Part 18
It cannot be for pastime that this man Follows me thus. See how he eyes my hands! Good brother--or, perhaps I should say, father!
FRIAR.
No, brother; a lay brother, at your service.
TEMPLAR.
Well, brother, then, if I had anything-- But truly I have nothing----
FRIAR.
Thanks the same! God will reward your purpose thousandfold. The will and not the deed perfects the giver. Nor was I sent to follow you for alms.
TEMPLAR.
Sent?
FRIAR.
From the convent.
TEMPLAR.
Where I even now Was hoping to partake a pilgrim's fare.
FRIAR.
'Tis meal--time now, the tables all are full; But if it please you, we will turn together.
TEMPLAR.
No matter, though I have not tasted meat For many days; these dates, you see, are ripe.
FRIAR.
Be sparing of that fruit, sir, for too much Is hurtful, sours the blood, and makes one sad.
TEMPLAR.
And what if sadness suits me? Though, methinks, 'Twas not to give this warning that you came.
FRIAR.
Oh, no! my mission was to question you-- To feel your pulse a little.
TEMPLAR.
And you tell This tale yourself?
FRIAR.
Why not?
TEMPLAR.
An artful soul! (_aside_). And has the convent many more like you?
FRIAR.
I know not. Mere obedience is my duty.
TEMPLAR.
And you obey without much questioning.
FRIAR.
Could it be rightly termed obedience else?
TEMPLAR.
The simple mind is ever in the right.--(_aside_). But will you not inform me who it is That wishes to know more of me? Not you, I dare be sworn.
FRIAR.
Would such a wish become Or profit me?
TEMPLAR.
Whom would it then become Or profit to be thus inquisitive?
FRIAR.
Perhaps the Patriarch--'twas he that sent.
TEMPLAR.
The Patriarch? and does he know my badge So ill?--The red cross on the snow-white robe.
FRIAR.
Why? I know that.
TEMPLAR.
Well, brother, hear me out. I am a Templar--and a prisoner now. Made captive with some others at Tebnin, Whose fortress we had almost ta'en by storm Just as the truce expired. Our hopes had been To threaten Sidon next. Of twenty knights Made prisoners there together, I alone Was pardoned by command of Saladin. The Patriarch now knows what he requires, And more than he requires.
FRIAR.
And yet no more Than he had learned already. He would ask Why you, of all the captives doomed to die, Alone were spared?
TEMPLAR.
Can I myself tell that? Already with bare neck I had knelt down Upon my mantle, to await the stroke, When Saladin with steadfast eye surveys me. Nearer he draws--he makes a sign--they raise me-- I am unbound--I would express my thanks-- I mark the tear-drop glisten in his eye-- We both stand mute--he turns and leaves the spot-- I stay. And now, how all this hangs together, The Patriarch must explain.
FRIAR.
The Patriarch thinks That Heaven preserved you for some mighty deed.
TEMPLAR.
Some mighty deed? To rescue from the flames A Jewish maid! To lead to Sinai's mount Bands of inquiring pilgrims--and the like!
FRIAR.
The time may come for more important tasks: Perhaps the Patriarch has already planned Some mighty business for you.
TEMPLAR.
Think you so? Has he already given you a hint?
FRIAR.
Yes--but my task is first to sift a little, To see if you are one to undertake----
TEMPLAR.
Well--sift away? (We'll see how this man sifts).
FRIAR.
The better course will be to name at once What is the Patriarch's desire.
TEMPLAR.
It is----?
FRIAR.
To make you bearer of a letter.
TEMPLAR.
Me? I am no carrier. Is that the office More meritorious than to save from death A Jewish maid?
FRIAR.
So, truly, it would seem. The Patriarch says that this little note Involves the general weal of Christendom, And that to bear it to its destined hand, Safely, will merit a peculiar crown From Heaven--and of that crown, the Patriarch Says none can worthier be than you.
TEMPLAR.
Than I!
FRIAR.
You have your liberty--can look around; You understand how cities may be stormed, And how defended, says the Patriarch; You know the strength and weakness of the towers, And of the inner rampart lately reared By Saladin, and you could point out all To the Lord's champions fully.
TEMPLAR.
May I know Exactly the contents of this same letter?
FRIAR.
Of that I am not quite informed myself. 'Tis to King Philip; and our Patriarch-- I often wonder how that holy man, Whose every thought would seem absorbed by Heaven, Can stoop to earthly things, and how his mind Can be so deeply skilled in human lore----
TEMPLAR.
Well, then, your Patriarch----
FRIAR.
Exactly knows From secret sources, how, and with what force, And in what quarter, should the war break out, The foe and Saladin will take the field.
TEMPLAR.
Knows he so much?
FRIAR.
Ay, truly! and he longs To send the urgent tidings to King Philip, That he may better calculate if now The danger be so great, as to demand At every hazard that he should renew The truce so boldly broken by the Templars.
TEMPLAR.
The noble Patriarch! He seeks in me No common herald, but the meanest spy. Therefore, good brother, tell your Patriarch, That I am not--as far as you can sift-- The man to suit his ends. I hold myself A captive still. I know a Templar's duty: Ready to die, not live to play the spy.
FRIAR.
I thought as much. Nor can I censure you For your resolve. The best has still to come. Our Patriarch has learnt the very fort, Its name, its strength, its site on Lebanon, Wherein those countless treasures are concealed, Wherewith the Sultan's prudent father pays His troops, and all the heavy costs of war. He knows that Saladin, from time to time, Visits this fortress, by some secret way, With but a few attendants.
TEMPLAR.
Well! what then?
FRIAR.
'Twould be an easy task, methinks, to seize The Sultan thus defenceless--and to end him. You shudder, knight! Two monks who fear the Lord, Are ready now to undertake the task, And wait a leader.
TEMPLAR.
And the Patriarch Has pitched on me to do this noble deed?
FRIAR.
He thinks King Philip might from Ptolemais Give aid in the design.
TEMPLAR.
Has pitched on me! On me!--Say, brother, have you never heard The boundless debt I owe to Saladin?
FRIAR.
Truly I have.
TEMPLAR.
And yet----
FRIAR.
The Patriarch Says that is very well; but yet your order, And vows to God----
TEMPLAR.
Change nothing; they command No villainy.
FRIAR.
No. But the Patriarch Says what seems villainy to human eyes, May not appear so in the sight of God.
TEMPLAR.
Brother, I owe my life to Saladin, And his shall my hand take?
FRIAR.
Oh, no!--But yet The Patriarch maintains that Saladin, Who is the common foe of Christendom, Can never have a claim to be your friend.
TEMPLAR.
My friend? forsooth! because I will not be A thankless wretch to him!
FRIAR.
'Tis so!--But yet The Patriarch thinks gratitude is not Before the eyes of God or man, a debt, Unless, for our own sakes, some benefit Has been conferred; and, says the Patriarch, It is affirmed the Sultan spared your life Merely because your voice, your look, your air, Awoke a recollection of his brother----
TEMPLAR.
He knows all this, and yet?----Ah, were it true! And, Saladin, could Nature form in me A single feature in thy brother's likeness, With nothing in my soul to answer it? Or what does correspond, shall I belie To please a Patriarch? No, surely Nature Could never lie so basely! Nor, kind God, Couldst thou so contradict Thyself! Go, brother, And do not rouse my anger.
FRIAR.
I withdraw More gladly than I came. And, pardon me: A monk's first duty, sir, is to obey.
Scene VI.--_The_ Templar _and_ Daja.
(_She has been watching him from afar and now approaches_.)
DAJA.
Methinks the monk left him in no good mood, But, spite of that, I must my errand risk.
TEMPLAR.
This hits exactly. As the proverb goes, Women and monks are ever Satan's tools, And I to-day am subject to them both.
DAJA.
Whom do I see? Thank God, our noble knight. Where have you been so long? Not ill, I hope?
TEMPLAR.
No.
DAJA.
In good health?
TEMPLAR.
Yes.
DAJA.
We have all been grieved Lest something should have ailed you. Have you been Upon a journey?
TEMPLAR.
Fairly guessed.
DAJA.
Since when Have you returned to us?
TEMPLAR.
Since yesterday.
DAJA.
Our Recha's father, too, is just returned, And now may Recha hope at last.
TEMPLAR.
For what?
DAJA.
For what she has so often asked in vain. Her father pressingly invites you too. He lately has arrived from Babylon With twenty camels, bearing precious stones, And stuffs and fragrant spices, which he sought In India, Persia, Syria, and China.
TEMPLAR.
I am no merchant.
DAJA.
He is much esteemed By all his nation--honoured as a prince-- And yet to hear how he is named by all Nathan _the Wise_, and not _the Rich_, seems strange. It often makes me wonder.
TEMPLAR.
But to them It may be, _wise_ and rich--both mean the same.
DAJA.
It seems to me he should be called _the Good_, So rich a store of goodness dwells in him. Since he has learned the weighty debt he owes For service done to Recha there is nought He would withhold from you.
TEMPLAR.
Well?
DAJA.
Try him, sir!
TEMPLAR.
What then? A moment passes soon away.
DAJA.
I had not dwelt with him so many years Were he less kind. I know a Christian's worth, And it was never o'er my cradle sung That I to Palestine should wend my way, Following a husband's steps, to educate A Jewish maid. My husband was a page, A noble page, in Emperor Frederick's court----
TEMPLAR.
By birth a Swiss, who earned the sorry fame Of drowning in one river with his lord. Woman! how often have you told this tale? When will you cease to persecute me thus?
DAJA.
To persecute you!
TEMPLAR.
Ay, to persecute! Now mark me. I will never see you more, Hear you, nor be reminded of a deed Performed at random. When I think of it, I wonder somewhat, though I ne'er repent. But hear me still. Should such a fatal chance Again occur, you have yourself to blame If I proceed more calmly, question first. And let what's burning, burn.
DAJA.
Great God forbid!
TEMPLAR.
And now I have a favour to implore. Know me henceforth no more. Grant me this grace, And save me from her father; for with me A Jew's a Jew; a Swabian blunt am I. The image of the maid is now erased Out of my soul--if it was ever there.
DAJA.
But yours remains with her.
TEMPLAR.
Well, and what then?
DAJA.
Who knows? Men are not always what they seem.
TEMPLAR.
They're seldom better. (_Going_.)
DAJA.
Stay a little while. What need of haste?
TEMPLAR.
Woman! forbear to make These palm--trees odious: I have loved their shade.
DAJA.
Then go, thou German bear! Yet I must follow him. (_She follow him at a distance_.)
ACT II.
Scene I.--_The Sultan's Palace_.
Saladin and Sittah (_playing at chess_).
SITTAH.
Where are your thoughts? How ill you play, dear brother!
SALADIN.
Not well in truth--and yet I thought----
SITTAH.
Oh, yes! You're playing well for me; take back that move.
SALADIN.
Why? SITTAH.
Don't you see you leave your knight exposed?
SALADIN.
Ay, true!--then so.
SITTAH.
And now I take your pawn.
SALADIN.
That's true again, dear Sittah! Well, then, check!
SITTAH.
That will not help you--I protect my king, And all is safe again.
SALADIN.
Well, out of this Dilemma 'tis not easy to escape. I cannot save the knight.
SITTAH.
I pass him by; I will not take him.
SALADIN.
Well, I owe you nothing; The place you gain is better than the piece. SITTAH.
Perhaps. SALADIN.
But reckon not without your host; You did not see that move.
SITTAH.
Not I, indeed; I did not think you weary of your queen.
SALADIN.
My queen! SITTAH.
Well, well! I see that I to-day Shall win my thousand dinars and no more.
SALADIN.
Why so? SITTAH.
Why so? Because designedly You lose the game! You vex me, Saladin! I find no pleasure in a game like this. And even when I lose, I come off well; For, to console me for the games you win, You force me to accept a double stake.
SALADIN.
In that case, then, it may be by design That you have sometimes lost. Is that the truth?
SITTAH.
At least your generosity's to blame That I improve so little in my play.
SALADIN.
But we forget the game; come, finish it.
SITTAH.
Well, 'tis my move; now, check to king and queen!
SALADIN.
Indeed! I did not see the double check. I lose my queen.
SITTAH.
Let's see! Can it be helped?
SALADIN.
No, take the queen--I have no luck with her.
SITTAH.
Only with her? SALADIN.
Remove her from the board, I shall not miss her. Now I am right again.
SITTAH.
I know from lessons which yourself have taught How courteously we should behave to queens. (_Offering to restore the piece_.)
SALADIN.
Take her or not, I shall not move her more.
SITTAH.
Why need I take her? Check, and check!
SALADIN.
Go on. SITTAH.
Check, check, and check again!
SALADIN.
'Tis checkmate now.
SITTAH.
Hold!--no, not yet. You may advance the knight, And ward the danger. But 'twill be the same.
SALADIN.
You are the winner, and Al-Hafi pays. Let him be called, Sittah! You were not wrong. My thoughts were wandering--were not in the game, But who gives us so oft these shapeless bits Of wood? which speak of naught--suggest no thought. Was it with Iman that I've played--Well, well, Ill-luck is ever wont to seek excuse. Not the unmeaning squares or shapeless men Have made me heedless; your dexterity, Your calm, sharp eye, dear Sittah!
SITTAH.
What of that? Is that to blunt the sting of your defeat? Enough--your thoughts were wandering more than mine.
SALADIN.
Than yours? What subject could engage your thoughts?
SITTAH.
Far different cares than those which trouble you. But, Saladin, say, when shall we again Resume this pleasant pastime?
SALADIN.
Dearest Sittah, This interruption will but whet our zeal. Your thoughts are on the war: well, let it come-- 'Twas not my arm that first unsheathed the sword; I would have willingly prolonged the truce, And willingly have knit a tender bond, For Sittah's sake, with Richard's noble brother.
SITTAH.
How pleased you are, can you but praise your Richard.
SALADIN.
If Richard's sister had but been bestowed Upon our brother Melek, what a house Had then been ours! the best, the happiest The earth could boast. You know I am not slow To praise myself: I'm worthy of my friends. What men these unions would have given us!
SITTAH.
Did I not smile at once at your fine dreams? You do not, will not, know the Christian race. It is their pride not to be men, but Christians. The virtue which their founder felt and taught, The charity He mingled with their creed, Is valued, not because it is humane, And good, and lovely, but for this alone, That it was Christ who taught it, Christ who did it. 'Tis well for them He was so good a man, Well that they take His goodness all on trust, And in His virtues put their faith. His virtues! 'Tis not His virtues, but His name alone They wish to thrust upon us--His mere name, Which they desire should overspread the world, Should swallow up the name of all good men, And put the rest to shame. 'Tis for His name Alone they care.
SALADIN.
Else, Sittah, as you say, They would not have required that you and Melek Should be called Christians, ere they suffered you To feel for Christians the pure flame of love.
SITTAH.
As if from Christians, and from them alone, That love can be expected, which the hand Of our Creator gives to man and wife.
SALADIN.
Christians believe such vain absurdities, That this may be among them. And yet, Sittah, The Templars, not the Christians, are in this To blame. 'Tis they alone who thwart my plans; 'Tis they who still hold Acca, pledged to us By treaty as the dower of Richard's sister. And, to maintain their order's interests, They use this cant--the nonsense of the monk. Scarce would they wait until the truce expired To fall upon us. But, go on, good sirs! Would that all else may thrive as well as this!
SITTAH.
Why, what else troubles you? What other care Have you to struggle with?
SALADIN.
That constant grief-- I've been to Lebanon, and seen our father. He's full of care.
SITTAH.
Alas!
SALADIN.
He must give way. Straitened on every side, no aid, no help, Nothing comes in.
SITTAH.
What ails him, Saladin?
SALADIN.
The only thing that I am loth to name, Which, when I have it, so superfluous seems, And, when I have it not, so necessary. Where is Al-Hafi? Have they gone for him? Will no one go? Oh, fatal, cursed money! Welcome, Al-Hafi! You are come at last.
Scene II.
_The_ Dervise Al-Hafi, Saladin, _and_ Sittah.
AL-HAFI.
The gold from Egypt, I suppose, is come. Say, is it much?
SALADIN.
What! have you heard of it?
AL-HAFI.
Not I. I thought I should receive it here.
SALADIN (_pacing thoughtfully to and fro_).
Sittah has won a thousand dinars, pay them.
AL-HAFI.
Pay without getting. That is worse than nothing! And still to Sittah--once again for chess! But let us see the board; how stands the game?
SITTAH.
You grudge me my good fortune?
AL-HAFI (_examining the board_).
Grudge you? When-- You know too well----
SITTAH (_making signs to him_).
Oh, hush! Al-Hafi, hush!
AL-HAFI (_still examining the board_).
Don't grudge it to yourself.
SITTAH.
Al-Hafi, hush!
AL-HAFI.
And were the white men yours? You gave the check?
SITTAH.
'Tis well he does not hear.
AL-HAFI.
The move is his.
SITTAH (_approaching nearer_).
Then promise me that I shall have the money.
AL-HAFI (_still intent upon the board_).
You shall receive it as you've always done.
SITTAH.
How! are you mad?
AL-HAFI.
The game's not over yet. You have not lost it, Saladin.
SALADIN (_paying no attention_).
Oh, yes; Pay down the money.
AL-HAFI.
Pay! here stands the queen.
SALADIN (_still heedless_).
She's of no use; she's lost.
SITTAH.
Do say that I May send and fetch the gold.
AL-HAFI (_still studying the game_).
Oh, yes! of course. But though the queen be lost, you are not mate.
SALADIN (_dashing down the board_).
I say I am. I will be mate.
AL-HAFI.
If so, Small pains, small gains, say I. So got, so spent.
SALADIN.
What is he muttering there?
SITTAH (_to_ Saladin, _making a sign meanwhile to_ Al-Hafi).
You know him well. He likes entreaties--loves to be implored. Who knows if he be not a little jealous?
SALADIN.
Well, not of thee--not of my sister, surely. What do I hear? Al-Hafi, are you jealous?
AL-HAFI.
Perhaps I am. I wish I had her head, Or that I were as good as she.
SITTAH.
My brother, He always pays me fairly, and to-day He'll do the same. Let him alone. Now go! Al-Hafi! go! I'll have the money----
AL-HAFI.
No, not I. I'll act this farce no more. He must know soon.
SALADIN.
Who? what? SITTAH.
Al-Hafi! say, is this your promise? Is't thus you keep your word?
AL-HAFI.
Could I foresee That it would come to this?
SALADIN.
Well, tell me all.
SITTAH.
Al-Hafi! I implore you, be discreet.
SALADIN.
'Tis very strange; and what can Sittah have So earnestly to sue for, from a stranger-- A Dervise--rather than from me, her brother? Al-Hafi, I command you. Dervise, speak.
SITTAH.
Let not a trifle touch my brother nearer Than is becoming, for you know that I Have often won as much from you at chess. But as I stand in little need of gold, I've left the money in Al-Hafi's chest, Which is not over full; but never fear, It is not my intention to bestow My wealth on either of you.
AL-HAFI.
Were this all!
SITTAH.
Some more such trifles are perhaps unclaimed: My own allowance, which you set apart Has lain some months untouched.
AL-HAFI.
Nor is this all.
SALADIN.
Then tell the whole.
AL-HAFI.
Whilst we've been waiting for The gold from Egypt, she----
SITTAH.
Nay, hear him not.
AL-HAFI.
Not only has had nothing,----
SALADIN.
Dearest sister I-- But also has been lending it to you?
AL-HAFI.
Ay! at her sole expense maintained your state.
SALADIN (_embracing her_).
So like my sister!
SITTAH.
Who but you, my brother, Could make me rich enough to have the power?
AL-HAFI.
And soon he'll make her once again as poor As he is now.
SALADIN.
I poor! her brother poor! When had I more--when had I less than now? A cloak, a horse, a sabre, and my God! What need I else? and these ne'er can I lack. And yet, Al-Hafi, I could scold you now.
SITTAH.
Nay, brother, do not scold. I would that I Could thus also relieve our father's cares!
SALADIN.
Ah! now my joy has vanished all at once. We can want nothing; but he's destitute. And whilst he wants, we all are poor indeed. What shall I do? From Egypt we can hope For nothing--though God only knows the cause. 'Tis general peace around, and as for me, I could live sparingly, reduce, retrench, If none else suffered; but 'twould not avail. A cloak, a horse, a sword I ne'er can want. As to my God, He is not to be bought. He asks but little, only asks my heart. I had relied, Al-Hafi, on your chest, Upon the surplus there.
AL-HAFI.
A surplus there! Say, should I not have been impaled or hanged, If I had been detected hoarding up A surplus? Deficits I might have ventured.
SALADIN.
Well, but what next? Could you have found out none To borrow from, but Sittah?
SITTAH.
And would I Have borne it, had another been preferred? I claim that privilege. I am not yet Quite beggared.
SALADIN.
No, not quite. Dear Sittah, this Alone was wanting. But, Al-Hafi, go, Inquire about, take where and what you can; Borrow on promise, contract, anyhow; But, mark me, not from those I have enriched. 'Twould seem as if I wished to have it back. Go to the covetous. They gladliest lend. They know how well their money thrives with me.
AL-HAFI.
I know of none. SITTAH.
I recollect just now, I heard, Al-Hafi, of your friend's return.
AL-HAFI (_starting_).
Friend! friend of mine! and who can that be, pray?
SITTAH.
Your boasted Jew.
AL-HAFI.
A Jew! and praised by me!
SITTAH.
On whom his God--I think I recollect The very words you used, as touching him-- On whom his God, of all the choicest goods Of earth, in full abundance, has bestowed The greatest and the least.
AL-HAFI.
What could I mean
When I said so?
SITTAH.
The least of good things--wealth. The greatest--wisdom!
AL-HAFI.
How! and of a Jew Did I say that?
SITTAH.
Ay, that you did--of Nathan.
AL-HAFI.
Oh, true! of Nathan--yes! He did not now Occur to me. But he's returned at last, Then do not doubt that he's well off. He's called The Wise, the Rich, by all the Jewish folk.
SITTAH.
Now more than ever is he named the Rich. The town resounds with news of costly stuffs And priceless treasures he has brought with him.
AL-HAFI.