Scene VII.

Nathan _and the_ Friar.

NATHAN.

(_Aside_. Gladly I would continue Recha's father! And can I not be so, though I may cease To bear the name? To her--at least to her-- I should be father still, if she but knew How willingly I bore that title once.) What can I do to serve you, pious brother?

FRIAR.

Not much; and yet it gives me pleasure, Nathan, To see at least that you are still so well.

NATHAN.

You know me, then, it seems?

FRIAR.

Who knows you not? You have impressed your name on many a hand-- It has been stamped on mine these many years.

NATHAN (_feeling for his purse_).

Come, brother, come; here's to refresh it.

FRIAR.

Thanks. That would be robbing poorer men. I will Take nothing; but I beg of you, permit That I refresh your memory with my name; For I can boast of having formerly Placed something in your hand you should not scorn.

NATHAN.

Excuse me--I'm ashamed--what was it? Say, And then take for atonement sevenfold The value of the thing.

FRIAR.

Well, first of all, Hear how this very day has brought to mind The pledge I gave you.

NATHAN.

What! a pledge to me?

FRIAR.

Not long ago I led a hermit's life On Quarantana, near to Jericho. Some Arab thieves came and attacked my cell; They robbed my oratory, forcing me To follow them. But fortune favoured me. I fled, came hither to the Patriarch, And sought from him another calm retreat, Where I might serve my God in solitude Till death should bless me.

NATHAN.

Ah! I am on thorns. Be quick! What pledge did you entrust to me?

FRIAR.

Yes, Nathan, presently. The Patriarch Has promised I shall have a hermitage On Tabor, when 'tis vacant; and meanwhile Employs me in this convent as a brother, And here I am at present. But I pine For Tabor fifty times a day; for here He makes me toil at work which I detest.

NATHAN.

Be speedy, I beseech you.

FRIAR.

Well, it chanced Some one has whispered in his ear to-day That a Jew lives hard by, who educates A Christian as his daughter.

NATHAN.

How?

FRIAR.

Nay, hear. He has commissioned me, if possible, To find this Jew out for him; and he raves Loudly and bitterly against the crime, Which he pronounces as the actual sin Against the Holy Ghost--that is, the sin The greatest, which a sinner can commit. But luckily we can't exactly tell Its nature. But my conscience all at once Was roused, and it occurred to me that I Had once, perhaps, been guilty of this sin. Do you remember, eighteen years ago, When a knight's squire committed to your hands A female infant but a few weeks old?

NATHAN.

What say you? Well, in fact there was----

FRIAR.

Ay, look-- Look well at me--for I'm that squire: 'twas I.

NATHAN.

What! you?

FRIAR.

And he from whom I brought the child Was, if I recollect the matter right, A Lord of Filneck--Wolf von Filneck.

NATHAN.

Right.

FRIAR.

Because the mother died not long before; And he, the father, was obliged to fly To Gaza suddenly. The helpless child Could not accompany him, and therefore he Committed it to you: that was my task. I found you out at Daran.

NATHAN.

Right, quite right.

FRIAR.

It were no wonder had my memory Deceived me. I have served so many lords. The one who fled was not my master long, He fell at Askalon. His heart was kind.

NATHAN.

Yes, yes, and I have much to thank him for. Not once, but many times he saved my life.

FRIAR.

O, glorious! then the greater joy for you To educate his daughter.

NATHAN.

You say well.

FRIAR.

Where is she now? She is not dead, I hope. Let me not hear, I pray, that she is dead. If no one else have found the secret out, All is yet safe.

NATHAN.

Indeed!

FRIAR.

Oh, Nathan, trust me. This is my way of thinking: if the good That I propose to do is intertwined With mischief, then I let the good alone; For we know well enough what mischief is, But not what is the best. 'Twas natural, If you intended to bring up the child With care, that you should rear it as your own. And to have done this lovingly and well, And be thus recompensed, is piteous. It were perhaps more prudent, if the child Had been brought up by some good Christian's hand, In her own faith. But then you had not loved Your dear friend's orphan child; and children need Love--were it but the affection of a brute-- More at that age, than Christianity: There's always time enough for that: and if The maiden had grown up before your eyes, Healthy and pious, she had then remained The same as ever in her Maker's eyes. For is not Christianity all built Upon the Jewish creed? Oh oft, too oft, It vexes me and costs me bitter tears, To think that Christians will so constantly Forget that Christ our Saviour was a Jew.

NATHAN.

Good brother, you shall be my advocate, When hate and bigotry shall frown on me, All for a deed--which you alone shall hear-- But take it with you to the tomb. As yet E'en vanity has never tempted me To breathe it to a soul; to you alone It shall be told; for simple piety Like yours can truly feel what man can do Who places his full confidence in God.

FRIAR.

You're moved, and your eyes run o'er with tears.

NATHAN.

At Daran 'twas you met me with the child. You had not heard that, a few days before, The Christians murdered every Jew in Gath-- Woman and child. Amongst them was my wife-- Along with her, my seven hopeful sons. All had sought shelter 'neath my brother's roof, And there were burnt alive.

FRIAR.

Just God!

NATHAN.

You came. Three nights in dust and ashes I had lain Before my God and wept; and I at times Arraigned my Maker, raged, and cursed myself And the whole world together, and I swore Eternal hate to Christianity.

FRIAR.

Who can condemn you? I believe it well.

NATHAN.

But by degrees returning reason came, And spoke with gentle accent: "God is just! And this was His decree. Now exercise The lesson thou so long hast understood, And which is surely not more difficult To exercise than well to understand." I rose and cried to God, "I will, I will! Do Thou but aid my purpose." And, behold, Just at that moment you dismounted. You Gave me the child enfolded in your robe. The words we spoke occur not to me now. This much I recollect: I took the child; I bore it to my bed; I kissed its cheek; I flung myself upon my knees, and sobbed, "My God, Thou hast restored me one of seven!"

FRIAR.

Nathan, you are a Christian. Yes, I swear You are a Christian--better never lived.

NATHAN.

Indeed! the very thing that makes me seem Christian to you, makes you a Jew to me. But let us not distress each other thus, 'Tis time to act, and though a sevenfold love Had bound me to this strange, this lovely maid, Though the mere thought distracts me, that in her I lose my seven dear sons a second time, If Providence require her at my hands I'm ready to obey.

FRIAR.

'Tis well! And thus I thought to counsel you; but there's no need: Your own good genius has forestalled my words.

NATHAN.

The first chance claimant must not tear her hence.

FRIAR.

Most surely not.

NATHAN.

And he who has no claim Stronger than mine--at least he ought to have Those prior claims which----

FRIAR.

Certainly,

NATHAN.

Those claims Which are derived from nature and from blood.

FRIAR.

In my opinion, yes.

NATHAN.

Then name the man As brother, or as uncle, bound to her, I'll not withhold her from him; she was made To be the ornament of any house, The pride of any faith. I hope you know More of your master and his creed than I.

FRIAR.

On that point, Nathan, I'm but ill informed, I have already told you that I spent Only some moments with him.

NATHAN.

Can you tell The mother's name, at least? She was, I think, A Stauffen?

FRIAR.

Possibly; nay, more--you're right.

NATHAN.

Conrad of Stauffen was her brother's name. He was a Templar.

FRIAR.

Yes, I think he was: But hold, I have a book that was my lord's. I drew it from his bosom when he lay Dead, and we buried him at Askalon.

NATHAN.

Well!

FRIAR.

There are prayers in it; 'tis what we call A breviary. This, thought I, yet may serve Some Christian man--not me, forsooth--for I Can't read a word.

NATHAN.

No matter--to the point.

FRIAR.

The pages of this book are written all In his own hand, and, as I'm told, contain All that's important touching him and her.

NATHAN.

Go, run and fetch the book: 'tis fortunate! I'll pay you for it with its weight in gold. And with a thousand thanks besides. Go! run!

FRIAR.

I go--but what he wrote is Arabic. (_Exit_)

NATHAN.

No matter, fetch it. What, if from this book I can find means to keep this precious girl, And win, to boot, a son-in-law like him! I hardly hope--fate must decide. But who Has told the Patriarch this? I must not fail To ascertain. It surely was not Daja?