Chapter 1

_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.]