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 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 god of thunder, riding on the whirlwind,

I, the god of lightning leaping from the storm-cloud,

I will smite with vengeance him who dares defy me!

He who leads Damascus into war with Asshur,

Conquering or conquered, bears my curse upon him.

Surely shall my arrow strike his heart in secret,

Burn his flesh with fever, turn his blood to poison,

Brand him with corruption, drive him into darkness;

He alone shall perish, by the doom of Rimmon.

[All are terrified and look toward NAAMAN, shuddering. RUAHMAH alone seems not to heed the curse, but stands with her eyes fixed on NAAMAN.]

RUAHMAH:

Be not afraid! There is a greater God

Shall cover thee with His almighty wings:

Beneath his shield and buckler shalt thou trust.

BENHADAD:

Repent, my son, thou must not brave this curse.

NAAMAN:

My King, there is no curse as terrible

As that which lights a bosom-fire for him

Who gives away his honour, to prolong

A craven life whose every breath is shame!

If I betray the men who follow me,

The city that has put her trust in me,

The country to whose service I am bound,

What king can shield me from my own deep scorn,

What god release me from that self-made hell?

The tender mercies of Assyria

I know; and they are cruel as creeping tigers.

Give up Damascus, and her streets will run

Rivers of innocent blood; the city's heart,

That mighty, labouring heart, wounded and crushed

Beneath the brutal hooves of the wild Bull,

Will cry against her captain, sitting safe

Among the nobles, in some pleasant place.

I shall be safe,--safe from the threatened wrath

Of unknown gods, but damned forever by

The men I know,--that is the curse I fear.

BENHADAD:

Speak not so high, my son. Must we not bow

Our heads before the sovereignties of heaven?

The unseen rulers are Divine.

NAAMAN;

O King,

I am unlearned in the lore of priests;

Yet well I know that there are hidden powers

About us, working mortal weal and woe

Beyond the force of mortal to control.

And if these powers appear in love and truth,

I think they must be gods, and worship them.

But if their secret will is manifest

In blind decrees of sheer omnipotence,

That punish where no fault is found, and smite

The poor with undeserved calamity,

And pierce the undefended in the dark

With