The House of Rimmon | Page 2

all Damascus.
REZON: [Rising, and speaking angrily.] Trust me, I repay his scorn With double hatred,--Naaman, the man Whom the King honours and the people love, Who stands against the nobles and the priests, Against the oracles of Rimmon's House, And cries, "We'll fight to keep Damascus free!" This powerful fool, this impious devotee Of liberty, who loves the city more Than he reveres the city's ancient god: 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, Nor supple to my will, nor melt with tears, Nor quite dissolve with blandishments, although 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 these, the eyes Of Tsarpi; and by this, the rod of Rimmon.
TSARPI: Speak clearly; tell your plan.
REZON: You know the host Of the Assyrian king has broken forth Again to conquer us. Envoys have come From Shalmaneser to demand surrender. Our king Benhadad wavers, for he knows His weakness. All the nobles, all the rich, Would purchase peace that they may grow more rich: Only the people and the soldiers, led By Naaman, would fight for liberty. Blind fools! To-day the envoys came to pay Their worship to our god, whom they adore In Nineveh as Asshur's brother-god. They talked with me in secret. Promises, Great promises! For every noble house That urges peace, a noble 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, Glorious rites and ecstasies of love, Unto the topmost room in Rimmon's tower, The secret, lofty room, the couch of bliss, And the divine embraces of the god.
TSARPI: [Throwing out her arms in exultation.] All, all I wish! What must I do for this?
REZON: Turn Naaman away from thoughts of war; Or purchase him with love's delights to yield This point,--I care not how,--and afterwards The future shall be ours.
TSARPI: And if I fail?
REZON: I have another shaft. The last appeal, Before the king decides, is to the oracle Of Rimmon. You shall read the signs! A former priestess of his temple, you Shall be the interpreter of heaven, and speak A word to melt this brazen soldier's heart Within his breast.
TSARPI: But if it flame instead?
REZON: I know the way to quench that flame. The cup, The parting cup your hand shall give to him! What if the curse of Rimmon should infect That wine with sacred venom, secretly To work within his veins, week after week Corrupting all the currents of his blood, Dimming his eyes, wasting his flesh? What then? Would he prevail in war? Would he come back To glory, or to shame? What think you?
TSARPI: I? I do not think; I only do my part. But can the gods bless this?
REZON: The gods can bless Whatever they decree; their will makes right; And this is for the glory of the house Of Rimmon,--and for thee, my queen. Come, come! The night grows dark: we'll perfect our alliance.
[REZON draws her with him, embracing her, through the shadows of the garden. RUAHMAH, who has been sleeping in the arbour, has been awakened during the dialogue, and has been dimly visible in her white dress, behind the vines. She parts them and comes out, pushing back her long, dark hair from her temples.]
RUAHMAH: What have I heard? O God, what shame is this Plotted beneath Thy pure and silent stars! Was it for this that I was brought away Captive from Israel's blessed hills to serve A heathen mistress in a land of lies? Ah, treacherous, shameful priest! Ah, shameless wife Of one too noble to suspect thy guilt! The very greatness of his generous heart Betrays him to their hands. What can I do? Nothing,--a slave,--hated and mocked by all My fellow-slaves! O bitter prison-life! I smother in this black, betraying air Of lust and luxury; I faint beneath The shadow of this House of Rimmon. God Have mercy! Lead me out to Israel. To Israel!
[Music and laughter heard within the palace. The