The House of Rimmon | Page 6

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