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Title: The House of Rimmon
       A Drama in Four Acts


Author: Henry Van Dyke



Release Date: March 8, 2006  [eBook #17944]

Language: English

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THE HOUSE OF RIMMON

A Drama in Four Acts

by

HENRY VAN DYKE







[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




THE HOUSE OF RIMMON




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._




ACT I

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._]




SCENE II.

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._




ACT II

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 helper.
  His prophet dwells nigh to Samaria;
  And I have heard that he hath brought the dead
  To life again.  We'll go to him.  The King,
  If I beseech him, will appoint a guard
  Of thine own soldiers and Saballidin,
  Thy friend, to convoy us upon our journey.
  He'll give us royal letters to the king
  Of Israel to make our welcome sure;
  And we will take the open road, beneath
  The open sky, to-morrow, and go on
  Together till we find the door of hope.
  Come, come with me!

[_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._




ACT III

TIME: _A month later: dawn_

SCENE I

_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!




SCENE II. [*]

[*] 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._




ACT IV

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_

SCENE II

_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.



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