Chapter IX: 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.

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._