And the patriarch Had cast his eye on me for this brave office?
He thinks King Philip might from Ptolemais Best second such a deed.
On me? on me? Have you not heard then, just now heard, the favour Which I received from Saladin?
The patriarch thinks—that’s mighty well— God, and the order’s interest—
No, that indeed not; But what is villainy in human eyes May in the sight of God, the patriarch thinks, Not be—
I owe my life to Saladin, And might take his?
That—fie! But Saladin, The patriarch thinks, is yet the common foe Of Christendom, and cannot earn a right To be your friend.
My friend—because I will not Behave like an ungrateful scoundrel to him.
Yet gratitude, the patriarch thinks, is not A debt before the eye of God or man, Unless for our own sakes the benefit Had been conferred; and, it has been reported, The patriarch understands that Saladin Preserved your life merely because your voice, Your air, or features, raised a recollection Of his lost brother.
He knows this? and yet— If it were sure, I should—ah, Saladin! How! and shall nature then have formed in me A single feature in thy brother’s likeness, With nothing in my soul to answer to it? Or what does correspond shall I suppress To please a patriarch? So thou dost not cheat us, Nature—and so not contradict Thyself, Kind God of all.—Go, brother, go away: Do not stir up my anger.
I withdraw More gladly than I came. We cloister-folk Are forced to vow obedience to superiors.
The monk, methinks, left him in no good mood: But I must risk my message.
Better still The proverb says that monks and women are The devil’s clutches; and I’m tossed to-day From one to th’ other.
Whom do I behold?— Thank God! I see you, noble knight, once more. Where have you lurked this long, long space? You’ve not Been ill?
We’ve all been anxious Lest something ailed you.
Our Recha’s father too is just returned, And now may Recha hope at last—
For what she often has requested of you. Her father pressingly invites your visit. He now arrives from Babylon, with twenty High-laden camels, brings the curious drugs, And precious stones, and stuffs, he has collected From Syria, Persia, India, even China.
His nation honours him, As if he were a prince, and yet to hear him Called the _wise_ Nathan by them, not the _rich_, Has often made me wonder.