Scene I.--_A Hall in Nathan's House_.

Nathan, _returning from a journey_; Daja, _meeting him_.

DAJA.

'Tis he! 'Tis Nathan! endless thanks to Heaven That you at last are happily returned.

NATHAN.

Yes, Daja! thanks to Heaven! But why at _last_? Was it my purpose--was it in my power To come back sooner? Babylon from here, As I was forced to take my devious way, Is a long journey of two hundred leagues; And gathering in one's debts is not--at best, A task that expedites a traveller's steps.

DAJA.

O Nathan! what a dire calamity Had, in your absence, nigh befallen us! Your house----

NATHAN.

Took fire. I have already heard. God grant I may have learnt the whole that chanced!

DAJA.

Chance saved it, or it had been burnt to ashes.

NATHAN.

Then, Daja! we had built another house, And a far better----

DAJA.

True--ay, true! but Recha Was on the point of perishing amid The flames----

NATHAN.

Of perishing? Who saidst thou? Recha? I had not heard of that. I should not then Have needed any house. What! on the point Of perishing? Nay, nay; perchance she's dead-- Is burnt alive. Speak, speak the dreadful truth. Kill me, but do not agonize me thus. Tell me at once she's dead.

DAJA.

And if she were Could you expect to hear it from these lips?

NATHAN.

Why then alarm me? Recha! O my Recha!

DAJA.

Your Recha? Yours?

NATHAN.

And can it ever be That I shall cease to call this child my own?

DAJA.

Is all you have yours by an equal title?

NATHAN.

Nought by a better. What I else enjoy Are Fortune's gifts, or Nature's. This alone-- This treasure do I owe to virtue.

DAJA.

Nathan! How dearly must I pay for all your goodness! If goodness practised for an end like yours Deserves the name.

NATHAN.

An end like mine! What mean you?

DAJA.

My conscience----

NATHAN.

Daja, let me tell you first----

DAJA.

I say my conscience----

NATHAN.

Oh, the gorgeous robe That I have bought for you in Babylon! Costly it is and rare. For Recha's self I have not bought a richer.

DAJA.

What of that? My conscience can be silent now no more.

NATHAN.

I long to witness your delight, to see The bracelets, earrings, and the golden chain Which I selected at Damascus for you.

DAJA.

'Tis always so, you surfeit me with gifts.

NATHAN.

Accept them freely, as they are bestowed, And silence!

DAJA.

Silence! Yes. But who can doubt That you are generosity itself? And yet----

NATHAN.

I'm but a Jew! Daja, confess That I have guessed your thought.

DAJA.

You know my thoughts Far better.

NATHAN.

Well, be silent!

DAJA.

I am dumb. And henceforth all the evil that may spring From this, which I cannot avert, nor change, Fall on your head.

NATHAN.

Let it all fall on me! But where is Recha? What detains her thus? Are you deceiving me? Can she have heard That I am here?

DAJA.

Yourself must answer that. Terror still palpitates through every nerve, And fancy mingles fire with all her thoughts. In sleep her soul's awake; but when awake, Is wrapt in slumber. Less than mortal now, And now far more than angel, she appears.

NATHAN.

Poor child! how frail a thing is human nature!

DAJA.

She lay this morning with her eyelids closed-- One would have thought her dead--when suddenly She started from her couch, and cried, "Hark, hark! Here come my father's camels, and I hear His own sweet voice again!" With that, her eyes Once more she opened, and her arms' support Withdrawn, her head droop'd softly on her pillow. Quickly I hastened forth, and now behold, I find you here. But marvel not at this. Has not her every thought been long engrossed With dreams of you and him?

NATHAN.

Of him! What him?

DAJA.

Of him who from the flames preserved her life.

NATHAN.

And who was he? Where is he? Name the man Who saved my Recha?

DAJA.

A young Templar he! Brought hither captive lately, and restored To freedom by the Sultan.

NATHAN.

How? A Templar? A captive, too, and pardoned by the Sultan? Could not my Recha's life have been preserved By some less wondrous miracle? O God!

DAJA.

But for this stranger's help, who risked afresh The life so unexpectedly restored, Recha had surely perished.

NATHAN.

Where is he? Where is this noble youth? Where is he, Daja? Oh, lead me to his feet! But you already Have surely lavished on him all the wealth That I had left behind; have given him all-- And promised more, much more.

DAJA.

How could we, Nathan?

NATHAN.

Why not?

DAJA.

He came we know not whence, he went We know not whither. To the house a stranger, And guided by his ear alone, he rushed With fearless daring through the smoke and flame, His mantle spread before him, till he reached The spot whence issued piercing screams for help. We thought him lost; when, bursting through the fire, He stood before us, bearing in his arms Her almost lifeless form. Unmoved and cold, Deaf to our cries of thanks, he left his prize, Passed through the wondering crowd, and disappeared.

NATHAN.

But not for ever, Daja, I would hope.

DAJA.

For some days after, 'neath yon spreading palms, Which wave above our blest Redeemer's grave, We saw him pacing thoughtful to and fro. With transport I approached to speak my thanks. I pleaded, begged, entreated that for once, Once only, he would see the grateful maid, Who longed to shed at her preserver's feet Her tears of gratitude.

NATHAN.

Well?

DAJA.

All in vain!

Deaf to my warmest prayers, he poured on me Such bitter taunts----

NATHAN.

That you withdrew dismayed.

DAJA.

Far otherwise. I sought to meet him daily, And daily heard his harsh insulting words. Much have I borne, and would have borne still more; But lately he has ceased his lonely walk Beneath the spreading palms that shade the grave Of Him who rose from death; and no man knows Where he may now be found. You seem surprised.

NATHAN.

I was considering how such a scene Must work upon a mind like Recha's. Scorned By one whom she can never cease to prize; Repelled by one who still attracts her to him. Her head and heart at strife! And long, full long The contest may endure, without the power To say if anger or regret shall triumph. Should neither prove the victor, Fancy then May mingle in the fray, and turn her brain. Then Passion will assume fair Reason's garb, And Reason act like Passion. Fatal change! Such, doubtless, if I know my Recha well, Must be her fate; her mind is now unhinged.

DAJA.

But her illusions are so sweet and holy.

NATHAN.

But yet she raves!

DAJA.

The thought she clings to most, Is that the Templar was no earthly form, But her blest guardian angel, such as she From childhood fancied hovering o'er her path; Who from his veiling cloud, amid the fire Rushed to her aid in her preserver's form. You smile incredulous. Who knows the truth? Permit her to indulge the fond deceit, Which Christian, Jew, and Mussulman alike Agree to own. The illusion is so sweet!

NATHAN.

I love it too. But go, good Daja! go, See what she does--if I can speak with her. This guardian angel, wilful and untamed, I'll then seek out--and if he still is pleased To sojourn here a while with us--or still Is pleased to play the knight so boorishly, I'll doubtless find him out and bring him here.

DAJA.

You are too daring, Nathan.

NATHAN.

Trust me, Daja! If fond delusion yield to sweeter truth-- For human beings ever to their kind Are dearer after all than angels are-- You will not censure me, when you perceive Our lov'd enthusiast's mind again restored.

DAJA.

You are so good, and so discerning, Nathan! But see, behold! Yes, here she comes herself.