： r—- ×122 #|||||||||||||||||||Wººllllllllllllllliºn, |É H muſº | § º E |Fºº §sº tº º W J - ſº J.J. g . . . . . . .f, sº |E} º:- É E g- º § - := E- E- º x 33 // tºwa. fºLa7 GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING. - P. R. E. F. A. C. E. LTERATURE. as the most direct expression of the world’s thought, is an undivided stream. The Sanscrit, Greek, and Latin, the Romance and Ger- manic languages swell the current of its richness. Each period has represented, more or less consciously, in its books, habits of thought and stages of mental de- * velopment. The recognition of this universal character | of literature is a help in studying any of its branches, \. Sand the reading of the masterworks of foreign languages \{ | in connection with one’s own is a help in the appre- | ciation of the latter. Emerson has justly said, - “To know one element, explore another, And in the second reappears the first.” tº s Only in the original text does the reader see the pre- º º value of the words chosen ; only there does he see Sº the thought as it imaged itself to the Writer’s vision. Yet it must always remain true that foreign classics will º be read largely in translation. The following brief sº is intended to make clear to English readers the work, time, and character of Lessing, the pioneer of - --- modern German writing. It is intended to set forth the As a gº iv. PREFACE. steps in his own development, and to show how he made possible the success of Goethe and Schiller. As such, this book, one of a series of German studies, is offered as reading matter in high schools. It is be- lieved to be suitable also for literature classes that desire a knowledge of the German classics. EURETTA A. HOYLES. ANN ARBOR, MICH., October, 1895. ºtubićg in (5criman literature | º, L E S S ING A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS * WITH REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS, INCLUDING º NATHAN THE WISE : (ſāītiſ Note: º ------ By EURETTA A. HOYLES WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY WILHELM BERNHARDT, PH.D. DIRECTOR OF GERMAN INSTRUCTION IN THE HIGH SCHOOLS OF WASHINGTON CITY Ich habe nie verlangi, Dass aſſeſ. Bāzemzezz eine ſºde wachse. LESSING SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY NEW YORK . . . BOSTON . . . CHICAGo I895 - º - º - | - tº º º - º - | - - - º - - * - - a - -- - ----- . - --- - º - - - - - * * * ---- r - - Copyright, 1895, BY SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY. || "-2×-/?22. QHititjersity Hărcăg: John WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S. A. | INTRODUCTION HE Reformation of the Church in Germany, with its polemic spirit, had created a strong prose-style, but it had not been favorable to a purely aesthetic and poetic development, since fancy and imagination were not stim- ulated in the disturbed atmosphere of the religious dis- putes of the sixteenth century. In the footprints of the Reformation followed the Thirty Years' War, − that fearful struggle during which Germany was reduced to a wilderness and flung back at least a century in the march of civilization. As the star of the old German Empire set, that of France rose, politically and intel. lectually, spreading its light and influence over all Europe, and not least over downtrodden Germany and | her literature, where French fashions, French tastes and thoughts, and even the French language, soon ruled su- preme. French actors occupied the German theatres for nearly a hundred years, and French classics found a sympathetic reception among the refined classes of Ger- many, - above all, in Prussia, where the great Frederick gathered French writers about him. Very slowly Germany recovered from the long exhaus- tion to which the religious wars had doomed her. At last, an era of literary refr began to dawn. A num- º - - - – INTRODUCTION. - º - - * ber of honest, patriotic, and thinking men felt keenly | the blame encountered by their predecessors for having | borrowed from French models. Then appeared the great scholar, resolute man, and lifelong enemy of everything that looked like tyranny, GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING. Possessed of the strongest passion for positive truth, and * º ! ever ready for controversy, he directed his critical at- tacks against every one of the mediocre writers at home and abroad. The literary works of his youth, though bearing the stamp of all the defects of his time, placed him at once above the most celebrated contemporary au- thors. His “ Litteraturbriefe” made him the founder of a new and more dignified criticism ; at the same time he uprooted the literary weeds that hitherto had grown º profusely upon German soil, and prepared the field for - a new and glorious harvest. Then returning to poetry, - he created his “Sarah Sampson " and his “Philotas,” * two dramas grown upon the ground tilled by his own . N hands. Thus having firmly established in German º poetry the “Familien-Tragoedie,” he entered upon a broader and wider range. He presented his people with * “Minna von Barnhelm’’ and “ Emilia Galotti; ” by which is he made himself the founder of the true national drama. Restless and indefatigable, he soon employed all his i energy and critical power in keen investigations into art in general, the result of which was the introduction, by means of his “Laocoön,” of a new theory of aesthetics. At the same time, his “ Hamburgische Dramaturgie ’’ put an end to the unwarranted domination of French thought and taste upon the German stage. In his “Fragmente ’’ he ventured upon the religious domain, . sgºsiously begun by Luther; / “*"" " … | \ | \ and continued the work A º INTRODUCTION. Wii º ler was born in humble circumstances, and lived in poverty for many years; he had to wait long, and had he became the founder of a rational conception of reli- gious doctrines. Finally, in his “ Nathan der Weise” and in his “Erziehung des Menschengeschlechtes,” he taught mankind the gospel of true humanity and reli- gious toleration, of which his own blameless life is the practical application. Lessing is one of the most eminent men of Germany. The English historian, Macaulay, calls him “the great- est critic of Europe; ” and G. H. Lewes says of him : “Lessing is one of the greatest critics the world ever saw, and, beyond doubt, the greatest prosaist of Ger- many.” In a similar manner, Goethe once expressed his opinion of Lessing, when he remarked : “Lessing repu- diated the title of genius, but his works bear testimony against this.” Summing up all the varied phases of Lessing's activity, it is safe to assert that he is the gen- uine type of German mind, and the perfect exponent of all the praiseworthy qualities of the German people. Twenty years after Lessing, Johann Wolfgang von º Goethe was born ; and ten years after the latter, Fried- rich Schiller. Schiller and Goethe, the two master-minds of Ger- many, both so great and so closely united in aim and * friendship, and yet so different from each other! Schil- - º to undergo many trials and struggles before a ray of hap- piness brightened his path. To add to his troubles, his health early began to fail, and at the age of forty-five he was called away from this world, where he was loved so much. To Goethe, on the other hand, a happier fate was reserved. In the most favorable outward circum- - - viii INTRODUCTION. stances, he passed through life in almost unclouded hap- piness. He was one of the handsomest men that ever lived, and his whole personality and manners, charac- terized by a frank and reckless grace, won all hearts for him. His health was perfect; even eighty-three years could not bend his figure or dim the splendor of his dark-brown eyes; “the Apollo of former years had only grown into the Olympian Jove,” to quote Bayard Taylor. Different as the course of their lives, are the intellect- ual qualities and the character of the works of Goethe and Schiller. - Goethe is the “ naïve" poet, while Schiller designates himself as “sentimental.” The naïve poet, says W. Scherer, is natural; the sentimental poet seeks to be so : the former reproduces reality ; the latter represents the ideal. Goethe's poetry has the advantage in its sen- suous reality; Schiller's, in its loftier subjects. Goethe exercises a calming influence ; Schiller, an agitating and impassionating one. Goethe gives us pleasure in the living present ; Schiller makes us discontented with real life. In Goethe's poetry appear nature and art in the most harmonious union; in Schiller's, philosophy and history. Goethe is greatest as a lyric poet ; Schiller, as a dramatist. Goethe's language is the plainest possible ; while Schiller's diction is carefully selected, lofty, and full of rhetorical ornament. Goethe appeals to our heart; Schiller, to our mind and reasoning powers. We must love Goethe ; but we must admire Schiller. Though for many reasons inferior to Goethe, Schiller holds the first place in the hearts of his countrymen, - - a distinction partly due to the loveliness of his charac- 7. | g - º * - - INTRODUCTION. ix ter. “Schiller has no trace of vanity, scarcely of pride, even in its best sense ; he has no hatred, no anger, Save against falsehood and baseness, where it may be called a holy anger. . . . In a word, we can say of Schiller what can only be said of a few in any country or time: he was a high ministering servant at Truth’s altar, simple in his excellence, lofty rather than expansive or varied ; pure, divinely ardent, rather than great.” Speaking of Goethe, and comparing his life's work with that of Lessing and Schiller, a renowned critic says: “If a life-size sketch will suffice for Lessing and Schiller, I feel the need of a canvas of heroic propor- tions when I come to portray Goethe.” There is no ex- aggeration in these words. Goethe's accomplishments, both of body and mind, were truly dazzling. He is the Atlas who carries upon his shoulders the world of Ger- man thought ; he is the soul of his century ; the prophet of mankind under modern circumstances, just as Homer concentrated in himself the spirit of Antiquity, Dante of the Middle Ages, and Shakespeare of the Renaissance; yes, he is still more, he is the teacher of ages yet un- born. Goethe's muse was confined to no single field, but controlled the whole domain of poetry : song, epi- gram, Ode, elegy, ballad, opera, comedy, tragedy, ro- mance, — both sentimental and philosophical, - and the mighty epic, all engaged his pen; nay, more, he under- took excursions into the realms of biography, travel, mineralogy, comparative anatomy, optics, and the fine arts. He was the master of literatures, sciences, his- tories, and mythologies; the man in whom we find the highest development of all the powers of human mind. In addition to this, if we consider that all his writings, in X INTRODUCTION. prose and verse, are distinguished by a style which, according to Thomas Carlyle, must be reckoned “ the most excellent that our modern world, in any language, can exhibit,” then it will be understood that it is well- nigh impossible to overestimate what Goethe has done for humanity. Goethe was a born artist. With firm step he moves about in the realm of beauty, never trans- gressing its lines. All the great excellences of mind which made the other German classics immortal, are combined in one individual in Goethe ; he unites in him- self Lessing's boldness and clearness of view, as well as Schiller's glory of rhythm and rhetoric. It is for this reason that Varnhagen von Ense, the great biographer and critic, says: “Goethe unites within himself all for- mer authors, just as the organism of man represents all lower classes of living beings; yes, even most of the subsequent writers and their work can easily be traced in Goethe.” In comparing the great triad of German classics, we might say: Lessing represents the dawn of the classical era, which overpowered the spirits of night; Schiller, the bright morning with its refreshing and invigorating breeze; while in Goethe the full glare of the midday sun is shed over all the realm of letters. Or, to apply another simile : With Lessing the flower of German classicism began to bud; with Schiller it first opened and revealed its in most beauty ; while with Goethe the long-lasting and life-creating fruit came to full maturity. WILHELM BERNHARDT L E S S I N G. IT is pleasant to walk through a luxuriant garden, where showers, sunshine, dew, and fertile soil have wrought their miracles of growth. Yet the April seed- time, the parent of this summer ripeness, justly claims our first respect. Seed-time, too, in spite of bleak skies, has its own charm. Something of the perennial marvel folded within the brown germs committed to the soil invests the work of the Sower, whether his seeds are to produce plants or ideas. The student prepares his mind for the delights of philosophy through the mental training of mathematics. Assimilative power is developed ; then varied food is granted without fear for results. The restless boy longs to be done with preliminary training; yet he is sure to find that the didactic period is indispensable. He cannot shorten it without harm. º In the wider sphere of nations, there are the same X periods of clearing and planting. As an individual is A trained by the exact sciences to drop his conceits in the inquiry for truth, so in a nation's development, great results are preceded by discipline. º, Goethe and Schiller were the ripe fruits of German intellect. Lessing was the planter whose unsparing hand made their productions possible. He lived in the springtime of modern German literature; they, in its l Fºº 2 LESSING. summer. They were the nation's delight in the realms of imagination. He was the didactic force initiating intellectual honesty. He prepared the way for cosmo- politan minds. Charlemagne guarded the infancy of German civili- zation till it had time to grow. He kept the Saxons, the Huns, and the Saracens from trampling on the garden he had planted. Luther freed the land from the growths of superstition, and roused independent thought. Winckelmann did a like work in German art. Lessing, justly known as Germany’s second Luther, did the same in literature. He found Germany without a national literature. That radical thinking for which the Germans are now known had scarcely begun. Foreign taste ruled. Only classic or French models were deemed worthy. Germany, both from geographical and political reasons, was late in feeling the impulse to individuality. It was slow to assert its distinct place in European literature. The literary Renaissance began everywhere in extrava- gant veneration of the restored classics. But in many countries it had passed into genuine assimilation of these before Germany had acquired any such power. Machiavelli in Italy had first written pithily in native Italian. Montaigne in France had set the example of in England. Richardson and Fielding not only wrote common life. original style in poetry or prose. Writers were content ous parties, indulging in admiration of themselves and hostility against others. The age was effeminate. a pure native English, but drew their subjects from Germany had not yet acquired a concise, forcible, with imitations and translations. They formed numer- Mediocrity and dilettanteism prevailed. In spite of con- tention, there was little force of conviction, or disposition *- unconventionality. Dryden had early mastered this art - º z \; f º- ºr ºf 2. º - LESSING. 3 to stem existing tendencies. The German language, too, was dull and heavy. It had not yet crystallized. It lay, besides, under the disfavor of Frederick the Great, who encouraged the French instead. In view of the labyrinthine books of that time, Lowell thinks that the German tongue was so slow and roundabout that it reacted upon the thought. He says it was at least an accessory before the fact in the offences of German 3 literature. He adds, what even the present student of German will agree with : “The language has such a fatal genius for going stern foremost, for yawing and not minding the helm without some ten minutes' notice in advance, that he must be a great sailor who can safely make it the vehicle for anything but imperishable commodities.” That free play of thought and fancy, that breadth and power which mark Goethe and Schiller, were scarcely possible till the language had acquired greater lightness, and the air of intolerance and pedantry had been puri- fied. This lightening and purifying was the work of Lessing. He was to criticise, to ridicule, to expose pretension, to awaken love for truth-seeking, to teach tolerance, to offend for a time, and to forego popularity that he might free the nation from its slavery to false standards, and prepare it for its best. He was to be its didactic force. Without the poetic fire which, while it fuses and kindles, often dazzles and blinds, he was to uproot and prune, to stimulate and rouse. * To see how Lessing accomplished this work We must is look into his life. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing was born in 1729,-twenty years before Goethe, thirty years before Schiller, and in exactly the same year as his dearest friend, the philoso- - º pher Moses Mendelssohn, grandfather of the composer. º Frederick, not yet the “Great,” but a youth of seventeen, º -- º 4 LESSING. driven to desperation by his father's tyranny, was pre- paring to run away to his royal uncle in England. There were no great German writers. Klopstock, Gel- lert, and Gleim, who afterwards won a moderate fame, were then children. Gottsched, the pompous professor of literature at Leipzig, held the literary dictatorship of Germany, and strenuously insisted on conformity to French rules, against Bodmer, the venerable Zürich professor, who, for fifty years, waged war with him. Voltaire was the recognized leader of French litera- ture; Diderot was a youth of sixteen ; and Rousseau, the protégé of Madame de Warens, was scarcely seven- teen. In England, Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver's Travels, and parts of The Dunciad had just been published. Newton had died two years before, and Goldsmith was an infant of one year. The little village of Camenz, twenty-two miles from Dresden, in Saxony, was the poet’s birthplace. A fire destroyed the town when Lessing was thirteen, the house of his birth thus perishing. Long afterward thé town was rebuilt, and to-day a smiling little village of seven thousand inhabitants overlooks the waves of the Black Elster, and shows in lieu of his birth-house a hospital dedicated to the name of Lessing. His father, chief pastor of the Lutheran church at Camenz, traced the family name of Lessing back through a long line of scholars, most of them clergymen, to the sixteenth century. The family had always been noted for fearlessness and independence,—qualities which were to culminate in Gotthold as critic. His grandfather, on graduating, had chosen for his thesis the defence of free- dom in religious belief. In the present century, the family name has been honored by a distinguished painter, Karl Friedrich Lessing, grand-nephew of the poet. Herr Pastor Lessing, the father, was a man of unusual . $º £ : IESSING. 5 : 4. g º attainments in language. Besides the classics, he knew French and English, and had translated Tillotson's works into German. He was mildly orthodox, of rather an iras- cible temper, and known for his kindness to the poor. His son was like him, except that he was far more radical. The Frau Pastorin, Lessing's mother, seems to have been an exception to the rule that great men have had remarkable mothers. She was of the ordinary house- wifely type, absorbed in domestic cares, loving her family, but worrying its members with her forebodings and upbraidings. She was not the inspiring force which Frau Aja and Frau Schiller were in their households, and it may have been somewhat the result of this that Lessing developed a peculiarly masculine nature. Yet when we think of her twelve children, and of the life- long poverty against which she fought, we cannot be *3 surprised at the lack of inspiring power. We rather wonder at its presence. Gotthold, the eldest son of this large family, was a bright, bold, venturous boy, very early known for these qualities. He was tall, well-built, and of a clear, fair com- plexion, with abundant light-brown hair, and dark-blue eyes clear and frank in expression. He attended the com- mon school at Camenz till he was twelve. Then for five years he went to a higher school in Meissen, a little town tº near Camenz, better known through its Gothic cathedral and its beautiful china than its educational facilities. Here Lessing studied enthusiastically till seventeen, his teacher calling him a steed which needed double fodder. He had the reputation among his companions s of being the most sarcastic, but also the most generous and loyal boy in school. At seventeen, he entered the University of Leipzig, where Goethe went eighteen years later. His native town had given him the pension which was set 6 LESSING. apart for the education of exceptionally promising boys whose parents’ means were inadequate. Both the worthy elders and the father fondly trusted that, in the person of Gotthold, a theologian would return to Camenz, to edify his native town and to shed lustre on the long line of clerical Lessings. Lessing met the paternal hope so far as to enroll him- self as a student of theology, but that was as far as he went in that direction. A change had come over his tastes, or rather the crystallizing of individual tendencies which belongs to that age had commenced and was pro- ceeding rapidly. Hitherto he had been a diligent stu- dent of appointed lessons, with a latent fondness for reading, especially the drama. Now, released from rules by the free university life, he soon discovered and fol. lowed his tastes. Simple, direct, and keen, he was repelled by the pedantic manner which most of his instructors assumed, and so was led still more to follow his own notions. There happened to be few great teachers then at the university. Ernesti, however, the great classical scholar, known as the German Cicero, was his teacher ; Johann Christ, the great art critic, also taught him, and doubt. less stimulated his critical faculty. Professor Christ was the first to introduce the study of classical art into the Leipzig course, and the first to use the German Tan- guage in art criticism. V Criticism of any kind, moreover, was a new thingſ) While in most countries it followed great productions, in Germany it preceded and produced them. Lessing liked Professor Christ for throwing off the pompous Latin phraseology and using the simple German. On the whole, however, Lessing regarded his Leipzig opportunities much as Goethe did his, looking upon them as a necessary evil, to be mitigated by outside pur- - \ LESSING. 7 | suits. Shy and retiring at first, the opposite of Goethe, a he had to overcome this impediment. Not trained at home to ease and freedom of address, he saw his disad- vantage and resolutely determined to be ished tº man of the world. He learned to ride, dance, and fence; *Torced himself to be social, and attended the theatre constantly. He must have succeeded in his efforts; for = he is described as being, at this age, a brilliant, light- hearted, active youth, quick to jest at his own and others' º foibles, and as far as possible removed from pedantry. While in Camenz, his father had once taken him out N-. of school because his teacher had taught that the stage. T is a school of eloquence. Herr Pastor Lessing had ** publicly rebuked the audacious schoolmaster, against whom the people of Camenz also rose in wrath. A º young man named Mylius, brother of Lessing's tutor, º, had alone defended the schoolmaster. For this pre- sumption he had been fined and imprisoned at Camenz. - * Actors were then deemed outside the pale of salvation, and were denied Christian burial. . This heretical Mylius, then living in Leipzig as a dramatic writer and reduced by poverty to a somewhat vagabond life, became Lessing's most intimate friend. 2. The poet Christian Weisse, also guilty of operettas and A popular songs, became one of his best companions. >< The famous actress, Frau Neuber, who did much to 3. improve the German stage, was playing in Leipzig. Yº Lessing had written a most amusing little comedy, called º “The Young Scholar,” ridiculing the egotism of a young. º aspirant to universal knowledge. This play was accepted success. Lessing saw himself an acknowledged play- writer. Two other comedies followed, “The Old Maid ". and “The Woman Hater.” Lessing seemed to be im- pelled to comedy by his desire to acquire lightness and . and performed by Frau Neuber's company, with great 8 LESSING. grace and to lose the sense of restraint. He was at the theatre night and day, before and behind the scenes. When the tragic news reached the little parsonage that son Gotthold had forsaken theology and was spend- ing his time with playwrights, and that he had even º become so depraved as to write a play, a family council . was called, and there were ominous shakings of the pater- £ *. | nal head. But when at Christmas his mother sent her son the Liebesgabe, or home-made cake, and learned from the officious messenger that it was shared with the heretic Mylius over a bottle of wine, the height of consternation was reached. - The Herr Pastor, deeming that the urgency of the ends justified some concession to the means, immedi- ately wrote his son a letter which must have weighed a little upon his conscience. “Your mother is dying,” he wrote ; “ come immediately. She wishes to speak with you.” Gotthold immediately started for home, though rather suspecting the message. After a long journey through intense cold, he reached home, to find his mother in tears over his exposure, but otherwise en- tirely well. Gotthold was kept at home several months, and care- fully instructed in the nature of the evils which flow from the theatre. Well fortified with admonition, he returned in the Spring to Leipzig, promising to study * º : medicine. He attended a few medical lectures, indeed, — enough perhaps to quiet his conscience. But most of his time was spent, as before, at the theatre; for his ambition to become a great dramatist was fixed. But the company suddenly failed, and Lessing, having become A security, was deeply involved in debt. His whole pension s was given to satisfy creditors; and, obliged to leave | school, he resolved to quit Leipzig and to depend upon his pen for support. - LESSING. 9 To this end he went to Berlin, the great Prussian capital, where Mylius had gone, and whither Voltaire was called two years later. A very interesting letter "which Lessing wrote to his mother at this period shows that he distinguished thus early between thought-power |- - | º 2 and mere acquisition of knowledge) He realized, as he º said, “that books might make him learned, but would not make him a man.” º But the family were strongly opposed to his residence º at º the home of arch-atheists and ºl 2” They refused all assistance, and wrote bitter letters o S- reproach. His immediate wants were supplied by º º º Mylius, almost as poor as himself. Like Dr. Johnson his English contemporary, Lessing learned to live in a Tgarret, to dine royally on twopence, and to write cheer- "fully. He called his life that of a sparrow on the house. top; and such indeed it was destined to be the most of the time, for with all his great endowments, he had no faculty for business. Meantime, his mind was growing broader and keener. He applied the tests of reason and inherent worth to everything. Writers of influence began to fear, and professors to respect, the youth of twenty-three. He wrote with great gentleness but firmness to his father º concerning his views of the stage and church, adding > what probably startled the worthy pastor: “The Chris- º tian religion is not a thing that one can accept upon the word and honor of a parent. Time must teach * whether he is a better Christian who knows the doc- º trines of religion, goes to church, and conforms to cus- . tom, or he who has once wisely doubted, and, by the * path of inquiry, attained conviction, or at least striven for it.” - He touchingly adds to the letter a note, written in Latin that his mother might not read it, begging his 10 LESSING. father not to be too much influenced by his mother's hatred of Mylius. This screen of Latin between the son and the father seems to have been tacitly allowed, — the father perhaps translating it to her, with some twinges of conscience, after the manner of the fox in Chaucer's story : — “Mulier est hominis confusio. Madame, the sentence of this Latin is, Woman is manne's joy and manne's bliss.” Pastor Lessing doubtless had a secret joy in hisºon's writings, but felt bound, if possible, to hold him in the paths of orthodoxy. Feeling, finally, the need of fur- ther study, Lessing spent a year at Wittenberg, the old university of Luther, returning to Berlin at the age of twenty-three, with his degree of master of arts, to re- main three years. Here there came to him the man who was to be his life friend, under whose stimulus he was to do his best work. This was Moses Mendelssohn, whom we ought to remember for his liberal mind and warm sympathy, whenever we listen to the beautiful music of his grand- son. Professor Hedge calls him a metaphysician without the jargon of the schools, something refreshing in any age, and especially welcome to the truth-loving Lessing. A poor diminutive hunchback, son of a Jewish scribe, Mendelssohn at fourteen had come to Berlin, where he had found employment as copyist. For the first years, he lived in a garret on a mere pittance, marking with lines each day on his loaf of bread the amount he per- mitted himself, lest his hunger should trench on the next day’s allowance. His father, having early per- ceived his son's genius, had initiated him in study, call- ing up the seven-year-old child at three or four o’clock in the morning to begin his lessons. Thus he had º * f P. t tº- * * º ! | tº LESSING. 11 ruined his health, overwork at that tender age having produced spinal disease. In Berlin, however, young Mendelssohn continued his studies ardently, in his cheerless garret. He had the courage to break through Jewish rules and acquaint himself with Christian literature, and this at a time when Jews had to acquire all such knowledge by stealth, when a Jewish boy had been expelled from the syna- gogue at Berlin for carrying a German book through the streets. Under these difficulties, he learned Latin, English, French, and German, – the last-named having been previously known to him only by ear. He won from the Berlin Academy the prize offered for the best essay on the nature of metaphysical evi- dence, the great Kant being his competitor. It is said that Kant's essay was the profounder of the two, but that the judges could not understand it. Mendelssohn's was written in clear and lucid language, which, other things being equal, ought certainly to have determined the preference. Mendelssohn at last became foreign correspondent and partner of a wealthy silk merchant, Bernhard, and saw the end of his financial troubles. At this point in his life, he met Lessing at a game of chess, of which amusement Lessing was extremely fond. The two young men, of exactly the same age, were of like sympathies. Lessing by nature hated intolerance. Mendelssohn had learned its bitterness in the School of suffering; but suffering had not soured him. It had taught him calmness. forbearance, and breadth of view. His sympathetic appreciation supported Lessing Men- delssohn, athirst for knowledge, found in Lessing method and direction for his passionate endeavor. Under the influence of this friendship, Lessing wrote his two plays, “The Jews?” and “The Freethinkers.” Together they studied English literature, and it was 12 LESSING. thence that the breeze blew which was to vivify Ger- many. They were the first German authors to recog- nize the superiority of English style. Under the impulse of this study, Lessing wrote his tragedy, “Miss v\ Sara Sampson,” in which the scenes and characters are nglish, the plot being very much like that of Richard- son’s “Clarissa Harlowe.” For the first time in Ger- many, a tragedy of common life was brought upon the stage. Its effect was great. It was performed at Frankfort-on-the-Oder, the audience, as it is said, sitting like statues for three hours and a half, and then, at the touching close, bursting into tears) - The beautiful friendship of Lessing and Mendelssohn lasted till Lessing's death, and the last work of Mendelssohn, who survived him but five years, was a | defence of Lessing's religious views, which had been K. assailed. Their friendship is in some respects more interesting than that of Goethe and Schiller, for it be- gan in youth, before either had advanced far in his life work. - --- While living in Berlin, trying to support himself by making translations, Lessing published a periodical ſº to dramatic criticism. He undermined the authority of Gottsched. He exposed with keen satire the errors of Lange in his much-lauded translation of Horace. In a series of papers called “Rescues,” he vindicated the character of various writers whose works had been previously misunderstood. Among these were the Latin poet Horace, and the Italian scholar Cardan. Hearing that the theatre had been re-established in Leipzig, his love for the drama drew him thither again. For two years he tried to support himself there by his writings. But the city was occupied by the troops of Frederick the Great, and authors received lº. unless, like Gleim, they wrote war songs. With the - -- - - --- - - f LESSING. 13 * s 3. s -- popular “ Roaring of the Bards,” as the numerous mar- ------ tial songs of the day have been called, Lessing had little sympathy. A wealthy young merchant named Winckler engaged Lessing to travel with him ; but after going as far as Amsterdam, Winckler abandoned the project, Less- ing demanded recompense, and his suit, ultimately suc- cessful, Jingered in court six years. His dear friend, the poet Von Kleist, the model of Major von Tellheim in the drama of “Minna,” fell in battle, and Lessing, lonely and dejected, again left Leipzig, and a Ghird time came to Berlin. In 1759 he published his wonderfully interesting fableś, arid his “Letters on Literature,” — the latter setting forth the principles of originality, simplicity, and clearness, and boldly proclaiming Shakespeare superior to the French school, and nearer the classic dramas of Sopho- cles. Familiar as this idea is to us, it was then a new doctrine, and had wonderful influence in shaping new Writings. - Lessing was obliged to work so hard and so unremit- tingly that he was subject to sudden revulsions of taste and feeling. One of these attacks now befell him ; he became utterly weary of books, and obtained of General Tauentzien, a hearty old commander inſPreslau, the position of secretary, which he held four years. He Wrote but little, associated principally with Prussian officers, went much into society, and became passion- ately fond of gambling, playing for such high stakes that even General. Tauentzien expostulated with him. But he had not been led from his chosen path; his exhausted mind was resting for new efforts. He ac- quired, while at Breslau, a library of six thousand vol- umes, and soon began his great work, “Laocoon.” His charming comedy, “Minna von Barnhelm,” was written in 1767; a thoroughly national drama, doing much through - * 14 LESSING. its delightful characters to unite the hostile Saxons and * Prussians. . º Resigning his secretaryship, with that restlessness º which ever pursued him, Lessing sought to become º keeper of the royal library of Frederick. But Frederick, º influenced by his love for the French, and by the opinion of Voltaire, with whom Lessing had quarrelled, denied - him the place, and never concerned himself to learn the º merits of the first poet of his domain. By selling his fine library, Lessing at last obtained means to settle in Hamburg, where a theatrical company - and a printing firm both seemed to offer him good pros- pects. But both failed, and again Lessing was deeply : in debt. Almost in despair, he determined to leave | Germany, but an illness detained him. Still he wrote ardently and with increasing power, — his “Letters on Antiquity '' belonging to this period. After much dreary waiting, he became, in 1770, keeper of the immense library of Duke Charles of Brunswick, N º in the State of Brunswick. Four years he hid himself in its alcoves, bringing to light and pub- lishing many manuscripts found there. Among these was the manuscript of a certain Hamburg minister named Reimarus, who freely discussed the Bible from the standpoint of reason. The work, which Lessing himself had no hand in writing, was so in keeping with his known "sentiments that it was very generally º accredited to him. - A storm of invective broke upon him, the chief attack coming from a certain minister of Hamburg named Goetze. Lessing’s “Anti-Goetze Papers ” constituted his reply. In these papers he not only refuted all his opponent's points, but showed the narrowness and bigotry of his views so clearly that he put an end to the contest. The controversy started thought in reli- LESSING. 15 gious matters. It marked an epoch in theological writ- ing, securing greater freedom, and suggesting new and - much more practical questions to Christianity. The Brunswick government, however, unable to answer the arguments in any other way, confiscated the manu- * script. Unwilling that his plea for tolerance should end in a controversy, Lessing once more turned to the drama, and produced his last and greatest play, “Nathan the 3 Wise.” At the age of forty-seven, after six years of dreary waiting for brighter prospects SLessing married a widow k by the name of Eva König. His wife was a calm, dignified - woman, of rare sweetness and kindness. She possessed, too, that practical business power which Lessing lacked. Their union was ideally beautiful, and life seemed at last to smile on Lessing. A visitor at Lessing's home writes } of her : “She has an unstudied kindness of heart and a * (divine calm which she communicates by means of the - most winning sympathy to all who have the happiness to know her.” - º Yet in one brief year after her marriage she died, together with the son whom she had borne. Lessing * was again alone. The few Words which he uttered concerning his grief are most pathetic. He wrote to a friend: “I wished for once to be as happy as other men ; s— but it has gone ill with me. I rejoice that I have not º many more such experiences to make. I just grind my Steeth, and let the boat go as pleases wind and waves. * Enough that I will not upset it myself.” Lessing's four step-children loved and cared for him tenderly, – Amalia, the eldest, being his special favorite. His drama “ Emilia Galotti,” a modern rendering of the old story of Virginia, was now written. His “Ernst *and Falk,” five dialogues on Freemasonry, pleaded for a ſhumane and charitable spirit. In his brief essay, “The s s § * P- 16 DESSING. Education of the Human Race,” – his last work, - he showed that every historic religion has had its part in the development of the race, that no creed is final, and that man is still in the process of making. He was still often in the closest financial straits; yet he would never permit himself to touch a penny of his step-children’s money. Under the prolonged strain of anxiety his health finally yielded, and at fifty-two he saw the end approach. He wrote to his beloved Men- delssohn : “The play is played out. Gladly should I speak with you, however, once more.” Two months º ſº /* later, on a February evening of 1781, friends called to inquire about his health. With his lifelong resolution, Lessing rose from the bed and came out to greet them, a strange pallor spreading over his features, and the * sweat of death gathering upon his brow. He bowed to his friends, and fainted. They bore him to his bed, dying. Care and hardship had extinguished his great soul. - - º So poor was he that his funeral expenses were borne by the Duke of Brunswick, that prince who, in Lessing's lifetime, neglected his opportunity to save a sinking || brother. He was buried in the yard of St. Majus’ Church, about a mile from Brunswick. When, in after years, it was proposed to erect a monument to him, Schiller with difficulty cleared of earth and moss a little – headstone half hidden in weeds and briers, which bore the name of Lessing. Theological hatred pursued him even beyond the grave. The orthodox party maintained that the devil had carried him off alive. The Hamburg 1 newspapers were forbidden to print any tribute to his memory; but a humblºutimily wrote : – - º lº- 4. º “God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and Leibnitz came. º º º God said, ‘Let darkness be,” and Lessing died.” - - Sº * ! * _x ſ ºf LESSING. * S. º WITH this glimpse of Lessing’s life, we may better - examine his works, observing first that certain charac- * teristics belong to them, and are to be looked for in reading. - | First of all, Lessing was not a poet. He wrote, it is /* true, a volume of short poems, and chose the poetic form for the last one of his dramas. But all his other works are prose, and those just named º only in > form) He lacks the idealizing power, the glow and pas- sion of the poet. Nor was he a dramatist. He paints few beautiful or striking scenes. There is seldom pres- lent that flame of creative genius which fuses characters, ideas, and words into a resistless whole. As Lowell has said of one of his dramas: “There is a sober lustre of | reflection in it that makes it very good reading; but it wants the molten interfusion of thought and phrase which only imagination can achieve.” He is in this the opposite of Schiller, who is, above all, ideal and dramatic. - Lessing's gift, instead, was the power to analyze exist: II. s ing ideas, to strip them of error, fearlessly to proclai J advanced thought in the face of prejudice, and thus t widen the domain of religion, art, and the drama, for all of which his great learning and native critical faculty prepared him. As with Schiller, his plea was for humanity, and his leading dramas have this for their teaching. But it was teaching, rather than impressive scene painting or character portrayal. He was himself conscious of this. Though his ambition was to be a dramatist, though he wrote many dramas, and laid the ſ foundation of the German stage, yet he wrote: “I am neither actor nor poet; what is tolerable in my later LESSING. efforts is owing, I am conscious, solely and alone to the critical faculty.” Though there is a touching humility in this confession of a man whose dramas have served such high purposes, yet it cannot be denied that he was right. His was not the sweeping ken of Goethe or the Winged imagination of Schiller. It was the soberer work of the critic, the corrector of pettiness and narrow. ness. ATId is not a great prose writer as rare as a great poet : What, then, are the essential qualifications of a critic The first is comprehensiveness, the comprehensiveness arising from extensive knowledge and from breadth of vision. Then the tests which the critic applies should be those vital ones which reach the essence of the matter considered, viz.: whether it rests upon universal prin- ciples, is in line with progress, and aims to serve man- kind. The critic must be, above all else, a truth- searcher, fearless and self-forgetting. He must be the hunter, who, having once seen the image of the snowy bird Truth, never rests till he has used every means to capture her, even though he be granted at last but a assistance to the critic if he has command of humor and satire. Lessing possessed just these qualities. He had broad learning. Like Johnson, he browsed in libraries. His silvery plume from her wing. It is further of great * º \, Anti-Goetze Letters silenced his opponents by their indis putable array of facts. Narrow, ignorant, and pretentious minds learned a salutary fear of him. His views were broader than those of the age. (In religion he recognized no creed as final, no church as worthy of exclusive de- votion, no historic religion without its usefulness in the development of the race. He decried a narrow patriot- ism, great respect for rank, and conformity to forcign * usage. In literature he insisted upon the use of native, LESSING. 19 resources, and taught that common life is interesting, - ideas which were then new.) In accordance with such views, his tests of merit were not precedent or popularity, but the ability to meet the needs of a growing, thinking people. His thirst for truth was a consuming one. Indeed, he is best known by one of his sayings about truth: “If God held all truth shut in his right hand, and in his left nothing but the ever- restless instinct for truth, though with the condition of ever erring, and should say to me, “Choose,' I should bow humbly to his left hand and say, ‘Father, give pure truth is for thee alone.’” He adds: “Not the truth of which any one is, or supposes himself to be, | possessed, but the upright endeavor he has made to arrive at truth makes the worth of the man ; for not by the possession, but by the investigation, of truth are his powers expanded, wherein alone his ever-growing per- fection consists. Possession makes us easy, indolent, proud.” He wrote to his friend Klotz : “I think I have been as serviceable to truth when I miss her, and my failure is the occasion of another discovering her, as if I had discovered her myself.” º In addition to these qualifications, Lessing handled : German with a lightness and force unknown before. He could ridicule affectation ; he could hurl satire at prejudice ; he could fight error with keen logic. As - Madame de Staël has noted, there was something severe \_º in his character which made him discover the most con- * cise and striking mode of expression. His spirit was as fearless as Luther's. He had no sympathy with literary cliques, and never sought to establish a school of criticism. He wrote to his brother Karl : “It is not error, but sec- arian error, − yes, even sectarian truth, – that makes then unhappy, or Would do so if truth would found a sect.” - - -- | 20 LESSING. In the exercise of these traits of character which made Lessing a critic, he assailed the leading contemporary s: writers, and the brightest sparks of his genius were flashed forth in the collision. But he won the confi- dence and reverence of the younger writers, who followed his teachings. By leading them to drop affectation, to , A cultivate their own powers, and to seek simplicity and º truth, he produced a literary revolution which had its influence in producing later the political revolution. Especially through a drama which for the first time exhibited German characters and common life scenes, º and which pleaded for tolerance of race and religion, he created the sentiment of patriotism, which was the fore- runner of political freedom, - for the drama in Germany has been a most potent influence in forming national . character. - - In addition to the traits combined in Lessing as critic, we may note that all his works — whether his dramas, fables, or essays — aim to hit intolerance and bigotry. Writing not, as in the case of Goethe, to sat- isfy the craving of the poetic instinct or to embody forms which his fancy had created, but always to enforce º some truth, he bent all his powers to this end. His = fables – which are extremely interesting, and among the most characteristic of Lessing's works – are among the most pointed ever written. Grimm, the prince of fabu- º lists, says they surpass all others in the moral truth ! | enforced. His own bitter, lifelong privation, the estrangement d from his parents, the early death of his wife, and the attacks of literary opponents brought home to him the common sufferings of mankind. His friendship with Mendelssohn deepened this feeling. Mylius, the wretched. and proscribed freethinker, who shared his pittance with Lessing when his parents refused help, early taught hiº LESSING. 21 ; º . º º *. childish, dependent, sentimental, and helpless. His ** that goodness and nobility of character are not a matter of creed. - - Lessing's plots are sometimes modelled from classical literature, as in “The Treasure" and in “Emilia Galotti; ” sometimes from history, with a gleam borrowed from mediaeval literature, as in “Nathan the Wise; ” some- times from English sources, as in “Miss Sara Sampson; ” sometimes they are wholly original and local, as in “Minna von Barnhelm ; ” again they are wholly unlo- galized, as in “Philotas; ” some are brief plays of but one act; others are elaborately developed. 2 But in all there was a departure from the established French rules of the drama which then formed the stand- ard for Germany and greatly retarded native genius. These laws required that the heroes be princes or nobles, that the action lie in the far past, and that the utterance be in verse. Lessing made familiar characters his theme, -— a runaway girl, a wounded soldier, an egotistic young writer, a persecuted Jew. His scenes were more often located in the present, and he used prose, reducing it to a conciseness more forcible than poetry. Though he is mainly didactic, yet his dramas reveal power of construction. They act well, “Emilia Galotti” and “Minna von Barnhelm ’’ being very effective on the stage. They are in this respect better than Goethe's. P. * The women whom Lessing portrays are extremely º unsatisfactory, With scarcely an exception, they are • * --- - - Miñna and Francesca, the most spirited of his heroines. find scope for their ambition in deceiving and undeceiv- ing a too proud lover whom love impelled them to follow to a tavern. Emilia Galotti succumbs almost voluntarily º the machinations of a diabolical prince. In “Nathan the Wise’’ both the lovely Recha and her scheming maid Daja have no resources but love. Sara Sampson is the 22 LESSING. essence of womanly weakness, – indeed, weakness is made almost a virtue in her. Marwood is a young widow who yields to the temptations of an abandoned life rather than exert herself. Nothing could be more unnatural than the picture of her child Arabella. - Why is this 7 Do we not see here the reflection of Lessing's own life : His mother was not a woman to excite the imagination. He did not marry till the age of forty-seven, and then, after a brief shining, he saw his hearth-fire quenched. Poor, wandering, lodging in gar. rets and frequenting bookstores and libraries, he prob- ably came little under woman's influence. His natural shyness, his severity, - almost bluntness, – must have proved barriers to such a social education as Goethe 2° enjoyed. We read of no Charlotte von Kalb or Frau von ' Wolzogen in his life. Not creative by nature, he was not led to idealize woman, and thus pictured her as slight and forceless. - Like most men of independent thought, Lessing fondly cherished certain theories which belong wholly to the speculative. He thought that our five senses have been gradually acquired in response to some outward stimu- lus. He believed that each combined in aiding the development of the others, and that new ones will, in time, appear in man. Thus sight, he thought, was the response to the influence of light, and he anticipated the future development of a special sense for detecting magnetism, scarcely known then when Mesmer was but a youth, was pointed to. This line of thought and his theory of perpetual progress brought him at last to the doctrine of transmigration. “Why should I not return to earth,” he asks, “as often as I require new inst gº - - tion and new capacities : * § 3. electric conditions. Possibly the condition of animal LESSING. 23 s III. TURNING now to his works, we will notice that one which best represents him, - his last drama, “Nathan the Wise.” Its scene is Jerusalem, at the close of the twelfth century, during the truce which followed the third crusade. The leading characters are the Mohammedan Saladin, the famous sultan known for his friendly spirit and tolerance; Nathan, a wealthy Jewish merchant, whose just and liberal spirit had won for him the name of “The Wise; ” and a brave young Knight Templar captured by Saladin and unexpectedly spared from death on account of his resemblance to Saladin’s youngest brother, who had unaccountably disappeared many years before. Thus three able men, representatives of Mo- hammedanism, Judaism, and Christianity respectively, - have met. The Jew has known all the bitterness of persecution. His wife and seven young sons had been burned by a party of Christian fanatics, in the house of his brother, whither they had taken refuge. Three days Nathan had wept in the dust, cursing the world and hating the Chris- tians. Then the voice of reason and the spirit of gentle- ness, by which he had accustomed himself to be ruled, awoke within him. He said to himself, “Even this is God's decree. Come, exercise what thou hast professed, and which is so much harder to practise than to com- prehend.” His loyal soul responded, “I will.” As he rose from the earth, a knight approached on horseback, and, dismounting, brought to him a little infant girl, child of Christian parents who had perished. The knight asked Nathan to take her as his own. Yield- ºng to the voice of pity and compassion which bade him 24 - LESSING. º - º do good to his enemies, he conquers his sense of grief and Wrong, and takes the child to his heart. She becomes his own, receiving all the sevenfold love which had be- longed to his sons. Recha, as he calls her, grows to Womanhood, learning the same spirit of tolerance which animated Nathan, though she knew nothing of her real parentage. : During the absence of Nathan on one of his com- mercial tours, his house burns. His beloved Recha is saved from death by the bravery of the young Templar, who, spreading his white mantle against the flame, suddenly appears and bears her safely away. Recha’s sensitive and imaginative mind believes that an angel has rescued her. Nathan, returning, seeks the Templar, Who, with a haughty modesty, has avoided the house and declined all thanks. Nathan brings him to his house, where Recha, with grateful tears, pours forth her ac- knowledgments. He, in turn, is charmed by her sweet- ness and purity. Through Daja, Recha's companion, he learns that Recha is of Christian parentage, and that Nathan has concealed from her her heritage of Christian doctrines. Tinged with the bigotry of the age and piqued at the misun- derstood reluctance of Nathan to grant him Recha, he thoughtlessly brings the facts before the patriarch of Jerusalem, a type of bigotry and cunning. The patri- arch, horrified at the case, proceeds to enlist Saladin in the project of burning the Jew and thus setting a signal example of retribution to all misleaders of Christian youth. - But Saladin, meanwhile, anxious to know the man of whom all speak with reverence, had summoned Nathan to his palace. After friendly greeting, Saladin frankly began . “I am a Mohammedan; you are a Jew. The --- Christian is between us. You are a man of wisdom " _ - LESSING. - 25 experience; you do not act without your reasons. The three religions cannot all be true. Which of them is the true one 7” 2 The Jew, after a pause, begged to answer by a story. Then follows the exquisite parable of the rings, – a story º borrowed by Lessing from Boccaccio, and used, under º various forms, in all the literatures of Europe. Nathan began : — “In the gray dawn of the past, there lived in the East a man who possessed a priceless opal ring. The stone, glowing with a hundred soft tints, possessed the power of rendering the owner beloved by God and man so long as he wore it in that faith. Quite naturally the owner never left it from his finger, and resolved it should never * leave his house. He bequeathed it to his favorite son, who thus became ruler of the house, with the provision, - in turn, that he should leave it to the best loved of ºf his sons. “Thus it came in time into the hands of a father who had three sons whom he loved equally, and to each of whom, in a moment of fatherly fondness, he had prom- . ised the ring. At last, death drew nigh. What should he do º That he might not appear false to his sons, he caused two facsimiles of the ring to be made by a skilful jeweller. They were so nearly alike that he himself could with great difficulty tell them apart. Then calling to him his sons separately and privately, he gave each a ring, and soon afterward died. - “Scarcely was he dead when each son, bringing forth * : his ring, claimed his right as head of the house. They quarrelled, they prosecuted, but in vain. The true ring was not demonstrable.” Here Nathan paused, and Sala- -din, who began to perceive the meaning of the story, asked if that was the answer to his question. Nathan replied : “It is only to excuse me if I cannot trust my- º - º 26 LESSING. - self to distinguish the rings which the father made with the design that they should not be distinguished.” Resuming the story, he continued : “The sons came at last before a judge, who, impatient at the idle riddle which the case presented, was about to dismiss it, when he exclaimed: “But hold ! I hear that the true ring pos- sesses the magic power to make its owner beloved by God and man. That must decide it. If each of you has received the ring from his father, let each believe his ring to be the true one. It is possible that the father meant to suffer no longer the tyranny of the one ring in his house. Certain it is that he loved all of you, loved you equally, since he would not oppress two in order to favor one. Let each of you then compete with the others in demonstrating the power of the ring. And then, after manifested itself, let them be brought again before this tribunal. Then a wiser man than I will sit in judgment and pronounce sentence. ‘Saladin,” said Nathan, turn- ing to him, “if you feel yourself to be the promised wise man—” But the impulsive and warm-hearted Saladin, recognizing the full force of the narrative, interrupted than, the thousand years of your judge have not expired. His tribunal is not mine. Go, but be my friend.’” are brother and sister, and that Saladin is their uncle. family tie. This play, produced at the ripe age of fifty, was written from Lessing's inmost nature. It embodied the tender- ness and philosophy into which his life had crystallized. ler's & Don Carios” and Goethe’s “ Iphigenia,” it is to be. thousands of years, when the virtue of the rings has him, saying, as he seized his hand: “Nathan, dear Na- Further disclosures reveal that the Templar and Recha. Christian, Mohammedan, and Jew are thus united in a Its humanizing influence has been great. With Schily reckoned among the works which have ameliorated the º . & - - lºsing. 27 uy, 3-, l 13–3 = } lot of men. Three of its characters are modelled from real personages. The Jew Nathan reproduces the beau- tiful character of Moses Mendelssohn. Recha is drawn from Lessing's favorite step-daughter, Amalia. The patriarch of Jerusalem represents the Hamburg min- ister Goetze. The play was first presented by Goethe and Schiller in the Weimar Theatre, and since then has become familiar throughout Germany. It was translated into Greek by Kaliourchis, a Greek who studied in Germany. It was performed with unbounded applause at Constan- tinople, the story of the rings exciting unexampled enthusiasm. - - Lessing's first drama, the comedy of “The Young Student,” a most amusing and readable play, is notice- able for its lightness of touch and its humor. It brings Lessing before us as the frank and merry youth who laughed at pedantry, and who was trying to acquire that social ease which he so coveted. It most humorously depicts the conceits and follies of a youth whose favorite expression, after recounting his numerous accomplishments, was, “And I am not yet twenty years old !” The various characters play at cross purposes in a manner worthy of Shakespeare's “Comedy of Errors.” - Damis, the young scholar, is nervously reading in his study, amid a confusion of books and manuscripts, his head so full of literary projects that every interruption seems an intolerable annoyance. Every few minutes he summons his servant Anton, to send him to the post-office. For Damis has sent to the Berlin Academy a wonderful essay on monads, which he is confident has won the prize. Anton, who understands his master's conceits, mut- ºters, “I’ll warrant when it does come it will be some 28 LESSING. father, Chrysander, enters. y bit of trash.” “No, no, my good Anton,” replies Damis, - fluttering with the joy of his secret. “Ah, if you knew - * Oh, divine knowledge ' Believe me, Anton, man is capa- * ble of knowing all things. When I consider how much º I already understand, I am convinced of this truth. º Latin, Greek, Hebrew, French, Italian, English ; there . are six languages which I completely understand, and º I am not yet twenty years old !” “And you have for- -- gotten to name German,” mischievously replies Anton. >. “True, replies Damis, innocently; “that makes seven languages, – and I am not yet twenty years old !’ “Oh, fie! I was not in earnest,” laughs Anton. “You would not reckon your own language, would you ?” “And do you think that you understand German 7” º asks Damis. “Truly, you may be able to make your- . self understood, but you know nothing of the depth or beauty of the language.” “Perhaps you would say I do not know how to eat,” returns Anton. With great dignity Damis replies, “You know how to eat, — that is, you know the mechanical process; but you do not know whether you employ the digastricus or the masseter, the pterygoideus externus or internus, the zygomaticus or platymamydes — ” > “Ach!” interrupts Anton, “the only “whether’ which I consider is whether I get something to eat and it agrees with me. But would you think it—I know one language º which you do not, - the Wendish.” Anton shrewdly adds, { “If you will double my pay, you shall soon learn it.” –4 While Damis is gravely considering the matter, his He is, in his way, as pedantic as his son, proud of the N. lingering learning of his youth, though he is now a shrewd merchant. He has the habit of frequently quoting Latin phrases, adding the words, “as we Latins say,” as an offset to his son's erudition, which frequently - * \ LESSING. 29 /* ºR i threatens to engulf him. Though he is commonly worsted in his attempts to argue with Damis, yet he holds his ground boldly, and does not hesitate to hint to Damis that he is a young monkey. “Always over the plagued books,” began Chrysander. “Ah,” gently sighs Damis, “he who can desire other pleasure can never have known the true sweetness of learning.” Chrysander’s pride is touched, and he de- clares that he himself has penetrated to the marrow of knowledge. “What the father in his youth did, the son may do also,” he adds. “A bove majori diseat a rare minor, – from the large ox the smaller one may learn to plough, - as we Latins say.” Chrysander, incautiously proceeding with his Latin allusions, is brought to time by his son for his inaccuracies of speech. Unable to stem the tide of his son's eloquence, Chry- sander turns to business, informing Damis that he has come with a proposition of marriage, – in short, that he has decided that Damis shall marry his father's Ward, Juliane, who, as the shrewd guardian knows, is about to become rich through the recent discovery of a long-lost document. Damis is horrified at the suggestion of pro- faning with marriage the life which he has consecrated to learning. Anxious to return to his books, he plays all his numerous tricks of absent-mindedness upon his bewildered father. He looks in his books for authority for such a step, takes notes on Chrysander's excited arguments, and pretends to regard the case as a matter of literary investigation. Damis is called out, and Anton, returning, explains to the father that Damis's mind has become deranged from excessive study. “God be thanked,” devoutly exclaims | Chrysander, “that I in my youth was able to hit upon iust the right measure of learning. Omne nimium verti- - , - - - - ºr in vitulum, - all is by no means changed into food, say 30 LESSING. we Latins, most wittily.” Anton then gives Chrysander the cue to the various attitudes and tricks of inattention which Damis is in the habit of practising on unwelcome visitors, telling him also that Damis always thinks in ac- cordance with the last author whom he has read. Juliane, whose will has not been consulted in the matter of her marriage with Damis, is meanwhile wooed by another, Herr Valer, whom she loves de- votedly. Reluctant, however, to oppose her guardian, she is at a loss what to do. Her mischievous maid, Lisette, wishing to help Juliane's cause, has described her to Damis as a young woman guilty of every weak- ness. She has also, in her zeal, written Chrysander a - letter purporting to come from his lawyer, denying the º validity of the document which was to make Juliane wealthy. This, as she anticipated, immediately changes Chry- - sander's mind concerning the desirability of the mar- riage. Thinking to soothe his son's feelings and at the same time to make known his altered purpose, he hastens to his study and tells Damis that he will no longer stand in his way, that he shall follow his will in choice of a wife. But Damis, meanwhile, having fallen upon some example of a great man who suffered a dis- agreeable wife, has determined to achieve a like fame. Convinced by Lisette's roguish account that Juliane is full of faults, he has determined to marry her. Damis therefore tells his father that he will no longer thwart his will, but will at once take Juliane. It is in vain – that Chrysander frantically tells him that it is no longer his will, - that he has changed his mind. But Juliane, discovering that Lisette has written the false letter to Chrysander, and unwilling to deceive her guardian, hastens to tell him the truth. This news … A restores Chrysander to his original purpose, since he/ N LESSING. 31 l still sees Juliane a prospective heiress. He hastens to tell Damis that it is all right, after all; he shall marry Juliane just as he desires, and have his father's blessing. But Damis has just received the long-awaited letter from Berlin. Opening it in an ecstasy of eagerness, he finds not only that he has not received the prize, but that his essay was considered too poor to hand to the judges. Crushed by his disappointment, Damis turns to his father, who, entering, joyfully makes known his con- sent to his son’s marriage with Juliane. Damis replies to the amazed Chrysander that he does not want her, that he will never marry, that he will leave the ignoble country which fails to appreciate its authors and will seek a foreign land. Disgusted with life, Damis departs, hurling a book at the saucy Anton, who calls after him, “May you ever be the learned Herr Damis l’ Juliane thus falls to Valer, and the strife is ended. This comedy, the beginning of Lessing's dramatic career, was greeted with great applause, one hundred and forty years ago at Leipzig, and has since been frequently played. It had its weight in correcting the pedantry which was then so common, and which Lessing so thoroughly despised. º Lessing's most elaborate and in many respects his greatest work is his “Laocoon,”— a consideration of the essential differences between painting, sculpture, and - poetry. hiº. as a basis the sculptured group of the Trojan priest, Laocoon and his sons entwined by ser- pents, and comparing it with Vergil's description of Laocoon, Lessing analyzed and for the first time drew the boundaries between poetry and the plastic arts. Here- º their laws were thought to be the same. Poetry as painting in Words; sculpture was silent, poetry. 2 ºzer” 3, 2, ºr a 2-. O - A CN Cº- | 92 ºzºva. Yº...!” N Painting, too, had outweighed poetry in importance. . SLessing taught, despite the great Winckelmann, that each had its laws, and that poetry, the action of the soul, was the highest art. This work had an immediate and powerful influence on literature. It checked diffuseness and the tendency of one department of literature to invade another. It developed clearness. The dreamy dulness which had pervaded German literature vanished, and action became its characteristic. The storm and stress period began, whose turbulence was to subside into the calm strength and dignity of more modern Writers. As we trace thus briefly Lessing's life and work, it would seem that his power was due largely to his per- sonal character. His nobility of thought and expression had a marked influence upon the thinkers of his time. His brave common-sense was a tonic to German senti- mentalism, more wholesome than the cynicism of Heine. A man of pure life and character, of broad views independently maintained under the greatest opposition, Lessing shines as a star in the horizon of modern litera- ture, ready to usher in the day. In respect of inherent purity, of untiring devotion to truth, and of humble inquiry for the good, he was greater than Goethe or Schiller. He was the brave frontiersman clearing the l way for a higher civilization, the pruner of an age which under his hands was to bring forth the rarest blossoms of literature that the modern world has known. NATHAN THE WISE. º 3-&- [TRANSLATED BY WILLIAM TAYLOR.] v/ ** - ckºº Introite nam et heic Dii sunt \- APUD GELLIUM. NATHAN THE WISE. Introite nam et heic Dii suntſ — APUD GELLIUM. A DRAMATIS PERSONAE, SALADIN, the Sultan. CoNRADE, a young Templar. º - SITTAH, his Sister. HAFI, a Dervis. NATHAN, a rich Jew. - , ATHANASIos, the Patriarch of - RECHA, his adopted Daughter. Palestine. DAYA, a Christian Woman dwell- || Bon AFIDEs, a Friar. ing with the Jew as companion to An Emir, sundry Mamelukes, RECHA. Slaves, &c. The Scene is at Jerusalem. ACT I. SCENE. — A Hall in NATHAN’s House. NATHAN in a travelling-dress ; DAYA meeting him. DAY A. 'T is he, ’tis Nathan . Thanks to the Almighty That you’re at last returned. NATHAN. - Yes, Daya, thanks That I have reached Jerusalem in safety.” But wherefore this at last 2 Did I intend, Or was it possible to come back sooner? - 1 The translator's free spelling of Daja has been retained. Sº - - M. \ - - - - * 36 LESSING. \ - As I was forced to travel, out and in, 'T is a long hundred leagues to Babylon; *: And to get in one’s debts is no employment That speeds a traveller. - º - - º ..? . DAYA. r:-- O Nathan, Nathan, º How miserable you had nigh become & During this little absence; for your house — NATHAN. º Well, 't was on fire; I have already heard it. r God grant I may have heard the whole that chanced! - - DAYA. - 2. *T was on the point of burning to the ground. NATHAN. - Then we’d have built another, and a better. --- DAY A. True! – But thy Recha too was on the point Of perishing amid the flames. NATHAN. Of perishing? º My Recha, saidst thou? She? I heard not that. I then should not have needed any house. Upon the point of perishing— perchance. She 's gone?— Speak out then – out — torment me not With this suspense.—Come, tell me, tell me all. º º: DAY A. Were she no more, from me you would not hear it. NATHAN. Why then alarm me?— Recha, O my Recha! - DAY A. Your Recha, 2 Yours ? Act 1.] NATHAN THE WISE. 37 NATHAN. What if I ever were Doomed to unlearn to call this child my child? DAYA. Is all you own yours by an equal title? NATHAN. Naught by a better. What I else enjoy Nature and Fortune gave — this treasure, Virtue. DAY A. How dear you make me pay for all your goodness! — If goodness, exercised with such a view, Deserves the name. — NATHAN. With such a view? With what? DAYA. My conscience — NATHAN. Daya, let me tell you first — DAY A. I say, my conscience –– - NATHAN. What a charming silk I bought for you in Babylon 'T is rich, Yet elegantly rich. I almost doubt * If I have brought a prettier for Recha. 2- - And what of that – I tell you that my conscience Will not be longer hushed. - - DAY A. 38 LESSING. NATHAN. And I have bracelets, Tº And earrings, and a necklace, which will charm you. * I chose them at Damascus. - º DAYA. That’s your way: — - If you can but make presents — but make presents.- 4. - NATHAN. * Take you as freely as I give — and cease. _2 DAY A. º And cease? – Who questions, Nathan, but that you are º Honor and generosity in person ; – 2- Yet — - ºf NATHAN. º Yet I’m but a Jew. — That was your meaning. º DAYA. You better know what was my meaning, Nathan. . - - NATHAN. Well, well, no more of this. DAYA. - I shall be silent; But what of sinful in the eye of heaven Springs out of it — not I, not I, could help; It falls upon thy head. NATHAN. So let it, Daya. Where is she then? What stays her? Surely, surely, You ’re not amusing me — And does she know That I’m arrived 2 Act 1.] NATHAN THE WISE. 39 Sº DAYA. That you yourself must speak to. Terror still vibrates in her every nerve. Her fancy mingles fire with all she thinks of. Asleep, her soul seems busy; but awake, Absent: now less than brute, now more than angel. a NATHAN. Poor thing ! What are we mortals — DAYA. As she lay This morning sleeping, all at once she started And cried: “List, list! there come my father's camels!” And then she drooped again upon her pillow And I withdrew — when, lo! you really came. Her thoughts have only been with you — and him. NATHAN. And him 2 What him 2 DAYA. º With him who from the fire Preserved her life. - - ". NATHAN. Who was it 2 Where is he That saved my Recha for me 2 DAY A. - A young templar, Brought hither captive a few days ago, And pardoned by the Sultan. NATHAN. How! a templar * Dismissed with life by Saladin 2 In truth, - * Not a less miracle was to preserve her, Gji c. 40 - LESSING. DAYA. - Without this man, who risked afresh The Sultan’s unexpected boon, we'd lost her. NATHAN. - - Where is he, Daya, where 's this noble youth? Do lead me to his feet. Sure, sure you gave him What treasures I had left you — gave him all, < Promised him more — much more? DAYA. - How could we? º NATHAN. Not 2 % DAYA. He came, he went, we know not whence or whither. - º Quite unacquainted with the house, unguided But by his ear, he prest through smoke and flame, His mantle spread before him, to the room Whence pierced the shrieks for help ; and we began To think him lost — and her ; when, all at once, Bursting from flame and smoke, he stood before us, She in his arm upheld. Cold and unmoved 2 By our loud warmth of thanks, he left his booty, \\ Struggled into the crowd, and disappeared. NATHAN. | But not forever, Daya, I would hope. - - | DAY A. For some days after, underneath yon palms That shade his grave who rose again from death, We saw him wandering up and down. I went, With transport went to thank him. I conjured, Intreated him to visit once again The dear sweet girl he saved, who longed to shed At her preserver’s feet the grateful tear – - ACT I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 41 NATHAN. - Well? | DAYA. But in vain. Deaf to our warmest prayers, On me he flung such bitter mockery – NATHAN. * That hence rebuffed — DAYA. - Oh no, oh no, indeed not. Daily I forced myself upon him, daily Afresh encountered his dry, taunting speeches. Much I have borne, and would have borne much more: But he of late forbears his lonely walk Under the scattered palms, which stand about Our holy sepulchre: nor have I learnt Where he now is. You seem astonished — thoughtful — ... " NATHAN. I was imagining what strange impressions This conduct makes on such a mind as Recha’s. Disdained by one whom she must feel compelled To venerate and to esteem so highly, At once attracted and repelled — the combat Between her head and heart must yet endure Regret, Resentment, in unusual struggle. Neither, perhaps, obtains the upper hand, º And busy fancy, meddling in the fray, Weaves wild enthusiasms to her dazzled spirit, | Now clothing Passion in the garb of Reason, - l And Reason now in Passion’s — do I err 2 º This last is Recha’s fate. — Romantic notions — # * - - - DAYA. Aye; but such pious, lovely, sweet illusions. NATHAN. Illusions, though. 42 - LESSING. DAYA. Yes: and the one her bosom Clings to most fondly is that the brave templar Was but a transient inmate of the earth, A guardian angel, such as from her childhood She loved to fancy kindly hovering round her, Who from his veiling cloud amid the fire Stepped forth in her preserver’s form. You smile — Who knows? At least beware of banishing So pleasing an illusion — if deceitful Christian, Jew, Mussulman, agree to own it, And ’t is — at least to her — a dear illusion. NATHAN. Also to me, Go, my good Daya, go, See what she's after. Can’t I speak with her ? Then I’ll find out our untamed guardian angel, Bring him to sojourn here awhile among us — We’ll pinion his wild wing, when once he 's taken. Z-- DAYA. You undertake too much. NATHAN. And when, my Daya, This sweet illusion yields to sweeter truth, (For to a man a man is ever dearer Than any angel) you must not be angry To see our loved enthusiast exorcised. DAYA. You are so good — and yet so sly. I’ll seek her, But listen, -yes! she’s coming of herself. NATHAN, DAYA, and RECHA. RECHA. And you are here, your very self, my father, I thought you ’d only sent your voice before you. ACT I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 43 Where are you then 2 What mountains, deserts, torrents, M. Divide us now? You see me, face to face, , And do not hasten to embrace your Recha. º Poor Recha 1 she was almost burnt alive, But only — only — almost. Do not shudder | Oh, *t is a horrid end to die in fire! * NATHAN (embracing her). My child, my darling child RECHA. You had to cross The Jordan, Tigris, and Euphrates, and • Who knows what rivers else. I used to tremble And quake for you, till the fire came so nigh me; Since then, methinks 't were comfort, balm, refreshment, To die by water. But you are not drowned — I am not burnt alive. — We will rejoice — 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 º * My angel visibly on his white wing Athwart the roaring flame — Fº - NATHAN (aside). White wing? — oh, aye, The broad white fluttering mantle of the templar. RECHA. ºf -\es, visibly he bore me through the fire, f | O'ershadowed by his pinions. – Face to face - I’ve seen an angel, father, my own angel. - - NATHAN. * - - - - º * Recha deserves it, and would see in him tº - - - No fairer form than he beheld in her. --- N \ . º 44 LESSING. . RECHA. Whom are you flattering, father — tell me now — The angel, or yourself 2 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. - º - RECHA. *That I like to hear. k tº º NATHAN. Well, and although it sounds quite natural, An every-day event, a simple story, º That you was by a real templar saved, "A Is it the less a miracle 2 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 — ACT I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 45 s - * DAY A. Why will you then With such vain subtleties confuse her brain Already overheated 2 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? y 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. DAY A. 'T is but report indeed, but it is said That Saladin bestowed upon this youth His gracious pardon for the strong resemblance He bore a favorite brother — dead, I think, These twenty years — his name, I know it not — He fell, I don’t know where — and all the story ounds so incredible that very likely 3, he whole is mere invention, talk, romance. JO , " 46 LESSING. 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, - º 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? DAY A. 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 lead 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 bowed one way rather than another — Eyebrows with straiter or with sharper curve — - i 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. • Act I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 47 Ask ye for signs and wonders after that? What need of calling angels into play? - - - 7 DAY A. - § But, Nathan, where's the harm, if I may speak, * - Of fancying one's self by an angel saved, Rather than by a man 2 Methinks it brings us & Just so much the nearer the unattainable First cause of preservation. - - NATHAN. -> - - - - - Pride, rank pride! V/ The iron pot would with a silver prong Be lifted from the furnace — to imagine - Itself a silver vase. Psha! Where 's the harm? * Thou askest. Where’s the good 7 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 a Have ye the power to do 2 To sing his praise — L. Melt in transporting contemplation o'er him — Fast on his holiday — and squander alms — * | What nothingness of use ! To me at least J. It seems your neighbor gains much more than he Byºl this pious glow. Not by your fasting - *- * . I; he made fat ; not by your squandering, rich; * } }, or by your transports is his glory exalted ; º DAY A. M. * Why, yes; a man indeed had furnished us º With more occasions to be useful to him. tº 30" knows how readily we should have seized them. N. º - º 48 LESSING. 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 2 Underneath the palms Escaped your view, and has returned no more. Or have you really sought for him elsewhere 2 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 — N- RECHA. Illness? | DAY A. Ill! sure he is not. RECHA. N A cold shudder Creeps over me. O Daya, feel my forehead, It was so warm, "t is now as chill as ice. NATHAN. He is a Frank, unused to this hot climate, Is young, and to the labors of his calling, To fasting, watching, quite unused – RECHA. Ill — ill ! DAY A. Thy father only means 't were possible. ACT I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 49 --- --s- NATHAN. And there he lies, without a friend, or money To buy him friends — - RECHA. Ts - Alas! my father. - - º NATHAN. º 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. - DAY A. / 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 — DAY.A. Stop, look! NATHAN. He — he, in death, has nothing to console him, But the remembrance of this deed. 4. 50 LESSING. DAYA. | You kill her! NATHAN. And you kill him — or might have done at least — Recha, ’t is medicine I give, not poison. He lives — come to thyself — may not be ill — Not even ill — Lº 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. . |º r 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” ACT I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 51 4. - . - - - NATHAN and HAFI. s º DAYA. And now the treasurer of Saladin. NATHAN. Al-Hafiz 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? º H.A.F.I. Aye, lift thine eyes in wonder. NATHAN. Is it you? A dervis so magnificent! — H.A.F.I. 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. Maybe '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 — HAFT. When he is much besought, and thinks it right, A dervis must. 52 LESSING. 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! r 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 honor. 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. • ACT I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 53 NATHAN. That's not small. * - H.A.F.I. º - 'T is larger than thou think’st; for every beggar Is of his household. NATHAN. - He 's so much their foe — H.A.F.I. - That he ’d fain root them out — with food and raiment — º Tho' he turn beggar in the enterprise. ~ * NATHAN. -: Bravo, I meant so. & H.A.F.I. And he 's almost such. His treasury is every day, ere sunset, Poorer than empty; and how high so e'er Flows in the morning tide, ’t is ebb by noon. º * ſ t *~ º NATHAN. Because it circulates through such canals As can be neither stopped nor filled. HAFI. Thou hast it. º NATHAN. I know it well. HAFI. Nathan, 'tis woful doing \ When kings are vultures amid carcases: But when they ’re carcases amid the vultures 'T' is ten times worse. - NATHAN. No, dervis, no, no, no. 54 LESSING. 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 2 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. ºn 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; º For I have reckoned on thee. NATHAN. How so, Hafi” - H.A.F.I. 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, ACT I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 55 |- To dervis Hafi, all I have is open; ~ s But to the defterdar of Saladin, To that Al-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 honor, -Which Saladin bestowed, - before 't is 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. i s h º t– A \ . H.A.F.I. * - NATHAN. That’s like you. -- - HAFI. Or be playing chess among them. NATHAN. - Your sovereign good. - H.A.F.I. 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. º- For the first time my vanity was tempter, Flattered by Saladin’s good-hearted notion – A NATHAN. 56 - LESSING. H.A.F.I. - 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 learn 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! H.A.F.I. 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 color of its fairness, * To gain advantage from them — ha? ACT I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 57 sº NATHAN. º 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. *s NATHAN. What, so abruptly? Stay, stay, Al-Hafi; has the desert wings? "--> Man, 't will 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? sº * § - DAYA. He 's there. He shows himself again. - - * - NATHAN. * Who, Daya, who? º º DAYA. 5. He hel * NATHAN. 2. -- When cannot He be seen? Indeed - Your He is only one; that should not be, * Were he an angel even. DAY A. - 'Neath the palms – He wanders up and down, and gathers dates. w - -- ~~~ 58 LESSING. 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 — DAYA. All in vain! In short, he will not visit any Jew. NATHAN. Then do thy best endeavors to detain him, Or with thine eyes to watch his further haunt, Till I rejoin you. I shall not be long. - º, º - --- SCENE. – A Place of Palms. The TEMPLAR walking to and fro, a FRIAR following him at Some distance, as if desirous of addressing him. TEMPLAR. This fellow does not follow me for pastime. How 'skance he eyes his hands! Well, my good brother— Perhaps I should say, father; ought I not ? Act I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 59 FRIAR. s No — brother — a lay-brother at your service. \ TEMPLAR. }. Well, brother, then; if I myself had something — : But — but, by God, I’ve nothing. | FRIAR. A. Thanks the same; And God reward your purpose thousand-fold! - The will, and not the deed, makes up the giver. 2 Nor was I sent to follow you for alms — TEMPLAR. Sent then? - \ FRIAR. Yes, from the monastery. 3- TEMPLAR. Where I was just now in hopes of coming in For pilgrims’ fare. FRIAR. - They were already at table: But if it suit with you to turn directly — - TEMPLAR. º Why so? 'T is true, I have not tasted meat This long time. What of that? The dates are ripe. - FRIAR. Oh, with that fruit go cautiously to work. Too much of it is hurtful, sours the humors, • Makes the blood melancholy. *~ TEMPLAR. And if I s Choose to be melancholy — For this warning You were not sent to follow me, I ween. -T- 60 LESSING. FRIAR. Oh, no: I only was to ask about you, And feel your pulse a little. TEMPLAR. And you tell me Of that yourself? FRIAR. Why not? TEMPLAR. A deep one! troth: And has your cloister more such? FRIAR. I can’t say. Obedience is our bounden duty. TEMPLAR. So — And you obey without much scrupulous questioning? FRIAR. Were it obedience else, good sir? TEMPLAR. How is it The simple mind is ever in the right? May you inform me who it is that wishes To know more of me? 'T is not you yourself, I dare be sworn. FRIAR. Would it become me, sir, Or benefit me? TEMPLAR. Whom can it become, Whom can it benefit, to be so curious? ACT I.] NATHAN THE WISE. -- FRIAR. The patriarch, I presume — 't was he that sent me. TEMPLAR, The patriarch? Knows he not my badge, the cross Of red on the white mantle? - FRIAR. Can I say? TEMPLAR. k Well, brother, well! I am a templar, taken Prisoner at Tebnin, whose exalted fortress, Just as the truce expired, we sought to climb, º 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. LESSING. TEMPLAR. ..mighty deed? To save out of the fire - 1sh 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 — TEIMPL.A.R. * 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 — FRIA R. 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 2 FRIAR. - So it should seem; must seem — For, says the patriarch, to all Christendom - Act I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 63 - 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 — º s TEMPLAR. º - Than I? FRIAR. v For none so able, and so fit to earn º This crown, the patriarch says, as you. TEMPLAR. r - 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 º And weaknesses of "Saladin’s new bulwark, : And of the inner rampart last thrown up; And to the warriors of the Lord, he says, º Could clearly point them out; — TEMPLAR. º - And can I know r Exactly the contents of this same letter? s FRIAR. Why, that I don’t pretend to vouch exactly — | 'T is to King Philip; and our patriarch — º 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 — ”T is a hard taskſ º - TEMPLAR. Well — and your patriarch — 64 LESSING. 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. º 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? º 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 fºress, Its name, and strength, and site on Lebanon, 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 passes, - With few attendants. Act I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 65 . . - -: . * º TEMPLAR. Well — FRIAR. How easy 't were To seize his person in these expeditions, And make an end of all! You shudder, Sir — Two Maronites, who fear the Lord, have offered 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 favor Which I received from Saladin’? - FRIAR. Oh, yes! TEMPLAR. And yet 2 FRIAR. The patriarch thinks — that’s mighty well— God, and the order's interest — TEMPLAR. Alter nothing; 66 LESSING. FRIAR. No, that indeed not; 13ut what is villany 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 — fiel 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. ------ Act I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 67 FRIAR. I withdraw More gladly than I came. We cloister-folk re forced ~* to superiors º tº TEMPLAR and DAYA. DAYA. The monk, methinks, left him in no good mood: But I must risk my message. TEMPI.A.R. 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? TEMPLA R. Yes. DAYA. We’ve all been anxious Lest something ailed you. TEMPLAR. So 2 DAYA. Have you been journeying? 68 LESSING. TEMPLAR. Hit off! DAYA. How long returned? TEMPLAR. Since yesterday. DAY A. 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. TEMEPL.A.R. I am no chap. DAYA. His nation honors 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. DAY.A. 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 Act I.] NATHAN THE WISE. 69 You rendered to his Recha, there is nothing That he would grudge you. TEMPLAR. . Aye? º DAYA. Do — see him, try him. TEMPLAR. A burst of feeling soon is at an end. M. DAY A. And do you think that I, were he less kind, º Less bountiful, had housed with him so long? - That I don’t feel my value as a Christian? For ’t was not o'er my cradle said or sung, sº That I to Palestina should pursue º 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 honor, Of drowning in one river with his master. P. Woman, how often you have told me this! - Will you ne'er leave off persecuting me? - DAY A. My Jesus! persecute — i - - TEMPLAR. Aye, persecute. . ſ 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 Cl wish not to repent it; but, remember, º - º º 70 LESSING. Should the like accident occur again, ’T will be your fault if I proceed more coolly, ºAsk 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 favor 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 harbor 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. DAY A. Be n’t in this hurry. TEMPLAR. Pray, forbear to make These palm-trees odious. I have loved to walk here. DAY A. Farewell then, bear. Yet I must track the savage. - --- º - - - Act II.] : NATHAN THE WISE. 71 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? º SITTAH. Don't you see the knight Becomes exposed? SALADIN. 'T is true: then so. SITTA.H. 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 'T is not so easy to escape unhurt. - Well, you must have the knight. - 72 LESSING. SITTAH. - I will not have him, I pass him by. SALADIN. In that, there 's no forbearance: The place is better than the piece. SITTAEI. Maybe. SALADIN. Beware you reckon not without your host: This stroke you did not think of. SITTAIH. No, indeed; I did not think you tired of your queen. SALADIN. My queen 2 SITTA. H. - Well, well! I find that I to-day Shall earn a thousand dinars to an asper. SALADIN. How so, my sister ? SITTAEI. 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. - Act II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 73 SITTAEI. At least, my brother's Great liberality may be one cause Why I improve no faster. SALADIN. We forget The game before us: let us make an end of it. SITTAEI. I move — so — now then — check! and check again! SALADIN. This countercheck I was n’t aware of, Sittah; My queen must fall the sacrifice. SITTAFI. 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 sha’n’t miss it. Thus I guard all again. - SITTAFI. 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. 74 LESSING. SITTAH. Why should I take her ? Check! SALADIN. Go on. SITTAH. Check!— SALADIN. And check-mate? SITTAEI. 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 were not wrong; I seem to recollect I was unmindful — A little absent. One is n’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, 't was 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 2 Enough — you played more absently than I. SALADIN. - Than you ! What dwells upon your mind, my Sittah 2 Not your own cares, I doubt — - º ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 75 Oh, we had then led lives! - SITTAH. O Saladin, When shall we play again so constantly? º 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. Oh, what a house that would have formed — the first – The best — and what is more — of earth the happiest! You know I am not loath to praise myself; Why should I?— Of my friends am I not worthy? . SITTAH. A pretty dream. It makes me smile. You do not know the Christians. You will not know them. T is this people's pride ^\ Not to be men, but to be Christians. Even What of humane their Founder felt, and taught, And left to savor their fond superstition, They value not because it is humane, Lovely, and good for man; they only prize it Because ’t was Christ who taught it, Christ who did jº 'T is well for them. He was so good a man: y Well that they take His goodness all for granted,’ | And in His virtues put their trust. His virtues 'T is not His virtues, but His name alone . 76 LESSING. | They wish to thrust upon us — 'T is His name Which they desire should overspread the world, Should swallow up the name of all good men, And put the best to shame. 'T is 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. SITTAIH. 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. 'T is 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, No not? SALADIN. N Why, that which ever has. N º \Lebanon, and seen our father. | Wre. N - N - * - N Act II.] NATHAN THE WISE, 77 SITTAH. & - Alas! wº - N 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 — Oh, welcome, Hafi! - HAFI, SALADIN, and SITTAH. - HAFI. I suppose the gold From Egypt is arrived. SALADIN. r Hast tidings of it? HAFI. * I? no, not I. I thought to have ta'en it here. SAIL.A.D.I.N. To Sittah pay a thousand dinars. H.A.F.I. 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? - º SITTAH. Dost grudge me my good fortune? 78 LESSING. HAFI (eacamining 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. 'T is well he does not hear. H.A.F.I. And he to move 2 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. \ º º SALADIN (scarcely hearkening). Well, well! – pay, pay. HAFI. There stands your Queen. SALADIN (still walking about). It boots not, she is ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 79 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 — s H.A.F.I. T As got, so spent. So small pains, small gains; 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. t 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. - SITTAFI. Ne'ertheless, my brother, He pays me right, and will again to-day. Let him alone. There, go away, Al-Hafi ; T'll send and fetch my dinars. H.A.F.I. No, I will not; I will not act this farce a moment longer: He shall, must know it. 80 LESSING. SALADIN. Who? what? SITTA. H. 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. SITTAEI. 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. HAFT. Were it only this — * SITTAH. Some more such trifles are perhaps unclaimed; My own allowance, which you set apart, Has lain some months untouched. ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 81 * 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 — FIAFI. *S. Has at her sole expense maintained thy state. s SALADIN (embracing her). My sister–ah! : STTTAH. And who but you, my brother, Could make me rich enough to have the power 2 FIAFI. And in a little time again will leave thee Poor as himself. SAILADTN. I poor — her brother poor ? - When had I more, when less than at this instant 2 A cloak, a horse, a sabre, and a God — What need I else? With them what can be wanting 2 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 cases! 6 82 LESSING. 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 2 From Egypt maybe nothing º 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, 2 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. HATEI. A surplus 2 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 friend from whom to borrow Unless of Sittah 2 - 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. SAIL ADTN. - 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 — - ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 83 . 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 — / º HAFI. I know none such. SITTAIH. I recollect just now - I heard, Al-Hafi, of thy friend's return. HAFI (startled). º Friend — friend of mine — and who should that be? SITTAFI. - - Who? Thy vaunted Jew! - HAFI, * A Jew, and praised by me? s 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, - º i. His God in full abundance has bestowed ſ The greatest and the least. i HAFI. * What could I mean | When I said so 2 - | SITTA. H. - The least of good things, riches; The greatest, wisdom. - HAFI. How — and of a Jew Could I say that ? SITTA. H. Didst thou not – of thy Nathan 2 84 LESSING. HAFI. Hi ho! of him — of Nathan 2 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. SITTAFI. What thinkst thou, Hafi, of a call on him? H.A.F.I. On him — sure not to borrow — why, you know him — He lend? Therein his very wisdom lies, That he lends no one. - SITTAEI. Formerly thou gav’st A very different picture of this Nathan. HAFT. 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 – ’t is all one. ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. A 85 - - º - s º - With Nathan, but I must entreat you, think rººt SITTAH. And such a man should be — SALADIN. º How comes it then I never heard of him 2 SITTAH. To lend to Saladin, who wants for oth Not for himself. HAFI. Aye, there peeps out the Jew, The ordinary Jew. Believe me, prince, - º He's jealous, really envious of your giving. To earn God’s favor seems his very business. He lends not that he may always have to give. The law commandeth mercy, not º And thus for mercy’s sake he 's uncomplying. 'T is true, I am not now on the best terms 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. . - SITTAEI. Why in such hurry, Hafi” SALADIN. Let him go. - - SALADIN and SITTAH. SITTAH. He hastens like a man who would escape me; | 045 Why so? Was he indeed deceived in Nathan, Or does he play.upon us? - LESSING. SALADIN. º Can I guess? I scarcely know of whom you have been talking, And hear to-day, for the first time, of Nathan. - - º $3. 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, 'T is not at David’s tomb, or Solomon’s, That 't would be wrought. Not virtuous men lie there. . 2. º . - º * * SITTAH. ... º. º - - His source of gºulence is more productive —ºnd more exhaustless than a cave of Mammon. - º º º ºf SALADIN. * He trades, I hear. * > SITTAH. His ships fill every harbor; 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. Act II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 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. SITTA.H. 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. SOENE. — The Place of Palms, close to NATHAN’s House. NATHAN, attired, comes out with RECHA. RECHA. You have been so very slow, my dearest father, You now will hardly be in time to find him. NATHAN. ell, if not here beneath the palms; yet, surely, lsewhere. My child, be satisfied. See, see, not that Daya making towards us? - RECHA. She certainly has lost him then. - NATHAN. W Why so? N LESSING. RECHA. Else she 'd walk quicker. NATHAN. She may not have seen us. RECHA. There, now she sees us. NATHAN. And her speed redoubles. Be calm, my Recha. RECHA. Would you have your daughter Be cool and unconcerned who 't was that saved her, Heed not to whom is due the life she prizes Chiefly because she owed it first to thee? NATHAN. I would not wish thee other than thou art, E’en if I knew that in thy secret soul A very different emotion throbs. - === - - - RECHA. Why — what, my father? NATHAN. * Dost thou ask of me, So tremblingly of me, what passes in thee? Whatever *t is, *t is innocence and nature. Be not alarmed, it gives me no alarm; But promise me that, when thy heart shall speak A plainer language, thou wilt not conceal A single of thy wishes from my fondness. RECHA. Oh, the mere possibility of wishing Rather to veil and hide them makes me shudder. -- NATHAN. Let this be spoken once for all. Well, Daya – ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 89 - NATHAN, RECHA, and DAY A. | DAYA. He still is here beneath the palms, and soon | Will reach yon wall. See, there he comes. º RECHA. And seems Irresolute where next; if left or right. DAYA. I know he mostly passes to the convent, And therefore comes this path. What will you lay me? RECHA. - Oh, yes, he does. And did you speak to him? How did he seem to-day? - DAYA. As heretofore. NATHAN. - Don’t let him see you with me: further back; Or rather to the house. RECHA. . Just one peep more. Now the hedge steals him from me. - - - - DAYA. Come away. Your father's in the right — should he perceive us, 'T is very probable he’ll tack about. ^. 2 9. º 9. | - - * Bºº NATHAN. RECHA. Now he emerges from it. He can’t but see you: hence – I ask it of you. 90 LESSING. DAYA. - I know a window whence we yet may— RECHA. Ay. [Goes in with DAYA. NATHAN. I’m almost shy of this strange fellow, almost 2 Shrink back from his rough virtue. That one man Should ever make another man feel awkward! And yet — He 's coming—ha! — by God, the youth - Looks like a man. I love his daring eye, His open gait. May be the shell is bitter; But not the kernel surely. I have seen Some such, methinks. Forgive me, noble Frank. NATHAN and TEMPLAR. r TEMPLAR. - What? -- NATHAN. Give me leave. , TEMPLAR. Well, Jew, what wouldst thou have? NATHAN. The liberty of speaking to you. TEMPLAR. - ſ - So — Can I prevent it? Quick then, what's your business? NATHAN. Patience — nor hasten quite so proudly by A man, who has not merited contempt, And whom, for evermore, you’ve made your debtor. TEMPLAR. How so? Perhaps I guess — No – Are you then — / | - - ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 91 NATHAN. | My name is Nathan, father to the maid Your generous courage snatched from circling flames, And hasten — TEMPLAR. If with thanks, keep, keep them all. Those little things I’ve had to suffer much from : Too much already, far. And, after all, You owe me nothing. Was I ever told She was your daughter? 'Tis a templar's duty To rush to the assistance of the first Poor wight that needs him; and my life just then Was quite a burden. I was all too glad To risk it for another; tho’ it were That of a Jewess. - . NATHAN. . Noble, and yet shocking! - ! 2–2 The turn might be expected. Modest greatness Wears willingly the mask of what is shocking To scare off admiration: but, altho’ She may disdain the tribute, admiration, Is there no other tribute she can bear with? Knight, were you here not foreign, not a captive, I would not ask so freely. Speak, command, In what can I be useful? TEMPLAR. You — in nothing. NATHAN. I’m rich. - TEMPLAR. To me the richer Jew ne’er seemed The better Jew. - NATHAN. Is that a reason why You should not use the better part of him, 92 LESSING. TEMPLAR. Well, well, I’ll not refuse it wholly, For my poor mantle's sake — when that is threadbare, And spite of darning will not hold together, I’ll come and borrow cloth, or money of thee, To make me up a new one. Don’t look solemn; The danger is not pressing; ’t is not yet At the last gasp, but tight and strong and good, Save this poor corner, where an ugly spot . You see is singed upon it. It got singed As I bore off your daughter from the fire. NATHAN (taking hold of the mantle). 'T is singular that such an ugly spot Bears better testimony to the man Than his own mouth. This brand — Oh, I could kiss it! Your pardon — that I meant not. TEMPLAR. What? NATHAN. A tear Fell on the spot. - TEMPLAR. More tears than these it has — (This Jew methinks begins to work upon me). - NATHAN. - Would you send once this mantle to my daughter? TEMPLAR. Why? - NATHAN. That her lips may cling to this dear speck; For at her benefactor’s feet to fall, I find, she hopes in vain. Act II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 93 TEMPLAR. But, Jew, your name You said was Nathan —Nathan, you can join Your words together cunningly — right well — I am confused — in fact — I would have been — - NATHAN. Twist, writhe, disguise you, as you will, I know you, You were too honest, knight, to be more civil; A girl all feeling, and a maid-attendant All complaisance, a father at a distance — You valued her good name, and would not see her. You scorned to try her, lest you should be victor; For that I also thank you. TEMPLAR. I confess, You know how templars ought to think. NATHAN. Still templars — And only ought to think — and all because The rules and vows enjoin it to the order— I know how good men think — know that all lands Produce good men. - TEMPLAR. But not without distinction. Nº. NATHAN. In color, dress, and shape, perhaps, distinguished. TEMPLAR. Here more, there fewer sure? NATHAN. That boots not much. The great man everywhere has need of room. - Too many set together only serve - 94 LESSING. To crush each other's branches. Middling good, As we are, spring up everywhere in plenty. Only let one not scar and bruise the other; Let not the gnarl be angry with the stump; Let not the upper branch alone pretend Not to have started from the common earth. TEMPLAR. Well said: and yet, I trust, you know the nation That first began to strike at fellow-men, That first baptized itself the chosen people — How now if I were — not to hate this people, Yet for its pride could not forbear to scorn it, The pride which it to Mussulman and Christian Bequeathed, as were its God alone the true one. You start, that I, a Christian and a templar, Talk thus. Where, when, has e'er the pious rage To own the better God – on the whole world To force this better, as the best of all — Shown itself more, and in a blacker form, Than here, than now? To him, whom, here and now, The film is not removing from his eye — But be he blind that wills! Forget my speeches And leave me. NATHAN. Ah! indeed you do not know How closer I shall cling to you henceforth. We must, we will be friends. Despise my nation — e did not choose a nation for ourselves. - Are we our nations? What’s a nation then? Were Jews and Christians such, e'er they were men? And have I found in thee one more, to whom It is enough to be a man? TEMPLAR. That hast thou. Nathan, by God, thou hast. Thy hand. I blush To have mistaken thee a single instant. | ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 95 NATHAN. | And I am proud of it. Only common souls We seldom err in. TEMPLAR. And uncommon ones Seldom forget. Yes, Nathan, yes, we must, We will be friends. NATHAN. We are so. And my Recha – She will rejoice. How sweet the wider prospect That dawns upon me ! Do but know her — once. TEMPLAR. I am impatient for it. Who is that Bursts from your house 2 methinks it is your Daya. NATHAN. Ay — but so anxiously — TEMPLAR. Sure, to our Recha Nothing has happened. NATHAN, TEMPLAR, and DAyA. DAYA. Nathan, Nathan. NATHAN. Well. DAY A. Forgive me, knight, that I must interrupt you. NATHAN. What is the matter? . TEMPLAR. What? 96 LESSING. DAYA. The sultan sends — The sultan wants to see you — in a hurry. Jesus! the sultan — NATHAN. Saladin wants me? He will be curious to see what wares, Precious or new, I brought with me from Persia. Say there is nothing hardly yet unpacked. DAYA. No, no : *t is not to look at anything. He wants to speak to you, to you in person, And orders you to come as soon as may be. NATHAN, I’ll go — return. • DAYA. Knight, take it not amiss; But we were so alarmed for what the Sultan Could have in view. - NATHAN. That I shall soon discover. NATHAN and TEMPLAR. vº, \ TEMPLAR. And don’t you know him yet, I mean his person? NATHAN. Whose, Saladin’s? Not yet. I’ve neither shunned Nor sought to see him. And the general voice Speaks too well of him for me not to wish - Rather to take its language upon trust Than sift the truth out. Yet — if it be so — He, by the saving of your life, has now — TEMPLAR. - Yes: it is so. The life I live he gave. - ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 97 | - NATHAN. And in it double treble life to me. This flings a bond about me, which shall tie me For ever to his service; and I scarcely Like to defer inquiring for his wishes. For everything I am ready; and am ready To own that 'tis on your account I am so. TEMPLAR. As often as I’ve thrown me in his way, I have not found as yet the means to thank him. The impression that I made upon him came Quickly, and so has vanished. Now perhaps He recollects me not, who knows? Once more, At least, he must recall me to his mind, Fully to fix my doom. 'T is not enough That by his order I am yet in being, By his permission live, I have to learn According to whose will I must exist. NATHAN. Therefore I shall the more avoid delay. Perchance some word may furnish me occasion To glance at you — perchance — Excuse me, knight, I am in haste. When shall we see you with us 2 TEMPLAR. Soon as I may. - NATHAN. That is, whene'er you will. TEMPLAR. To-day, then. NATHAN. And your name? TEMPLAR. My name was —is Conrade of Stauffen. 98 LESSING. NATHAN. Conrade of Stauffen Stauffenſ TEMPLAR. Why does that strike so forcibly upon you? NATHAN. There are more races of that name, no doubt. TEMPLAR. Yes, many of that name were here — rot here. - My uncle even — I should say, my father. But wherefore is your look so sharpened on me? NATHAN. Nothing — how can I weary to behold you — TEMPLAR. Therefore I quit you first. "The searching eye Finds often more than it desires to see. I fear it, Nathan. Fare thee well. Let time, Not curiosity, make us acquainted. - [Goes. NATHAN, and soon after, DAY A. NATHAN. “The searching eye will oft discover more Than it desires,” “t is as he read my soul. That too may chance to me. 'Tis not alone Leonard's walk, stature, but his very voice. Leonard so wore his head, was even wont Just so to brush his eyebrows with his hand, As if to mask the fire that fills his look. Those deeply graven images at times How they will slumber in us, seem forgotten, When all at once a word, a tone, a gesture, Retraces all. Of Stauffen? Ay, right — right — Filnek and Stauffen – I will soon know more — ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 99 But first to Saladin — Ha, Daya there? Why on the watch 2 Come nearer. By this time, I’ll answer for ’t, you’ve something more at heart Than to know what the sultan wants with me. DAYA. And do you take it in ill part of her? You were beginning to converse with him More confidentially, just as the message Sent by the Sultan tore us from the window. NATHAN. Go tell her that she may expect his visit At every instant. DAY A. What, indeed — indeed? NATHAN. I think I can rely upon thee, Daya: Be on thy guard, I beg. Thou'lt not repent it. Be but discreet. Thy conscience too will surely Find its account in 't. Do not mar my plans, But leave them to themselves. Relate and question With modesty, with backwardness. DAYA. - Oh, fear not. How come you to preach up all this to me? I go— go too. The sultan sends for you A second time, and by your friend Al-Hafi. NATHAN and HAFI. HAFI. - Ha! art thou here 2 I was now seeking for thee. NATHAN. Why in such haste? What wants he then with me? 100 LESSING. HAFI. Who? NATHAN. Saladin. I’m coming—I am coming. HAFI. Where, to the Sultan’s? NATHAN. Was 't not he who sent thee? HAFI. Me? No. And he has sent already? NATHAN. Yes. HAFI. Then 't is all right. NATHAN. What’s right? HAFI. That I’m not guilty. God knows I am not guilty, knows I said – What said I not of thee — belied thee — slandered— To ward it off. NATHAN. To ward off what?—Be plain. HAFI. That thou art now become his defterdar. I pity thee. Behold it I will not. I go this very hour – my road I told thee. Now — hast thou orders by the way — command, And then, adieu. Indeed they must not be Such business as a naked man can’t carry. Quick, what's thy pleasure? v- º * - º º ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. - NATHAN. Recollect yourself. As yet all this is quite a riddle to me. I know of nothing. - HAFI. Where are then thy bags? NATHAN. Bags? - HAFI. Bags of money : bring the weightiest forth: The money thou’rt to lend the sultan, Nathan. NATHAN. And is that all 2 H.A.F.I. Novice, thou 'st yet to learn How he day after day will scoop and scoop, Till nothing but an hollow empty paring, A husk as light as film, is left behind. Thou 'st yet to learn how prodigality - \ - From prudent bounty’s never empty coffers Borrows and borrows, till there 's not a purse Left to keep rats from starving. Thou mayst fancy That he who wants thy gold will heed thy counsel; But when has he yet listened to advice? Imagine now what just befell me with him. NATHAN. Well— HAFI. I went in and found him with his sister, Engaged, or rather rising up from chess. Sittah plays – not amiss. Upon the board The game, that Saladin supposed was lost And had given up, yet stood. When I drew nigh, And had examined it, I soon discovered It was not gone by any means. 101 102 LESSING. NATHAN. For you A blest discovery, a treasure-trove. - HAFI. He only needed to remove his king - Behind the tower tº have got him out of check, - Could I but make you sensible— NATHAN. I’ll trust thee. HAFI. Then with the knight still left — I would have shown him, And called him to the board. — He must have won; But what d'ye think he did? NATHAN. Dared doubt your insight? HAFI. He would not listen; but with scorn o'erthrew The standing pieces. - NATHAN. - Is that possible? HAFT. And said he chose to be check-mate — he chose it — Is that to play the game 2 NATHAN. Most surely not: 'T is to play with the game. H.A.F.I. - And yet the stake Was not a nut-shell. NATHAN. Money here or there Matters but little. Not to listen to thee, And on a point of such importance, Hafi, * Act II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 103 There lies the rub. Not even to admire Thine eagle eye — thy comprehensive glance — That calls for vengeance: — does it not, Al-Hafi ? HAFI. I only tell it to thee that thou mayst see How his brain's formed. I bear with him no longer? Here I’ve been running to each dirty Moor, Inquiring who will lend him. I, who ne'er Went for myself a begging, go a borrowing, And that for others. Borrowing’s much the same \ ~ ººº As begging; just as lending upon usury Is much the same as thieving — decency. Makes not of lewdness virtue. On the Ganges, Among my ghebers, I have need of neither: - Nor need I be the tool or pimp of either — Upon the Ganges only there are men. - - Here, thou alone art somehow almost worthy N To have lived upon the Ganges. Wilt thou with me? And leave him with the captive cloak alofie, The booty that he wants to strip thee (ff." Little by little he will flay thee clean: Thus thou’lt be quit at once, without the tease , Of being sliced to death. Come wilt thou with me? I’ll find thee with a staff. | - N \ * NATHAN. I should have thought, Come what come may, that thy resource remained: But I’ll consider of it. Stay. º, s HAFT. Consider — No; such things must not be considered. NATHAN. - Stay: Till I have seen the sultan – till you’ve had — 104 LESSING. HAFI. * He who considers, looks about for motives To forbear daring. He who can’t resolve In storm and sunshine to himself to live, Must live the slave of others all his life. But as you please; farewell! 'tis you who choose. My path lies yonder — and yours there — NATHAN. - Al-Hafi, Stay then; at least you’ll set things right — not leave them - At sixes and at sevens — º - HAFI. - ; Farce! Parade 1 The balance in the chest will need no telling. And my account — Sittah, or you, will vouch. Farewell. NATHAN. Yes, I will vouch it. Honest, wild — How shall I call you — Ah! the real beggar Is, after all, the only real monarch. ACT III. SCENE. — A room, in NATHAN’s House. RECHA and DAYA. HECHA. What, Daya, did my father really say I might expect him, every instant, here? That meant — now did it not? he would come soon. And yet how many instants have rolled by — But who would think of those that are elapsed?— To the next moment only I’m alive. — At last the very one will come that brings him. Act III.] - NATHAN THE WISE. 105 -- DAY A. But for the sultan's ill-timed message, Nathan Had brought him in. RECHA. K And when this moment comes, And when this warmest inmost of my wishes Shall be fulfilled, what then? what then? DAYA. What then? - Why, then I hope the warmest of my wishes \ Will have its turn, and happen. RECHA. 'Stead of this, What wish shall take possession of my bosom, Which now without some ruling wish of wishes Knows not to heave? Shall nothing? ah, I shudder. DAYA. Yes: mine shall then supplant the one fulfilled — My wish to see thee placed one day in Europe In hands well worthy of thee. RECHA. No, thou errest — * The very thing that makes thee form this wish S Prevents its being mine. The country draws thee, And shall not mine retain me? Shall an image, A fond remembrance of thy home, thy kindred, |- Which years and distance have not yet effaced, Be mightier o'er thy soul, than what I hear, See, feel, and hold of mine? DAYA. - 'T is vain to struggle— The ways of heaven are the ways of heaven. Is he the destined savior, by whose arm 106 LESSING. His God, for whom he fights, intends to lead thee Into the land which thou wast born for — RECHA. Daya, What art thou prating of 2 My dearest Daya, Indeed thou hast some strange, unseemly notions. “ His God — for whom he fights' — what is a God Belonging to a man — needing another To fight his battles? And can we pronounce For which among the scattered clods of earth You, I was born; unless it be for that On which we were produced. If Nathan heard thee — What has my father done to thee, that thou Hast ever sought to paint my happiness As lying far remote from him and his? What has he done to thee that thus, among The seeds of reason, which he sowed unmixed, Pure in my soul, thou ever must be seeking To plant the weeds or flowers of thy own land 2 He wills not of these pranking, gaudy blossoms Upon this soil. And I too must acknowledge I feel as if they had a sour-sweet odor, That makes me giddy — that half suffocates. Thy head is wont to bear it. I don’t blame Those stronger nerves that can support it. Mine — Mine it behoves not. Latterly thy angel Had made me half a fool. I am ashamed, Whene’er I see my father, of the folly. DAYA. As if here only wisdom were at home — Folly — if I dared speak. RECHA. And dar’st thou not? When was I not all ear, if thou beganst To talk about the heroes of thy faith? Act III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 107 Have I not freely on their deeds bestowed My admiration, to their sufferings yielded The tribute of my tears? Their faith indeed Has never seemed their most heroic side - To me: yet, therefore, have I only learnt \ To find more consolation in the thought - That our devotion to the God of all Depends not on our notions about God. My father has so often told us so — N Thou hast so often to this point consented— º How can it be that thou alone art restless N To undermine what you built up together? This is not the most fit discussion, Daya, - To usher in our friend to; tho’ indeed ~ I should not disincline to it — for to me It is of infinite importance if He too — but hark — there's some one at the door. If it were he – stay — hush — N (A slave who shows in the TEMPLAR.) They are — here this way. N N TEMPLAR, DAYA, and RECHA. RECHA º (starts—composes herself—then is about to fall at his feet). 'T is he – my saviorſ ah! Tº * TEMPLAR. This to avoid Have I alone deferred my call so long. - - RECHA. Vyas, at the feet of this proud man, I will s Thank – God alone. The man will have no thanks; - No more than will the bucket, which was busy In showering watery damps upon the flame. That was filled, emptied — but to me, to thee What boots it? So the man — he too, he too 108 LESSING, Was thrust, he knew not how, amid the fire. I dropped, by chance, into his open arm. By chance remained there, like a fluttering spark Upon his mantle — till — I know not what Pushed us both from amid the conflagration. What room is here for thanks? How oft in Europe Wine urges men to very different deeds! Templars must so behave; it is their office, Like better taught or rather handier spaniels, To fetch from out of fire, as out of water. –– TEMPLAR. Oh, Daya, Daya, if, in hasty moments Of care and of chagrin, my unchecked temper Betrayed me into rudeness, why convey To her each idle word that left my tongue? This is too piercing a revenge indeed; Yet if henceforth thou wilt interpret better — DAYA. I question if these barbed words, sir knight, Alighted so as to have done much harm to you. RECHA. How, you had cares, and were more covetous Of them than of your life?” TEMPLAR (who has been viewing her with wonder and perturbation). Thou best of beings, How is my soul 'twixt eye and ear divided! No: ’t was not she I snatched from amid fire: For who could know her and forbear to do it? — Indeed — disguised by terror — [Pause: during which he gazes on her as if entranced. ACT III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 109 RECHA. But to me - You still appear the same you then appeared. [Another like pause — till she resumes, in order to interrupt him. Now tell me, knight, where have you been so long 2 It seems as might I ask — where are you now? TEMPLAR. I am — where I perhaps ought not to be. RECHA. Where have you been? where you perhaps ought not — That is not well. - TEMPLAR. Up — how d'ye call the mountain P Up Sinai. RECHA. Oh, that 's very fortunate. Now I shall learn for certain if 'tis true — TEMPLAR. What? if the spot may yet be seen where Moses Stood before God; when first — RECHA. No, no, not that. Where’er he stood, 't was before God. Of this I know enough already. Is it true, I wish to learn from you, that — that it is not By far so troublesome to climb this mountain As to get down — for on all mountains else That I have seen, quite the reverse obtains. Well, knight, why will you turn away from me? Not look at me? TEMPLAR. Because I wish to hear you. , 110 LESSING. RECHA. Because you do not wish me to perceive You smile at my simplicity — You smile That I can think of nothing more important To ask about the holy hill of hills: Do you not? TEMPLAR. - Must I meet those eyes again? And now you cast them down, and ". the smile — Am I in doubtful motions of the features To read what I so plainly hear — what you So audibly declare, yet will conceal?— How truly said thy father, “Do but know her!” RECHA. Who has — of whom — said so to thee? TEMPLAR. Thy father Said to me, “Do but know her,” and of thee. DAY A. And have not I too said so, times and oft 2 - TEMPLAR. But where is then your father — with the sultan? RECHA. So I suppose. - TEMPLAR. Yet there? Oh, I forget, He cannot be there still. He is waiting for me Most certainly below there by the cloister. *T was so, I think, we had agreed. Forgive, I go in quest of him. DAYA. Knight, I’ll do that. Wait here, I’ll bring him hither instantly. ACT III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 111 TEMPLAR. Oh no – Oh no. He is expecting me. Besides — you are not aware what may have happened. 'T is not unlikely he may be involved With Saladin — you do not know the sultan — In some unpleasant — I must go, there 's danger If I forbear. - RECHA. Danger — of what? of what? TEMPLAR. Danger for me, for thee, for him; unless I go at once. [Goes. RECHA and DAYA. RECHA. What is the matter, Daya? So quick — what comes across him, drives him hence? DAYA. Let him alone, I think it no bad sign. RECHA. Sign — and of what? DAY A. That something passes in him. It boils – but it must not boil over. Leave him — Now ’t is your turn. RECHA. My turn? Thou dost become Like him incomprehensible to me. DAY A. Now you may give him back all that unrest He once occasioned. Be not too severe, Nor too vindictive. RECHA. Daya, what you mean You must know best. 112 LESSING. DAYA. And pray are you again So calm ? RECHA. I am – yes, that I am. DAYA. - At least Own — that this restlessness has given you pleasure, And that you have to thank his want of ease For what of ease you now enjoy. RECHA. Of that I am unconscious. All I could confess Were, that it does seem strange unto myself, How, in this bosom, such a pleasing calm Can suddenly succeed to such a tossing. DAY A. His countenance, his speech, his manner has By this time satiated thee. RECHA. Satiated, I will not say — not by a good deal yet. DAYA, . But satisfied the more impatient craving. RECHA. Well, well, if you must have it so. DAYA. I? no. RECHA. To me he will be ever dear, will ever Remain more dear than my own life; altho’ Act III] NATHAN THE WISE. 113 My pulse no longer flutters at his name, º My heart no longer, when I think about him, } Beats stronger, swifter. What have I been prating? N. Come, Daya, let us once more to the window - Which overlooks the palms. *- 5 DAYA. S. So that "t is not - Yet satisfied — the more impatient craving. s RECHA. s Now I shall see the palm-trees once again, º Not him alone amid them. º DAYA. s This cold fit . Is but the harbinger of other fevers. s RECHA. | Cold — cold — I am not cold; but I observe not Less willingly what I behold with calmness. - SCENE. — An Audience Room in the SULTAN’s Palace. º - º SITTAH; SALADIN giving directions at the door. - SALADIN. s Here, introduce the Jew, whene'er he comes — He seems in no great haste. SITTA.H. May be at first He was not in the way. SALADIN. Ah, sister, sister! SITTAFI. You seem as if a combat were impending. 8 114 LESSING. SALADIN. With weapons that I have not learnt to wield. Must I disguise myself? I use precautions? I lay a snare? When, where gained I that knowledge? And this, for what? To fish for money — money — For money from a Jew—and to such arts Must Saladin descend at last to come at The least of little things? SITTAH. Each little thing Despised too much finds methods of revenge. SALADIN, 'T is but too true. And if this Jew should prove The fair good man, as once the dervis painted— SITTA. H. Then difficulties cease. A snare concerns The avaricious, cautious, fearful Jew; And not the good wise man: for he is ours Without a snare. Then the delight of hearing How such a man speaks out; with what stern strength He tears the net, or with what prudent foresight He one by one undoes the tangled meshes; That will be all to boot — SAILADIN. That I shall joy in. SITTAH. - What then should trouble thee? For if he be One of the many only, a mere Jew, - You will not blush to such a one to seem - A man, as he thinks all mankind to be. One, that to him should bear a better aspect, Would seem a fool—a dupe. - Act III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 115 4. > º º º Well as I can —- SALADIN. So that I must Act badly, lest the bad think badly of me. SITTAH. Yes, if you call it acting badly, brother, To use a thing after its kind. SALADIN. There's nothing That woman’s wit invents it can’t embellish. SITTAH. Embellish — SALADIN. - But their fine-wrought filigree In my rude hand would break./ It is for those That can contrive them to employ such weapons: They ask a practised wrist. But chance what may, SITTAIH. Trust not yourself too little. I answer for you, if you have the will. Such men as you would willingly persuade us It was their swords, their swords alone that raised them. / The lion 's apt to be ashamed of hunting In fellowship of the fox — 'tis of his fellow, Not of the cunning, that he is ashamed. SALADIN. You women would so gladly level man Down to yourselves. Go, I have got my lesson. SITTAH. What — must I go? SALADIN. Had you the thought of staying? 116 - LESSING. SITTAH. In your immediate presence not indeed, But in the by-room. SALADIN. You could like to listen. Not that, my sister, if I may insist. Away! the curtain rustles — he is come. Beware of staying — I’ll be on the watch. While SITTAH retires through one door, NATHAN enters at another, and SALADIN seats himself. SALADIN and NATHAN. SALADIN. Draw nearer, Jew, yet nearer; here, quite by me, Without all fear. - NATHAN. Remain that for thy foes! º SADAIDIN. Your name is Nathan? NATHAN. Yes. SALADIN. Nathan the wise? NATHAN. SAILADIN. If not thou, the people calls thee so. NATHAN. May be, the people. . - SAILADIN. Fancy not that I Think of the people's voice contemptuously; I have been wishing much to know the man Whom it has named the wise. ACT III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 117 | __ NATHAN. And if it named Him so in scorn. If wise meant only prudent, And prudent, one who knows his interest well. SALADIN. Who knows his real interest, thou must mean. NATHAN. Then were the interested the most prudent, Then wise and prudent were the same. SALADIN. I hear You proving what your speeches contradict. You know man’s real interests, which the people Know not — at least have studied how to know them. That alone makes the sage. NATHAN. Which each imagines Himself to be. - SALAIDIN. Of modesty enough Ever to meet it, where one seeks to hear Dry truth, is vexing. Let us to the purpose — But, Jew, sincere and open — NATHAN. - I will serve thee So as to merit, prince, thy further notice. SAILADIN. Serve me – how? NATHAN. Thou shalt have the best I bring. Shalt have them cheap, - 118 LESSING. ºc. SALADIN. - What speak you of?—your wares? My sister shall be called to bargain with you For them (so much for the sly listener), I Have nothing to transact now with the merchant. – NATHAN. Doubtless then you would learn, what, on my journey, I noticed of the motions of the foe, Who stirs anew. If unreserved I may — SALADIN. Neither was that the object of my sending: I know what I have need to know already. In short I willed your presence — NATHAN. Sultan, order. SALADIN. To gain instruction quite on other points. Since you are a man so wise, tell me which law, Which faith appears to you the better? NATHAN. Sultan, I am a Jew. SALADIN. And I a Mussulman: The Christian stands between us. Of these three Religions only one can be the true. A man, like you, remains not just where birth * Has chanced to cast him, or, if he remains there, * | Does it from insight, choice, from grounds of preference. º Share then with me your insight — let me hear º The grounds of preference, which I have wanted | The leisure to examine — learn the choice, These grounds have motived, that it may be mine. NATHAN THE WISE. 119 - In confidence I ask it..] How you startle, And weigh me with your eye! It may well be I’m the first sultan to whom this caprice, Methinks not quite unworthy of a sultan, Has yet occurred. Am I not? Speak then — Speak. Or do you, to collect yourself, desire Some moments of delay — I give them you — (Whether she's listening? — I must know of her If I’ve done right.) Reflect — I’ll soon return — [SALADIN steps into the room to which SITTAH º had retired. NATHAN. º Strange! how is this? what wills the sultan of me? I came prepared with cash — he asks truth. Truth? [As if truth too were cash – a coin disused - That goes by weight — indeed 't is some such thing — But a new coin, known by the stamp at once, To be flung down and told upon the counter, - - It is not that. Like gold in bags tied up, - So truth lies hoarded in the wise man’s head - To be brought out. —Which, now in this transaction, Which of us plays the Jew? He asks for truth, – Is truth what he requires, his aim, his end? That this is but the glue to lime a snare - ught not to be suspected, 't] were too little; Yet what is found too little for the great? . In fact, through hedge and pale to stalk at once Into one's field beseems not — friends look round, Seek for the path, ask leave to pass the gate — ^T must be cautious. Yet to damp him back, And be the stubborn Jewis not the thing; And wholly to throw off the Jew, still less., - For if no Jew he might with right inquire — Why not a Mussulman – Yes — that may serve me. Not children only can be quieted With stories. Ha! he comes — well, let him come. 120 LESSING. º SALADIN (returning). So, there, the field is clear, I’m not too quick. Thou hast bethought thyself as much as need is; Speak, no one hears. NATHAN. Might the whole world but hear us. SALADIN. Is Nathan of his cause so confident? Yes, that I call the sage — to veil no truth, For truth to hazard all things, life and goods. NATHAN. Aye, when 't is necessary and when useful. SALADIN. Henceforth I hope I shall with reason bear One of my titles — “Betterer of the world And of the law.” NATHAN. In truth a noble title. But, sultan, ere I quite unfold myself Allow me to relate a tale. SALADIN. Why not? I always was a friend of tales well told. - NATHAN. Well told, that's not precisely my affair. SALADIN. Again so proudly modest, come begin. NATHAN. In days of yore, there dwelt in east a man Who from a valued hand received a ring Of endless worth: the stone of it an opal, ACT II.] NATHAN THE WISE. 121 That shot an ever-changing tint: moreover, | It had the hidden virtue him to render Of God and man beloved, who in this view, - - And this persuasion, wore it. Was it strange - The eastern man ne'er drew it off his finger, º And studiously provided to secure it -- For ever to his house 2 Thus — he bequeathed it; - First, to the most beloved of his sons, - Ordained that he again should leave the ring º, tº - To the most dear among his children — and 2 ſº- That without heeding birth, the favorite son, - In virtue of the ring alone, should always Remain the lord 9' th' house — you hear me, Sultan? SALADIN. I understand thee — on. NATHAN. º From son to son, At length this ring descended to a father Who had three sons, alike obedient to him; Whom therefore he could not but love alike. At times seemed this, now that, at times the third, (Accordingly as each apart received | The overflowings of his heart) most worthy To heir the ring, which with good-natured weakness He privately to each in turn had promised. This went on for a while. But death approached, And the good father grew embarrassed. So To disappoint two sons, who trust his promise, He could not bear. What’s to be done 2 He sends In secret to a jeweller, of whom, ‘ſoon the model of the real ring, - might bespeak two others, and commanded To spare nor cost nor pains to make them like, Quite like the true one. This the artist managed. The rings were brought, and e'en the father’s eye 122 LESSING. w * > Could not distinguish which had been the model. Quite overjoyed he summons all his sons, --- Takes leave of each apart, on each bestows His blessing and his ring, and dies — thou hearest me? SALADIN. I hear, I hear, come finish with thy tale; Is it soon ended? NATHAN. - It is ended, Sultan, For all that follows may be guessed of course. Scarce is the father dead, each with his ring Appears, and claims to be the lord o' th' house. Comes question, strife, complaint — all to no end; For the true ring could no more be distinguished Than now can — the true faith. SALADIN. How, how, is that To be the answer to my query? - NATHAN. No, But it may serve as my apology; If I can’t venture to decide between Rings, which the father got expressly made, That they might not be known from one another. SALADIN. The rings — don’t trifle with me; I must think That the religions which I named can be Distinguished, e'en to raiment, drink and food. NATHAN. - - *- And only not as to their grounds of proof. º. Are not alſ built alike on history, ºr Traditional, or written ? History | Act III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 123 Must be received on trust — is it not so? In whom now are we likeliest to put trust? \ In our own people surely, in those men 2 Whose blood we are, in them who from our childhood ~ Have given us proofs of love, who ne'er deceived us, - Unless 't were wholesomer to be deceived. How can I less believe in my forefathers Than thou in thine? How can I ask of thee To own that thy forefathers falsified In order to yield mine the praise of truth The like of Christians? Q SALADIN. By the living God, The man is in the right, I must be silent. - NATHAN. Now let us to our rings return once more. W As said, the sons complained. Each to the judge Swore from his father’s hand immediately To have received the ring, as was the case; After he had long obtained the father's promise, One day to have the ring, as also was.º. º - The father, each asserted, could to him Not have been false; rather than so suspect Of such a father, willing as he might be With charity to judge his brethren, he Of treacherous forgery was bold tº accuse them. $ALADIN. Well, and the judge — I’m eager now to hear What thou wilt make him say. Go on, go on. NATHAN. The judge said, If ye summon not the father Before my seat, I cannot give a sentence. Am I to guess enigmas? Or expect ye That the true ring should here unseal its lips? -º - , , , 124 - º LESSING. \ . §) But hold — you tell me that the real ring \\ º º Enjoys the hidden power to make the wearer º \ º Of God and man beloved; let that decide. º - º Which of you do two-brothers love the best? . You’re silent. Do these love-exciting rings Act inward only, not without? Does each Love but himself? Ye 're all deceived deceivers, None of your rings is true. The real ring Perhaps is gone. To hide or to supply Its loss, your father ordered three for one. SALADIN. O charming, charming! NATHAN. And (the judge continued) If you will take advice in lieu of sentence, This is my counsel to you, to take up The matter where it stands. If each of you Has had a ring presented by his father, Let each believe his own the real ring. 'T is possible the father chose no longer To tolerate the one ring's tyranny; ( And certainly, as he much loved you all, And loved you all alike, it could not please him By favoring one to be of two the oppressor. º each feel honored by this free affection) nwarped of º let each endeavor * To vie with both his brothers in displaying º The virtue of his ring; assist its might With gentleness, benevolence, forbearance, - With inward resignation to the godhead, And if the virtues of the ring continue To show themselves among your children’s children, After a thousand thousand years, appear Before this judgment-seat — a greater one Than I shall sit upon it, and decide. So spake the modest judge. - Act III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 125 º SALADIN. 2. God! NATHAN. º - Saladin, Feel'st thou thyself this wiser, promised man? SALADIN. I dust, I nothing? God! [Precipitates himself upon NATHAN, and takes hold - of his hand, which he does not quit the remainder of the scene.j NATHAN. . What moves thee, Sultan? SALADIN. Nathan, my dearest Nathan, "t is not yet The judge's thousand thousand years are past, His judgment-seat's not mine. Go, go, but love me. ^ - T-_- --- - NATHAN. Has Saladin then nothing else to order? SALADIN. No. NATHAN. Nothing? SALADIN. - Nothing in the least; and wherefore? NATHAN. º s I could have wished an opportunity - To lay a prayer before you. SALADIN. Is there need Of opportunity for that? Speak freely. 126 LESSING. ~ - NATHAN. I come from a long journey from collecting Debts, and I’ve almost of hard cash too much; The times look perilous — I know not where To lodge it safely — I was thinking thou, For coming wars require large sums, couldst use it. SALADIN (fia'ing NATHAN). Nathan, I ask not if thou sawst Al-Hafi, I’ll not examine if some shrewd suspicion Spurs thee to make this offer of thyself. NATHAN. Suspicion — - SALADIN. I deserve this offer. Pardon, For what avails concealment, I acknowledge I was about — NATHAN. To ask the same of me? SALADIN. Yes. - - . NATHAN. - Then 't is well we 're both accommodated. That I can’t send thee all I have of treasure • Arises from the templar; thou must know him, I have a weighty debt to pay to him. SALADIN. A templar ! How ! thou dost not with thy gold Support my direst foes? - NATHAN. I speak of him Whose life the Sultan — SALADIN. What art thou recalling? I had forgot the youth. Whence is he? Knowest thou? ACT III.] NATHAN THE WISE. - 127 NATHAN. Hast thou not heard then how thy clemency To him has fallen on me 2 He at the risk Of his new-spared existence, from the flames Rescued my daughter. SALADIN. Ha! Has he done that? He looked like one that would — my brother too, º Whom he 's so like, had done it. Is he here still? Bring him to me — I have so often talked To Sittah of this brother, whom she knew not, That I must let her see his counterfeit. Go, fetch him. How a single worthy action, Though but of whim or passion born, gives rise To other blessings! Fetch him. NATHAN. ... " In an instant. *The rest remains as settled. SALADIN. Oh, I wish I had let my sister listen. Well, I’ll to her. How shall I make her privy to all this? ºut scene. — The Place of Palms. - The TEMPLAR walking and agitated. TEMPI/AR. - Here let the weary victim pant awhile. — Yet would I not have time to ascertain What passes in me; would not snuff beforehand The coming storm. 'T is sure I fled in vain; But more than fly I could not do, whatever Comes of it. Ah! to ward it off — the blow Was given so suddenly. Long, much, I strove To keep aloof; but vainly. Once to see her — 128 LESSING. Her, whom I surely did not court the sight of, To see her, and to form the resolution, Never to lose sight of her here again, Was one — The resolution? — Not 'tis will, Fixt purpose, made (for I was passive in it) Sealed, doomed. To see her, and to feel myself Bound to her, wove into her very being, Was one — remains one. Separate from her To live is quite unthinkable — is death. And wheresoever after death we be, There too the thought were death. And is this love? Yet so in troth the templar loves – so — so — The Christian loves the Jewess. What of that? º Here in this holy land, and therefore holy And dear to me, I have already doffed Some prejudices. – Well — what says my vow? As templar I am dead, was dead to that From the same hour which made me prisoner To Saladin. But is the head he gave me My old one? No. It knows no word of what Was prated into yon, of what had bound it. A better ’tis; for its paternal sky Fitter than yon. I feel — I’m conscious of it, With this I now begin to think, as here My father must have thought; if tales of him Have not been told untruly. Tales — why tales? They ’re credible — more credible than ever — Now that I’m on the brink of stumbling, where He fell. He fell? I’d rather fall with men, Than stand with children. His example pledges His approbation, and whose approbation Have I else need of? Nathan’s? Surely of his Encouragement, applause, I’ve little need To doubt – Oh what a Jew is hel yet easy To pass for the mere Jew. He 's coming — swiftly — And looks delighted — who leaves Saladin With other looks? Hoa, Nathan . * - Act III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 129 NATHAN and TEMPLAR. NATHAN. Are you there? TEMPLAR. Your visit to the sultan has been long. NATHAN. Not very long; my going was indeed Too much delayed. Troth, Conrade, this man’s fame Outstrips him not. His fame is but his shadow. But before all I have to tell you — TEMPLAR. - What? NATHAN. That he would speak with you, and that directly. | First to my house, where I would give some orders, Then we’ll together to the sultan. TEMPLAR. Nathan, I enter not thy doors again before — NATHAN. Then you ’ve been there this while — have spoken with her. How do you like my Recha? TEMPLAR. Words cannot tell — Gaze on her once again — I never will — - Never — no, never; unless thou wilt promise That I forever, ever, may behold her. NATHAN. How should I take this? TEMPLAR (falling suddenly upon his neck). Nathan – O my father! 9 130 LESSING. NATHAN. Young man! TEMPLAR (quitting him as suddenly). º Not son? — I pray thee, Nathan — haſ NATHAN. Thou dear young man! TEMPLAR. Not son? — I pray thee, Nathan, Conjure thee by the strongest bonds of nature, Prefer not those of later date, the weaker. — Be it enough to thee to be a man! Push me not from thee! NATHAN. Dearest, dearest friend! — TEMPLAR. - Not son? Not son? Not even — even if Thy daughter's gratitude had in her bosom. Prepared the way for love — not even if Both wait thy nod alone to be but one? — You do not speak? NATHAN. Young knight, you have surprised me. TEMPLAR. Do I surprise thee — thus surprise thee, Nathan, With thy own thought? Canst thou not in my mouth Know it again? Do I surprise you? NATHAN. Ere I know which of the Stauffens was your father? TEMPLAR. What say you, Nathan? — And in such a moment Is curiosity your only feeling? ACT III.] NATHAN THE WISE. _º NATHAN. For see, once I myself well knew a Stauffen, Whose name was Conrade. TEMPLAR. Well, and if my father Was bearer of that name? NATH Indeed? TEMPLA R. My name Is from my father's, Conrade. - NATHAN. Then thy father Was not my Conrade. He was, like thyself, A templar, never wedded. TEMPLAR. For all that — NATHAN, How? TEMPLAR. For all that he may have been my father. - NATHAN. You joke. TEMPLAR. And you are captious. Boots it then To be true-born? Does bastard wound thine ear? The race is not to be despised: but hold, Spare me my pedigree; I’ll spare thee thine. Not that I doubt thy genealogic tree. Oh, God forbid! You may attest it all As far as Abraham back; and backwarder I know it in my heart — I’ll swear to it also. 132 LESSING. NATHAN. Knight, you grow bitter. Do I merit this? Have I refused you aught? I’ve but forborne To close with you at the first word — no more. - TEMPLAR. Qº Indeed — no more? Oh, then forgive — NFATHAN. 'T is well. Do but come with me. TEMPLAR. Whither? To thy house? No! there not — there not: ’t is a burning soil. Here I await thee, go. Am I again To see her, I shall see her times enough: If not, I have already gazed too much. | NATHAN. I’ll try to be soon back. - [Goes, TEMPLAR. Too much indeed — W Strange that the human brain, so infinite Of comprehension, yet at times will fill y 30 Quite full, and all at once, of a mere trifle — My No matter what it teems with. Patience! Patience! The soul soon calms again, th’ upboiling stuff Makes itself room and brings back light and order. Is this then the first time I love? Or was What by that name I knew before, not love — And this, this love alone that now I feel? DAYA and TEMPLAR. DAY A. Sir knight, sir knight. TEMPLAR. Who calls? ha, Daya, you? ACT III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 133 * º DAY A. I managed to slip by him. No, come here (He ‘ll see us where you stand) behind this tree. TEMPLAR. Why so mysterious? What’s the matter, Daya? DAYA. Yes, ’tis a secret that has brought me to you. A twofold secret. One I only know, The other only you. Let’s interchange, Intrust yours first to me, then I’ll tell mine. - TEMPLAR. With pleasure when I’m able to discover What you call mine. But that yours will explain. Begin — DAY A. That is not fair, yours first, sir knight; For be assured my secret serves you not Unless I have yours first. If I sift it out You'll not have trusted me, and then my secret Is still my own, and yours lost all for nothing. But, knight, how can you men so fondly fancy You ever hide such secrets from us women? TEMPLAR. Secrets we often are unconscious of. DAY A. May be — So then I must at last be friendly, And break it to you. Tell me now, whence came it That all at once you started up abruptly And in the twinkling of an eye were fled? That you left us without one civil speech ". That you return no more with Nāthan to us — Has Recha then made such a slight impression, 134 LESSING. Think you that on a limed twig the poor bird Can flutter cheerfully, or hop at ease With its wing pinioned? Come, come, in one word Acknowledge to me plainly that you love her, Love her to madness, and I’ll tell you what. TEMPLAR. To madness, oh, you’re very penetrating. DAY A. Grant me the love, and I’ll give up the madness. TEMPLAR. Because that must be understood of course — A templar love a Jewess — DAY A. Seems absurd, But often there 's more fitness in a thing Than we at once discern; nor were this time The first, when through an unexpected path The Saviour drew his children on to him Across the tangled maze of human life. TEMPLAR. So solemn that — (and yet if in the stead Of Saviour, I were to say Providence, It would sound true) you make me curious, Daya, Which I’m unwont to be. DAY A. This is the place For miracles. - - TEMPTIAR. For wonders — well and good – Can it be otherwise, where the whole world Presses as toward a centre? My dear Daya, Consider what you asked of me as owned; º º ACT III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 135. - \ K- That I do love her—that I can't imagine How I should live without her — that — DAYA. Indeed! Then, knight, swear to me you will call her yours, Make both her present and eternal welfare. TEMPLAR. And how, how can I, can I swear to do What is not in my power? DAYA. 'T is in your power, A single word will put it in your power. TEMPLAR. So that her father shall not be against it? DAY A. Her father — father? he shall be compelled. TEMPLAR. As yet he is not fallen among thieves — Compelled? - DAY A. Aye to be willing that you should. TEMPLAR. Compelled and willing — what if I inform thee That I have tried to touch this string already, It vibrates not responsive. - DAY A. - He refused thee? / TEMPLAR. He answered in a tone of such discordance That I was hurt. - 136 LESSING. DAYA. What do you say? How, you Betrayed the shadow of a wish for Recha, And he did not spring up for joy, drew back, Drew coldly back, made difficulties? TEMPLAR. Almost. - DAYA. Well then I’ll not deliberate a moment. TEMPLAR. And yet you are deliberating still. DAY.A. That man was always else so good, so kind, I am so deeply in his debt. Why, why Would he not listen to you ? God’s my witness That my heart bleeds to come about him thus. TEMPLAR. I pray you, Daya, once for all, to end This dire uncertainty. But if you doubt Whether what 'tis your purpose to reveal Be right or wrong, be praiseworthy or shameful, Speak not – I will forget that you have had Something to hide. - DAY A. -Tº- - That spurs me on still more, Then learn that Recha is no Jewess, tº at She is a Christian. TEMPLAR. I congratulate you; *T was a hard labor, but ’t is out at last; The pangs of the delivery won’t hurt you. Go on with undiminished zeal, and people Heaven, when no longer fit to people earth. º ACT III.] NATHAN THE WISE. 137 -- TEMPLAR. DAYA. How, knight, does my intelligence deserve Such bitter scorn? That Recha is a Christian, On you, a Christian templar, and her lover, Confers no joy. TEMPLAR. Particularly as She is a Christian of your making, Daya. DAYA. Oh, so you understand it — well and good — I wish to find out him that might convert her. It is her fate long since to have been that Which she is spoiled for being. TEMPLAR. Do explain — Or go. - DAYA. She is a Christian child — of Christian Parents was born and is baptized. TEMPLAR (hastily). And Nathan — - DAY A. Is not her father. TEMPLAR. Nathan not her father — And are you sure of what you say? - DAYA. I am, It is a truth has cost me tears of blood. No, he is not her father. And has only Brought her up as his daughter, educated The Christian child a Jewess. 138 LESSING. DAYA. Certainly. TEMPLAR. And she is unacquainted with her birth? Has never learnt from him that she was born A Christian, and no Jewess? DAYA. Never yet. TEMPLAR. And he not only let the child grow up In this mistaken notion, but still leaves The woman in it? DAYA. Aye, alas! TEMPLAR. - How, Nathan, The wise good Nathan thus allow himself To stifle nature’s voice? Thus to misguide Upon himself th’ effusions of a heart Which to itself abandoned would have formed Another bias, Daya – yes, indeed - You have intrusted an important secret That may have consequences — it confounds me, I cannot tell what I’ve to do at present, Therefore go, give me time, he may come by And may surprise us. DAYA. I should drop for fright. TEMPLAR. . I am not able now to talk, farewell; And if you chance to meet him, only say That we shall find each other at the sultan’s. . - ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 13. DAY A. Let him not see you've any grudge against him. That should be kept to give the proper impulse ~~ To things at last, and may remove your scruples Respecting Recha. But then, if you take her Back with you into Europe, let not me Be left behind. - TEMPLAR. * That we’ll soon settle, go. ACT IV. S SCENE. — The Cloister of a Convent. The FRIAR alone. FR.I.A.R. Aye – aye — he's very right—the patriarch is – In fact of all that he has sent me after Not much turns out his way — Why put on me Such business and no other? I don’t care To coax and wheedle, and to run my nose Into all sorts of things, and have a hand In all that 's going forward. I did not Renounce the world, for my own part, in order To be entangled with 't for other people. + FRIAR and TEMPLAR. TEMPLAR (abruptly entering). Good brother, are you there? I’ve sought you long. -- FRIAR. |- Me, sir? TEMPLAR. What, don’t you recollect me? 40 LESSING. FRIAR. Oh, I thought I never in my life was likely To see you any more. For so I hoped In God. I did not vastly relish the proposal That I was bound to make you. Yes, God knows, How little I desired to find a hearing, Knows I was inly glad when you refused Without a moment’s thought, what of a knight Would be unworthy. Are your second thoughts — TEMPLAR: So, you already know my purpose, I Scarce know myself. FRIAR. Have you by this reflected That our good patriarch is not so much out, That gold and fame in plenty may be got By his commission, that a foe's a foe Were he our guardian angel seven times over? Have you weighed this 'gainst flesh and blood, and come To strike the bargain he proposed? Ah, God. TEMPLAR. My dear good man, set your poor heart at ease. Not therefore am I come, not therefore wish To see the patriarch in person. Still On the first point I think as I then thought, Nor would I for aught in the world exchange That good opinion, which I once obtained From such a worthy upright man as thou art, I come to ask your patriarch's advice — FRIAR (looking round with timidity). Our patriarch’s — you? a knight ask priest’s advice? TEMPLAR, Mine is a priestly business. ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 141 ~ Ever so knightly. Therefore one allows them To overshoot themselves, Which such as I don’t vastly envy them. ER.I.A.R. Yet the priests Ask not the knights’ advice, be their affair TEMPLAR. a privilege Indeed if I were acting for myself, Had not tº account with others, I should care But some things But little for his counsel. I’d rather do amiss by others’ guidance ... " Than by my own aright. And then by this time I see religion, too, is party, and - He, who believes himself the most impartial, Does but uphold the standard of his own, Howe'er unconsciously. And since ’t is so, So must be well. FRIA R. I rather shall not answer, For I don’t understand exactly. Let me consider what it is precisely That I have need of, counsel or decision, Simple or learned counsel. — Thank you, brother, I thank you for your hint — A patriarch — why? Be thou my patriarch; for ’t is the plain Christian, Whom in the patriarch I have to consult, And not the patriarch in the Christian. - - I beg no further — you must quite mistake me; He that knows much hath learnt much care, and I Devoted me to only one. TEMPLAR. Yet, FRIAR. 'T is well, Oh, 142 LESSING. Most luckily here comes the very man, Wait here, stand still — he has perceived you, knight, . TEMPLAR. I - 'd rather shun him, he is not my man. A thick red smiling prelate — and as stately — FRIAR. But you should see him on a gala-day; He only comes from visiting the sick. TEMPLAR. Great Saladin must then be put to shame. [The PATRIARCH, after marching up one of the aisles in great pomp, draws near, and makes signs to the FRIAR, who approaches him. PATRIARCH, FRIAR, and TEMPLAR. PATRIARCH. Hither — was that the templar? What wants he? FRIAR. I know not. PATRIARCH (approaches the TEMPLAR, while the FRIAR and the rest of his train draw back.) So, sir knight, I’m truly happy To meet the brave young man — so very young too — Something, God helping, may come of him. TEMPLAR. More Than is already hardly will come of him, But less, my reverend father, that may chance. - PATRIARCH. It is my prayer at least a knight so pious May for the cause of Christendom and God Long be preserved; nor can that fail, so be Act IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. Young valor will lend ear to aged counsel. With what can I be useful any way? TEMPLAR. With that which my youth is without, with counsel. PATRIARCH. Most willingly, but counsel should be followed. TEMPLAR. Surely not blindly? PATRIARCH, Who says that? Indeed None should omit to make use of the reason Given him by God, in things where it belongs, But it belongs not everywhere; for instance, If God, by some one of his blessed angels, Or other holy minister of his word, Deign'd to make known a mean, by which the welfare Of Christendom, or of his holy church, In some peculiar and especial manner Might be promoted or secured, who then Shall venture to rise up, and try by reason The will of him who has created reason, Measure th' eternal laws of heaven by The little rules of a vain human honor? – But of all this enough. What is it then On which our counsel is desired? TEMPLAR. Suppose, My reverend father, that a Jew possessed An only child, a girl we 'll say, whom he With fond attention forms to every virtue, And loves more than his very soul; a child Who by her pious love requites his goodness. And now suppose it whispered — say to me — This girl is not the daughter of the Jew, LEssING. S. ---- ~~~ He picked up, purchased, stole her in her childhood — That she was born of Christians and baptized, But that the Jew hath reared her as a Jewess, Allows her to remain a Jewess, and To think herself his daughter. Reverend father, What then ought to be done? PATRI ARCH. I shudder! But First will you please explain if such a case Be fact, or only an hypothesis? That is to say, if you, of your own head, Invent the case, or if indeed it happened, And still continues happening? - TEMPLA R. - I had thought That just to learn your reverence's opinion This were all one. - PATRIARCH. - All one — now see how apt Proud human reason is in spiritual things To err: *t is not all one; for, if the point In question be a mere sport of the wit, 'T will not be worth our while to think it through, But I should recommend the curious person To theatres, where oft, with loud applause, Such pros and contras have been agitated. But if the object should be something more Than by a school-trick — by a sleight of logic To get the better of me — if the case Be really extant, if it should have happened Within our diocese, or – or perhaps Here in our dear Jerusalem itself, Why then — TEMPLAR. What then? Act IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 145 PATRIARCH. Then were it proper To execute at once upon the Jew - The penal laws in such a case provided By papal and imperial right, against So foul a crime — such dire abomination. TEMPLAR. So. PATRIARCH. And the laws forementioned have decreed, That if a Jew shall to apostasy Seduce a Christian, he shall die by fire. TEMPLAR. So. - º PATRIARCH. - - How much more the Jew, who forcibly º Tears from the holy font a Christian child, And breaks the sacramental bond of baptism; For all that’s done to children is by force – I mean except what the church does to children. TEMPLAR. What if the child, but for this fostering Jew, Must have expired in misery? PATRIARCH. That’s nothing, The Jew has still deserved the fagot — for 'T were better it here died in misery Than for eternal woe to live. Besides, Why should the Jew forestall the hand of God? - God, if he wills to save, can save without him. . TEMPLAR. And spite of him, too, save eternally. 1. 10 146 LESSING. - º - - PATRIARCH. That’s nothing! Still the Jew is to be burnt. TEMPLAR. That hurts me — more particularly as 'T is said he has not so much taught the maid His faith, as brought her up with the mere knowledge - - Of what our reason teaches about God. PATRIARCH. That’s nothing! Still the Jew is to be burnt — And for this very reason would deserve To be thrice burnt. How, let a child grow up Without a faith? Not even teach a child The greatest of its duties, to believe? . 'T is heinous! I am quite astonished, knight, That you yourself — TEMPLAR. The rest, right reverend sir, In the confessional, but not before. [Offers to go. PATRIARCH. What, off — not stay for my interrogation — Not name to me this infidel, this Jew — Not bring him forth for me at once? But hold, A thought occurs, I’ll straightway to the sultan Conformably to the capitulation Which Saladin has sworn, he must support us In all the privileges, all the doctrines Which appertain to our most holy faith, Thank God, we've the original in keeping, We have his hand and seal to it — we — And I shall lead him easily to think How very dangerous for the state it is Not to believe. All civic bonds divide, Like flax fire-touched, where subjects don’t believe. Away with foul impiety! ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 151 TEMPLAR. All that from thee comes to me, whatsoever It chance to prove, lies as a wish already ~ Within my soul. / SALADIN. - - We’ll try the experiment. Wilt thou stay with me? dwell about me? boots not As Mussulman or Christian, in a turban Or a white mantle — I have never wished To see the same bark grow about all trees. - TEMPLAR. Else, Saladin, thou hardly hadst become The hero that thou art, alike to all The gardener of the Lord. tº º ºf - - SALADIN. If thou think not The worse of me for this, we’re half right. TEMPLAR. _* Quite so. - sALADIN (holds out his hand). One word. - TEMPLAR (takes it). One man — and with this receive more Than thou canst take away again — thine wholly. - SALADIN. - 'T is for one day too great a gain — too great. Nº. Came he not with thee? TEMPLAR.: Who? " SALADIN. Who? Nathan. 152 - LESSING. TEMPLAR (coldly). No, I came alone. SALADIN. Oh, what a deed of thine! And what a happiness, a blessing to thee, That such a deed was serving such a man. TEMPLAR. Yes, yes. SALADIN. So cold — no, my young friend — when God Does through our means a service, we ought not To be so cold, not out of modesty Wish to appear so cold. TEMPLAR. In this same world All things have many sides, and ’t is not easy To comprehend how they can fit each other. SAILADIN. Cling ever to the best — give praise to God, Who knows how they can fit. But, my young man, If thou wilt be so difficult, I must Be very cautious with thee, for I too Have many sides, and some of them perhaps Such as may n’t always seem to fit. TEMPLAR. That wounds me; Suspicion usually is not my failing. º SALADIN. Say then of whom thou harbor'st it, of Nathan? So should thy talk imply — canst thou suspect him? Give me the first proof of thy confidence. ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. TEMPLAR. I’ve nothing against Nathan, I am angry - ~ With myself only. * SALADIN. - - And for what? TEMPLAR. For dreaming That any Jew could learn to be no Jew — For dreaming it awake. SALADIN. Out with this dream. TEMPLAR. Thou know'st of Nathan’s daughter, sultan. What I did for her I did — because I did it; Too proud to reap thanks which I had not sown for, I shunned from day to day her very sight. The father was far off. He comes, he hears, He seeks me, thanks me, wishes that his daughter May please me; talks to me of dawning prospects — I listen to his prate, go, see, and find A girl indeed. Oh, sultan, I am ashamed — SALADIN. - 2/ Ashamed that a Jew girl knew how to make a 1 º, Impression on thee? Surely not. TEMPLAR. But that To this impression my rash yielding heart, Trusting the smoothness of the father’s prate, Opposed no more resistance. Fool — I sprang A second time into the flame, and then I wooed, and was denied. SALADIN. Denied Denied LESSING. TEMPLAR. The prudent father does not flatly say No to my wishes, but the prudent father Must first inquire, and look about, and think. Oh, by all means. Did not I do the same? Did not I look about and ask who 't was While she was shrieking in the flame? Indeed, By God, 'tis something beautifully wise To be so circumspect. SALADIN. Come, come, forgive Something to age. His lingerings cannot last. He is not going to require of thee First to turn Jew. TEMPLAR. Who knows? SALADIN. Who? I, who know This Nathan better. TEMPLAR. Yet the superstition In which we have grown up, not therefore loses When we detect it, all its influence on us. Not all are free that can bemock their fetters. SALADIN. Maturely said — but Nathan, surely Nathan — TEMPLAR. The worst of superstitions is to think One’s own most bearable. sALADIN. May be, but Nathan — TEMPLAR. Must Nathan be the mortal, who unshrinking Can face the noontide ray of truth, nor there Betray the twilight dungeon which he crawled from ? ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 15. SALADIN. Yes, Nathan is that man. TEMPLAR. I thought so too; But what if this picked man, this chosen sage Were such a thorough Jew that he seeks out For Christian children to bring up as Jews — How then? l SALADIN. Who says this of him? TEMPLAR. E’en the maid With whom he frets me — with the hope of whom He seemed to joy in paying me the service, Which he would not allow me to do gratis — This very maid is not his daughter — no, She is a kidnapped Christian child. SALADIN. Whom he Has, notwithstanding, to thy wish refused? TEMPLAR (with vehemence). Refused or not, I know him now. There lies The prating tolerationist unmasked — And I’ll halloo upon this Jewish wolf, For all his philosophical sheep’s clothing, Dogs that shall touze his hide. SALADIN (earnestly). Peace, Christian! TEMPLAR. What! Peace, Christian — and may Jew and Mussulman Stickle for being Jew and Mussulman, And must the Christian only drop the Christian? 456 LESSING. SALADIN (more solemnly). Peace, Christian' - TEMPLAR (calmly). Yes, I feel what weight of blame Lies in that word of thine pent up. Oh that I knew how Assad in my place would act. SALADIN. . He — not much better, probably as fiery. Who has already taught thee thus at once Like him to bribe me with a single word? Indeed, if all has passed as thou narratest, I scarcely can discover Nathan in it. But Nathan is my friend, and of my friends One must not bicker with the other. Bend — And be directed. Move with caution. Do not Loose on him the fanatics of thy sect. Conceal what all thy clergy would be claiming My hand to avenge upon him, with more show Of right than is my wish. Be not from spite To any Jew or Mussulman a Christian. TEMPLAR. Thy counsel is but on the brink of coming Somewhat too late, thanks to the patriarch's Bloodthirsty rage, whose instrument I shudder To have almost become. *_ SALADIN. How ! how ! thou wentest Still earlier to the patriarch than to me? TEMPLAR. Yes, in the storm of passion, in the eddy Of indecision — pardon – oh! thou wilt No longer care, I fear, to find in me One feature of thy Assad. ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. SALADIN. Yes, that fear. Methinks I know by this time from what failings ~~ Our virtue Springs — this do thou cultivate, Those shall but little harm thee in my sight. But go, seek Nathan, as he sought for thee, And bring him hither: I must reconcile you. . If thou art serious about the maid – . Be calm, she shall be thine — Nathan shall feel That without swine's flesh one may educate Well, Sittah, must my Assad not have been A gallant handsome youth? A Christian child. Go. [TEMPLAR withdraws. SITTAH (rising from the sofa). Very strange indeed! ſ SALADIN. SITTAH. º If he was thus, And ’t was n’t the templar who sat to the painter. But how couldst thou be so forgetful, brother, As not to ask about his parents? SALADIN. And Particularly too about his mother. Whether his mother e'er was in this country, That is your meaning, is n’t it? SITTAH. You run on — SALADIN. Oh, nothing is more possible, for Assad *Mong handsome Christian ladies was so welcome, To handsome Christian ladies so attached, 158 LESSING. That once a report spread — but ’t is not pleasant To bring that up. Let us be satisfied That we have got him once again — have got him With all the faults and freaks, the starts and wildness Of his warm gentle heart — Oh, Nathan must Give him the maid — Dost think so? SITTAEI. Give — give up! SALADIN. Aye, for what right has Nathan with the girl If he be not her father? He who saved Her life so lately has a stronger claim To heir their rights who gave it her at first. SITTAH. What therefore, Saladin, if you withdraw The maid at once from the unrightful owner? - - SALADIN. There is no need of that. SITTAH. Need, not precisely; But female curiosity inspires Me with that counsel. There are certain men Of whom one is irresistibly impatient To know what women they can be in love with. SALADIN. Well then you may send for her. SITTAH. May I, brother? SALADIN. But hurt not Nathan, he must not imagine That we propose by violence to part them. ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 159 SITTAH. | Be without apprehension. *_ SALADIN. * Fare you well, I must make out where this Al-Halfi is. * SCENE. – The Hall in NATHAN’s House, as in the first -º scene; the things there mentioned unpacked and displayed. DAYA and NATHAN. - º DAYA. * Oh how magnificent, how tasty, charming — * All such as only you could give — and where | Was this thin silver stuff with sprigs of gold - Woven? What might it cost? Yes, this is worthy , To be a wedding-garment. Not a queen *- - º Could wish a handsomer. 3- - NATHAN. s Why wedding-garment? º - º DAY A. Perhaps of that you thought not when you bought it; But, Nathan, it must be so, must indeed. - It seems made for a bride – the pure white ground, Emblem of innocence — t e branching gold, Emblem of wealth – Now"is not it delightful? NATHAN. What’s all this ingenuity of speech for? Over whose wedding-gown are you displaying Your emblematic learning? Have you found A bridegroom? DAY.A. 160 LESSING. * N . will your sin, which I can hide no longer, NATHAN. - Who then? - DAYA. I — Gracious God! NATHAN. Who then? Whose wedding-garment do you speak of? For this is all your own and no one's else. DAYA. Mine — is 't for me and not for Recha? NATHAN. What I brought for Recha is in another bale. Come, clear it off: away with all your rubbish. DAYA. You tempter—No – Were they the precious things Of the whole universe, I will not touch them; Until you promise me to seize upon Such an occasion as heaven gives not twice. NATHAN. Seize upon what occasion? For what end? DAY.A. There, do not act so strange. You must perceive The templar loves your Recha – Give her to him; e at an end. The maid will come once more Among the Christians, will be once again What she was born to, will be what she was; And you, by all the benefits, for which We cannot thank you enough, will not have heaped More coals of fire upon your head. NATHAN THE WISE. 161 NATHAN. Again Harping on the old string, new tuned indeed, -13ut so as neither to accord nor hold. - DAYA. a How so? º NATHAN. ". The templar pleases me indeed, * I'd rather he than any one had Recha; But — do have patience. * DAY A. - - Patience — and is that Not the old string you harp on? º NATHAN. Patience, patience, For a few days — no more. Ha! who comes here? A friar — ask what he wants. DAYA (going). What can he want? NATHAN. Give, give before he begs. Oh, could I tell How to come at the templar, not betraying The motive of my curiosity — For if I tell it, and if my suspicion Be groundless, I have staked the father idly. What is the matter? DAYA (returning). He must speak to you. NATHAN. Then let him come to me. Go you meanwhile. - [DAYA goes. How gladly would I still remain my Recha's 11 162 LESSING. Father. And can I not remain so, though I cease to wear the name? To her, to her I still shall wear it, when she once perceives - [FRIAR enters, How willingly I were so. Pious brother, What can be done to serve you? NATHAN and FRIAR. FRIAR. Oh, not much; And yet I do rejoice to see you yet So well. NATHAN. You know me then — FRIAR. Who knows you not? You have impressed your name in many a hand, And it has been in mine these many years. NATHAN (feeling for his purse). Here, brother, I’ll refresh it. FRIAR. Thank you, thank you — From poorer men I’d steal — but nothing now! Only allow me to refresh my name In your remembrance; for I too may boast To have of old put something in your hand Not to be scorned. NATHAN. - Excuse me, I’m ashamed, What was it? Claim it of me sevenfold, I’m ready to atone for my forgetting. FRIAR. But before all, hear how this very day I was reminded of the pledge I brought you. ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 163 NATHAN. A pledge to me intrusted? FRIAR. *~ Some time since, I dwelt as hermit on the Quarantana, T Not far from Jericho, but Arab robbers Came and broke up my cell and oratory, And dragged me with them. Fortunately I . Escaped, and with the patriarch sought a refuge, To beg of him some other still retreat, Where I may serve my God in solitude Until my latter end. NATHAN. I stand on coals — Quick, my good brother, let me know what pledge You once intrusted to me. FRIAR. - Presently, * Good Nathan, presently. The patriarch Has promised me a hermitage on Thabor, As soon as one is vacant, and meanwhile Employs me as lay-brother in the convent, And there I am at present; and I pine A hundred times a day for Thabor; for The patriarch will set me about all work, And some that I can’t brook – as for example — º - NATHAN. Be speedy, I beseech you. FRIAR. Now it happens That some one whispered in his ear to-day, There lives hard by a Jew, who educates A Christian child as his own daughter. NATHAN (startled). How? 164 LESSING. FRIAR. Hear me quite out. So he commissioned me, If possible to track him out this Jew, And stormed most bitterly at the misdeed, Which seems to him to be the very sin Against the Holy Ghost — That is, the sin Of all most unforgiven, most enormous; But luckily we cannot tell exactly What it consists in — All at once my conscience Was roused, and it occurred to me that I Perhaps had given occasion to this sin. Now do not you remember a knight's squire, Who eighteen years ago gave to your hands A female child a few weeks old? NATHAN. How that? In fact such was — FRIAR. Now look with heed at me, And recollect. I was the man on horseback Who brought the child. NATHAN. Was you? * FRIAR. And he from whom I brought it was methinks a lord of Filnek — Leonard of Filnek. NATHAN. Right! FRIAR. - Because the mother Died a short time before; and he, the father, Had on a sudden to make off to Gazza, " the poor helpless thing could not go with him; | | || * * - - º Act IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 165 º º, º Therefore he sent it you — that was my message. Did not I find you out at Darun? there Consign it to you? ~~ NATHAN. Yes. º FRIAR. . It were no wonder * My memory deceived me. I have had º Many a worthy master, and this one * - I served not long. He fell at Askalon — ... But he was a kind lord. ºr NATHAN. - Oh yes, indeed; * For much have I to thank him, very much — He more than once preserved me from the sword. & ºf - - FRIAR. - tº Oh, brave — you therefore will with double pleasure Have taken up this daughter. - * NATHAN. You have said it. * - FRIAR. * Where is she then? She is not dead, I hope – I would not have her dead, dear pretty creature. - If no one else know anything about it All is yet safe. NATHAN. 4. Aye all! FRIAR. Yes, trust me, Nathan, / A This is my way of thinking — if the good That I propose to do is somehow twined * With mischief, then I let the good alone; For we know pretty well what mischief is, But not what's for the best. 'T was natural If you meant to bring up the Christian child 166 LESSING. Right well, that you should rear it as your own; And to have done this lovingly and truly, For such a recompense – were horrible. It might have been more prudent to have had it Brought up at second hand by some good Christian In her own faith. But your friend’s orphan child You would not then have loved. Children need love, Were it the mute affection of a brute, More at that age than Christianity. There 's always time enough for that — and if / The maid have but grown up before your eyes With a sound frame and pious — she remains Still in her Maker’s eye the same. For is not Christianity all built on Judaism? Oh, it has often vexed me, cost me tears, That Christians will forget so often that Our Saviour was a Jew. NATHAN. You, my good brother, Shall be my advocate, when bigot hate And hard hypocrisy shall rise upon me — And for a deed — a deed — thou, thou shalt know it — But take it with thee to the tomb. As yet Has vanity ne'er tempted me to tell it To living soul — only to thee I tell it, To simple piety alone; for it Alone can feel what deeds the man who trusts - In God can gain upon himself. FRIAR. You seem Affected, and your eyeballs swim in water. º - NATHAN. ‘Twas at Darun you met me with the child; But you will not have known that a few days Before, the Christians murdered every Jew in Gath, ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 167 Woman and child; that among these, my wife - With seven hopeful sons were found, who all * Beneath my brother's roof which they had fled to, Were burnt alive. FRIAR. Just God! NATHAN. And when you came, Three nights had I in dust and ashes lain Before my God and wept — aye, and at times Arraigned my Maker, raged, and cursed myself And the whole world, and to Christianity - Swore unrelenting hate. F - FRIAR. - Ah, I believe you. * NATHAN. ... But by degrees returning reason came, She spake with gentle voice — And yet God is, And this was his decree — now exercise What thou hast long imagined, and what surely : Is not more difficult to exercise Than to imagine — if thou will it once. I rose and called out — God, I will — I will, * So thou but aid my purpose – And behold º You were just then dismounted, and presented To me the child wrapt in your mantle. What You said, or I, occurs not to me now — Thus much I recollect — I took the child, I bore it to my couch, I kissed it, flung Myself upon my knees and sobbed – My God, Now have I one out of the seven again! FRIAR. Nathan, you are a Christian! Yes, by God, You are a Christian – never was a better. 168 LESSING. NATHAN. Heaven bless us! What makes me to you a Christian Makes you to me a Jew. But let us cease To melt each other — time is nigh to act, And though a sevenfold love had bound me soon To this strange only girl, though the mere thought That I shall lose in her my seven sons A second time distracts me — yet I will, If Providence require her at my hands, Obey. - FRIAR. The very thing I should advise you; But your good genius has forestalled my thought. NATHAN. The first best claimant must not seek to tear Her from me. - FRIAR. No, most surely not. NATHAN. And he, That has not stronger claims than I, at least Ought to have earlier. F.R.I.A.R. Certainly. - º NATHAN. . By nature And blood conferred. F.R.I.A.R. I mean so too. NATHAN. Then name The man allied to her as brother, uncle, Or otherwise akin, and I from him Will not withhold her — she who was created ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 169 And was brought up to be of any house, Of any faith, the glory — I, I hope, That of your master and his race you knew More than myself. FRIAR. I hardly think that, Nathan; • For I already told you that I passed * - A short time with him. NATHAN. Can you tell at least - The mother’s family name? She was, I think, * A Stauffen. s ... FRIAR. May be — yes, in fact, you’re right. * NATHAN. L º Conrade of Stauffen was her brother’s name — * He was a templar. FRIAR. --- I am clear it was. * But stay, I recollect I’ve yet a book, *T was my dead lord’s — I drew it from his bosom, -º While we were burying him at Askalon. -- NATHAN. - \- Well! FRIAR. 2. - There are prayers in ’t, *t is what we call º A breviary. This, thought I, may yet serve Some Christian man — not me, indeed, for I Tº Can’t read. º * - NATHAN. º, No matter, to the thing. F.R.I.A.R. This book is written at both ends quite full, And, as I’m told, contains, in his handwriting, About both him and her what 's most material. 170 LESSING. NATHAN. Go, run and fetch the book – ’t is fortunate; I am ready with its weight in gold to pay it, ~ And thousand thanks beside — Go, run. FRIAR. Most gladly; But ’t is in Arabic what he has written. [Goes. NATHAN. No matter — that's all one — do fetch it — Oh! If by its means I may retain the daughter, And purchase with it such a son-in-law; But that 's unlikely — well, chance as it may. Who now can have been with the patriarch To tell this tale? That I must not forget To ask about. If 't were of Daya's? NATHAN and DAYA. DAYA (anaciously breaks in). Nathan - NATHAN. Well! DAY A. Only think, she was quite frightened at it, Poor child, a message — NATHAN. From the patriarch? DAYA. The sultan’s sister, Princess Sittah, sends. NATHAN. … . And not the patriarch? - -- DAYA. Can't you hear? The princess Has sent to see your Recha. ! ACT IV.] NATHAN THE WISE. 171 º A. * * * * Beneath this message of the patriarch's doing— [Goes. Would for a Mussulman be no bad thing; NATHAN. Sent for Recha! Has Sittah sent for Recha? Well, if Sittah, And not the patriarch, sends. DAYA. Why think of him? NATHAN. Have you heard nothing from him lately — really Seen nothing of him — whispered nothing to him? DAYA. How, I to him? NATHAN. Where are the messengers? 1DAY A. There, just before you. NATHAN. I will talk with them Out of precaution. If there's nothing lurking DAY A. And I — I’ve other fears. The only daughter, As they suppose, of such a rich, rich Jew, I bet the templar will be choused, unless: I risk the second step, and to herself Discover who she is. Let me for this Employ the first short moments we’re alone; And that will be — oh, as I am going with her A serious hint upon the road I think - Can’t be amiss – yes, now or never – yes. 172 LESSING. ACT W. SCENE. — A Room in the Palace; the Purses still in a pile. SALADIN, and, soon after, several MAMELUKES. SALADIN (as he comes in). Here lies the money still, and no one finds The dervis yet — he's probably got somewhere Over a chess-board. Play would often make The man forget himself, and why not me? Patience — Ha! what 's the matter? SALADIN and IBRAHIM. - IBRAHIM. Happy news— - Joy, sultan, joy, the caravan from Cairo Is safe arrived and brings the seven years' tribute Of the rich Nile. - sALADIN. Bravo, my Ibrahim, - Thou always wast a welcome messenger, | And now at length—at length — accept my thanks For the good tidings. IBRAHIM (waiting). Hither with them, sultan. - SALADIN. What art thou waiting for? Go. IBRAHIM. Nothing further For my glad news? - SALADIN. What further? Act V.] - NATHAN THE WISE. 173 IBRAHIM. Errand boys Earn hire — and when their message smiles i' the telling, The sender’s hire by the receiver’s bounty Is oft outweighed. Am I to be the first Whom Saladin at length has learnt to pay In words? The first about whose recompense The sultan higgled? - SALADIN. Go, pick up a purse. IBRAHIM. No, not now — you might give them all away. SALADIN. All — hold, man. Here, come hither, take these two — And is he really going — shall he conquer º Me then in generosity? for surely | 'T is harder for this fellow to refuse - Than 't is for me to give. Here, Ibrahim — - Shall I be tempted, just before my exit, - To be a different man —shall Saladin Not die like Saladin, then wherefore live so? ABDALLAH and SALADIN. ABDALLAH. Hail, sultanl SALADIN. If thou comest to inform me That the whole convoy is arrived from Egypt, I know it already. AIBD ALLAH. Do I come too late? SALADIN. Too late, and why too late? There for thy tidings Pick up a purse or two. º 174 LESSING. ABDALLAH. Does that make three? SALADIN. So thou wouldst reckon — well, well, take them, take them. ABDALLAH. - º A third will yet be here if he be able. - SALADIN, How so? AIBDALLAH. - º He may perhaps have broke his neck. We three, as soon as certain of the coming Of the rich caravan, each crossed our horses, And galloped hitherward. The foremost fell, Then I was foremost, and continued so Into the city, but sly Ibrahim, - - º Who knows the streets — - - º, -º SAILADIN. * But he that fell, go, seek him. - AIBDALLA H. That will I quickly — if he lives, the half Of what I’ve got is his. [Goes. SAIL ADIN. What a fine fellow ! And who can boast such Mamelukes as these; And is it not allowed me to imagine That my example helped to form them? Hence With the vile thought at last to turn another. - A third CourTER. Sultan – . . SALADIN. Was 't thou who fell? ACT V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 175 - * - COURIER. No, I’ve to tell thee That Emir Mansor, who conducts the convoy, Alights. SALADIN. Oh, bring him to me – Ah, he 's there — Be welcome, Emir. What has happened to thee 2 For we have long expected thee. SALADIN and EMIR. EMIR (after the wont obeisance). This letter Will show that, in Thebais, discontents Required thy Abulkassem’s sabred hand, Ere we could march. Since that, our progress, Sultan, My zeal has sped most anxiously. SALADIN. I trust thee — But my good Mansor take without delay – Thou art not loath to go further — fresh protection, And with the treasure on to Lebanon; The greater part at least I have to lodge With my old father. EMIR. Oh, most willingly. SALADIN. And take not a slight escort. Lebanon Is far from quiet, as thou wilt have heard; The templars stir afresh, be therefore cautious. Come, I must see thy troop, and give the orders. [To a slave. Say I shall be with Sittah when I’ve finished. 176 LESSING. SCENE. — A Place of Palms. The TEMPLAR walking to and fro. TEMPLAR. Into this house I go not — sure at last He'll show himself — once, once they used to see me So instantly, so gladly – time will come When he 'll send out most civilly to beg me Not to pace up and down before his door. Pshaw — and yet I’m a little nettled too; And what has thus embittered me against him? He answered yes. He has refused me nothing As yet. And Saladin has undertaken - To bring him round. And does the Christian nestle Deeper in me than the Jew lurks in him? Who, who can justly estimate himself Ż How comes it else that I should grudge him so The little booty that he took such pains To rob the Christians of 2 A theft, no less Than such a creature tho’ – but whose, whose creature? Sure not the slave's who floated the mere block On to life's barren strand, and then ran off; But his the artist's, whose fine fancy moulded Upon the unowned block a godlike form, Whose chisel graved it there. Recha’s true father, Spite of the Christian who begot her, is, Must ever be, the Jew. Alas, were I To fancy her a simple Christian wench, And without all that the Jew has given, Which only such a Jew could have bestowed— Speak out my heart, what had she that would please thee? No, nothing! Little! For her very smile Shrinks to a pretty twisting of the muscles — Be that, which makes her smile, supposed unworthy Of all the charms in ambush on her lips? No, not her very smile — I’ve seen sweet smiles Spent on conceit, on foppery, on slander, * ACT W.] NATHAN THE WISE. 177 On flatterers, on wicked wooers spent, And did they charm me then? then wake the wish To flutter out a life beneath their sunshine? Indeed not — Yet I’m angry with the man A. Who alone gave this higher value to her. >. How this, and why Do I deserve the taunt With which I was dismissed by Saladin? 'T is bad enough that Saladin should think so; How little, how contemptible must I Then have appeared to him — all for a girl. Conrade, this will not do — back, back — And if Daya to boot had prated matter to me w Not easy to be proved — At last he's coming, Engaged in earnest converse — and with whom? My friar in Nathan’s house! then he knows all — Perhaps has to the patriarch been betrayed. O Conrade, what vile mischiefs thou hast brooded * Out of thy cross-grained head, that thus one spark sº Of that same passion, love, can set so much - O' th' brain in flame? Quick, then, determine, wretch, What shalt thou say or do? Step back a moment And see if this good friar will please to quit him. NATHAN and the FRIAR come together out of NATHAN’s house. NATHAN. Once more, good brother, thanks. ~ FRIAR. The like to you. NATHAN. To me, and why; because I’m obstinate — Would force upon you what you have no use for? F.R.I.A.R. The book besides was none of mine. Indeed It must at any rate belong to th’ daughter; 12 178 LESSING. It is her whole, her only patrimony – Save she has you. God grant you ne'er have reason To sorrow for the much you've done for her. NATHAN. How should I? that can never be; fear nothing. FRIAR. Patriarchs and templars — • NATHAN. Have not in their power Evil enough to make me e'er repent. And then — But are you really well assured It is a templar who eggs on your patriarch? FRIAR. It scarcely can be other, for a templar Talked with him just before, and what I heard Agreed with this. - NATHAN. But there is only one Now in Jerusalem; and him I know; IHe is my friend, a noble open youth. - FRIAR. - % The same. ut, W is at heart, and what One gets to be in active life, may nºt always Square well together. % NATHAN. No, alas, they do not. Therefore unangered I let others do Their best or worst. O brother, with your book I set all at defiance, and am going Straight with it to the sultan. FRIAR. God be with you! Here I shall take my leave. Act V.] NATHAN THE WISE. - 179 * s NATHAN. And have not seen her — Come soon, come often to us. If to-day The patriarch make out nothing — but no matter, Tell him it all to-day, or when you will. FRIAR. Not I — farewell! NATHAN. Do not forget us, brother. My God, why may I not beneath thy sky Here drop upon my knees; now the twined knot, Which has so often made my thinkings anxious, Untangles of itself — God, how I am eased, Now that I’ve nothing in the world remaining That I need hide — now that I can as freely Walk before man as before thee, who only Need'st not to judge a creature by his deeds — Deeds which so seldom are his own – O God! NATHAN and TEMPLAR. TEMPLAR (coming forward). Hoa, Nathan, take me with you. NATHAN. Ha! Who calls? Is it you, knight? And whither have you been That you could not be met with at the sultan’s? TEMPLAR. We missed each other — take it not amiss. NATHAN. I, no, but Saladin. - TEMPLAR. You were just gone. NATHAN. Oh, then you spoke with him; I’m satisfied. 180 LESSING. TEMPLAR. * Yes — but he wants to talk with us together. - NATHAN. So much the better. Come with me, my step º Was eitherwise bent thither. * TEMPLAR. º May I ask, \ Nathan, who 't was now left you? NATHAN. Did you know him? * TEMPLAR. \ Was 't that good-hearted creature the lay-brother, Whom the hoar patriarch has a knack of using To feel his way out? NATHAN. That may be. In fact L' He 's at the patriarch's. . TEMPLAR. 'T is no awkward hit To make simplicity the harbinge Of craft. - NATHAN. If the simplicity of dunces, But if of honest piety? TEMPLAR. This last No patriarch can believe in. NATHAN. I’ll be bound for 't This last belongs to him who quitted me, He ‘ll not assist his patriarch to accomplish A vile or cruel purpose. ACT V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 181 * TEMPLAR. Such, at least, He would appear — but has he told you then Something of me? NATHAN. h, x Of you? No — not by name, He can't well be acquainted with your name. - TEMPLAR. No, that not. ſu. NATHAN. * He indeed’spoke of a templar, * Who — TEMPLAR. r - What? NATHAN. But by this templar could not mean * To point out you. TEMPLAR. Sº Stay, stay, who knows? Let’s hear. - NATHAN. º Who has accused me to his patriarch. TEMPLAR. Accused thee, no, that, by his leave, is false. Nathan, do hear me—I am not the man * Who would deny a single of his actions; What I have done, I did. Nor am I one º Who would defend all he has done as right — Why be ashamed of failing? Am I not Firmly resolved on better future conduct? * And am I not aware how much the man That’s willing can improve? Oh, hear me, Nathan — * I am the templar your lay-brother talked of — - Who has accused — You know what made me angry, What set the blood in all my veins on fire, The mad-cap that I was – I had drawn nigh 182 LESSING. - To fling myself with soul and body whole Into your arms — and you received me, Nathan — How cold, how lukewarm, for that's worse than cold. – How with words weighed and measured, you took care To put me off; and with what questioning About my parentage, and God knows what, You seemed to answer me — I must not think on 't If I would keep my temper — Hear me, Nathan — While in this ferment — Daya steps behind me, - Bolts out a secret in my ear, which seemed At once to lend a clew to your behavior. NATHAN. How so? - TEMPLAR. Do hear me to the end. I fancied That what you from the Christians had purloined You were n’t content to let a Christian have; And so the project struck me short and good, To hold the knife to your throat till — NATHAN. Short and good; And good — but where’s the good? TEMPLAR. Yet hear me, Nathan, I own I did not right — you are not guilty, No doubt. The prating Daya does not know What she reported — has a grudge against you — Seeks to involve you in an ugly business — May be, may be, and I’m a crazy looby, A credulous enthusiast — both ways mad — Doing ever much too much, or much too little — That too may be — forgive me, Nathan. NATHAN. If Such be the light in which you view — N * Act V.] NATHAN THE WISE. TEMPLAR. In short I to the patriarch went. I named you not. That, as I said, was false. I only stated In general terms, the case, to learn his notion, That too might have been let alone — assuredly. For knew I not the patriarch then to be - A knave? And might I not have talked with you? And ought I to have exposed the poor girl — haſ To part with such a father? Now what happens? The patriarch's villany consistent ever - Restored me to myself -— Oh, hear me out — Suppose he was to ferret out your name, What then? What then? He cannot seize the maid Unless she still belong to none but you. - 'T is from your house alone that he could drag her Into a convent; therefore grant her me — Grant her to me, and let him come. By God — Sever my wife from me — he'll not be rash Enough to think about it. Give her to me, Be she or no thy daughter, Christian, Jewess, Or neither, 't is all one, all one — I’ll never In my whole life ask of thee which she is, Be 't as it may. --~ NATHAN. ~ -" ... " You may perhaps imagine That I’ve an interest to conceal the truth. TEMPLAR. Be’t as it may, NATHAN. I neither have to you Nor any one, whom it behooved to know it, Denied that she 's a Christian, and no more Than my adopted daughter. Why, to her I have not yet betrayed it — I am bound To justify only to her. º 184 LESSING. TEMPLAR. Of that Shall be no need. Indulge, indulge her with Never beholding you with other eyes – Spare, spare her the discovery. As yet You have her to yourself, and may bestow her; Give her to me — oh, I beseech thee, Nathan, Give her to me, I, only I can save her, A second time, and will. NATHAN. Yes, could have saved her. But 'tis all over now — it is too late. TEMPLAR. How so, too late? INATHAN. Thanks to the patriarch. TEMPLAR. How, Thanks to the patriarch, and for what? Can he Earn thanks of us? For what? - NATHAN. That now we know To whom she is related — to whose hands She may with confidence be now delivered. TEMPLAR. He thank him who has more to thank him for. NATHAN. From theirs you now have to obtain her, not From mine. TEMPLAR. Poor Recha – what befalls thee? Oh, Poor Recha – what had been to other orphans- A blessing, is to thee a curse. But, Nathan, Where are they, these new kinsmen? * : ſ º S. Act V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 185 NATHAN. Where are they? TEMPLAR. - Who are they? NATHAN. Who — a brother is found out To whom you must address yourself. TEMEPL.A.R. A brother! And what is he, a soldier or a priest? Let’s hear what I’ve to hope. NATHAN. As I believe He 's neither of the two — or both. Just now I cannot say exactly. TEMPLAR. And besides He 's — NATHAN. A brave fellow, and with whom my Recha Will not be badly placed. TEMPLAR. But he's a Christian. At times I know not what to make of you — Take it not ill of me, good Nathan. Will she Not have to play the Christian among Christians; And when she has been long enough the actress Not turn so?, Will the tares in time not stifle The pure wheat of your setting — and does that Affect you not a whit—you yet declare She 'll not be badly placed. º NATHAN. º - - I think, I hope so. sº And should she there have need of anything - Has she not you and me? 186 - LESSING. TEMPLAR, Need at her brother’s — What should she need when there? Won’t he provide His dear new sister with all sorts of dresses, With comfits and with toys and glittering jewels? And what needs any sister wish for else — Only a husband? And he comes in time. A brother will know how to furnish that, The Christianer the better. Nathan, Nathan, Oh, what an angel you had formed, and how Others will mar it now ! - NATHAN. Be not so downcast, Believe me he will ever keep himself Worthy our love. TEMPLAR. No, say not that of mine. My love allows of no refusal – none. Were it the merest trifle — but a name. Hold there — has she as yet the least suspicion Of what is going forward? NATHAN. That may be, And yet I know not whence. * TEMPLAR. It matters not, She shall, she must in either case from me First learn what fate is threatening. My fixed purpose To see her not again, nor speak to her, | Till I might call her mine, is gone. I hasten — NATHAN. Stay, whither would you go? Act V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 187 TEMPLAR. To her, to learn If this girl’s soul be masculine enough To form the only resolution worthy Herself. NATHAN. What resolution? TEMPLAR. This — to ask No more about her brother and her father, And — NATHAN. And — TEMPLAR. To follow me. E'en if she were So doing to become a Moslem’s wife. NATHAN. Stay, you'll not find her — she is now with Sittah, The sultan’s sister. TEMPLAR. How long since, and wherefore? NATHAN. And would you there behold her brother, come Thither with me. TEMPLAR. - Her brother, whose then? Sittah’s Or Recha’s do you mean? NATHAN. - Both, both, perchance. Come this way — I beseech you, come with me. [Leads off the TEMPLAR with him. Sº 188 LESSING. SCENE. — The SULTAN’s Palace. A Room in SITTAH's Apartment. SITTAH and RECHA. - SITTA. H. How I am pleased with thee, sweet girl! But do Shake off this perturbation, be not anxious, Be not alarmed, I want to hear thee talk — Be cheerful. - RECHA. Princess! SITTAH. No, not princess, child; Call me thy friend, or Sittah, or thy sister, Or rather aunt, for I might well be thine; So young, so good, so prudent, so much knowledge, You must have read a great deal to be thus. RECHA. I read — you’re laughing, Sittah, at your sister, I scarce can read. - SITTA. H. Scarce can, you little fibber. RECHA. My father’s hand or so — I thought you spoke Of books. SITT AH. Aye, surely so I did, of books. RECHA. Well, really now it puzzles me to read them. SITTAH. In earnest? RECHA. Yes, in earnest, for my father W Hates cold book-learning, which makes an impression With its dead letters only on the brain. ACT V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 189 SITTAH. What say you? Aye, he ’s not unright in that. So then the greater part of what you know — RECHA. I know but from his mouth – of most of it I could relate to you, the how, the where, The why he taught it me. SITTAH. - So it clings closer, And the whole soul drinks in th’ instruction. RECHA. - Yes, And Sittah certainly has not read much. SITTAH. How so? Not that I’m vain of having read; But what can be thy reason? Speak out boldly, Thy reason for it. RECHA. She is so right down, Unartificial — only like herself, And books do seldom leave us so, my father Says. SITTA. H. What a man thy father is, my Recha. RECHA. . Is not he? SITTA. H. How he always hits the mark. RECHA. Does not he? And this father — SITTAFI. Love, what ails thee? 190 LESSING. RECHA. This father — - SITT AH. God, thou ’rt weeping! RECHA. And this father — It must have vent, my heart wants room, wants room. * SITT AH. Child, child, what ails you, Recha? RECHA. -, And this father ſ I am to lose. s SITTA. H. Thou lose him, oh no, never: Arise, be calm, how so? It must not be. IRECHA. - So shall thy offer mot have been in vain, To be my friend, my sister. SITTAH. Maid, I am. Rise then, or I must call for help. RECHA. Forgive. My agony made me awhile forgetful With whom I am. Tears, sobbing, and despair Cannot avail with Sittah. Cool calm reason Alone is over her omnipotent; - Whose cause that pleads before her, he has conquered. SITTAH. Well, then RECHA. My friend, my sister, suffer not Another father to be forced upon me. ACT V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 191 SITTAH. Another father to be forced upon thee — Who can do that, or wish to do it, Recha? RECHA. Who? Why, my good, my evil genius, Daya, She, she can wish it, will it — and can do it. You do not know this dear, good, evil Daya. God, God forgive it her — reward her for it; So much good she has done me, so much evil. SITTAEI. Evil to thee — much goodness she can’t have. RECHA. Oh yes, she has indeed. - SITTAH. Who is she? RECHA. Who? A Christian, who took care of all my childhood, You cannot think how little she allowed me To miss a mother — God reward her for it — But then she has so teased, so tortured me. SITTAEI. And about what? Why, how, when? RECHA. The poor woman, I tell thee, is a Christjan — and she must From love torment – is one of those enthusiasts Who think they only know the one true road TO God. SITTAH. I comprehend thee. 192 LESSING. w RECHA. And who feel Themselves in duty bound to point it out To every one who is not in this path, To lead, to drag him into it. And indeed They can’t do otherwise consistently; For if theirs really be the only road On which 'tis safe to travel — they cannot With comfort see their friends upon another Which leads to ruin, to eternal ruin: Else were it possible at the same instant To love and hate the same man. Nor is 't this Which forces me to be aloud complainant. Her groans, her prayers, her warnings, and her threats, I willingly should have abided longer — Most willingly — they always called up thoughts Useful and good; and whom does it not flatter To be by whomsoever held so dear, So precious, that they cannot bear the thought Of parting with us at some time for ever? SITTA.H. Most true. RECHA. But — but — at last this goes too far; I’ve nothing to oppose to it, neither patience, Neither reflection — nothing. SITTA.H. How, to what? RECHA. To what she has just now, as she will have it, Discovered to me. SITTAFI. How discovered to thee? ACT V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 193 RECHA. r Yes, just this instant. Coming hitherward - We past a fallen temple of the Christians — . She all at once stood still, seemed inly struggling, Turned her moist eyes to heaven, and then on me. F- Gome, says she finally, let us to the right | Thro' this old fane — she leads the way, I follow. * My eyes with horror overran the dim * And tottering ruin – all at once she stops By the sunk steps of a low Moorish altar. — * Oh how I felt, when there, with streaming tears And wringing hands, prostrate before my feet She fell. SITTAH. P Good child — * - RECHA. 3. ſº And by the holy Virgin, - Who there had hearkened many a prayer, and wrought Many a wonder, she conjured, intreated, With looks of heartfelt sympathy and love, * I would at length take pity of myself — At least forgive, if she must now unfold What claims her church had on me. SITTAH. Ah! I guessed it. * RECHA. * That I am sprung of Christian blood — baptized — Not Nathan's daughter — and he not my father. - God, God, he not my father! Sittah, Sittah, See me once more low at thy feet. , SITTAEI. O Recha, º - - - Not so; arise, my brother’s coming, rise. º - SALADIN, SITTAH, and RECHA. SALADIN (entering). What is the matter, Sittah? 13 194 LESSING. Before — - SITTAH. She is swooned— God — SALADIN. ſ Who? SITTAH. º You know, sure. * - SAILADIN. What, our Nathan's daughter! What ails her?. SITTAEI. Child, come to thyself, the sultan. RECHA. No, I’ll not rise, not rise, not look upon The Sultan’s countenance — I’ll not admire The bright reflection of eternal justice And mercy on his brow, and in his eye, SALADIN. Rise, rise. RECHA. Before he shall have promised— SALADIN. Come, come, I promise whatsoe'er thy prayer. RECHA. Nor more nor less than leave my father to me, And me to him. As yet I cannot tell What other wants to be my father. Who Can want it, care I not to inquire. Does blood Alone then make the father? blood alone? | º SALADIN (raising her). Who was so cruel in thy breast to shed This wild suspicion? Is it proved, made clear? ACT V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 195 RECHA. ºr It must, for Daya had it from my nurse, Whose dying lips intrusted it to her. . SALADIN. t Dying, perhaps delirious; if 't were true, F. Blood only does not make, by much, the father, Scarcely the father of a brute, scarce gives The first right to endeavor at deserving The name of father. If there be two fathers At strife for thee, quit both, and take a third, And take me for thy father. : -º- -- SITTAEI. Do it, do it. r SALADIN. I will be a kind father – but methinks * A better thought occurs, what hast thou need º, Of father upon father? They will die, * So that 'tis better to lookout by times For one that starts fair, and stakes life with life On equal terms. Knowst thou none such?' º! - sitt AH. - My brother, Don’t make her blush. SALADIN. - Why, that was half my project. Blushing so well becomes the ugly, that - The fair it must make charming — I have ordered Thy father Nathan hither, and another, Dost guess who "t is? one other. — Sittah, you Will not object? SITTA.H. Brother — SALADIN. And when he comes, Sweet girl, then blush to crimson. 196 LESSING. RECHA. Before whom — Blush P SALADIN. Little hypocrite—or else grow pale, Just as thou willst and canst. Already there? SITTAH (to a female slave who comes in). Well, be they ushered in. Brother, 'tis they. SALADIN, SITTAH, RECHA, NATHAN, and TEMPLAR. SALADIN. Welcome, my dear good friends. Nathan, to you I’ve first to mention, you may send and fetch Your moneys when you will. NATHAN. Sultan — SALADIN. And now I’m at your service. NATHAN Sultan — SALADIN. For my treasures Are all arrived. The caravan is safe. I’m richer than I’ve been these many years. Now tell me what you wish for, to achieve Some splendid speculation — you in trade Like us, have never too much ready cash. NATHAN (going towards RECHA). Why first about this trifle?— I behold An eye in tears, which *t is far more important To me to dry. My Recha, thou hast wept, What hast thou lost? Thou art still, I trust, my daughter. ACT V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 197 RECHA. My father! - NATHAN. That's enough, we are understood By one another; but be calm, be cheerful. If else thy heart be yet thy own — if else No threatened loss thy trembling bosom wring — Thy father shall remain to thee. RECHA. None, none. TEMPLAR. None, none — then I’m deceived.’ What we ’t fear | To lose, we never fancied, never wished Ourselves possessed ofy" But 'tis well, 'tis well. Nathan, this changes all — all. Saladin, At thy command we came, but I misled thee, Trouble thyself no further. SALADIN. ºf Always headlong; Young man, must every will then bow to thine, Interpret all thy meanings? TEMPLAR. Thou hast heard, Sultan, hast seen. -- SALAIDTN. Aye, ’t was a little awkward Not to be certain of thy cause. - TEMPLAR. - I now Do know my doom. SAILADTN. Pride in an act of service Revokes the benefit.) What thou hast saved Is therefore not thy own, or else the robber, 198 LESSING. Urged by his avarice thro’ fire-crumbling halls, Were like thyself a hero. Come, sweet maid, [Advances toward RECHA in order to lead her up to the TEMPLAR.] Come, stickle not for niceties with him. Other — he were less warm and proud, and had Paused, and not saved thee. Balance then the one Against the other, and put him to the blush, Do what he should have done — own thou thy love — Make him thy offer, and if he refuse, Or e'er forgot how infinitely more By this thou do for him than he for thee — What, what in fact has he then done for thee But make himself a little sooty? That (Else he has nothing of my Assad in him, But only wears his mask) that was mere sport. Come, lovely girl. - SITTA. H. Go, go, my love, this step Is for thy gratitude too short, too trifling. [They are each taking one of RECHA’s hands when NATHAN with a solemn gesture of prohibition says, NATHAN. Hold, Saladin — hold, Sittah. SALADIN. Ha! thou too? NATHAN. * One other has to speak. SAILADIN. Who denies that? Unquestionably, Nathan, there belongs --- A vote to such a foster-father – and The first, if you require it. You perceive I know how all the matter lies. ACT W.] NATHAN THE WISE. 199 NATHAN. Not all — I speak not of myself. There is another, A very different man, whom, Saladin, I must first talk with. SALADIN. Who? NATHAN. Her brother. SALADIN. Recha’s? NATHAN. Yes, hers. RECHA. My brother — have I then a brother? [The TEMPLAR starts from his silent and sullen ſimattention. TEMPLAR. Where is this brother? Not yet here? 'T was here I was to find him. NATHAN. Patience yet a while. TEMPLAR (very bitterly). He has imposed a father on the girl, He ‘ll find for her a brother. SALADIN. That was wanting! Christian, this mean suspicion ne'er had past The lips of Assad. Go but on — ~ NATHAN. Forgive him, I can forgive him readily. Who knows What in his place, and at his time of life, 200 LESSING. We might have thought ourselves? Suspicion, knight, [Approaching the TEMPLAR in a friendly manner. Succeeds soon to mistrust. Had you at first Favored me with your real name— TEMPLAR. How? what? NATHAN. You are no Stauffen. - TEMPLAR. Who then am I? Speak. - - NATHAN. Conrade of Stauffen is no name of yours. TEMPLAR. What is my name then? - NATHAN. Guy of Filnek. TEMPLAR. - How? NATHAN. - You startle — * TEMPLAR. And with reason. Who says that? NATHAN. I, who can tell you more. Meanwhile, observ I do not tax you with a falsehood. - TEMPLAR. No? NATH AN. May be you with propriety can wear Yon name as well. TEMPLAR. I think so too. (God — God Put that speech on his tongue.) ACT V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 201 NATHAN. In fact your mother — She was a Stauffen: and her brother's name, (The uncle to whose care you were resigned, When, by the rigor of the climate chased, Your parents quitted Germany to seek This land once more) was Conrade. He perhaps Adopted you as his own son and heir. Is it long since you hither travelled with him? Is he alive yet? TEMPLA.R. So in fact it stands. What shall I say? Yes, Nathan, 'tis all right: Tho' he himself is dead. I came to Syria With the last reinforcement of our order, But — but what has all this long tale to do - With Recha's brother, whom — NATHAN. Your father — TEMPLAR. - - Him, Him did you know? - NATHAN. He was my friend. TEMPLAR. - Your friend? And is that possible? NATHAN. He called himself Leonard of Filnek, but he was no German. TEMPLAR. You know that too? - NATHAN. - He had espoused a German, And followed for a time your mother thither. 202 LESSING. TEMPLAR. No more I beg of you — But Recha’s brother — | - NATHAN. - º Art thou! TEMPLAR. I, I her brother — Recha. s He, my brother? SITTAH. So near akin — RECHA (offers to clasp him). My brother! Lº -> TEMPLAR (steps back). --" Brother to her — \, RECHA (turning to NATHAN). - It cannot be, his heart knows nothing of it. º We are deceivers, God. - SALADIN (to the TEMPLAR). . º Deceivers, yes; All is deceit in thee, face, voice, walk, gesture, Nothing belongs to thee. How, not acknowledge A sister such as she? Go. - TEMPLAR (modestly approaching him). Sultan, sultan, Oh, do not misinterpret my amazement — Thou never saw'st in such a moment, prince, Thy Assad's heart — mistake not him and me. | Hastening towards NATHAN. Oh, Nathan, you have taken, you have given, Both with full hands indeed; and now – yes – yes, You give me more than you have taken from me, Yes, infinitely more — my sister — sister. [Embraces RECHA. ACT V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 203 NATHAN. * Blanda of Filnek. TEMPLAR. Blanda, ha! not Recha, º Your Recha now no longer — you resign her, Give her her Christian name again, and then For my sake turn her off. Why, Nathan, Nathan, sº- Why must she suffer for it? she for me? NATHAN. What mean you? Oh, my children, both my children — For sure my daughter's brother is my child, So soon as he but will it. [While they embrace NATHAN by turns, SALADIN A. draws nigh to SITTAH. > SAILADIN. - |- What sayst thou, Sittah, to this? SITTAH. I’m deeply moved. |- SALADIN. * And I Half tremble at the thought of the emotion Still greater, still to come. Nathan, a word [While he converses with NATHAN, SITTAH goes to ea press her sympathy to the others. With thee apart. Wast thou not saying also That her own father was no German born? What was he then? Whence was he? NATHAN. He himself Never intrusted me with that. From him - I knew it not. - - SAILADIN. - You say he was no Frank? 204 LESSING. - NATHAN. No, that he owned: he loved to talk the Persian. SALADIN. The Persian — need I more? 'T is he – ’t was hel NATHAN. Who? SALADIN. Assad certainly, my brother Assad. NATHAN. If thou thyself perceive it, be assured; Look in this book — [Gives the breviary, SALADIN (eagerly looking). Oh, *t is his hand, his hand, I recollect it well. NATHAN. They know it not; It rests with thee what they shall learn of this. sALADIN (turning over the breviary). I not acknowledge my own brother’s children, Not own my nephew — not my children — I Leave them to thee? Yes, Sittah, it is they, [Aloud. They are my brother’s and thy brother's children. |Rushes to embrace them. SITTAH. What do I hear? Could it be otherwise? [The like. SALADIN (to the TEMPLAR). - Now, proud boy, thou shalt love me, thou must love me, [To RECHA. And I am, what I offered to become, With or without thy leave. SITTAEI. I too – I too, ſ . ACT V.] NATHAN THE WISE. 205 14 SALADIN (to the TEMPLAR). My son — my Assad — my lost Assad’s son. TEMPLAR. I of thy blood — then those were more than dreams With which they used to lull my infancy – Much more. [Falls at the SULTAN’s feet. SALADIN (raising him). Now mark his malice. Something of it He knew, yet would have let me butcher him — Boy, boy! [During the silent continuance of reciprocal embraces the curtain falls. N O T E S TO N AT H A N T H E WIS E. º I. CIRCUMSTANCES OF WRITING. THE year 1879 was celebrated throughout Germany as the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of Lessing's birth, and the one hundredth of the publication of “Nathan the Wise.” Platen calls this work a tragedy; Lowell, an essay on toleration in the form of a dialogue; Professor Brandt, a dramatic poem whose subject is tolera- tion. Lessing himself called it a dramatic poem which would read well,— “the son of his old age whom polemics helped to deliver.” It came out when he was librarian at Wolfenbüttel, and toward the end of his famous and bitter theological controversies. He had been forbidden to publish further by the authorities at Brunswick, because his writings were subversive of Christianity, as Kant was told concerning his own writings sixteen years later by the Prussian. ministry. - To his dear friend Elise Reimarus, Lessing now wrote that he was going to try whether they would permit him to preach undisturbed from his old pulpit, the stage. To his brother and Moses Mendels- sohn he wrote that he had come across the sketch of an old play, made by him years ago, and that he was going to finish it in order to play a better joke on the theologians with the play than he could with ten more Fragments. He alluded to “Fragments by an Un- known One,” by Reimarus, published by himself as if found in the Wolfenbüttel library, and generally accredited to himself. A note of three hundred thalers, which became due just at this time, was the immediate incentive for commencing the work. On the 11th of August, 1778, Lessing wrote to his brother Karl : “Many years ago I sketched out a drama whose subject has a kind 208 LESSING. of analogy with the present controversies. If you and Moses think well of it, I shall have the thing printed by subscription, and you can print and distribute the enclosed announcement as soon as possible.” The announcement read: “As Lessing has been compelled to desist from a work which he has not carried on with that pious cunning with which alone it can be carried on successfully, he has been led by chance to take up an old dramatic attempt, and give it the last finishing touches.” He begged his friends to procure sub- scribers, knowing that this method of procedure alone would be profitable. He soon had twelve hundred names, and the work was printed within a few months. It is what he meant it to be, – a strong blow at intolerance; but his friends, who naturally expected something very bitter and satirical, were surprised at the mildness of its tone. Lessing's heart had been subdued and softened through his sufferings, for it was mid the ashes of a broken hearth that he wrote. II. LESSING IN NATHAN THE WISE. IN 1811, Pinkerton's Geography, an English book, mentioned only Gottsched as the representative of German literature. Yet already the great names of Goethe, Schiller, Lessing, and Richter were familiar words in German homes, – so little did England know of her continental neighbor. Lessing had even made Shakespeare highly esteemed in his own country, having declared him not only superior to Corneille and Racine, but equal to Homer. This, too, was when Shakespeare was little known or prized in England, - when Dr. Johnson, Lessing's great English contemporary, was apologizing for him, saying he was not so good in tragedy as in comedy, and pronouncing him incapable of furnishing proper entertainment to a company of refined ladies and gentlemen. Lessing was, indeed, the first in the world to proclaim the greatness of Shakespeare. Since then English-speaking people have learned of the great service done them and literature generally by the Germans. Through Scott, Carlyle, and Professor Evans they have read their works in translation. In “Nathan the Wise’’ we have Lessing's greatest dramatic work, - his swan song. Thought is the main characteristic of this drama. It enforces a lofty truth, and is full of wise and weighty sentences. It is devoted NOTES TO NATHAN THE WISE. 209 to the sentiment that all religions contain an ample basis of truth, and are capable of making man noble if he is willing to subject them to the test of good deeds and love of his neighbor. This sentiment was by no means an established one in Lessing's time. Luther had overthrown papacy, and Mendelssohn had de- stroyed the prestige of the Talmud, - both by discarding tradition ; but there was still a slavish adherence to the letter. “Lessing,” says Heine, “after Luther had freed us from tradition and exalted the Bible, emancipated from that rigid word service which followed. He taught pure deism ; ” and he taught as fearlessly as Luther. The purpose of his life, plainly reflected in the drama, was to establish liberty of thought, — the one true lesson taught by the Reformation. He wished to destroy belief in the exclusive possession of the truth. He believed it made one lazy, proud, and intolerant. From this motive he was led in his drama, which deals with Judaism, Christianity, and Mohammedanism, not to give prominence to Chris- tianity, but to make a Jew his hero, - for which he has been censured. He wrote to improve, to widen, current Christianity. Had he written to improve Mohammedanism or Judaism, he would have made Nathan a Christian. Thus unbiassed and impartial was he. From the same purpose Saladin is better in the drama than in history, and Nathan is perhaps not a type of his race. Lessing was also led to make a Jew his hero from his strong sym- pathy with the abused and despised. His intimate friend the Jewish philosopher, Moses Mendelssohn, – the German Socrates, – was ever in his mind, and he it is who speaks through Lessing in Nathan. This poor hunchback, with his beautiful eyes and grand mind, was a constant reminder of the worth of character. - - The goodness of the wise, humane, calm Nathan is also, however, the reflection of Lessing’s own life. We think of the story of Lessing and the Jew Daveson. On charge of fraudulent accounts against the deceased Duke of Brunswick, Daveson was arrested by Duke Charles of Brunswick, the former's successor, and imprisoned. Lessing boldly took his part, and secured justice for him. The poor and oppressed never failed to find a friend in Lessing. Rolleston says: “Wherever he labored he labored with the noble strenuousness and piety of one to whom every place is sacred that Truth inhabits. A manlier character there is not in the whole history of literature.” In Lessing certainly one finds the utmost purity of life combined with the widest theoretic speculation. The Germans recognize his work; and their eloquent writer Stahr pays him a grand tribute : “Reformer of our national poetry and 14 210 LESSING. literature, creator of our prose, legislator of our critical and aesthetical systems, superior in all these fields to all his contemporaries, he becomes the reformer of German philosophy and theology, and con- tinuer of the work begun by Luther; founder of the historic view of religion, great apostle of all true progress towards light in his country.” - y Lessing's essential lack of dramatic skill is evident in the play. The hero and heroine prove to be brother and sister; Recha is an enthusiast, Daja a prattler. Aside from Nathan and the quaint, inde- pendent dervish, none of the characters have convictions or individu- ality. The Templar has a cold, spiritual pride, and is inconsistent ; the Patriarch is merely a furious bigot. Such, however, is the force of the main character that we do not deplore the undeniable absence of dramatic skill. We are willing to accept Lessing the analyst and teacher, in place of the spectacular dramatist. - - *The style of the drama is well suited to the subject. Nathan dis- º plays an Oriental tranquillity and leisure. His utterance of wisdom is terse, never diffuse. There is a social quality running throughout ; º Nathan and others discuss familiarly the various questions arising between them. This, too, we are to remember, was something new 2 in drama, which formerly had dealt with remote themes. Lessing's reform was an appeal from arbitrary rules of the French stage to per- - manent principles founded in the nature of man. The ring story, which Lessing found in Boccaccio and Busone, furnishes a most beau- tiful allegory for the illustration of the central truth. As we observe that Lessing was a critic who made himself felt in every department, we are led to compare him with other contemporary critics. Voltaire at the same time was writing his anathemas against existing order, as he was also belittling and contemning Joan of Arc. Lessing, neither negative nor destructive, was inspiring the youth of Germany to a pure, high life, and Schiller was idealizing and glorify- ing the Maid of Orleans. - Dr. Johnson at the same time was analyzing and criticising English works. His life and Lessing's were at first equally hard and poor. Dr. Johnson died, however, in ease, recognized by all, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. The author of “Nathan * died poor, and was buried at public expense in an obscure churchyard, where, a few years after, Dr. Charles Schiller with great difficulty found a tombstone bearing the name of Lessing. : FABLES FROM LESSING. I. THE SWALLOW. In the earliest times the swallow was a bird as tuneful and melo- dious as the nightingale. But she soon became tired of living in the lonely thickets and of being heard and admired by no one but the busy farmer and the innocent shepherdess. She soon left her humble friends and flew to the city. What happened 2 Because in the city men had not time to hearken to her divine song, by degrees she for- got it, and learned instead — to build. II. THE EAGLE. - SoME one asked the eagle, “Why dost thou rear thy young so high in the air 7”. The eagle answered, “Would they when grown venture so near the sun if I reared them low on the earth ''' III. THE SHEPHERD AND THE NIGHTING ALE. “SING, dear nightingale,” said a shepherd to the silent singer, on a lovely spring evening. “Ah,” sighed the nightingale, “the frogs croak so loud that I lose all desire to sing. Do you not hear them?” “I hear them indeed,” replied the shepherd; “but only thy silence is at fault that I hear them.” IV. THE POSSESSOR OF THE BOW. A MAN had an excellent bow of ebony, with which he shot very far and surely. He deemed it of uncommon worth. But once, as he looked at it attentively, he spoke : “A little too heavy thou art, 212 LESSING. though. Thy whole ornament is thy polish.” “A pity; yet that may be helped,” he thought. “I will go and have the best artist carve pictures upon the bow.” - He went, and the artist carved a whole chase on the bow ; and what should have better befitted a bow than a chase ? The man was full of joy. “Thou deservest these ornaments, my dear bow.” Meanwhile he is about to try it ; he draws, and the bow — breaks. W. THE BRAZEN Colum N. THE brazen column of an excellent artist melted into a mass, from the heat of a furious conflagration. The mass came into the hands of another artist, and through his skill he made from it a new column like the first, but distinguished from it by the taste and beauty of what it represented. Enviously, the first owner saw it, and was angry. At last he reflected : “The good man would not yet have produced this passable piece of work if the material of the old column had not come to him.” VI. THE PHOENIX. AFTER many centuries it pleased the phoenix to let himself again be seen. He appeared, and all beasts and birds assembled about him. They gaped, they stared, they admired, and broke out into rapturous praise. - But soon the best and most social compassionately turned away their glances, and sighed. The unhappy phoenix | His is the hard lot to have neither loved one nor friend, for he is the only one of his kind. - VII. ZEUS AND THE HORSE. “FATHER of animals and men,” so spoke the horse, and ap- proached the throne of Zeus, “it is said I am one of the most beautiful creatures with which thou hast graced the world, and my own vanity bids me believe it. Nevertheless, might there not be something to improve upon me?” “And what thinkest thou, then, is to be improved in thee! Speak : I accept instruction,” spoke the good god, and Smiled. “Perhaps,” replied the horse, “I might be fleeter if my legs were longer and thinner; a long swan-like neck would not disfigure me; a FABLES FROM LESSING. 213 broader breast would increase my strength; and as thou hast ap- pointed me thy favorite to carry men, there might well be created upon me the saddle which the beneficent rider lays upon me.” “Good,” replied Zeus, “be patient a moment.” Zeus, with serious face, spoke the word of creation. Life arose from the dust, organized matter combined itself, and presently there stood before the throne —- the homely camel. The horse saw, shuddered, and trembled in fearful abhorrence. “Here are longer and thinner legs,” spoke Zeus; “here is a long, swan-like neck; here is a broader breast; here is the furnished saddle. Dost thou, O horse, wish that I so transform thee l’’ The horse still trembled. “Go,” continued Zeus; “this time be instructed without being punished. But to recall to thee repentantly, now and then, thy audacity, continue thou, new creature,” — Zeus cast a protecting look upon the camel, - “and let the horse never look upon thee without shuddering.” BOOKS OF REFERENCE. LIFE OF LESSING, by James Sime. LIFE OF LESSING, by Helen Zimmern. LIFE OF LESSING, by Adolf Stahr. LIFE of LEssing, by T. W. Rolleston. ESSAY ON NATHAN THE WISE, by Kuno Fischer. HouRS WITH GERMAN CLASSICs, by F. H. Hedge. * ESSAY ON LESSING, by James Russell Lowell, in “Among my Books,” Vol. I. LIFE AND WORKS OF LESSING, in “London Quarterly,” Vol. LI. THE UNSEEN WORLD, by John Fiske. 3 9015 021.96 6075