________________________________________________
_ ACT I. 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 upset in the midst of the sea and leave you hanging in the air.
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 processions 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 crooked little 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 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._ _
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