The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 52

[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 a.s.syrian 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, a.s.shur'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.

a.s.syria 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 compa.s.sion, no escape!

The Bull will gore and trample in his fury n.o.bles and priests and king,--none shall be spared!

Before the throne we lay our second gift; This b.l.o.o.d.y 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? n.o.bles 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; a.s.syria 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, a.s.syria'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 a.s.syria bind the world as we are bound.

I am a soldier, and I know the h.e.l.l Of war! But I will gladly ride through h.e.l.l To save Damascus. Master, bid me ride!

Ten thousand chariots wait for your command; And twenty thousand hors.e.m.e.n 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.d, 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 a.s.shur, They will make a league with the G.o.d 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 G.o.d of thunder, riding on the whirlwind, I, the G.o.d of lightning leaping from the storm-cloud, I will smite with vengeance him who dares defy me!

He who leads Damascus into war with a.s.shur, Conquering or conquered, bears my curse upon him.