The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 49

THE HOUSE OF RIMMON

A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

BENHADAD: King of Damascus.

REZON: High Priest of the House of Rimmon.

SABALLIDIN: A n.o.ble.

HAZAEL } IZDUBHAR } Courtiers.

RAKHAZ } SHUMAKIM: The King's Fool.

ELISHA: Prophet of Israel.

NAAMAN: Captain of the Armies of Damascus.

RUAHMAH: A Captive Maid of Israel.

TSARPI: Wife to Naaman.

KHAMMA } NUBTA } Attendants of Tsarpi.

Soldiers, Servants, Citizens, etc., etc.

SCENE: _Damascus and the Mountains of Samaria._

TIME: 850 _B. C._

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 plas.h.i.+ng gently: behind it is an arbour covered with vines. Near the centre of the garden stands a small, hideous image of the G.o.d 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 pa.s.s 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 G.o.d 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 n.o.bles and the priests, This powerful fool, this impious devotee Of liberty, who loves the people more Than he reveres the city's ancient G.o.d: 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 n.o.bles, 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 n.o.ble house That urges peace, a n.o.ble 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 G.o.d.

TSARPI: [Throwing out her arms in exultation.]

All, all I wis.h.!.+ What must I do for this?

REZON: Turn Naaman away from thoughts of war.