[She grasps his hand.]
Naaman: [Drawing back.]
Thou must not touch me!
Ruahmah: [Unclasping her girdle and putting the end in his 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 lute 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 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; 'twere 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 forever!
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, bring Naaman 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 southward.
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:
Why, then, be 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 lute 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 river's 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
Forever!
Ruahmah:
Then make haste to hear the word
His prophet promises to speak to thee!
Obey it, my dear lord, and thou shalt find
Healing and peace. The light shall fill thine eyes.
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 and speaking in broken words.]
I am,—thy handmaid,—all and only thine,—
The very pulses of my heart are thine!
Feel how they throb to comfort thee to-day—
To-day! Because it is thy time of trouble.
[She takes his hand and puts it to her forehead and her lips, but before she can lay it upon her heart, he draws away from her.]
Naaman:
Thou art too dear to injure with a kiss,—
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 *
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 a mark of holy
men to keep ill-conditioned servants. Look, the
door opens, the prophet is coming.
Second Soldier:
No, by my head, it is 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 muddy 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. 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 needst 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.
When next thou comest into Rimmon's House,
Thy heart will tell thee how to go in peace.
CURTAIN.
* 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.
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 tent: 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 arméd 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:
The 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.
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
To furnish forth this company. She led
Our march, kept us in heart, fought off despair,
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.
Shall I not see her, thank her, speak her name?
Ruahmah! Let me live till I have looked
Into 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!
Scene II
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 now, 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, Berku, 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 back 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.
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:
Ruahmah, my Ruahmah! I have come
To thee at last! And art thou satisfied?
Ruahmah: [Looking into his face.]
Belovéd, my belovéd, I am glad
Of all, and glad for ever, come what may.
Nothing can harm me,—since my lord is come!