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Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
A Drama in Four Acts | 1 |
HENRY VAN DYKE | 1 |
THE HOUSE OF RIMMON | 1 |
ACT I | 1 |
SCENE II. | 6 |
ACT II | 13 |
ACT III | 17 |
SCENE I | 17 |
SCENE II. [*] | 22 |
ACT IV | 23 |
SCENE II | 26 |
by
[Frontispiece: “Behold the sacrifice! Bow down, bow down!”]
New York
Charles Scribner’s Sons
1908
Copyright, 1908, by
Henry Van Dyke
All rights reserved
Published in October
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Benhadad: King of Damascus.
Rezon: High Priest of the House of Rimmon.
Saballidin: A Noble of Damascus.
Hazael )
Izdubhar ) Courtiers of Damascus.
Rakhaz )
Shumakim: The King’s Fool.
Elisha: Prophet of Israel.
Naaman: Captain of the Armies of Damascus.
Ruahmah: A Captive Maid of Israel.
Tsarpi: Wife to Naaman.
Khamma )
NUBTA ) Attendants of Tsarpi.
Soldiers, Servants, Citizens, etc., etc.
Scene: Damascus and the Mountains of Samaria.
Time: 850 B. C.
SCENE I
Night, in the garden of NAAMAN at Damascus. At the left, on a slightly raised terrace, the palace, with softly gleaming lights and music coming from the open latticed windows. The garden is full of oleanders, roses, pomegranates, abundance of crimson flowers; the air is heavy with their fragrance: a fountain at the right is plashing gently: behind it is an arbour covered with vines. Near the centre of the garden stands a small, hideous image of the god Rimmon. Back of the arbour rises the lofty square tower of the House of Rimmon, which casts a shadow from the moon across the garden. The background is a wide, hilly landscape, with a high road passing over the mountains toward the snow-clad summits of Mount Hermon in the distance. Enter by the palace door, the lady TSARPI, robed in red and gold, and followed by her maids, KHAMMA and NUBTA. She remains on the terrace: they go down into the garden, looking about, and returning to her.
Khamma:
There’s no one here; the garden
is asleep.
NUBTA:
The flowers are nodding, all the birds
abed,
And nothing wakes except the watchful
stars!
Khamma:
The stars are sentinels discreet and mute:
How many things they know and never tell!
Tsarpi: [Impatiently.]
Unlike the stars, how many things you
tell
And do not know! When comes your
master home?
NUBTA:
Lady, his armour-bearer brought us word
An hour ago, the master will be here
At moonset, not before.
Tsarpi:
He haunts the camp
And leaves me much alone; yet I can pass
The time of absence not unhappily,
If I but know the time of his return.
An hour of moonlight yet! Khamma,
my mirror!
These curls are ill arranged, this veil
too low,—
So,—that is better, careless
maids! Withdraw,—
But warn me if your master should appear.
Khamma:
Mistress, have no concern; for when we
hear
The clatter of his horse along the street,
We’ll run this way and lead your
dancers down
With song and laughter,—you
shall know in time.
[Exeunt KHAMMA and NUBTA, laughing. TSARPI descends the steps.]
Tsarpi:
My guest is late; but he will surely come!
Hunger and thirst will bring him to my
feet.
The man who burns to drain the cup of
love,—
The priest whose greed of glory never
fails,—
Both, both have need of me, and he will
come.
And I,—what do I need?
Why everything
That helps my beauty to a higher throne;
All that a priest can promise, all a man
Can give, and all a god bestow, I need:
This may a woman win, and this will I.
[Enter REZON quietly from the shadow of the trees. He stands behind TSARPI and listens, smiling, to her last words. Then he drops his mantle of leopard-skin, and lifts his high-priest’s rod of bronze, shaped at one end like a star, at the other like a thunderbolt.]
Rezon:
Tsarpi!
Tsarpi:
The mistress of
the house of Naaman
Salutes the keeper of the House of Rimmon.
[She bows low before him.]
Rezon:
Rimmon receives you with his star of peace;
[He lowers the star-point of the rod, which glows for a moment with rosy light above her head.]
And I, his chosen minister, kneel down
Before your regal beauty, and implore
The welcome of the woman for the man.
Tsarpi: [Giving him her hand, but holding
off his embrace.]
Thus Tsarpi welcomes Rezon! Nay,
no more!
Till I have heard what errand brings you
here
By night, within the garden of the man
Who hates you most and fears you least
in all Damascus.
Rezon: [Rising, and speaking angrily.]
Trust me, I repay his scorn
With double hatred,—Naaman,
the man
Whom the King honours and the people love,
Who stands against the nobles and the
priests,
Against the oracles of Rimmon’s
House,
And cries, “We’ll fight to
keep Damascus free!”
This powerful fool, this impious devotee
Of liberty, who loves the city more
Than he reveres the city’s ancient
god:
This frigid husband who sets you below
His dream of duty to a horde of slaves:
This man I hate, and I will humble him.
Tsarpi:
I think I hate him too. He stands
apart
From me, ev’n while he holds me
in his arms,
By something that I cannot understand,
Nor supple to my will, nor melt with tears,
Nor quite dissolve with blandishments,
although
He swears he loves his wife next to his
honour!
Next? That’s too low!
I will be first or nothing.
Rezon:
With me you are the first, the absolute!
When you and I have triumphed you shall
reign;
And you and I will bring this hero down.
Tsarpi:
But how? For he is strong.
Rezon:
By
these, the eyes
Of Tsarpi; and by this, the rod of Rimmon.
Tsarpi:
Speak clearly; tell your plan.
Rezon:
You
know the host
Of the Assyrian king has broken forth
Again to conquer us. Envoys have
come
From Shalmaneser to demand surrender.
Our king Benhadad wavers, for he knows
His weakness. All the nobles, all
the rich,
Would purchase peace that they may grow
more rich:
Only the people and the soldiers, led
By Naaman, would fight for liberty.
Blind fools! To-day the envoys came
to pay
Their worship to our god, whom they adore
In Nineveh as Asshur’s brother-god.
They talked with me in secret. Promises,
Great promises! For every noble
house
That urges peace, a noble recompense:
The king, submissive, kept in royal state
And splendour: most of all, honour
and wealth
Shall crown the House of Rimmon, and his
priest,—
Yea, and his priestess. For we two
will rise
Upon the city’s fall. The
common folk
Shall suffer; Naaman shall sink with them
In wreck; but I shall rise, and you shall
rise
Above me! You shall climb, through
incense-smoke,
And days of pomp, and nights of revelry,
Glorious rites and ecstasies of love,
Unto the topmost room in Rimmon’s
tower,
The secret, lofty room, the couch of bliss,
And the divine embraces of the god.
Tsarpi: [Throwing out her arms in exultation.]
All, all I wish! What must I do
for this?
Rezon:
Turn Naaman away from thoughts of war;
Or purchase him with love’s delights
to yield
This point,—I care not how,—and
afterwards
The future shall be ours.
Tsarpi:
And
if I fail?
Rezon:
I have another shaft. The last appeal,
Before the king decides, is to the oracle
Of Rimmon. You shall read the signs!
A former priestess of his temple, you
Shall be the interpreter of heaven, and
speak
A word to melt this brazen soldier’s
heart
Within his breast.
Tsarpi:
But
if it flame instead?
Rezon:
I know the way to quench that flame.
The cup,
The parting cup your hand shall give to
him!
What if the curse of Rimmon should infect
That wine with sacred venom, secretly
To work within his veins, week after week
Corrupting all the currents of his blood,
Dimming his eyes, wasting his flesh?
What then?
Would he prevail in war? Would he
come back
To glory, or to shame? What think
you?
Tsarpi:
I?
I do not think; I only do my part.
But can the gods bless this?
Rezon:
The
gods can bless
Whatever they decree; their will makes
right;
And this is for the glory of the house
Of Rimmon,—and for thee, my
queen. Come, come!
The night grows dark: we’ll
perfect our alliance.
[REZON draws her with him, embracing her, through the shadows of the garden. RUAHMAH, who has been sleeping in the arbour, has been awakened during the dialogue, and has been dimly visible in her white dress, behind the vines. She parts them and comes out, pushing back her long, dark hair from her temples.]
RUAHMAH:
What have I heard? O God, what shame
is this
Plotted beneath Thy pure and silent stars!
Was it for this that I was brought away
Captive from Israel’s blessed hills
to serve
A heathen mistress in a land of lies?
Ah, treacherous, shameful priest!
Ah, shameless wife
Of one too noble to suspect thy guilt!
The very greatness of his generous heart
Betrays him to their hands. What
can I do?
Nothing,—a slave,—hated
and mocked by all
My fellow-slaves! O bitter prison-life!
I smother in this black, betraying air
Of lust and luxury; I faint beneath
The shadow of this House of Rimmon.
God
Have mercy! Lead me out to Israel.
To Israel!
[Music and laughter heard within the palace. The doors fly open and a flood of men and women, dancers, players, flushed with wine, dishevelled, pour down the steps, KHAMMA and NUBTA with them. They crown the image with roses and dance around it. RUAHMAH is discovered crouching beside the arbour. They drag her out before the image.]
NUBTA:
Look!
Here’s the Hebrew maid,—
She’s homesick; let us comfort her!
KHAMMA: [They put their arms around her.]
Yes, dancing is the cure for homesickness.
We’ll make her dance.
RUAHMAH: [She slips away.]
I pray you, let me go!
I cannot dance, I do not know your measures.
KHAMMA:
Then sing for us,—a song of
Israel!
RUAHMAH:
How can I sing the songs of Israel
In this strange country? O my heart
would break
With grief in every note of that dear
music.
A SERVANT:
A stubborn and unfriendly maid!
We’ll whip her.
[They circle around her, striking her with rose-branches; she sinks to her knees, covering her face with her bare arms, which bleed.]
NUBTA:
Look, look! She kneels to Rimmon,
she is tamed.
RUAHMAH: [Springing up and lifting her arms.]
Nay, not to this dumb idol, but to Him
Who made Orion and the seven stars!
ALL:
She raves,—she mocks at Rimmon!
Punish her!
The fountain! Wash her blasphemy
away!
[They push her toward the fountain, laughing and shouting. In the open door of the palace NAAMAN appears, dressed in blue and silver, bareheaded and unarmed. He comes to the top of the steps and stands for a moment, astonished and angry.]
NAAMAN:
Silence! What drunken rout is this?
Begone,
Ye barking dogs and mewing cats!
Out, all!
Poor child, what have they done to thee?
[Exeunt all except RUAHMAH, who stands with her face covered by her hands. NAAMAN comes to her, laying his hand on her shoulder.]
RUAHMAH: [Looking up in his face.]
Nothing,
My lord and master! They have harmed
me not.
NAAMAN: [Touching her arm.]
Dost call this nothing?
RUAHMAH:
Since
my lord is come.
NAAMAN:
I do not know thy face,—who
art thou, child?
RUAHMAH:
The handmaid of thy wife. These
three years past
I have attended her.
NAAMAN:
Whence
comest thou?
Thy voice is like thy mistress, but thy
looks
Have something foreign. Tell thy
name, thy land.
RUAHMAH:
Ruahmah is my name, a captive maid,
The daughter of a prince in Israel,—
Where once, in olden days, I saw my lord
Ride through our highlands, when Samaria
Was allied with Damascus to defeat
Asshur, our common foe.
NAAMAN:
O
glorious days,
Crowded with life! And thou rememberest
them?
RUAHMAH:
As clear as yesterday! Master, I
saw
Thee riding on a snow-white horse beside
Our king; and all we joyful little maids
Strewed boughs of palm along the victors’
way;
For you had driven out the enemy,
Broken; and both our lands were friends
and free.
NAAMAN: [Sadly.]
Well, they are past, those noble days!
The friends
That fought for freedom stand apart, rivals
For Asshur’s favour, like two jealous
dogs
That snarl and bite each other, while
they wait
The master’s whip, enforcing peace.
The days
When nations would imperil all to keep
Their liberties, are only memories now.
The common cause is lost,—and
thou art brought,
The captive of some mercenary raid,
Some profitable, honourless foray,
To serve within my house. Dost thou
fare well?
RUAHMAH:
Master, thou seest.
NAAMAN:
Yes,
I see! My child,
Why do they hate thee so?
RUAHMAH:
I
do not know,
Unless because I will not bow to Rimmon.
NAAMAN:
Thou needest not. I fear he is a
god
Who pities not his people, will not save.
My heart is sick with doubt of him.
But thou
Shalt hold thy faith,—I care
not what it is,—
Worship thy god; but keep thy spirit free.
Here, take this chain and wear it with
my seal,
None shall molest the maid who carries
this.
Thou hast found favour in thy master’s
eyes;
Hast thou no other gift to ask of me?
RUAHMAH: [Earnestly.]
My lord, I do entreat thee not to go
To-morrow to the council. Seek the
King
And speak with him in secret; but avoid
The audience-hall.
NAAMAN;
Why,
what is this? Thy wits
Are wandering. Why dost thou ask
this thing
Impossible! My honour is engaged
To speak for war, to lead in war against
The Assyrian Bull and save Damascus.
RUAHMAH: [With confused earnestness.]
Then, lord, if thou must go, I pray thee
speak,—
I know not how,—but so that
all must hear.
With magic of unanswerable words
Persuade thy foes. Yet watch,—beware,—
NAAMAN:
Of
what?
RUAHMAH: [Turning aside.]
I am entangled in my speech,—no
light,—
How shall I tell him? He will not
believe.
O my dear lord, thine enemies are they
Of thine own house. I pray thee
to beware,—
Beware,—of Rimmon!
NAAMAN:
Child, thy words are wild;
Thy troubles have bewildered all thy brain.
Go, now, and fret no more; but sleep,
and dream
Of Israel! For thou shall see thy
home
Among the hills again.
RUAHMAH:
Master,
good-night,
And may thy slumber be as sweet and deep
As if thou camped at snowy Hermon’s
foot,
Amid the music of his waterfalls
And watched by winged sentries of the
sky.
There friendly oak-trees bend their boughs
above
The weary head, pillowed on earth’s
kind breast,
And unpolluted breezes lightly breathe
A song of sleep among the murmuring leaves.
There the big stars draw nearer, and the
sun
Looks forth serene, undimmed by city’s
mirk
Or smoke of idol-temples, to behold
The waking wonder of the wide-spread world,
And life renews itself with every morn
In purest joy of living. May the
Lord
Deliver thee, dear master, from the nets
Laid for thy feet, and lead thee out,
along
The open path, beneath the open sky!
Thou shall be followed always by the heart
Of one poor captive maid who prays for
thee.
[Exit RUAHMAH: NAAMAN stands looking after her.]
TIME: The following morning.
The audience-hall in BENHADAD’S palace. The sides of the hall are lined with lofty columns: the back opens toward the city, with descending steps: the House of Rimmon with its high tower is seen in the background. The throne is at the right in front: opposite is the royal door of entrance, guarded by four tall sentinels. Enter at the rear between the columns, RAKHAZ, SABALLIDIN, HAZAEL, IZDUBHAR.
IZDUBHAR: [An excited old man.]
The city is all in a turmoil. It
boils like a pot of lentils. The
people are foaming and bubbling round
and round like beans in the
pottage.
HAZAEL: [A lean, crafty man.]
Fear is a hot fire.
RAKHAZ: [A fat, pompous man.]
Well may they fear, for the Assyrians
are not three days distant.
They are blazing along like a waterspout
to chop Damascus down like
a pitcher of spilt milk.
SABALLIDIN: [Young and frank.]
Cannot Naaman drive them back?
RAKHAZ: [Puffing and blowing.]
Ho! Naaman? Where have you
been living? Naaman is a broken reed
whose claws have been cut. Build
no hopes on that foundation, for
it will upset in the midst of the sea
and leave you hanging in the air.
SABALLIDIN:
He clatters like a windmill. What
would he say, Hazael?
HAZAEL:
Naaman can do nothing without the command
of the King; and the King
fears to order the army to march without
the approval of the gods.
The High Priest is against it. The
House of Rimmon is for peace with
Asshur.
RAKHAZ:
Yes, and all the nobles are for peace.
We are the men whose wisdom
lights the rudder that upholds the chariot
of state. Would we be
rich if we were not wise? Do we
not know better than the rabble what
medicine will silence this fire that threatens
to drown us?
IZDUBHAR:
But if the Assyrians come, we shall all
perish; they will despoil
us all.
HAZAEL:
Not us, my lord, only the common people.
The envoys have offered
favourable terms to the priests, and the
nobles, and the King. No
palace, no temple, shall be plundered.
Only the shops, and the
markets, and the houses of the multitude
shall be given up to the
Bull. He will eat his supper from
the pot of lentils, not from
our golden plate.
RAKHAZ:
Yes, and all who speak for peace in the
council shall be enriched;
our heads shall be crowned with seats
of honour in the processions
of the Assyrian king. He needs wise
counsellors to help him guide
the ship of empire onto the solid rock
of prosperity. You must be
with us, my lords Izdubhar and Saballidin,
and let the stars of
your wisdom roar loudly for peace.
IZDUBHAR:
He talks like a tablet read upside down,—a
wild ass braying in the wilderness. Yet there
is policy in his words.
SABALLIDIN:
I know not. Can a kingdom live without
a people or an army? If we
let the Bull in to sup on the lentils,
will he not make his breakfast
in our vineyards?
[Enter other courtiers, following SHUMAKIM, a crooked little jester, in blue, green and red, a wreath of poppies around his neck and a flagon in his hand. He walks unsteadily, and stutters in his speech.]
HAZAEL:
Here is Shumakim, the King’s fool,
with his legs full of last night’s
wine.
SHUMAKIM: [Balancing himself in front of them
and chuckling.]
Wrong, my lords, very wrong! This
is not last night’s wine, but a
draught the King’s physician gave
me this morning for a cure. It
sobers me amazingly! I know you
all, my lords: any fool would know
you. You, master, are a statesman;
and you are a politician; and
you are a patriot.
RAKHAZ:
Am I a statesman? I felt something
of the kind about me. But what
is a statesman?
SHUMAKIM:
A politician that is stuffed with big
words; a fat man in a mask;
one that plays a solemn tune on a sackbut
full o’ wind.
HAZAEL:
And what is a politician?
SHUMAKIM:
A statesman that has dropped his mask
and cracked his sackbut. Men
trust him for what he is, and he never
deceives them, because he
always lies.
IZDUBHAR:
Why do you call me a patriot?
SHUMAKIM:
Because you know what is good for you;
you love your country as you
love your pelf. You feel for the
common people,—as the wolf feels
for the sheep.
SABALLIDIN:
And what am I?
SHUMAKIM:
A fool, master, just a plain fool; and
there is hope of thee for that
reason. Embrace me, brother, and
taste this; but not too much,—it
will intoxicate thee with sobriety.
[The hall has been slowly filling with courtiers and soldiers: a crowd of people begin to come up the steps at the rear, where they are halted by a chain guarded by servants of the palace. A bell tolls; the royal door is thrown open; the aged King crosses the hall slowly and takes his seat on the throne with the four tall sentinels standing behind him. All bow down shading their eyes with their hands.]
BENHADAD:
The hour of royal audience is come.
I’ll hear the envoys of my brother
king,
The Son of Asshur. Are my counsellors
At hand? Where are the priests of
Rimmon’s House?
[Gongs sound. REZON comes in from the rear, followed by a procession of priests in black and yellow. The courtiers bow; the King rises; REZON takes his stand on the steps of the throne at the left of the King.]
BENHADAD;
Where is my faithful servant Naaman,
The captain of my host?
[Trumpets sound from the city. The crowd on the steps divide; the chain is lowered; NAAMAN enters, followed by six soldiers. He is dressed in chain-mail, with a silver helmet and a cloak of blue. He uncovers, and kneels on the steps of the throne at the King’s right.]
NAAMAN:
My lord the King,
The bearer of thy sword is here.
BENHADAD: [Giving NAAMAN his hand, and sitting
down.]
Welcome,
My strong right arm that never failed
me yet!
I am in doubt,—but stay thou
close to me
While I decide this cause. Where
are the envoys?
Let them appear and give their message.
[Enter the Assyrian envoys; one in white and the other in red; both with the golden Bull’s head embroidered oh their robes. They come from the right, rear, bow slightly before the throne, and take the centre of the hall.]
WHITE ENVOY: [Stepping forward.]
Greeting from Shalmaneser, Asshur’s
son,
The king who reigns at Nineveh
And takes his tribute from a thousand
cities,
Unto Benhadad, monarch in Damascus!
The conquering Bull has come out of the
north;
The south has fallen before him, and the
west
His feet have trodden; Hamath is laid
waste;
He pauses at your gate, invincible,—
To offer peace. The princes of your
court,
The priests of Rimmon’s house, and
you, the King,
If you pay homage to your overlord,
Shall rest secure, and flourish as our
friends.
Assyria sends to you this gilded yoke;
Receive it as the sign of proffered peace.
[He lays a yoke on the steps of the throne.]
BENHADAD:
What of the city? Said your king
no word
Of our Damascus, and the many folk
That do inhabit her and make her great?
What of the soldiers who have fought for
us?
The people who have sheltered ’neath
our shield?
WHITE ENVOY:
Of these my royal master did not speak.
BENHADAD:
Strange silence! Must we give them
up to him?
Is this the price at which he offers us
The yoke of peace? What if we do
refuse?
RED ENYOY: [Stepping forward.]
Then ruthless war! War to the uttermost.
No quarter, no compassion, no escape!
The Bull will gore and trample in his
fury
Nobles and priests and king,—none
shall be spared!
Before the throne we lay our second gift;
This bloody horn, the symbol of red war.
[He lays a long bull’s horn, stained with blood on the steps of the throne.]
WHITE ENVOY:
Our message is delivered. Grant
us leave
And safe conveyance, that we may return
Unto our master. He will wait three
days
To know your royal choice between his
gifts.
Keep which you will and send the other
back;
The red bull’s horn your youngest
page may bring;
But with the yoke, best send your mightiest
army!
[The ENVOYS retire, amid confused murmurs of the people, the King silent, his head sunken on his breast.]
BENHADAD:
Proud words, a bitter message, hard to
endure!
We are not now that force which feared
no foe;
Our host is weakened, and our old allies
Have left us. Can we face this raging
Bull
Alone, and beat him back? Give me
your counsel.
[Many speak at once, confusedly.]
What babblement is this? Were ye
born at Babel?
Give me clear words and reasonable speech.
RAKHAZ: [Pompously]
O King, I am a reasonable man;
And there be some who call me very wise
And prudent; but of this I will not speak,
For I am also modest. Let me plead,
Persuade, and reason you to choose for
peace.
This golden yoke may be a bitter draught,
But better far to fold it in our arms,
Than risk our cargoes in the savage horn
Of war. Shall we imperil all our
wealth,
Our valuable lives? Nobles are few,
Rich men are rare, and wise men rarer
still;
The precious jewels on the tree of life,
Wherein the common people are but brides
And clay and rubble. Let the city
go,
But save the corner-stones that float
the ship!
Have I not spoken well?
BENBADAD: [Shaking his head.]
Excellent well!
Most eloquent! But misty in the
meaning.
HAZAEL: [With cold decision.]
Then let me speak, O King, in plainer
words!
The days of independent states are past:
The tide of empire sweeps across the earth;
Assyria rides it with resistless power
And thunders on to subjugate the world.
Oppose her, and we fight with Destiny;
Submit to her demands, and we shall ride
With her to victory. Therefore return
This bloody horn, the symbol of wild war,
With words of soft refusal, and accept
The golden yoke, Assyria’s gift
of peace.
NAAMAN: [Starting forward eagerly.]
There is no peace beneath a conqueror’s
yoke,
My King, but shame and heaviness of heart!
For every state that barters liberty
To win imperial favour, shall be drained
Of her best blood, henceforth, in endless
wars
To make the empire greater. Here’s
the choice:
We fight to-day to keep our country free,
Or else we fight forevermore to help
Assyria bind the world as we are bound.
I am a soldier, and I know the hell
Of war! But I will gladly ride through
hell
To save Damascus. Master, bid me
ride!
Ten thousand chariots wait for your command;
And twenty thousand horsemen strain the
leash
Of patience till you let them go; a throng
Of spearmen, archers, swordsmen, like
the sea
Chafing against a dike, roar for the onset!
O master, let me launch your mighty host
Against the Bull,—we’ll
bring him to his knees!
[Cries of “War!” from the soldiers and the people; “peace!” from the courtiers and the priests. The King rises, turning toward NAAMAN, and seems about to speak. REZON lifts his rod.]
REZON:
Shall not the gods decide when mortals
doubt?
Rimmon is master of the city’s fate;
He reigns in secret and his will is law;
We read his will, by our most ancient
faith,
In omens and in signs of mystery.
Must we not hearken to his high commands?
BENHADAD: [Sinking hack on the throne, submissively.]
I am the faithful son of Rimmon’s
House.
Consult the oracle. But who shall
read?
REZON:
Tsarpi, the wife of Naaman, who served
Within the temple in her maiden years,
Shall be the mouthpiece of the mighty
god,
To-day’s high-priestess. Bring
the sacrifice!
[Gongs and cymbals sound: enter priests carrying an altar on which a lamb is bound. The altar is placed in the centre of the hall. TSARPI follows the priests, covered with a long transparent veil of black, sewn with gold stars; RUAHMAH, in white, bears her train. TSARPI stands before the altar, facing it, and lifts her right hand holding a knife. RUAHMAH steps back, near the throne, her hands crossed on her breast, her head bowed. The priests close in around TSARPI and the altar. The knife is seen to strike downward. Gongs and cymbals sound: cries of “Rimmon, hear us.” The circle of priests opens, and TSARPI turns slowly to face the King.]
TSARPI: [Monotonously.]
Black is the blood of the victim,
Rimmon is unfavourable,
Asratu is unfavourable;
They will not war against Asshur,
They will make a league with the God of
Nineveh.
Evil is in store for Damascus,
A strong enemy will lay waste the land.
Therefore make peace with the Bull;
Hearken to the voice of Rimmon.
[She turns again to the altar, and the priests close in around her. REZON lifts his rod toward the tower of the temple. A flash of lightning followed by thunder; smoke rises from the altar; all except NAAMAN and RUAHMAH cover their faces. The circle of priests opens again, and TSARPI comes forward slowly, chanting.]
CHANT:
Hear the words of Rimmon! Thus
your Maker speaketh:
I, the god of thunder, riding on the whirlwind,
I, the god of lightning leaping from the
storm-cloud,
I will smite with vengeance him who dares
defy me!
He who leads Damascus into war with Asshur,
Conquering or conquered, bears my curse
upon him.
Surely shall my arrow strike his heart
in secret,
Burn his flesh with fever, turn his blood
to poison,
Brand him with corruption, drive him into
darkness;
He alone shall perish, by the doom of
Rimmon.
[All are terrified and look toward NAAMAN, shuddering. RUAHMAH alone seems not to heed the curse, but stands with her eyes fixed on NAAMAN.]
RUAHMAH:
Be not afraid! There is a greater
God
Shall cover thee with His almighty wings:
Beneath his shield and buckler shalt thou
trust.
BENHADAD:
Repent, my son, thou must not brave this
curse.
NAAMAN:
My King, there is no curse as terrible
As that which lights a bosom-fire for
him
Who gives away his honour, to prolong
A craven life whose every breath is shame!
If I betray the men who follow me,
The city that has put her trust in me,
The country to whose service I am bound,
What king can shield me from my own deep
scorn,
What god release me from that self-made
hell?
The tender mercies of Assyria
I know; and they are cruel as creeping
tigers.
Give up Damascus, and her streets will
run
Rivers of innocent blood; the city’s
heart,
That mighty, labouring heart, wounded
and crushed
Beneath the brutal hooves of the wild
Bull,
Will cry against her captain, sitting
safe
Among the nobles, in some pleasant place.
I shall be safe,—safe from
the threatened wrath
Of unknown gods, but damned forever by
The men I know,—that is the
curse I fear.
BENHADAD:
Speak not so high, my son. Must
we not bow
Our heads before the sovereignties of
heaven?
The unseen rulers are Divine.
NAAMAN;
O
King,
I am unlearned in the lore of priests;
Yet well I know that there are hidden
powers
About us, working mortal weal and woe
Beyond the force of mortal to control.
And if these powers appear in love and
truth,
I think they must be gods, and worship
them.
But if their secret will is manifest
In blind decrees of sheer omnipotence,
That punish where no fault is found, and
smite
The poor with undeserved calamity,
And pierce the undefended in the dark
With arrows of injustice, and foredoom
The innocent to burn in endless pain,
I will not call this fierce almightiness
Divine. Though I must bear, with
every man,
The burden of my life ordained, I’ll
keep
My soul unterrified, and tread the path
Of truth and honour with a steady heart!
But if I err in this; and if there be
Divinities whose will is cruel, unjust,
Capricious and supreme, I will forswear
The favour of these gods, and take my
part
With man to suffer and for man to die.
Have ye not heard, my lords? The
oracle
Proclaims to me, to me alone, the doom
Of vengeance if I lead the army out.
“Conquered or conquering!”
I grip that chance!
Damascus free, her foes all beaten back,
The people saved from slavery, the King
Upheld in honour on his ancient throne,—
O what’s the cost of this?
I’ll gladly pay
Whatever gods there be, whatever price
They ask for this one victory. Give
me
This gilded sign of shame to carry back;
I’ll shake it in the face of Asshur’s
king,
And break it on his teeth.
BENHADAD: [Rising.]
Then go, my never-beaten captain, go!
And may the powers that hear thy solemn
vow
Forgive thy rashness for Damascus’
sake,
Prosper thy fighting, and remit thy pledge.
REZON: [Standing beside the altar.]
The pledge, O King, this man must seal
his pledge
At Rimmon’s altar. He must
take the cup
Of soldier-sacrament, and bind himself
By thrice-performed libation to abide
The fate he has invoked.
NAAMAN: [Slowly.]
And so I will.
[He comes down the steps, toward the altar, where REZON is filling the cup which TSARPI holds. RUAHMAH throws herself before NAAMAN, clasping his knees.]
RUAHMAH: [Passionately and wildly.]
My lord, I do beseech you, stay!
There’s death
Within that cup. It is an offering
To devils. See, the wine blazes
like fire,
It flows like blood, it is a cursed cup,
Fulfilled of treachery and hate.
Dear master, noble master, touch it not!
NAAMAN:
Poor maid, thy brain is still distraught.
Fear not
But let me go! Here, treat her tenderly!
[Gives her into the hands of SABALLIDIN.]
Can harm befall me from the wife who bears
My name? I take the cup of fate
from her.
I greet the unknown powers; [Pours
libation.]
I will perform my vow; [Again.]
I will abide my fate; [Again.]
I pledge my life to keep Damascus free.
[He drains the cup, and lets it fall.]
CURTAIN.
TIME: A week later
The fore-court of the House of Rimmon. At the back the broad steps and double doors of the shrine: above them the tower of the god, its summit invisible. Enter various groups of citizens, talking, laughing, shouting: RAKHAZ, HAZAEL, SHUMAKIM and others.
FIRST CITIZEN:
Great news, glorious news, the Assyrians
are beaten!
SECOND CITIZEN:
Naaman is returning, crowned with victory.
Glory to our noble
captain!
THIRD CITIZEN:
No, he is killed. I had it from
one of the camp-followers who saw
him fall at the head of the battle.
They are bringing his body to
bury it with honour. O sorrowful
victory!
RAKHAZ;
Peace, my good fellows, you are ignorant,
you have not been rightly
informed, I will misinform you.
The accounts of Naaman’s death are
overdrawn. He was killed, but his
life has been preserved. One of
his wounds was mortal, but the other three
were curable, and by
these the physicians have saved him.
SHUMAKIM: [Balancing himself before RAKHAZ
in pretended admiration.]
O wonderful! Most admirable logic!
One mortal, and three curable,
therefore he must recover as it were,
by three to one. Rakhaz, do
you know that you are a marvelous man?
RAKHAZ:
Yes, I know it, but I make no boast of
my knowledge.
SHUMAKIM:
Too modest, for in knowing this you know
what is unknown to any other
in Damascus!
[Enter, from the right, SABALLIDIN in armour: from the left, TSARPI with her attendants, among whom is RUAHMAH.]
HAZAEL:
Here is Saballidin, we’ll question
him;
He was enflamed by Naaman’s fiery
words,
And rode with him to battle. Good,
my lord,
We hail you as a herald of the fight
You helped to win. Give us authentic
news
Of your great general! Is he safe
and well?
When will he come? Or will he come
at all?
[All gather around him, listening eagerly.]
SABALLIDIN:
He comes but now, returning from the field
Where he hath gained a crown of deathless
fame!
Three times he led the charge; three times
he fell
Wounded, and the Assyrians beat us back.
Yet every wound was but a spur to urge
His valour onward. In the last attack
He rode before us as the crested wave
That heads the flood; and lo, our enemies
Were broken like a dam of river-reeds,
Burst by the torrent, scattered, swept
away!
But look! the Assyrian king in wavering
flight
Is lodged like driftwood on a little hill,
Encircled by his guard, and stands at
bay.
Then Naaman, followed hotly by a score
Of whirlwind riders, hammers through the
hedge
Of spearmen, brandishing the golden yoke:
“Take back this gift,” he
cries; and shatters it
On Shalmaneser’s helmet. So
the fight
Dissolves in universal rout: the
king,
His chariots and his horsemen melt away;
Our captain stands the master of the field,
And saviour of Damascus! Now he
brings,
First to the king, report of this great
triumph.
[Shouts of joy and applause.]
RUAHMAH: [Coming close to SABALLIDIN,]
But what of him who won it? Fares
he well?
My mistress would receive some word of
him.
SABALLIDIN:
Hath she not heard?
RUAHMAH:
But
one brief message came:
A tablet saying, “We have fought
and conquered,”
No word of his own person. Fares
he well?
SABALLIDIN:
Alas, most ill! For he is like a
man
Consumed by some strange sickness:
wasted, wan,—
His eyes are dimmed so that scarce can
see;
His ears are dulled; his fearless face
is pale
As one who walks to meet a certain doom
Yet will not flinch. It is most
pitiful,—
But you shall see.
RUAHMAH:
Yea,
we shall see a man
Who took upon himself his country’s
burden, dared
To hazard all to save the poor and helpless;
A man who bears the wrath of evil powers
Unknown, and pays the hero’s sacrifice.
[Enter BENHADAD with courtiers.]
BENHADAD:
Where is my faithful servant Naaman,
The captain of my host?
SABALLIDIN:
My
lord, he comes.
[Trumpet sounds. Enter company of soldiers in armour. Then four soldiers bearing captured standards of Asshur. NAAMAN follows, very pale, armour dinted and stained; he is blind, and guides himself by cords from the standards on each side, but walks firmly. The doors of the temple open slightly, and REZON appears at the top of the steps. NAAMAN lets the cords fall, and gropes his way for a few paces.]
NAAMAN: [Kneeling]
Where
is my King?
Master, the bearer of thy sword returns.
The golden yoke thou gavest me I broke
On him who sent it. Asshur’s
Bull hath fled
Dehorned. The standards of his host
are thine!
Damascus is all thine, at peace, and free!
BENHADAD: [Holding out his arms.]
Thou art a mighty man of valour!
Come,
And let me fold thy courage to my heart.
REZON: [Lifting his rod.]
Forbear, O King! Stand back from
him, all men!
By the great name of Rimmon I proclaim
This man a leper! On his brow I
see
The death-white seal, the finger-print
of doom!
That tiny spot will spread, eating his
flesh,
Gnawing his fingers bone from bone, until
The impious heart that dared defy the
gods
Dissolves in the slow death which now
begins.
Unclean! unclean! Henceforward he
is dead:
No human hand shall touch him, and no
home
Of men shall give him shelter. He
shall walk
Only with corpses of the selfsame death
Down the long path to a forgotten tomb.
Avoid, depart, I do adjure you all,
Leave him to god,—the leper
Naaman!
[All shrink back horrified. REZON retires into the temple; the crowd melts away, wailing: TSARPI is among the first to go, followed by her attendants, except RUAHMAH, who crouches, with her face covered, not far from NAAMAN.]
BENHADAD: [Lingering and turning back.]
Alas, my son! O Naaman, my son!
Why did I let thee go? Thou art
cast out
Irrevocably from the city’s life
Which thou hast saved. Who can resist
the gods?
I must obey the law, and touch thy hand
Never again. Yet none shall take
from thee
Thy glorious title, captain of my host!
I will provide for thee, and thou shalt
dwell
With guards of honour in a house of mine
Always. Damascus never shall forget
What thou hast done! O miserable
words
Of crowned impotence! O mockery
of power
Given to kings, who cannot even defend
Their dearest from the secret wrath of
heaven!
Naaman, my son, my son! [Exit.]
NAAMAN: [Slowly, passing his hand over his
eyes, and looking up.]
Am
I alone
With thee, inexorable one, whose pride
Offended takes this horrible revenge?
I must submit my mortal flesh to thee,
Almighty, but I will not call thee god!
Yet thou hast found the way to wound my
soul
Most deeply through the flesh; and I must
find
The way to let my wounded soul escape!
[Drawing his sword.]
Come, my last friend, thou art more merciful
Than Rimmon. Why should I endure
the doom
He sends me? Irretrievably cut off
From all dear intercourse of human love,
From all the tender touch of human hands,
From all brave comradeship with brother-men,
With eyes that see no faces through this
dark,
With ears that hear all voices far away,
Why should I cling to misery, and grope
My long, long way from pain to pain, alone?
RUAHMAH: [At his feet.]
Nay, not alone, dear lord, for I am here;
And I will never leave thee, nor forsake
thee!
NAAMAN:
What voice is that? The silence
of my tomb
Is broken by a ray of music,—whose?
RUAHMAH: [Rising.]
The one who loves thee best in all the
world.
NAAMAN:
Why that should be,—O dare
I dream it true?
Tsarpi, my wife? Have I misjudged
thy heart
As cold and proud? How nobly thou
forgivest!
Thou com’st to hold me from the
last disgrace,—
The coward’s flight into the dark.
Go back
Unstained, my sword! Life is endurable
While there is one alive on earth who
loves us,
RUAHMAH:
My lord,—my lord,—O
listen! You have erred,—
You do mistake me now,—this
dream—
NAAMAN:
Ah, wake me not! For I can conquer
death
Dreaming this dream. Let me at last
believe,
Though gods are cruel, a woman can be
kind.
Grant me but this! For see,—I
ask so little,—
Only to know that thou art faithful,—
Only to lean upon the thought that thou,
My wife, art near me, though I touch thee
not,—
O this will hold me up, though it be given
From pity more than love.
RUAHMAH: [Trembling, and speaking slowly.]
Not
so, my lord!
My pity is a stream; my pride of thee
Is like the sea that doth engulf the stream;
My love for thee is like the sovran moon
That rules the sea. The tides that
fill my soul
Flow unto thee and follow after thee;
And where thou goest I will go; and where
Thou diest I will die,—in the
same hour.
[She lays her hand on his arm. He draws back.]
NAAMAN:
O touch me not! Thou shall not share
my doom.
RUAHMAH:
Entreat me not to go. I will obey
In all but this; but rob me not of this,—
The only boon that makes life worth the
living,—
To walk beside thee day by day, and keep
Thy foot from stumbling; to prepare thy
food
When thou art hungry, music for thy rest,
And cheerful words to comfort thy black
hour;
And so to lead thee ever on, and on,
Through darkness, till we find the door
of hope.
NAAMAN:
What word is that? The leper has
no hope.
RUAHMAH:
Dear lord, the mark upon thy brow is yet
No broader than my little finger-nail.
Thy force is not abated, and thy step
Is firm. Wilt thou surrender to
the enemy
Before thy strength is touched?
Why, let me put
A drop of courage from my breast in thine.
There is a hope for thee. The captive
maid
Of Israel who dwelt within thy house
Knew of a god very compassionate,
Long-suffering, slow to anger, one who
heals
The sick, hath pity on the fatherless,
And saves the poor and him who has no
[She grasps his hand.]
NAAMAN: [Drawing back.]
Thou must not touch me!
RUAHMAH: [Unclasping her girdle and putting
the end in hand.]
Take
my girdle, then!
NAAMAN: [Kissing the clasp of the girdle.]
I do begin to think there is a God,
Since love on earth can work such miracles!
CURTAIN.
TIME: A month later: dawn
NAAMAN’S tent, on high ground among the mountains near Samaria: the city below. In the distance, a wide and splendid landscape. SABALLIDIN and soldiers on guard below the tent. Enter RUAHMAH in hunter’s dress, with a lyre slung from her shoulder.
RUAHMAH:
Peace and good health to you, Saballidin.
Good morrow to you all. How fares
my lord?
SABALLIDIN:
The curtains of his tent are folded still:
They have not moved since we returned,
last night,
And told him what befell us in the city.
RUAHMAH:
Told him! Why did you make report
to him.
And not to me? Am I not captain
here,
Intrusted by the King’s command
with care
Of Naaman’s life, until he is restored?
’Tis mine to know the first of good
or ill
In this adventure: mine to shield
his heart
From every arrow of adversity.
What have you told him? Speak!
SABALLIDIN:
Lady,
we feared
To bring our news to you. For when
the king
Of Israel had read our monarch’s
letter,
He rent his clothes, and cried, “Am
I a god,
To kill and make alive, that I should
heal
A leper? Ye have come with false
pretence,
Damascus seeks a quarrel with me.
Go!”
But when we told our lord, he closed his
tent,
And there remains enfolded in his grief.
I trust he sleeps; ’t were kind
to let him sleep!
For now he doth forget his misery,
And all the burden of his hopeless woe
Is lifted from him by the gentle hand
Of slumber. Oh, to those bereft
of hope
Sleep is the only blessing left,—the
last
Asylum of the weary, the one sign
Of pity from impenetrable heaven.
Waking is strife: sleep is the truce
of God!
Ah, lady, wake him not. The day
will be
Full long for him to suffer, and for us
To turn our disappointed faces home
On the long road by which we must return.
RUAHMAH:
Return! Who gave you that command?
Not I!
The King made me the leader of this quest,
And bound you all to follow me, because
He knew I never would return without
The thing for which he sent us.
I’ll go on
Day after day, unto the uttermost parts
Of earth, if need be, and beyond the gates
Of morning, till I find that which I seek,—
New life for Naaman. Are ye ashamed
To have a woman lead you? Then go
back
And tell the King, “This huntress
went too far
For us to follow; she pursues the trail
Of hope alone, refusing to forsake
The quarry: we grew weary of the
chase;
And so we left her and retraced our steps,
Like faithless hounds, to sleep beside
the fire.”
Did Naaman forsake his soldiers thus
When you went forth to hunt the Assyrian
Bull?
Your manly courage is less durable
Than woman’s love, it seems.
Go, if you will,—
Who bids me now farewell?
SOLDIERS:
Not
I, not I!
SABALLIDIN:
Lady, lead on, we’ll follow you
for ever!
RUAHMAH:
Why, now you speak like men! Brought
you no word
Out of Samaria, except that cry
Of impotence and fear from Israel’s
king?
SABALLIDIN:
I do remember while he spoke with us
A rustic messenger came in, and cried
“Elisha saith, let Naaman come to
me
At Dothan, he shall surely know there
is
A God in Israel.”
RUAHMAH:
What
said the King?
SABALLIDIN:
He only shouted “Go!” more
wildly yet,
And rent his clothes again, as if he were
Half-maddened by a coward’s fear,
and thought
Only of how he might be rid of us.
What comfort could there be for him, what
hope
For us, in the rude prophet’s misty
word?
RUAHMAH:
It is the very word for which I prayed!
My trust was not in princes; for the crown,
The sceptre, and the purple robe are not
Significant of vital power. The
man
Who saves his brother-men is he who lives
His life with Nature, takes deep hold
on truth,
And trusts in God. A prophet’s
word is more
Than all the kings on earth can speak.
How far
Is Dothan?
SOLDIER:
Lady,
‘tis but three hours’ ride
Along the valley northward.
RUAHMAH:
Near!
so near?
I had not thought to end my task so soon!
Prepare yourselves with speed to take
the road.
I will awake my lord.
[Exeunt all but SABALLIDIN and RUAHMAH. She goes toward the tent.]
SABALLIDIN;
Ruahmah, stay! [She turns back.]
I’ve been your servant in this doubtful
quest,
Obedient, faithful, loyal to your will,—
What have I earned by this?
RUAHMAH:
The
gratitude
Of him we both desire to serve: your
friend,—
My master and my lord.
SABALLIDIN:
No
more than this?
RUAHMAH:
Yes, if you will, take all the thanks
my hands
Can hold, my lips can speak.
SABALLIDIN:
I
would have more.
RUAHMAH:
My friend, there’s nothing more
to give to you,
My service to my lord is absolute.
There’s not a drop of blood within
my veins
But quickens at the very thought of him;
And not a dream of mine but he doth stand
Within its heart and make it bright.
No man
To me is other than his friend or foe.
You are his friend, and I believe you
true!
SABALLIDIN:
I have been true to him,—now,
I am true
To you.
RUAHMAH:
And
therefore doubly true to him!
O let us match our loyalties, and strive
Between us who shall win the higher crown!
Men boast them of a friendship stronger
far
Than love of woman. Prove it!
I’ll not boast,
But I’ll contend with you on equal
terms
In this brave race: and if you win
the prize
I’ll hold you next to him:
and if I win
He’ll hold you next to me; and either
way
We’ll not be far apart. Do
you accept
My challenge?
SABALLIDIN:
Yes!
For you enforce my heart
By honour to resign its great desire,
And love itself to offer sacrifice
Of all disloyal dreams on its own altar.
Yet love remains; therefore I pray you,
think
How surely you must lose in our contention.
For I am known to Naaman: but you
He blindly takes for Tsarpi. ’Tis
to her
He gives his gratitude: the praise
you win
Endears her name.
RUAHMAH:
Her
name? Why, what is that?
A name is but an empty shell, a mask
That does not change the features of the
face
Beneath it. Can a name rejoice,
or weep,
Or hope? Can it be moved by tenderness
To daily services of love, or feel the
warmth
Of dear companionship? How many
things
We call by names that have no meaning:
kings
That cannot rule; and gods that are not
good;
And wives that do not love! It matters
not
What syllables he utters when he calls,
’Tis I who come,—’tis
I who minister
Unto my lord, and mine the living heart
That feels the comfort of his confidence,
The thrill of gladness when he speaks
to me,—
I do not hear the name!
SABALLIDIN:
And
yet, be sure
There’s danger in this error,—and
no gain!
RUAHMAH:
I seek no gain; I only tread the path
Marked for me daily by the hand of love.
And if his blindness spared my lord one
pang
Of sorrow in his black, forsaken hour,—
And if this error makes his burdened heart
More quiet, and his shadowed way less
dark,
Whom do I rob? Not her who chose
to stay
At ease in Rimmon’s House!
Surely not him!
Only myself? And that enriches me.
Why trouble we the master? Let it
go,—
To-morrow he must know the truth,—and
then
He shall dispose of me e’en as he
will!
SABALLIDIN:
To-morrow?
RUAHMAH:
Yes,
for I will tarry here,
While you conduct him to Elisha’s
house
To find the promised healing. I
forebode
A sudden danger from the craven king
Of Israel, or else a secret ambush
From those who hate us in Damascus.
Go,
But leave me twenty men: this mountain-pass
Protects the road behind you. Make
my lord
Obey the prophet’s word, whatever
he commands,
And come again in peace. Farewell!
[Exit SABALLIDIN. RUAHMAH goes toward the tent, then pauses and turns back. She takes her lyre and sings.]
SONG.
Above the edge of dark appear the lances
of the sun;
Along the mountain-ridges clear his rosy
heralds run;
The vapours down the valley
go
Like broken armies, dark and
low.
Look up, my heart, from every
hill
In folds of rose and daffodil
The sunrise banners flow.
O fly away on silent wing, ye boding
owls of night!
O welcome little birds that sing the coming-in
of light!
For new, and new, and ever-new,
The golden bud within the
blue;
And every morning seems to
say:
“There’s something
happy on the way,
And God sends love to you!"
NAAMAN: [Appearing at the entrance of his
tent.]
O let me ever wake to music! For
the soul
Returns most gently then, and finds its
way
By the soft, winding clue of melody,
Out of the dusky labyrinth of sleep,
Into the light. My body feels the
sun
Though I behold naught that his rays reveal.
Come, thou who art my daydawn and my sight,
Sweet eyes, come close, and make the sunrise
mine!
RUAHMAH: [Coming near.]
A fairer day, dear lord, was never born
In Paradise! The sapphire cup of
heaven
Is filled with golden wine: the earth,
adorned
With jewel-drops of dew, unveils her face
A joyful bride, in welcome to her king.
And look! He leaps upon the Eastern
hills
All ruddy fire, and claims her with a
kiss.
Yonder the snowy peaks of Hermon float
Unmoving as a wind-dropt cloud.
The gulf
Of Jordan, filled with violet haze, conceals
The rivers winding trail with wreaths
of mist.
Below us, marble-crowned Samaria thrones
Upon her emerald hill amid the Vale
Of Barley, while the plains to northward
change
Their colour like the shimmering necks
of doves.
The lark springs up, with morning on her
wings,
To climb her singing stairway in the blue,
And all the fields are sprinkled with
her joy!
NAAMAN:
Thy voice is magical: thy words are
visions!
I must content myself with them, for now
My only hope is lost: Samaria’s
king
Rejects our monarch’s message,—hast
thou heard?
“Am I a god that I should cure a
leper?”
He sends me home unhealed, with angry
words,
Back to Damascus and the lingering death.
RUAHMAH:
What matter where he sends? No god
is he
To slay or make alive. Elisha bids
You come to him at Dothan, there to learn
There is a God in Israel.
NAAMAN:
I
fear
That I am grown mistrustful of all gods;
Their secret counsels are implacable.
RUAHMAH:
Fear not! There’s One who
rules in righteousness
High over all.
NAAMAN:
What
knowest thou of Him?
RUAHMAH:
Oh, I have heard,—the maid
of Israel,—
Rememberest thou? She often said
her God
Was merciful and kind, and slow to wrath,
And plenteous in forgiveness, pitying
us
Like as a father pitieth his children.
NAAMAN:
If there were such a God, I’d worship
Him
For ever!
RUAHMAH:
Then
make haste to hear the word
His prophet promises to speak to thee!
Obey it, my dear lord, and thou shalt
lose
This curse that burdens thee. This
tiny spot
Of white that mars the beauty of thy brow
Shall melt like snow; thine eyes be filled
with light.
Thou wilt not need my leading any more,—
Nor me,—for thou wilt see me,
all unveiled,—
I tremble at the thought.
NAAMAN:
Why,
what is this?
Why shouldst thou tremble? Art thou
not mine own?
RUAHMAH: [Turning to him.]
Surely I am! But take me, take me
now!
For I belong to thee in body and soul;
The very pulses of my heart are thine.
Wilt thou not feel how tenderly they beat?
Wilt thou not lie like myrrh between my
breasts
And satisfy thy lonely lips with love?
Thou art opprest, and I would comfort
thee
While yet thy sorrow weighs upon thy life.
To-morrow? No, to-day! The
crown of love
Is sacrifice; I have not given thee
Enough! Ah, fold me in thine arms,—take
all!
[She takes his hands and puts them around her neck; he holds her from him, with one hand on her shoulder, the other behind her head.]
NAAMAN:
Thou art too dear to injure with a kiss,—
Too dear for me to stain thy purity,
Or leave one touch upon thee to regret!
How should I take a gift may bankrupt
thee,
Or drain the fragrant chalice of thy love
With lips that may be fatal? Tempt
me not
To sweet dishonour; strengthen me to wait
Until thy prophecy is all fulfilled,
And I can claim thee with a joyful heart.
RUAHMAH: [Turning away.]
Thou wilt not need me then,—and
I shall be
No more than the faint echo of a song
Heard half asleep. We shall go back
to where
We stood before this journey.
NAAMAN:
Never
again!
For thou art changed by some deep miracle.
The flower of womanhood hath bloomed in
thee,—
Art thou not changed?
RUAHMAH:
Yea,
I am changed,—and changed
Again,—bewildered,—till
there’s nothing clear
To me but this: I am the instrument
In an Almighty hand to rescue thee
From death. This will I do,—and
afterward—
[A trumpet is blown, without.]
Hearken, the trumpet sounds, the chariot
waits.
Away, dear lord, follow the road to light!
[*] Note that this scene is not intended to be put upon the stage, the effect of the action upon the drama being given at the beginning of Act IV.
The house of Elisha, upon a terraced hillside. A low stone cottage with vine-trellises and flowers; a flight of steps, at the foot of which is NAAMAN’S chariot. He is standing in it; SABALLIDIN beside it. Two soldiers come down the steps.
FIRST SOLDIER:
We have delivered my lord’s greeting
and his message.
SECOND SOLDIER:
Yes, and near lost our noses in the doing
of it! For the servant
slammed the door in our faces. A
most unmannerly reception!
FIRST SOLDIER:
But I take that as a good omen.
It is mark of holy men to keep
ill-conditioned servants. Look,
the door opens, the prophet is
coming.
SECOND SOLDIER:
No, by my head, it’s that notable
mark of his master’s holiness,
that same lantern-jawed lout of a servant.
[GEHAZI loiters down the steps and comes to NAAMAN with a slight obeisance.]
GEHAZI:
My master, the prophet of Israel, sends
word to Naaman the
Syrian,—are you he?—“Go
wash in Jordan seven times and be healed.”
[GEHAZI turns and goes slowly up the steps.]
NAAMAN:
What insolence is this? Am I a man
To be put off with surly messengers?
Has not Damascus rivers more renowned
Than this rude, torrent Jordan?
Crystal streams,
Abana! Pharpar! flowing smoothly
through
A paradise of roses? Might I not
Have bathed in them and been restored
at ease?
Come up, Saballidin, and guide me home!
SABALLIDIN:
Bethink thee, master, shall we lose our
quest
Because a servant is uncouth? The
road
That seeks the mountain leads us through
the vale.
The prophet’s word is friendly after
all;
For had it been some mighty task he set,
Thou wouldst perform it. How much
rather then
This easy one? Hast thou not promised
her
Who waits for thy return? Wilt thou
go back
To her unhealed?
NAAMAN:
No!
not for all my pride!
I’ll make myself most humble for
her sake,
And stoop to anything that gives me hope
Of having her. Make haste, Saballidin,
Bring me to Jordan. I will cast
myself
Into that river’s turbulent embrace
A hundred times, until I save my life
Or lose it!
[Exeunt. The light fades: musical interlude. The light increases again with ruddy sunset shining on the door of ELISHA’S house. The prophet appears and looks off, shading his eyes with his hand as he descends the steps slowly. Trumpet blows,—NAAMAN’S call;—sound of horses galloping and men shouting. NAAMAN enters joyously, followed by SABALLIDIN and soldiers, with gifts.]
NAAMAN:
Behold a man delivered from the grave
By thee! I rose from Jordan’s
waves restored
To youth and vigour, as the eagle mounts
Upon the sunbeam and renews his strength!
O mighty prophet deign to take from me
These gifts too poor to speak my gratitude;
Silver and gold and jewels, damask robes,—
ELISHA: [Interrupting.]
As thy soul liveth I will not receive
A gift from thee, my son! Give all
to Him
Whose mercy hath redeemed thee from thy
plague.
NAAMAN:
He is the only God! I worship Him!
Grant me a portion of the blessed soil
Of this most favoured land where I have
found
His mercy; in Damascus will I build
An altar to His name, and praise Him there
Morning and night. There is no other
God
In all the world.
ELISHA:
Thou
needest not
This load of earth to build a shrine for
Him;
Yet take it if thou wilt. But be
assured
God’s altar is in every loyal heart,
And every flame of love that kindles there
Ascends to Him and brightens with His
praise.
There is no other God! But evil
Powers
Make war against Him in the darkened world;
And many temples have been built to them.
NAAMAN:
I know them well! Yet when my master
goes
To worship in the House of Rimmon, I
Must enter with him; for he trusts me,
leans
Upon my hand; and when he bows himself
I cannot help but make obeisance too,—
But not to Rimmon! To my country’s
king
I’ll bow in love and honour.
Will the Lord
Pardon thy servant in this thing?
ELISHA:
My
son,
Peace has been granted thee. ’Tis
thine to find
The only way to keep it. Go in peace.
NAAMAN:
Thou hast not answered me,—may
I bow down?
ELISHA:
The answer must be thine. The heart
that knows
The perfect peace of gratitude and love,
Walks in the light and needs no other
rule.
Take counsel with thy heart and go in
peace!
CURTAIN.
SCENE I
The interior of NAAMAN’S tent, at night. RUAHMAH alone, sleeping on the ground. A vision appears to her through the curtains of the font: ELISHA standing on the hillside at Dothan: NAAMAN, restored to sight, comes in and kneels before him. ELISHA blesses him, and he goes out rejoicing. The vision of the prophet turns to RUAHMAH and lifts his hand in warning.
ELISHA:
Daughter of Israel, what dost thou here?
Thy prayer is granted. Naaman is
healed:
Mar not true service with a selfish thought.
Nothing remains for thee to do, except
Give thanks, and go whither the Lord commands.
Obey,—obey! Ere Naaman
returns
Thou must depart to thine own house in
Shechem.
[The vision vanishes.]
RUAHMAH: [Waking and rising slowly.]
A dream, a dream, a messenger of God!
O dear and dreadful vision, art thou true?
Then am I glad with all my broken heart.
Nothing remains,—nothing remains
but this,—
Give thanks, obey, depart,—and
so I do.
Farewell, my master’s sword!
Farewell to you,
My amulet! I lay you on the hilt
His hand shall clasp again: bid him
farewell
For me, since I must look upon his face
No more for ever!—Hark, what
sound was that?
[Enter soldier hurriedly.]
SOLDIER:
Mistress, an armed troop, footmen and
horse,
Mounting the hill!
RUAHMAH:
My
lord returns in triumph.
SOLDIER:
Not so, for these are enemies; they march
In haste and silence, answering not our
cries.
RUAHMAH:
Our enemies? Then hold your ground,—on
guard!
Fight! fight! Defend the pass, and
drive them down.
[Exit soldier. RUAHMAH draws NAAMAN’S sword from the scabbard and hurries out of the tent. Confused noise of fighting outside. Three or four soldiers are driven in by a troop of men in disguise. RUAHMAH follows: she is beaten to her knees, and her sword is broken.]
REZON: [Throwing aside the cloth which covers
his face.]
Hold her! So, tiger-maid, we’ve
found your lair
And trapped you. Where is Naaman,
Your master?
RUAHMAH: [Rising, her arms held by two of
REZON’S followers.]
He
is far beyond your reach.
REZON:
Brave captain! He has saved himself,
the leper,
And left you here?
RUAHMAH:
The
leper is no more.
REZON:
What mean you?
RUAHMAH:
He
has gone to meet his God.
REZON:
Dead? Dead? Behold how Rimmon’s
wrath is swift!
Damascus shall be mine: I’ll
terrify
The King with this, and make my terms.
But no!
False maid, you sweet-faced harlot, you
have lied
To save him,—speak.
RUAHMAH:
I
am not what you say,
Nor have I lied, nor will I ever speak
A word to you, vile servant of a traitor-god.
REZON:
Break off this little flute of blasphemy,
This ivory neck,—twist it,
I say!
Give her a swift despatch after her leper!
But stay,—if he still lives
he’ll follow her,
And so we may ensnare him. Harm
her not!
Bind her! Away with her to Rimmon’s
House!
Is all this carrion dead? There’s
one that moves,—
A spear,—fasten him down!
All quiet now?
Then back to our Damascus! Rimmon’s
face
Shall be made bright with sacrifice.
[Exeunt forcing RUAHMAH with them. Musical interlude. A wounded soldier crawls from a dark corner of the tent and finds the chain with NAAMAN’s seal, which has fallen to the ground in the struggle.]
WOUNDED SOLDIER:
This signet of my lord, her amulet!
Lost, lost! Ah, noble lady,—let
me die
With this upon my breast.
[The tent is dark. Enter NAAMAN and his company in haste, with torches.]
NAAMAN:
What
bloody work
Is here? God, let me live to punish
him
Who wrought this horror! Treacherously
slain
At night, by unknown hands, my brave companions:
Tsarpi, my best beloved, light of my soul,
Put out in darkness! O my broken
lamp
Of life, where art thou? Nay, I
cannot find her.
WOUNDED SOLDIER: [Raising himself on his arm.]
Master!
NAAMAN: [Kneels beside him.]
One
living? Quick, a torch this way!
Lift up his head,—so,—carefully!
Courage, my friend, your captain is beside
you.
Call back your soul and make report to
him.
WOUNDED SOLDIER:
Hail, captain! O my captain,—here!
NAAMAN:
Be patient,—rest in peace,—the
fight is done.
Nothing remains but render your account.
WOUNDED SOLDIER:
They fell upon us suddenly,—we
fought
Our fiercest,—every man,—our
lady fought
Fiercer than all. They beat us down,—she’s
gone.
Rezon has carried her away a captive.
See,—
Her amulet,—I die for you,
my captain.
NAAMAN: [He gently lays the dead soldier on
the ground, and rises.]
Farewell. This last report was brave;
but strange
Beyond my thought! How came the
High Priest here?
And what is this? my chain, my seal!
But this
Has never been in Tsarpi’s hand.
I gave
This signet to a captive maid one night,—
A maid of Israel. How long ago?
Ruahmah was her name,—almost
forgotten!
So long ago,—how comes this
token here?
What is this mystery, Saballidin?
SABALLIDIN:
Ruahmah is her name who brought you hither.
NAAMAN:
Where then is Tsarpi?
SABALLIDIN:
In
Damascus.
She left you when the curse of Rimmon
fell,—
Took refuge in his House,—and
there she waits
Her lord’s return,—Rezon’s
return.
NAAMAN:
’Tis
false!
SABALLIDIN:
The falsehood is in her. She hath
been friend
With Rezon in his priestly plot to win
Assyria’s favour,—friend
to his design
To sell his country to enrich his temple,—
And friend to him in more,—I
will not name it.
NAAMAN:
Nor will I credit it. Impossible!
SABALLIDIN:
Did she not plead with you against the
war,
Counsel surrender, seek to break your
will?
NAAMAN:
She did not love my work, a soldier’s
task.
She never seemed to be at one with me
Until I was a leper.
SABALLIDIN:
From
whose hand
Did you receive the sacred cup?
NAAMAN:
From
hers.
SABALLIDIN:
And from that hour the curse began to
work.
NAAMAN:
But did she not have pity when she saw
Me smitten? Did she not beseech
the King
For letters and a guard to make this journey?
Has she not been the fountain of my hope,
My comforter and my most faithful guide
In this adventure of the dark? All
this
Is proof of perfect love that would have
shared
A leper’s doom rather than give
me up.
Can I doubt her who dared to love like
this?
SABALLIDIN:
O master, doubt her not,—but
know her name;
Ruahmah! It was she alone who wrought
This wondrous work of love. She
won the King
By the strong pleading of resistless hope
To furnish forth this company. She
led
Our march, kept us in heart, fought off
despair,
Offered herself to you as to her god,
Watched over you as if you were her child,
Prepared your food, your cup, with her
own hands,
Sang you asleep at night, awake at dawn,—
NAAMAN: [Interrupting.]
Enough! I do remember every hour
Of that sweet comradeship! And now
her voice
Wakens the echoes in my lonely breast;
The perfume of her presence fills my sense
With longing. All my soul cries
out in vain
For her embracing, satisfying love,
her eyes and called her my Ruahmah!
[To his soldiers.]
Away! away! I burn to take the road
That leads me back to Rimmon’s House,—
But not to bow,—by God, never
to bow!
TIME: Three days later
Inner court of the House of Rimmon; a temple with huge pillars at each side. In the right foreground the seat of the King; at the left, of equal height, the seat of the High Priest. In the background a broad flight of steps, rising to a curtain of cloudy gray, embroidered with two gigantic hands holding thunderbolts. The temple is in half darkness at first. Enter KHAMMA and NUBTA, robed as Kharimati, or religious dancers, in gowns of black gauze with yellow embroideries and mantles.
KHAMMA:
All is ready for the rites of worship;
our lady will play a great part
in them. She has put on her Tyrian
robes, and all her ornaments.
NUBTA:
That is a sure sign of a religious purpose.
She is most devout, our
lady Tsarpi!
KHAMMA:
A favourite of Rimmon, too! The
High Priest has assured her of it.
He is a great man,—next to
the King, now that Naaman is gone.
NUBTA:
But if Naaman should come back, healed
of the leprosy?
KHAMMA:
How can he come back? The Hebrew
slave that went away with him, when
they caught her, said that he was dead.
The High Priest has shut her
up in the prison of the temple, accusing
her of her master’s death.
NUBTA:
Yet I think he does not believe it, for
I heard him telling our
mistress what to do if Naaman should return.
KHAMMA:
What, then?
NUBTA:
She will claim him as her husband.
Was she not wedded to him before
the god? That is a sacred bond.
Only the High Priest can loose it.
She will keep her hold on Naaman for the
sake of the House of Rimmon.
A wife knows her husband’s secrets,
she can tell——
[Enter SHUMAKIM, with his flagon, walking unsteadily.]
KHAMMA:
Hush! here comes the fool Shumakim.
He is never sober.
SHUMAKIM: [Laughing.]
Are there two of you? I see two,
but that is no proof. I think there
is only one, but beautiful enough for
two. What were you talking to
yourself about, fairest one!
KHAMMA:
About the lady Tsarpi, fool, and what
she would do if her husband
returned.
SHUMAKIM:
Fie! fie! That is no talk for an
innocent fool to hear. Has she a
husband?
NUBTA:
You know very well that she is the wife
of Lord Naaman.
SHUMAKIM:
I remember that she used to wear his name
and his jewels. But I
thought he had exchanged her,—for
a leprosy.
KHAMMA:
You must have heard that he went away
to Samaria to look for healing.
Some say that he died on the journey;
but others say he has been
cured, and is on his way home to his wife.
SHUMAKIM:
It may be, for this is a mad world, and
men never know when they are
well off,—except us fools.
But he must come soon if he would find
his wife as he parted from her,—or
the city where he left it. The
Assyrians have returned with a greater
army, and this time they will
make an end of us. There is no Naaman
how, and the Bull will devour
Damascus like a bunch of leeks, flowers
and all,—flowers and all,
my double-budded fair one! Are you
not afraid?
NUBTA:
We belong to the House of Rimmon.
He will protect us.
SHUMAKIM:
What? The mighty one who hides behind
the curtain there, and tells
his secrets to Rezon? No doubt he
will take care of you, and of
himself. Whatever game is played,
the gods never lose. But for the
protection, of the common people and the
rest of us fools, I would
rather have Naaman at the head of an army
than all the sacred images
between here and Babylon.
KHAMMA:
You are a wicked old man. You mock
the god. He will punish you.
SHUMAKIM: [Bitterly.]
How can he punish me? Has he not
already made me a fool? Hark, here
comes my brother the High Priest, and
my brother the King. Rimmon
made us all; but nobody knows who made
Rimmon, except the High
Priest; and he will never tell.
[Gongs and cymbals sound. Enter REZON with priests, and the King with courtiers. They take their seats. A throng of Khali and Kharimati come in, TSARPI presiding; a sacred dance is performed with torches, burning incense, and chanting, in which TSARPI leads.]
CHANT.
Hail, mighty Rimmon, ruler of the whirl-storm, Hail, shaker of mountains, breaker-down of forests, Hail, thou who roarest terribly in the darkness, Hail, thou whose arrows flame across the heavens! Hail, great destroyer, lord of flood and tempest, In thine anger almighty, in thy wrath eternal, Thou who delightest in ruin, maker of desolations, Immeru, Addu, Barku, Rimmon! See we tremble before thee, low we bow at thine altar, Have mercy upon us, be favourable unto us, Save us from our enemy, accept our sacrifice, Barku, Immeru, Addu, Rimmon!
[Silence follows, all bowing down.]
REZON:
O King, last night the counsel from above
Was given in answer to our divination.
Ambassadors must go forthwith to crave
Assyria’s pardon, and a second offer
Of the same terms of peace we did reject
Not long ago.
BENHADAD:
Dishonour!
Yet I see
No other way! Assyria will refuse,
Or make still harder terms. Disaster,
shame
For this gray head, and ruin for Damascus!
REZON:
Yet may we trust Rimmon will favour us,
If we adhere devoutly to his worship.
He will incline his brother-god, the Bull,
To spare us, if we supplicate him now
With costly gifts. Therefore I have
prepared
A sacrifice: Rimmon shall be well
pleased
With the red blood that bathes his knees
to-night!
BENHADAD:
My mind is dark with doubt,—I
do forebode
Some horror! Let me go,—I
am an old man,—
If Naaman my captain were alive!
But he is dead,—the glory is
departed!
[He rises, trembling, to leave the throne. Trumpet sounds,—NAAMAN’S call;—enter NAAMAN, followed by soldiers; he kneels at the foot of the throne.]
BENHADAD: [Half-whispering.]
Art thou a ghost escaped from Allatu?
How didst thou pass the seven doors of
death?
O noble ghost I am afraid of thee,
And yet I love thee,—let me
hear thy voice!
NAAMAN:
No ghost, my King, but one who lives to
serve
Thee and Damascus with his heart and sword
As in the former days. The only
God
Has healed my leprosy: my life is
clean
To offer to my country and my King.
BENHADAD: [Starting toward him.]
O welcome to thy King! Thrice welcome!
REZON; [Leaving his seat and coming toward NAAMAN.]
Stay!
The leper must appear before the priest,
The only one who can pronounce him clean.
[NAAMAN turns; they stand looking each other in the face.]
Yea,—thou art cleansed:
Rimmon hath pardoned thee,—
In answer to the daily prayers of her
Whom he restores to thine embrace,—thy
wife.
[TSARPI comes slowly toward NAAMAN.]
NAAMAN:
From him who rules this House will I receive
Nothing! I seek no pardon from his
priest,
No wife of mine among his votaries!
TSARPI: [Holding out her hands.]
Am I not yours? Will you renounce
our vows?
NAAMAN:
The vows were empty,—never
made you mine
In aught but name. A wife is one
who shares
Her husband’s thought, incorporates
his heart
With hers by love, and crowns him with
her trust.
She is God’s remedy for loneliness,
And God’s reward for all the toil
of life.
This you have never been to me,—and
so
I give you back again to Rimmon’s
House
Where you belong. Claim what you
will of mine,—
Not me! I do renounce you,—or
release you,—
According to the law. If you demand
A further cause than what I have declared,
I will unfold it fully to the King.
REZON: [Interposing hurriedly.]
No need of that! This duteous lady
yields
To your caprice as she has ever done;
She stands a monument of loyalty
And woman’s meekness.
NAAMAN:
Let
her stand for that!
Adorn your temple with her piety!
But you in turn restore to me the treasure
You stole at midnight from my tent.
REZON:
What treasure? I have stolen none
from you.
NAAMAN:
The very jewel of my soul,—Ruahmah!
My King, the captive maid of Israel,
To whom thou didst commit my broken life
With letters to Samaria,—my
light,
My guide, my saviour in this pilgrimage,—
Dost thou remember?
BENHADAD:
I
recall the maid,—
But dimly,—for my mind is old
and weary.
She was a fearless maid, I trusted her
And gave thee to her charge. Where
is she now?
NAAMAN:
This robber fell upon my camp by night,—
While I was with Elisha at the Jordan,—
Slaughtered my soldiers, carried off the
maid,
And holds her somewhere in imprisonment.
O give this jewel back to me, my King,
And I will serve thee with a grateful
heart
For ever. I will fight for thee,
and lead
Thine armies on to glorious victory
Over all foes! Thou shalt no longer
fear
The host of Asshur, for thy throne shall
stand
Encompassed with a wall of dauntless hearts,
And founded on a mighty people’s
love,
And guarded by the God of righteousness.
BENHADAD:
I feel the flame of courage at thy breath
Leap up among the ashes of despair.
Thou hast returned to save us! Thou
shalt have
The maid; and thou shalt lead my host
again!
Priest, I command you give her back to
him.
REZON:
O master, I obey thy word as thou
Hast ever been obedient to the voice
Of Rimmon. Let thy fiery captain
wait
Until the sacrifice has been performed,
And he shall have the jewel that he claims.
Must we not first placate the city’s
god
With due allegiance, keep the ancient
faith,
And pay our homage to the Lord of Wrath?
BENHADAD: [Sinking hack upon his throne in
fear.]
I am the faithful son of Rimmon’s
House,—
And lo, these many years I worship him!
My thoughts are troubled,—I
am very old,
But still a King! O Naaman, be patient!
Priest, let the sacrifice be offered.
[The High Priest lifts his rod. Gongs and cymbals sound. The curtain is rolled back, disclosing the image of Rimmon; a gigantic and hideous idol, with a cruel human face, four horns, the mane of a lion, and huge paws stretched in front of him enclosing a low altar of black stone. RUAHMAH stands on the altar, chained, her arms are bare and folded on her breast. The people prostrate themselves in silence, with signs of astonishment and horror.]
REZON:
Behold the sacrifice! Bow down,
bow down!
NAAMAN: [Stabbing him.]
Bow thou, black priest! Down,—down
to hell!
Ruahmah! do not die! I come to thee,
[NAAMAN rushes toward her, attacked by the priests, crying “Sacrilege! Kill him!” But the soldiers stand on the steps and beat them back. He springs upon the altar and clasps her by the hand. Tumult and confusion. The King rises and speaks with a loud voice, silence follows.]
BENHADAD:
Peace, peace! The King commands
all weapons down!
O Naaman, what wouldst thou do?
Beware
Lest thou provoke the anger of a god.
NAAMAN:
There is no God but one, the Merciful,
Who gave this perfect woman to my soul
That I might learn through her to worship
Him,
And know the meaning of immortal Love.
Whom God hath joined together, all the
Powers
Of hate and falsehood never shall divide.
BENHADAD: [Agitated.]
Yet she is consecrated, bound, and doomed
To sacrificial death; but thou art sworn
To live and lead my host,—Hast
thou not sworn?
NAAMAN:
Only if thou wilt keep thy word to me!
Break with this idol of iniquity
Whose shadow makes a darkness in the land;
Give her to me who gave me back to thee;
And I will lead thine army to renown
And plant thy banners on the hill of triumph.
But if she dies, I die with her, defying
Rimmon.
[Cries of “Spare them! Release her! Give us back our Captain!” and “Sacrilege! Let them die!” Then silence, all turning toward the King.]
BENHADAD:
Is this the choice? Must we destroy
the bond
Of ancient faith, or slay the city’s
living hope!
I am an old, old man,—and yet
the King!
Must I decide?—O let me ponder
it!
[His head sinks upon his breast. All stand eagerly looking at him.]
NAAMAN; [Holding her in his arms.]
Ruahmah, my Ruahmah! I have come
To thee at last! And art thou satisfied?
RUAHMAH: [Looking into his face.]
Beloved, my beloved, I am glad
Forever! Come what may, the only
God
Is Love,—and He will never
part us.