Part 17

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 accept The golden yoke, Assyria's gift of peace.

NAAMAN: [Starting forward eagerly.] There is no peace beneath a conqueror's yoke! 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, My King, we fight 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; 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 back 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 mouth-piece 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, sown 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 shall surely 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, 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 mortals 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! 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 more than 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 wild words, And rode with him to battle. Give us news, Of your great captain! 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 leads the flood; and lo, our enemies Were broken like a dam of river-reeds. The flying King encircled by his guard Was lodged like driftwood on a little hill. Then Naaman, who led our foremost band Of whirlwind riders, hammered through the hedge Of spearmen, brandishing the golden yoke. "Take back this gift," he cried; and shattered it On Shalmaneser's helmet. So the fight Dissolved in universal rout; the King, His chariots and his horsemen fled away; Our captain stood 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 letter 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 he 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 dared to face the wrath of evil powers Unknown, and hazard all to save his country.

[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! See, upon his brow, This little mark, the death-white seal 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? I must obey. Who can resist the gods? Yet none shall take 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! O 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, That thou 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 sovereign 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 shalt 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 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.