Nathan the Wise | Page 7

pinion his wild wing, when once he's taken.
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 exercised.
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. Where are you then? What mountains, deserts, torrents, Divide us now? You see me, face to face, And do not hasten to embrace your Recha. Poor Recha! she was almost burnt alive, But only--only--almost. Do not shudder! O 'tis 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 'twere 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 My angel VISIBLY on his white wing Athwart the roaring flame -
NATHAN (aside).
White wing?--oh, aye The broad white fluttering mantle of the templar.
RECHA.
Yes, visibly he bore me through the fire, O'ershadowed by his pinions.--Face to face I've seen an angel, father, my own angel.
NATHAN.
Recha deserves it, and would see in him No fairer form than he beheld in her,
RECHA.
Whom are you flattering, father--tell me now - The angel, or yourself?
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.
RECHA.
That I like to hear.
NATHAN.
Well, and although it sounds quite natural, An every day event, a simple story, That you was by a real templar saved, Is it the less a miracle? 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 -
DAYA.
Why will you then With such vain subtleties, confuse her brain Already overheated?
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?
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.
DAYA.
'Tis but report indeed, but it is said That Saladin bestowed upon this youth His gracious pardon for the strong resemblance He bore a favourite brother--dead, I think These twenty years--his name, I know it not - He fell, I don't know where--and all the story Sounds so incredible, that very likely The whole is mere invention, talk, romance.
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, 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?
DAYA.
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 head 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