Nathan the Wise

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, William Taylor

• Éditeur: Dover Publications
• Année: 2015
• ISBN:
  9780486805795
• Édition: 1
• Sujet: Littérature
• Sous-sujet: Théâtre européen

A Jewish merchant, a Muslim sultan, and a young Templar knight transcend the differences in their faiths in this play's moving plea for religious tolerance and cooperation amongst Christians, Jews, and Muslims. Set in Jerusalem during the Third Crusade, the Enlightenment-era drama explores timeless considerations that range from the nature of God to the conflict between love and duty and the importance of unity amid division and diversity.
Nathan the Wise (Nathan der Weise) was published in Germany in 1779, although its performance was forbidden by the church during the lifetime of author Gotthold Ephraim Lessing. The highly influential play had its 1783 premiere in Berlin and has since been translated into many languages and adapted for performances around the world.

ACT III.

SCENE.—A Room in Nathan’s House.

RECHA and DAYA.

RECHA. 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.

DAYA. But for the sultan’s ill-tim’d message, Nathan

Had brought him in.

RECHA. And when this moment comes,

And when this warmest inmost of my wishes

Shall be fulfill’d, 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 fulfill’d—

My wish to see thee plac’d one day in Europe

In hands well worthy of thee.

RECHA. No, thou errest—

The very thing that makes thee form this wish

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 effac’d,

Be mightier o’er thy soul, than what I hear,

See, feel, and hold, of mine?

DAYA. ’Tis vain to struggle

The ways of heaven are the ways of heaven.

Is he the destin’d saviour, by whose arm

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? 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 scatter’d 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 sow’d unmix’d,

Pure in my soul, thou ever must be seeking

To plant the weeds, or flowers, of thy own land.

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 behooves not. Latterly thy angel

Had made me half a fool. I am asham’d,

Whene’er I see my father, of the folly.

DAYA. As if here only wisdom were at home—

Folly—if I dar’d speak.

RECHA. And dar’st thou not?

When was I not all ear, if thou beganst

To talk about the heroes of thy faith?

Have I not freely on their deeds bestow’d

My admiration, to their sufferings yielded

The tribute...