Part 16

Alders are in tassel, Maples are in bud; Waters of the blue McCloud Shout in joyful flood; Through the giant pine-trees Flutters many a wing; But, oh, my dear, I long to hear The first bird o' Spring!

Candle-light and fire-light Mingle at "the Bend;" 'Neath the roof of Bo-hai-pan Light and shadow blend. Sweeter than a wood-thrush A maid begins to sing; And, oh, my dear, I'm glad to hear The first bird o' Spring!

The Bend, California, April 29, 1913.

THE HOUSE OF RIMMON

A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

BENHADAD: King of Damascus. REZON: High Priest of the House of Rimmon. SABALLIDIN: A Noble. HAZAEL } IZDUBHAR } Courtiers. 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 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. Beyond 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 the snow-clad summit of Mount Herman 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,-- Nothing awake 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,-- 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 bring me word if Naaman appears!

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! 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.]

REZON: Tsarpi!

TSARPI: [Bowing low before him.] The mistress of the house of Naaman Salutes the master of the House of Rimmon.

REZON: Rimmon receives you with his star of peace, For you were once a handmaid of his altar.

[He lowers the star-point of the rod, which glows for a moment with rosy light above her head.]

And now the keeper of his temple asks The welcome of the woman for the man.

TSARPI: [Giving him her hand, but holding off his embrace.] No more,--till I have heard what brings you here By night, within the garden of the one Who scorns you most and fears you least in all Damascus.

REZON: Trust me, I repay his scorn With double hatred,--Naaman, the man Who stands against the nobles and the priests, This powerful fool, this impious devotee Of liberty, who loves the people 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. 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 this, the hand Of Tsarpi; and by this, the rod of Rimmon.

TSARPI: Your plan?

REZON: You know the host of Nineveh Is marching now against us. Envoys come To bid us yield before a hopeless war. Our king is weak: the nobles, being rich, Would purchase peace to make them richer still: Only the people and the soldiers, led By Naaman, would fight for liberty. Blind fools! To-day the envoys came to me, And 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, 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.

TSARPI: But if I fail? His will is proof against The lure of kisses and the wile of tears.

REZON: Where woman fails, woman and priest succeed. Before the King decides, he must consult The oracle of Rimmon. This my hands Prepare,--and you shall read the signs prepared In words of fear to melt the brazen heart Of Naaman.

TSARPI: But if it flame instead?

REZON: I know a 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 sacred wine with poison, 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 A captive from the hills of Israel To serve the heathen 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 beside 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!

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.

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 Our common foe.

NAAMAN: And thou rememberest this?

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 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 skirmish of a gold-begotten war, 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.

[He takes the amulet from his neck and gives it to her.]

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. 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 shalt 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. 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. There 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!

[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 run away and leave you all adrift in the conflagration.

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 procession 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 hump-backed 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 totters across the hall 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. Are my counsellors At hand? Where are the priests of Rimmon's house?

[Gongs sound. REZON comes in from the side, 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 me failed 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 on 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, Who rules the world from Nineveh, Unto Benhadad, monarch in Damascus! The conquering Bull has led his army forth; 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?

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 ENVOY: [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. We 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 old allies have left us. Can we face the 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 bricks And clay and rubble. Let the city go, But save the corner-stones that float the ship! Have I not spoken well?

BENHADAD: [Shaking his head.] Excellent well! Most eloquent! But misty in the meaning.