ACT II

RAKHAZ:

Am I a statesman? I felt something of the kind about me. But what is a statesman?

SHUMAKIM:

A politician that is stuffed with big words; a fat man in a mask; one that plays a solemn tune on a sackbut full o' wind.

HAZAEL:

And what is a politician?

SHUMAKIM:

A statesman that has dropped his mask and cracked his sackbut. Men trust him for what he is, and he never deceives them, because he always lies.

IZDUBHAR:

Why do you call me a patriot?

SHUMAKIM:

Because you know what is good for you; you love your country as you love your pelf. You feel for the common people,--as the wolf feels for the sheep.

SABALLIDIN:

And what am I?

SHUMAKIM:

A fool, master, just a plain fool; and there is hope of thee for that reason. Embrace me, brother, and taste this; but not too much,--it will intoxicate thee with sobriety.

[The hall has been slowly filling with courtiers and soldiers: a crowd of people begin to come up the steps at the rear, where they are halted by a chain guarded by servants of the palace. A bell tolls; the royal door is thrown open; the aged King crosses the hall slowly and takes his seat on the throne with the four tall sentinels standing behind him. All bow down shading their eyes with their hands.]

BENHADAD:

The hour of royal audience is come.

I'll hear the envoys of my brother king,

The Son of Asshur. Are my counsellors

At hand? Where are the priests of Rimmon's House?

[Gongs sound. REZON comes in from the rear, followed by a procession of priests in black and yellow. The courtiers bow; the King rises; REZON takes his stand on the steps of the throne at the left of the King.]

BENHADAD;

Where is my faithful servant Naaman,

The captain of my host?

[Trumpets sound from the city. The crowd on the steps divide; the chain is lowered; NAAMAN enters, followed by six soldiers. He is dressed in chain-mail, with a silver helmet and a cloak of blue. He uncovers, and kneels on the steps of the throne at the King's right.]

NAAMAN:

My lord the King,

The bearer of thy sword is here.

BENHADAD: [Giving NAAMAN his hand, and sitting down.]

Welcome,

My strong right arm that never failed me yet!

I am in doubt,--but stay thou close to me

While I decide this cause. Where are the envoys?

Let them appear and give their message.

[Enter the Assyrian envoys; one in white and the other in red; both with the golden Bull's head embroidered oh their robes. They come from the right, rear, bow slightly before the throne, and take the centre of the hall.]

WHITE ENVOY: [Stepping forward.]

Greeting from Shalmaneser, Asshur's son,

The king who reigns at Nineveh

And takes his tribute from a thousand cities,

Unto Benhadad, monarch in Damascus!

The conquering Bull has come out of the north;

The south has fallen before him, and the west

His feet have trodden; Hamath is laid waste;

He pauses at your gate, invincible,--

To offer peace. The princes of your court,

The priests of Rimmon's house, and you, the King,

If you pay homage to your overlord,

Shall rest secure, and flourish as our friends.

Assyria sends to you this gilded yoke;

Receive it as the sign of proffered peace.

[He lays a yoke on the steps of the throne.]

BENHADAD:

What of the city? Said your king no word

Of our Damascus, and the many folk

That do inhabit her and make her great?

What of the soldiers who have fought for us?

The people who have sheltered 'neath our shield?

WHITE ENVOY:

Of these my royal master did not speak.

BENHADAD:

Strange silence! Must we give them up to him?

Is this the price at which he offers us

The yoke of peace? What if we do refuse?

RED ENYOY: [Stepping forward.]

Then ruthless war! War to the uttermost.

No quarter, no compassion, no escape!

The Bull will gore and trample in his fury

Nobles and priests and king,--none shall be spared!

Before the throne we lay our second gift;

This bloody horn, the symbol of red war.

[He lays a long bull's horn, stained with blood on the steps of the throne.]

WHITE ENVOY:

Our message is delivered. Grant us leave

And safe conveyance, that we may return

Unto our master. He will wait three days

To know your royal choice between his gifts.

Keep which you will and send the other back;

The red bull's horn your youngest page may bring;

But with the yoke, best send your mightiest army!

[The ENVOYS retire, amid confused murmurs of the people, the King silent, his head sunken on his breast.]

BENHADAD:

Proud words, a bitter message, hard to endure!

We are not now that force which feared no foe;

Our host is weakened, and our old allies

Have left us. Can we face this raging Bull

Alone, and beat him back? Give me your counsel.

[Many speak at once, confusedly.]

What babblement is this? Were ye born at Babel?

Give me clear words and reasonable speech.

RAKHAZ: [Pompously]

O King, I am a reasonable man;

And there be some who call me very wise

And prudent; but of this I will not speak,

For I am also modest. Let me plead,

Persuade, and reason you to choose for peace.

This golden yoke may be a bitter draught,

But better far to fold it in our arms,

Than risk our cargoes in the savage horn

Of war. Shall we imperil all our wealth,

Our valuable lives? Nobles are few,

Rich men are rare, and wise men rarer still;

The precious jewels on the tree of life,

Wherein the common people are but brides

And clay and rubble. Let the city go,

But save the corner-stones that float the ship!

Have I not spoken well?

BENBADAD: [Shaking his head.]

Excellent well!

Most eloquent! But misty in the meaning.

HAZAEL: [With cold decision.]

Then let me speak, O King, in plainer words!

The days of independent states are past:

The tide of empire sweeps across the earth;

Assyria rides it with resistless power

And thunders on to subjugate the world.

Oppose her, and we fight with Destiny;

Submit to her demands, and we shall ride

With her to victory. Therefore return

This bloody horn, the symbol of wild war,

With words of soft refusal, and accept

The golden yoke, Assyria's gift of peace.

NAAMAN: [Starting forward eagerly.]

There is no peace beneath a conqueror's yoke,

My King, but shame and heaviness of heart!

For every state that barters liberty

To win imperial favour, shall be drained

Of her best blood, henceforth, in endless wars

To make the empire greater. Here's the choice:

We fight to-day to keep our country free,

Or else we fight forevermore to help

Assyria bind the world as we are bound.

I am a soldier, and I know the hell

Of war! But I will gladly ride through hell

To save Damascus. Master, bid me ride!

Ten thousand chariots wait for your command;

And twenty thousand horsemen strain the leash

Of patience till you let them go; a throng

Of spearmen, archers, swordsmen, like the sea

Chafing against a dike, roar for the onset!

O master, let me launch your mighty host

Against the Bull,--we'll bring him to his knees!

[Cries of "War!" from the soldiers and the people; "peace!" from the courtiers and the priests. The King rises, turning toward NAAMAN, and seems about to speak. REZON lifts his rod.]

REZON:

Shall not the gods decide when mortals doubt?

Rimmon is master of the city's fate;

He reigns in secret and his will is law;

We read his will, by our most ancient faith,

In omens and in signs of mystery.

Must we not hearken to his high commands?

BENHADAD: [Sinking hack on the throne, submissively.]

I am the faithful son of Rimmon's House.

Consult the oracle. But who shall read?

REZON:

Tsarpi, the wife of Naaman, who served

Within the temple in her maiden years,

Shall be the mouthpiece of the mighty god,

To-day's high-priestess. Bring the sacrifice!

[Gongs and cymbals sound: enter priests carrying an altar on which a lamb is bound. The altar is placed in the centre of the hall. TSARPI follows the priests, covered with a long transparent veil of black, sewn with gold stars; RUAHMAH, in white, bears her train. TSARPI stands before the altar, facing it, and lifts her right hand holding a knife. RUAHMAH steps back, near the throne, her hands crossed on her breast, her head bowed. The priests close in around TSARPI and the altar. The knife is seen to strike downward. Gongs and cymbals sound: cries of "Rimmon, hear us." The circle of priests opens, and TSARPI turns slowly to face the King.]

TSARPI: [Monotonously.]

Black is the blood of the victim,

Rimmon is unfavourable,

Asratu is unfavourable;

They will not war against Asshur,

They will make a league with the God of Nineveh.

Evil is in store for Damascus,

A strong enemy will lay waste the land.

Therefore make peace with the Bull;

Hearken to the voice of Rimmon.

[She turns again to the altar, and the priests close in around her. REZON lifts his rod toward the tower of the temple. A flash of lightning followed by thunder; smoke rises from the altar; all except NAAMAN and RUAHMAH cover their faces. The circle of priests opens again, and TSARPI comes forward slowly, chanting.]

CHANT:

Hear the words of Rimmon! Thus your Maker speaketh:

I, the god of thunder, riding on the whirlwind,

I, the god of lightning leaping from the storm-cloud,

I will smite with vengeance him who dares defy me!

He who leads Damascus into war with Asshur,

Conquering or conquered, bears my curse upon him.

Surely shall my arrow strike his heart in secret,

Burn his flesh with fever, turn his blood to poison,

Brand him with corruption, drive him into darkness;

He alone shall perish, by the doom of Rimmon.

[All are terrified and look toward NAAMAN, shuddering. RUAHMAH alone seems not to heed the curse, but stands with her eyes fixed on NAAMAN.]

RUAHMAH:

Be not afraid! There is a greater God

Shall cover thee with His almighty wings:

Beneath his shield and buckler shalt thou trust.

BENHADAD:

Repent, my son, thou must not brave this curse.

NAAMAN:

My King, there is no curse as terrible

As that which lights a bosom-fire for him

Who gives away his honour, to prolong

A craven life whose every breath is shame!

If I betray the men who follow me,

The city that has put her trust in me,

The country to whose service I am bound,

What king can shield me from my own deep scorn,

What god release me from that self-made hell?

The tender mercies of Assyria

I know; and they are cruel as creeping tigers.

Give up Damascus, and her streets will run

Rivers of innocent blood; the city's heart,

That mighty, labouring heart, wounded and crushed

Beneath the brutal hooves of the wild Bull,

Will cry against her captain, sitting safe

Among the nobles, in some pleasant place.

I shall be safe,--safe from the threatened wrath

Of unknown gods, but damned forever by

The men I know,--that is the curse I fear.

BENHADAD:

Speak not so high, my son. Must we not bow

Our heads before the sovereignties of heaven?

The unseen rulers are Divine.

NAAMAN;

O King,

I am unlearned in the lore of priests;

Yet well I know that there are hidden powers

About us, working mortal weal and woe

Beyond the force of mortal to control.

And if these powers appear in love and truth,

I think they must be gods, and worship them.

But if their secret will is manifest

In blind decrees of sheer omnipotence,

That punish where no fault is found, and smite

The poor with undeserved calamity,

And pierce the undefended in the dark

With arrows of injustice, and foredoom

The innocent to burn in endless pain,

I will not call this fierce almightiness

Divine. Though I must bear, with every man,

The burden of my life ordained, I'll keep

My soul unterrified, and tread the path

Of truth and honour with a steady heart!

But if I err in this; and if there be

Divinities whose will is cruel, unjust,

Capricious and supreme, I will forswear

The favour of these gods, and take my part

With man to suffer and for man to die.

Have ye not heard, my lords? The oracle

Proclaims to me, to me alone, the doom

Of vengeance if I lead the army out.

"Conquered or conquering!" I grip that chance!

Damascus free, her foes all beaten back,

The people saved from slavery, the King

Upheld in honour on his ancient throne,--

O what's the cost of this? I'll gladly pay

Whatever gods there be, whatever price

They ask for this one victory. Give me

This gilded sign of shame to carry back;

I'll shake it in the face of Asshur's king,

And break it on his teeth.

BENHADAD: [Rising.]

Then go, my never-beaten captain, go!

And may the powers that hear thy solemn vow

Forgive thy rashness for Damascus' sake,

Prosper thy fighting, and remit thy pledge.

REZON: [Standing beside the altar.]

The pledge, O King, this man must seal his pledge

At Rimmon's altar. He must take the cup

Of soldier-sacrament, and bind himself

By thrice-performed libation to abide

The fate he has invoked.

NAAMAN: [Slowly.]

And so I will.

[He comes down the steps, toward the altar, where REZON is filling the cup which TSARPI holds. RUAHMAH throws herself before NAAMAN, clasping his knees.]

RUAHMAH: [Passionately and wildly.]

My lord, I do beseech you, stay! There's death

Within that cup. It is an offering

To devils. See, the wine blazes like fire,

It flows like blood, it is a cursed cup,

Fulfilled of treachery and hate.

Dear master, noble master, touch it not!

NAAMAN:

Poor maid, thy brain is still distraught. Fear not

But let me go! Here, treat her tenderly!

[Gives her into the hands of SABALLIDIN.]

Can harm befall me from the wife who bears

My name? I take the cup of fate from her.

I greet the unknown powers; [Pours libation.]

I will perform my vow; [Again.]

I will abide my fate; [Again.]

I pledge my life to keep Damascus free.

[He drains the cup, and lets it fall.]

CURTAIN.

TIME:A week later

The fore-court of the House of Rimmon. At the back the broad steps and double doors of the shrine: above them the tower of the god, its summit invisible. Enter various groups of citizens, talking, laughing, shouting: RAKHAZ, HAZAEL, SHUMAKIM and others.

FIRST CITIZEN:

Great news, glorious news, the Assyrians are beaten!

SECOND CITIZEN:

Naaman is returning, crowned with victory. Glory to our noble captain!

THIRD CITIZEN:

No, he is killed. I had it from one of the camp-followers who saw him fall at the head of the battle. They are bringing his body to bury it with honour. O sorrowful victory!

RAKHAZ;

Peace, my good fellows, you are ignorant, you have not been rightly informed, I will misinform you. The accounts of Naaman's death are overdrawn. He was killed, but his life has been preserved. One of his wounds was mortal, but the other three were curable, and by these the physicians have saved him.

SHUMAKIM: [Balancing himself before RAKHAZ in pretended admiration.]

O wonderful! Most admirable logic! One mortal, and three curable, therefore he must recover as it were, by three to one. Rakhaz, do you know that you are a marvelous man?

RAKHAZ:

Yes, I know it, but I make no boast of my knowledge.

SHUMAKIM:

Too modest, for in knowing this you know what is unknown to any other in Damascus!

[Enter, from the right, SABALLIDIN in armour: from the left, TSARPI with her attendants, among whom is RUAHMAH.]

HAZAEL:

Here is Saballidin, we'll question him;

He was enflamed by Naaman's fiery words,

And rode with him to battle. Good, my lord,

We hail you as a herald of the fight

You helped to win. Give us authentic news

Of your great general! Is he safe and well?

When will he come? Or will he come at all?

[All gather around him, listening eagerly.]

SABALLIDIN:

He comes but now, returning from the field

Where he hath gained a crown of deathless fame!

Three times he led the charge; three times he fell

Wounded, and the Assyrians beat us back.

Yet every wound was but a spur to urge

His valour onward. In the last attack

He rode before us as the crested wave

That heads the flood; and lo, our enemies

Were broken like a dam of river-reeds,

Burst by the torrent, scattered, swept away!

But look! the Assyrian king in wavering flight

Is lodged like driftwood on a little hill,

Encircled by his guard, and stands at bay.

Then Naaman, followed hotly by a score

Of whirlwind riders, hammers through the hedge

Of spearmen, brandishing the golden yoke:

"Take back this gift," he cries; and shatters it

On Shalmaneser's helmet. So the fight

Dissolves in universal rout: the king,

His chariots and his horsemen melt away;

Our captain stands the master of the field,

And saviour of Damascus! Now he brings,

First to the king, report of this great triumph.

[Shouts of joy and applause.]

RUAHMAH: [Coming close to SABALLIDIN,]

But what of him who won it? Fares he well?

My mistress would receive some word of him.

SABALLIDIN:

Hath she not heard?

RUAHMAH:

But one brief message came:

A tablet saying, "We have fought and conquered,"

No word of his own person. Fares he well?

SABALLIDIN:

Alas, most ill! For he is like a man

Consumed by some strange sickness: wasted, wan,--

His eyes are dimmed so that scarce can see;

His ears are dulled; his fearless face is pale

As one who walks to meet a certain doom

Yet will not flinch. It is most pitiful,--

But you shall see.

RUAHMAH:

Yea, we shall see a man

Who took upon himself his country's burden, dared

To hazard all to save the poor and helpless;

A man who bears the wrath of evil powers

Unknown, and pays the hero's sacrifice.

[Enter BENHADAD with courtiers.]

BENHADAD:

Where is my faithful servant Naaman,

The captain of my host?

SABALLIDIN:

My lord, he comes.

[Trumpet sounds. Enter company of soldiers in armour. Then four soldiers bearing captured standards of Asshur. NAAMAN follows, very pale, armour dinted and stained; he is blind, and guides himself by cords from the standards on each side, but walks firmly. The doors of the temple open slightly, and REZON appears at the top of the steps. NAAMAN lets the cords fall, and gropes his way for a few paces.]

NAAMAN: [Kneeling]

Where is my King?

Master, the bearer of thy sword returns.

The golden yoke thou gavest me I broke

On him who sent it. Asshur's Bull hath fled

Dehorned. The standards of his host are thine!

Damascus is all thine, at peace, and free!

BENHADAD: [Holding out his arms.]

Thou art a mighty man of valour! Come,

And let me fold thy courage to my heart.

REZON: [Lifting his rod.]

Forbear, O King! Stand back from him, all men!

By the great name of Rimmon I proclaim

This man a leper! On his brow I see

The death-white seal, the finger-print of doom!

That tiny spot will spread, eating his flesh,

Gnawing his fingers bone from bone, until

The impious heart that dared defy the gods

Dissolves in the slow death which now begins.

Unclean! unclean! Henceforward he is dead:

No human hand shall touch him, and no home

Of men shall give him shelter. He shall walk

Only with corpses of the selfsame death

Down the long path to a forgotten tomb.

Avoid, depart, I do adjure you all,

Leave him to god,--the leper Naaman!

[All shrink back horrified. REZON retires into the temple; the crowd melts away, wailing: TSARPI is among the first to go, followed by her attendants, except RUAHMAH, who crouches, with her face covered, not far from NAAMAN.]

BENHADAD: [Lingering and turning back.]

Alas, my son! O Naaman, my son!

Why did I let thee go? Thou art cast out

Irrevocably from the city's life

Which thou hast saved. Who can resist the gods?

I must obey the law, and touch thy hand

Never again. Yet none shall take from thee

Thy glorious title, captain of my host!

I will provide for thee, and thou shalt dwell

With guards of honour in a house of mine

Always. Damascus never shall forget

What thou hast done! O miserable words

Of crowned impotence! O mockery of power

Given to kings, who cannot even defend

Their dearest from the secret wrath of heaven!

Naaman, my son, my son! [Exit.]

NAAMAN: [Slowly, passing his hand over his eyes, and looking up.]

Am I alone

With thee, inexorable one, whose pride

Offended takes this horrible revenge?

I must submit my mortal flesh to thee,

Almighty, but I will not call thee god!

Yet thou hast found the way to wound my soul

Most deeply through the flesh; and I must find

The way to let my wounded soul escape!

[Drawing his sword.]

Come, my last friend, thou art more merciful

Than Rimmon. Why should I endure the doom

He sends me? Irretrievably cut off

From all dear intercourse of human love,

From all the tender touch of human hands,

From all brave comradeship with brother-men,

With eyes that see no faces through this dark,

With ears that hear all voices far away,

Why should I cling to misery, and grope

My long, long way from pain to pain, alone?

RUAHMAH: [At his feet.]

Nay, not alone, dear lord, for I am here;

And I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee!

NAAMAN:

What voice is that? The silence of my tomb

Is broken by a ray of music,--whose?

RUAHMAH: [Rising.]

The one who loves thee best in all the world.

NAAMAN:

Why that should be,--O dare I dream it true?

Tsarpi, my wife? Have I misjudged thy heart

As cold and proud? How nobly thou forgivest!

Thou com'st to hold me from the last disgrace,--

The coward's flight into the dark. Go back

Unstained, my sword! Life is endurable

While there is one alive on earth who loves us,

RUAHMAH:

My lord,--my lord,--O listen! You have erred,--

You do mistake me now,--this dream--

NAAMAN:

Ah, wake me not! For I can conquer death

Dreaming this dream. Let me at last believe,

Though gods are cruel, a woman can be kind.

Grant me but this! For see,--I ask so little,--

Only to know that thou art faithful,--

Only to lean upon the thought that thou,

My wife, art near me, though I touch thee not,--

O this will hold me up, though it be given

From pity more than love.

Back to Index Next