The House of Rimmon Part 2

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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d; but keep thy spirit free.

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. Why dost thou ask this thing Impossible! My honour is engaged To speak for war, to lead in war against The a.s.syrian 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 shall 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 And watched by winged sentries of the sky.

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, And 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!

Thou shall be followed always by the heart Of one poor captive maid who prays for thee.

[_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 a.s.syrians 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 G.o.ds.

The High Priest is against it. The House of Rimmon is for peace with a.s.shur.

RAKHAZ: Yes, and all the n.o.bles 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 a.s.syrians 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 n.o.bles, and the King. No palace, no temple, shall be plundered. Only the shops, and the markets, and the houses of the mult.i.tude 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 a.s.syrian 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 a.s.s 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.