’ve all been anxious
Lest something ailed you.

TEMPLAR

So?

DAYA

Have you been journeying?

TEMPLAR

Hit off!

DAYA

How long returned?

TEMPLAR

Since yesterday.

DAYA

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

TEMPLAR

For what?

DAYA

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

TEMPLAR

I am no chap.

DAYA

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

TEMPLAR

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

DAYA

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

TEMPLAR

Aye?

DAYA

Do—see him, try him.

TEMPLAR

A burst of feeling soon is at an end.

DAYA

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

TEMPLAR

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

DAYA

My Jesus! persecute—

TEMPLAR

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

DAYA

My God forbid!

TEMPLAR

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

DAYA

But yours remains with her.

TEMPLAR

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

DAYA

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

TEMPLAR

They’re seldom better than they seem to be.

DAYA

Ben’t in this hurry.

TEMPLAR

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

DAYA

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

ACT II

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

Saladin and Sittah, playing chess

SITTAH

Wherefore so absent, brother? How you play!

SALADIN

Not well? I thought—

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

Why?

SITTAH

Don’t you see the knight
Becomes exposed?

SALADIN

’Tis true: then so.

SITTAH

And so
I take the pawn.

SALADIN

That’s true again. Then, check!

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

I will not have him,
I pass him by.

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

Maybe.

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

My queen?

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

How so, my sister?

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

Let’s see—
Could it be helped?

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

Only that piece?

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

Why should I take her?
Check!

SALADIN

Go on.

SITTAH

Check!—

SALADIN

And check-mate?

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

O Saladin,
When shall we play again so constantly?

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

You love to talk of Richard.

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

What else should trouble thee,
If this do not?

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

Alas!

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

What fails him, Saladin?

SALADIN

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

Hafi, Saladin, and Sittah

HAFI

I suppose the gold
From Egypt is arrived.

SALADIN

Hast tidings of it?

HAFI

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

SALADIN

To Sittah pay a thousand dinars.

HAFI

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

SITTAH

Dost grudge me my good fortune?

HAFI (examining the board)

Grudge! you know—

SITTAH (making signs to Hafi)

Hush, Hafi, hush!

HAFI

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

SITTAH

’Tis well he does not hear.

HAFI

And he to move?

SITTAH (approaching Hafi)

Say then aloud that I
Shall have my money.

HAFI (still considering the game)

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

SITTAH

Are you crazy?

HAFI

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

SALADIN (scarcely hearkening)

Well, well!—pay, pay.

HAFI

Pay, pay—
There stands your queen.

SALADIN (still walking about)

It boots not, she is useless.

SITTAH (low to Hafi)

Do say that I may send and fetch the gold.

HAFI

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

SALADIN (dashes down the board)

I am. I will then—

HAFI

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

SALADIN (to Sittah)

What is he muttering there?

SITTAH (to Saladin, winking meanwhile to Hafi)

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

SALADIN

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

HAFI

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

SITTAH

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

HAFI

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

SALADIN

Who? what?

SITTAH

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

HAFI

How could I think it was to go so far?

SALADIN

Well, what am I to know?

SITTAH

I pray thee, Hafi,
Be more discreet.

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

HAFI

Were it only this—

SITTAH

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

HAFI

Nor is that all—

SALADIN

Nor yet—speak then!

HAFI

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

SITTAH

Why listen to him?

HAFI

Has not had an asper;—

SALADIN

Good creature—but has been advancing to thee—

HAFI

Has at her sole expense maintained thy state.

SALADIN (embracing her)

My sister—ah!

SITTAH

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

HAFI

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

HAFI

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

HAFI

I know none such.

SITTAH

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

HAFI (startled)

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

SITTAH

Who?
Thy vaunted Jew!

HAFI

A Jew, and praised by me?

SITTAH

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

HAFI

What could I mean
When I said so?

SITTAH

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

HAFI

How—and of a Jew
Could I say that?

SITTAH

Didst thou not—of thy Nathan?

HAFI

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

SITTAH

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

HAFI

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

SITTAH

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

HAFI

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

SITTAH

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

HAFI

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

SITTAH

And such a man should be—

SALADIN

How comes it then
I never heard of him?

SITTAH

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

HAFI

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

SITTAH

Why in such hurry, Hafi?

SALADIN

Let him go.

Saladin and Sittah

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

He trades, I hear.

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

Yet Hafi spake just now so coldly of him.

SITTAH

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

SALADIN

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

SITTAH

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

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