William Taylor, the translator of Lessing’s “Nathan the Wise;” was born in 1765, the son of a rich merchant at Norwich, from whose business he was drawn away by his strong bent towards literature. His father yielded to his wishes, after long visits to France and to Germany, in days astir with the new movements of thought, that preceded and followed the French Revolution. He formed a close friendship with Southey, edited for a little time a “Norwich Iris,” and in his later years became known especially for his Historic Survey of German Poetry, which included his translations, and among them this of “Nathan the Wise.” It was published in 1830, Taylor died in 1836. Thomas Carlyle, in reviewing William Taylor’s Survey of German Poetry, said of the author’s own translations in it “compared with the average of British translations, they may be pronounced of almost ideal excellence; compared with the best translations extant, for example, the German Shakespeare, Homer, Calderon, they may still be called better than indifferent. One great merit Mr. Taylor has: rigorous adherence to his original; he endeavours at least to copy with all possible fidelity the term of praise, the tone, the very metre, whatever stands written for him.”

H. M.

“Introite nam et heic Dii sunt!”—Apud Gellium.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Saladin, the Sultan.

Sittah, his Sister.

Nathan, a rich Jew.

Recha, his adopted Daughter.

Daya, a Christian Woman dwelling with the Jew a companion to Recha.

Conrade, a young Templar.

Hafi, a Dervis.

Athanasios, the Patriarch of Palestine.

Bonafides, a Friar.

An Emir, sundry Mamalukes, Slaves, &c.

The Scene is at Jerusalem

ACT I

Scene.—A Hall in Nathan’s House

Nathan, in a travelling dress, Daya meeting him

DAYA

’Tis 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? Did I intend, Or was it possible to come back sooner? As I was forced to travel, out and in, ’Tis a long hundred leagues to Babylon; And to get in one’s debts is no employment, That speeds a traveller.

DAYA

O Nathan, Nathan, How miserable you had nigh become During this little absence; for your house—

NATHAN

Well, ’twas on fire; I have already heard it. God grant I may have heard the whole, that chanced!

DAYA

’Twas on the point of burning to the ground.

NATHAN

Then we’d have built another, and a better.

DAYA

True!—But thy Recha too was on the point Of perishing amid the flames.

NATHAN

Of perishing? 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.

DAYA

Were she no more, from me you would not hear it.

NATHAN

Why then alarm me?—Recha, O my Recha!

DAYA

Your Recha? Yours?

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

Nought by a better. What I else enjoy Nature and Fortune gave—this treasure, Virtue.

DAYA

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—

DAYA

I say, my conscience—

NATHAN

What a charming silk I bought for you in Babylon! ’Tis rich, Yet elegantly rich. I almost doubt If I have brought a prettier for Recha.

DAYA

And what of that—I tell you that my conscience Will no be longer hushed.

NATHAN

And I have bracelets, And earrings, and a necklace, which will charm you. I chose them at Damascus.

DAYA

That’s your way:— If you can but make presents—but make presents.—

NATHAN

Take you as freely as I give—and cease.

DAYA

And cease?—Who questions, Nathan, but that you are Honour and generosity in person;— Yet—

NATHAN

Yet I’m but a Jew.—That was your meaning.

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?

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.

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.

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