Scene I.--_A room in_ Nathan's _house_.

Recha, Daja.

RECHA.

Well, Daja, did my father really say "That I might instantly expect him here?" That surely meant that he would come at once, And yet how many minutes have rolled by! But I'll not dwell upon the moments gone, I'll only live in those that are to come, That one which brings him here must come in time.

DAJA.

But for the Sultan's ill-timed messenger Nathan had brought him hither.

RECHA.

When he comes-- Oh! when this dearest of my inmost hopes Shall be fulfilled--what then--what then?

DAJA.

What then? Why then I trust the wish most dear to me Will also be fulfilled.

RECHA.

And in its place What wish shall take possession of my breast? Which now forgets to heave, unless it pant With some fond wish? Will nothing come? I shudder!

DAJA.

My wish shall then supplant the one fulfilled, My wish to see you borne to Europe's shores By hands well worthy of you.

RECHA.

You do err. The very thought which makes you form this wish Forbids it to be mine. Your native land Attracts you, and has mine no charm for me? Shall a remembrance of your cherished home, Your absent kindred and your dearest friends, Which years and distance have not yet effaced, Rule in your soul with softer, mightier sway Than what I know, and hear, and feel of mine.

DAJA.

'Tis vain to struggle, for the ways of Heaven Are still the ways of Heaven. And who can say If he who saved your life may not be doomed, Through his God's arm, for whom he nobly fights. To lead you to that people--to that land To which you should belong by right of birth?

RECHA.

What are you saying, Daja? dearest Daja! Indeed you have some strange and curious thoughts. "_His_ God!" whose God? To whom can God belong, And how can God belong to any man, Or need a human arm to fight his battles? And who, among the scattered clods of earth Can say for which of them himself was born, Unless for that on which he was produced? If Nathan heard thee! How has Nathan sinned, That Daja seeks to paint my happiness So far removed from his? What has he done, That thus amongst the seeds of reason, which He sowed unmixed and pure within my soul, The hand of Daja must for ever seek To plant the weeds, or flowers of her own land? He has no wish to see upon this soil Such rank luxuriant blossoms. I myself Must own I faint beneath the sour--sick odour; Your head is stronger and is used to it. I find no fault with those of stronger nerves Who can support it--mine, alas! give way. Your angel too, how near befool'd was I Through him; I blush whene'er I see my father.

DAJA.

As if, dear Recha, you alone were wise. Folly! If I might speak----

RECHA.

And may you not? Have I not listened gladly to your tales About the valiant heroes of your faith? Have I not freely on their deeds bestowed My admiration--to their sufferings given The tribute of my tears? Their faith, 'tis true, Has never seemed to me their noblest boast, But, therefore, Daja, I have only learnt To find more consolation in the thought That our devotion to the God of all Depends not on our notions of that God. My father has so often taught me this-- You have so often to this point agreed, How can it be that you wish now alone To undermine what you have built together? But this is no discourse with which to wait The friend whom we expect--and yet for me 'Tis of some moment whether he----But hark! Hark! Some one comes this way.---If it were he!