The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 50

TSARPI: But if I fail? His will is proof against The lure of kisses and the wile of tears.

REZON: Where woman fails, woman and priest succeed.

Before the King decides, he must consult The oracle of Rimmon. This my hands Prepare,--and you shall read the signs prepared In words of fear to melt the brazen heart Of Naaman.

TSARPI: But if it flame instead?

REZON: I know a 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 sacred wine with poison, 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 G.o.ds bless this?

REZON: The G.o.ds 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, pus.h.i.+ng back her long, dark hair from her temples.]

RUAHMAH: What have I heard? O G.o.d, what shame is this Plotted beneath Thy pure and silent stars!

Was it for this that I was brought away A captive from the hills of Israel To serve the heathen in a land of lies?

Ah, treacherous, shameful priest! Ah, shameless wife Of one too n.o.ble 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 l.u.s.t and luxury; I faint beneath The shadow of this House of Rimmon. G.o.d Have mercy! Lead me out to Israel.

To Israel!

[Music and laughter heard within the palace. The doors fly open and a flood of men and women, dancers, players, flushed with wine, dishevelled, pour down the steps, KHAMMA and NUBTA with them.

They crown the image with roses and dance around it. RUAHMAH is discovered crouching beside the arbour. They drag her out beside the image.]

NUBTA: Look! Here's the Hebrew maid,-- She's homesick; let us comfort her!

KHAMMA: [They put their arms around her.]

Yes, dancing is the cure for homesickness.

We'll make her dance.

RUAHMAH: [She slips away.]

I pray you, let me go!

I cannot dance, I do not know your measures.

KHAMMA: Then sing for us,--a song of Israel!

RUAHMAH: How can I sing the songs of Israel In this strange country? O my heart would break!

A SERVANT: A stubborn and unfriendly maid! We'll whip her.

[They circle around her, striking her with rose-branches; she sinks to her knees, covering her face with her bare arms, which bleed.]

NUBTA: Look, look! She kneels to Rimmon, she is tamed.

RUAHMAH: [Springing up and lifting her arms.]

Nay, not to this dumb idol, but to Him Who made Orion and the seven stars!

ALL: She raves,--she mocks at Rimmon! Punish her!

The fountain! Wash her blasphemy away!

[They push her toward the fountain, laughing and shouting. In the open door of the palace NAAMAN appears, dressed in blue and silver, bareheaded and unarmed. He comes to the top of the steps and stands for a moment, astonished and angry.]

NAAMAN: Silence! What drunken rout is this? Begone, Ye barking dogs and mewing cats! Out, all!

Poor child, what have they done to thee?

[Exeunt all except RUAHMAH, who stands with her face covered by her hands. NAAMAN comes to her, laying his hand on her shoulder.]

RUAHMAH: [Looking up in his face.]

Nothing, My lord and master! They have harmed me not.

NAAMAN: [Touching her arm.]

Dost call this nothing?

RUAHMAH: Since my lord is come!

NAAMAN: I do not know thy face,--who art thou, child?

RUAHMAH: The handmaid of thy wife.

NAAMAN: Whence comest thou?

Thy voice is like thy mistress, but thy looks Have something foreign. Tell thy name, thy land.

RUAHMAH: Ruahmah is my name, a captive maid, The daughter of a prince in Israel, Where once, in olden days, I saw my lord Ride through our highlands, when Samaria Was allied with Damascus to defeat Our common foe.

NAAMAN: And thou rememberest this?

RUAHMAH: As clear as yesterday! Master, I saw Thee riding on a snow-white horse beside Our king; and all we joyful little maids Strewed boughs of palm along the victors' way, For you had driven out the enemy, Broken; and both our lands were friends and free.

NAAMAN: [Sadly.]

Well, they are past, those n.o.ble days! The days When nations would imperil all to keep Their liberties, are only memories now.

The common cause is lost,--and thou art brought, The captive of some mercenary raid, Some skirmish of a gold-begotten war, To serve within my house. Dost thou fare well?

RUAHMAH: Master, thou seest.

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,-- Wors.h.i.+p thy G.o.d; but keep thy spirit free.

[He takes the amulet from his neck and gives it to her.]

Here, take this chain and wear it with my seal, None shall molest the maid who carries this.