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Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts. Gotthold Ephraim LessingЧитать онлайн книгу.

Nathan the Wise; a dramatic poem in five acts - Gotthold Ephraim Lessing


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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.

      NATHAN.

      And him? What him?

      DAYA.

      With him, who from the fire

       Preserved her life,

      NATHAN.

      Who was it? Where is he,

       That saved my Recha for me?

      DAYA.

      A young templar,

       Brought hither captive a few days ago,

       And pardoned by the Sultan.

      NATHAN.

      How, a templar Dismissed with life by Saladin. In truth, Not a less miracle was to preserve her, God!—God!—

      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?

      NATHAN.

      Not?

      DAYA.

      He came, he went, we know not whence, or whither.

       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

       By our loud warmth of thanks, he left his booty,

       Struggled into the crowd, and disappeared.

      NATHAN.

      But not for ever, Daya, I would hope.

      DAYA.

      For some days after, underneath you 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—

      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,

       And busy fancy, meddling in the fray,

       Weaves wild enthusiasms to her dazzled spirit,

       Now clothing Passion in the garb of Reason,

       And Reason now in Passion’s—do I err?

       This last is Recha’s fate—Romantic notions—

      DAYA.

      Aye; but such pious, lovely, sweet, illusions.

      NATHAN.

      Illusions though.

      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 ’tis—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.

      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.


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