Explore The House of Rimmon a drama in four acts by Henry Van Dyke

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American Literature – Children Books – American Poetry – Henry Van Dyke – Poems by Henry Van Dyke
< < < The House of Rimmon Act 1 – Act 2 – Act 3 – Act 4
The House of Rimmon Act 1 – Act 2 – Act 3 – Act 4 > > >

ACT III

Time: A
month later: dawn

Scene I

Naaman’s tent,
on high ground among the mountains near Samaria: the city below. In the
distance, a wide and splendid landscape. Saballidin and
soldiers on guard below the tent. Enter Ruahmah in
hunter’s dress, with a lute slung from her shoulder.

Ruahmah:Peace
and good health to you, Saballidin.Good
morrow to you all. How fares my lord?

Saballidin:The
curtains of his tent are folded still:They
have not moved since we returned, last night,And
told him what befell us in the city.

Ruahmah:Told
him! Why did you make report to himAnd
not to me? Am I not captain here,Intrusted
by the King’s command with careOf
Naaman until he is restored?‘Tis
mine to know the first of good or illIn
this adventure: mine to shield his heartFrom
every arrow of adversity.What
have you told him? Speak!

Saballidin: Lady,
we fearedTo
bring our news to you. For when the KingOf
Israel had read our monarch’s letter,He
rent his clothes, and cried, “Am I a god,To
kill and make alive, that I should healA
leper? Ye have come with false pretence,Damascus
seeks a quarrel with me. Go!”But
when we told our lord, he closed his tent,And
there remains enfolded in his grief.I
trust he sleeps; ’twere kind to let him sleep!For
now he doth forget his misery,And
all the burden of his hopeless woeIs
lifted from him by the gentle handOf
slumber. Oh, to those bereft of hopeSleep
is the only blessing left,—the lastAsylum
of the weary, the one signOf
pity from impenetrable heaven.Waking
is strife; sleep is the truce of God!Ah,
lady, wake him not. The day will beFull
long for him to suffer, and for usTo
turn our disappointed faces homeOn
the long road by which we must return.

Ruahmah:Return!
Who gave you that command? Not I!The
King made me the leader of this quest,And
bound you all to follow me, becauseHe
knew I never would return withoutThe
thing for which he sent us. I’ll go onDay
after day, unto the uttermost partsOf
earth, if need be, and beyond the gatesOf
morning, till I find that which I seek,—New
life for Naaman. Are ye ashamedTo
have a woman lead you? Then go backAnd
tell the King, “This huntress went too farFor
us to follow: she pursues the trailOf
hope alone, refusing to forsakeThe
quarry: we grew weary of the chase;And
so we left her and retraced our steps,Like
faithless hounds, to sleep beside the fire.”Did
Naaman forsake his soldiers thusWhen
you went forth to hunt the Assyrian Bull?Your
manly courage is less durableThan
woman’s love, it seems. Go, if you will,—Who
bids me now farewell?

Soldiers: Not
I, not I!

Saballidin:Lady,
lead on, we’ll follow you forever!

Ruahmah:Why,
now you speak like men! Brought you no wordOut
of Samaria, except that cryOf
impotence and fear from Israel’s King?

Saballidin:I
do remember while he spoke with usA
rustic messenger came in, and cried“Elisha
saith, bring Naaman to meAt
Dothan, he shall surely know there isA
God in Israel.”

Ruahmah: What
said the King?

Saballidin:He
only shouted “Go!” more wildly yet,And
rent his clothes again, as if he wereHalf-maddened
by a coward’s fear, and thoughtOnly
of how he might be rid of us.What
comfort could there be for him, what hopeFor
us, in the rude prophet’s misty word?

Ruahmah:It
is the very word for which I prayed!My
trust was not in princes; for the crown,The
sceptre, and the purple robe are notSignificant
of vital power. The manWho
saves his brother-men is he who livesHis
life with Nature, takes deep hold on truth,And
trusts in God. A prophet’s word is moreThan
all the kings on earth can speak. How farIs
Dothan?

Soldier: Lady,
’tis but three hours’ rideAlong
the valley southward.

Ruahmah: Near!
so near?I
had not thought to end my task so soon!Prepare
yourselves with speed to take the road.I
will awake my lord.

[Exeunt all
but Saballidin and Ruahmah.
She goes toward the tent.]

Saballidin: Ruahmah,
stay! [She turns
back.]I’ve
been your servant in this doubtful quest,Obedient,
faithful, loyal to your will,—What
have I earned by this?

Ruahmah: The
gratitudeOf
him we both desire to serve: your friend,—My
master and my lord.

Saballidin: No
more than this?

Ruahmah:Yes,
if you will, take all the thanks my handsCan
hold, my lips can speak.

Saballidin: I
would have more.

Ruahmah:My
friend, there’s nothing more to give to you.My
service to my lord is absolute.There’s
not a drop of blood within my veinsBut
quickens at the very thought of him;And
not a dream of mine but he doth standWithin
its heart and make it bright. No manTo
me is other than his friend or foe.You
are his friend, and I believe you true!

Saballidin:I
have been true to him,—now, I am trueTo
you.

Ruahmah: Why,
then, be doubly true to him.O
let us match our loyalties, and striveBetween
us who shall win the higher crown!Men
boast them of a friendship stronger farThan
love of woman. Prove it! I’ll not boast,But
I’ll contend with you on equal termsIn
this brave race: and if you win the prizeI’ll
hold you next to him: and if I winHe’ll
hold you next to me; and either wayWe’ll
not be far apart. Do you acceptMy
challenge?

Saballidin: Yes!
For you enforce my heartBy
honour to resign its great desire,And
love itself to offer sacrificeOf
all disloyal dreams on its own altar.Yet
love remains; therefore I pray you, thinkHow
surely you must lose in our contention.For
I am known to Naaman: but youHe
blindly takes for Tsarpi. ‘Tis to herHe
gives his gratitude: the praise you winEndears
her name.

Ruahmah: Her
name? Why, what is that?A
name is but an empty shell, a maskThat
does not change the features of the faceBeneath
it. Can a name rejoice, or weep,Or
hope? Can it be moved by tendernessTo
daily services of love, or feel the warmthOf
dear companionship? How many thingsWe
call by names that have no meaning! KingsThat
cannot rule; and gods that are not good;And
wives that do not love! It matters notWhat
syllables he utters when he calls,‘Tis
I who come,—’tis I who ministerUnto
my lord, and mine the living heartThat
feels the comfort of his confidence,The
thrill of gladness when he speaks to me,—I
do not hear the name!

Saballidin: And
yet, be sureThere’s
danger in this error,—and no gain!

Ruahmah:I
seek no gain: I only tread the pathMarked
for me daily by the hand of love.And
if his blindness spared my lord one pangOf
sorrow in his black, forsaken hour,—And
if this error makes his burdened heartMore
quiet, and his shadowed way less dark,Whom
do I rob? Not her who chose to stayAt
ease in Rimmon’s House! Surely not him!Only
myself! And that enriches me.Why
trouble we the master? Let it go,—To-morrow
he must know the truth,—and thenHe
shall dispose of me e’en as he will!

Saballidin:To-morrow?

Ruahmah: Yes,
for I will tarry here,While
you conduct him to Elisha’s houseTo
find the promised healing. I forebodeA
sudden danger from the craven KingOf
Israel, or else a secret ambushFrom
those who hate us in Damascus. Go,But
leave me twenty men: this mountain-passProtects
the road behind you. Make my lordObey
the prophet’s word, whatever he commands,And
come again in peace. Farewell!

[Exit Saballidin. Ruahmah goes
toward the tent, then pauses and turns back. She takes her lute and
sings.]

Song

Above
the edge of dark appear the lances of the sun;Along
the mountain-ridges clear his rosy heralds run;    The
vapours down the valley go    Like
broken armies, dark and low.    Look
up, my heart, from every hill    In
folds of rose and daffodil    The
sunrise banners flow.

O
fly away on silent wing, ye boding owls of night!O
welcome little birds that sing the coming-in of light!    For
new, and new, and ever-new,    The
golden bud within the blue;    And
every morning seems to say:    “There’s
something happy on the way,    And
God sends love to you!”

Naaman: [Appearing
at the entrance of his tent.]O
let me ever wake to music! For the soulReturns
most gently then, and finds its wayBy
the soft, winding clue of melody,Out
of the dusky labyrinth of sleep,Into
the light. My body feels the sunThough
I behold naught that his rays reveal.Come,
thou who art my daydawn and my sight,Sweet
eyes, come close, and make the sunrise mine!

Ruahmah: [Coming near.]A
fairer day, dear lord, was never bornIn
Paradise! The sapphire cup of heavenIs
filled with golden wine: the earth, adornedWith
jewel-drops of dew, unveils her faceA
joyful bride, in welcome to her king.And
look! He leaps upon the Eastern hillsAll
ruddy fire, and claims her with a kiss.Yonder
the snowy peaks of Hermon floatUnmoving
as a wind-dropt cloud. The gulfOf
Jordan, filled with violet haze, concealsThe
river’s winding trail with wreaths of mist.Below
us, marble-crowned Samaria thronesUpon
her emerald hill amid the ValeOf
Barley, while the plains to northward changeTheir
colour like the shimmering necks of doves.The
lark springs up, with morning on her wings,To
climb her singing stairway in the blue,And
all the fields are sprinkled with her joy!

Naaman:Thy
voice is magical: thy words are visions!I
must content myself with them, for nowMy
only hope is lost: Samaria’s KingRejects
our monarch’s message,—hast thou heard?“Am
I a god that I should cure a leper?”He
sends me home unhealed, with angry words,Back
to Damascus and the lingering death.

Ruahmah:What
matter where he sends? No god is heTo
slay or make alive. Elisha bidsYou
come to him at Dothan, there to learnThere
is a God in Israel.

Naaman: I
fearThat
I am grown mistrustful of all gods;Their
secret counsels are implacable.

Ruahmah:Fear
not! There’s One who rules in righteousnessHigh
over all.

Naaman: What
knowest thou of Him?

Ruahmah:Oh,
I have heard,—the maid of Israel,—Rememberest
thou? She often said her GodWas
merciful and kind, and slow to wrath,And
plenteous in forgiveness, pitying usLike
as a father pitieth his children.

Naaman:If
there were such a God, I’d worship HimForever!

Ruahmah: Then
make haste to hear the wordHis
prophet promises to speak to thee!Obey
it, my dear lord, and thou shalt findHealing
and peace. The light shall fill thine eyes.Thou
wilt not need my leading any more,—Nor
me,—for thou wilt see me, all unveiled,—I
tremble at the thought.

Naaman: Why,
what is this?Why
shouldst thou tremble? Art thou not mine own?

Ruahmah: [Turning to
him and speaking in broken words.]I
am,—thy handmaid,—all and only thine,—The
very pulses of my heart are thine!Feel
how they throb to comfort thee to-day—To-day!
Because it is thy time of trouble.

[She takes
his hand and puts it to her forehead and her lips, but before she can
lay it upon her heart, he draws away from her.]

Naaman:Thou
art too dear to injure with a kiss,—How
should I take a gift may bankrupt thee,Or
drain the fragrant chalice of thy loveWith
lips that may be fatal? Tempt me notTo
sweet dishonour; strengthen me to waitUntil
thy prophecy is all fulfilled,And
I can claim thee with a joyful heart.

Ruahmah: [Turning
away.]Thou
wilt not need me then,—and I shall beNo
more than the faint echo of a songHeard
half asleep. We shall go back to whereWe
stood before this journey.

Naaman: Never
again!For
thou art changed by some deep miracle.The
flower of womanhood hath bloomed in thee,—Art
thou not changed?

Ruahmah: Yea,
I am changed,—and changedAgain,—bewildered,—till
there’s nothing clearTo
me but this: I am the instrumentIn
an Almighty hand to rescue theeFrom
death. This will I do,—and afterward— [A trumpet
is blown without.]Hearken,
the trumpet sounds, the chariot waits.Away,
dear lord, follow the road to light!

Scene II *

The
house of Elisha, upon a terraced hillside. A low stone cottage with
vine-trellises and flowers; a flight of steps, at the foot of which is Naaman’s chariot.
He is standing in it; Saballidin beside
it. Two soldiers come down the steps.

First Soldier:We
have delivered my lord’s greeting and his message.

Second Soldier:Yes,
and near lost our noses in the doing of it! For the servant slammed the
door in our faces. A most unmannerly reception!

First Soldier:But
I take that as a good omen. It is a mark of holy men to keep
ill-conditioned servants. Look, the door opens, the prophet is coming.

Second Soldier:No,
by my head, it is that notable mark of his master’s holiness,
that same lantern-jawed lout of a servant.

[Gehazi loiters
down the steps and comes to Naaman with
a slight obeisance.]

Gehazi:My
master, the prophet of Israel, sends word to Naaman the Syrian,—are you
he?—-“Go wash in Jordan seven times and be healed.”

[Gehazi turns
and goes slowly up the steps.]

Naaman:What
insolence is this? Am I a manTo
be put off with surly messengers?Has
not Damascus rivers more renownedThan
this rude muddy Jordan? Crystal streams,Abana!
Pharpar! flowing smoothly throughA
paradise of roses? Might I notHave
bathed in them and been restored at ease?Come
up, Saballidin, and guide me home!

Saballidin:Bethink
thee, master, shall we lose our questBecause
a servant is uncouth? The roadThat
seeks the mountain leads us through the vale.The
prophet’s word is friendly after all;For
had it been some mighty task he set,Thou
wouldst perform it. How much rather thenThis
easy one? Hast thou not promised herWho
waits for thy return? Wilt thou go backTo
her unhealed?

Naaman: No!
not for all my pride!I’ll
make myself most humble for her sake,And
stoop to anything that gives me hopeOf
having her. Make haste, Saballidin,Bring
me to Jordan. I will cast myselfInto
that river’s turbulent embraceA
hundred times, until I save my lifeOr
lose it!

[Exeunt. The
light fades: musical interlude. The light increases again with ruddy
sunset shining on the door of Elisha’s house.
The prophet appears and looks off, shading his eyes with his hand as he
descends the steps. Trumpet blows,—Naaman’s call;—sound
of horses galloping and men shouting. Naaman enters
joyously, followed by Saballidin and
soldiers, with gifts.]

Naaman:Behold
a man delivered from the graveBy
thee! I rose from Jordan’s waves restoredTo
youth and vigour, as the eagle mountsUpon
the sunbeam and renews his strength!O
mighty prophet deign to take from meThese
gifts too poor to speak my gratitude;Silver
and gold and jewels, damask robes,—

Elisha: [Interrupting.]As
thy soul liveth I will not receiveA
gift from thee, my son! Give all to HimWhose
mercy hath redeemed thee from thy plague.

Naaman:He
is the only God! I worship Him!Grant
me a portion of the blessed soilOf
this most favoured land where I have foundHis
mercy; in Damascus will I buildAn
altar to His name, and praise Him thereMorning
and night. There is no other GodIn
all the world.

Elisha: Thou
needst notThis
load of earth to build a shrine for Him;Yet
take it if thou wilt. But be assuredGod’s
altar is in every loyal heart,And
every flame of love that kindles thereAscends
to Him and brightens with His praise.There
is no other God! But evil PowersMake
war against Him in the darkened world;And
many temples have been built to them.

Naaman:I
know them well! Yet when my master goesTo
worship in the House of Rimmon, IMust
enter with him; for he trusts me, leansUpon
my hand; and when he bows himselfI
cannot help but make obeisance too,—But
not to Rimmon! To my country’s KingI’ll
bow in love and honour. Will the LordPardon
thy servant in this thing?

Elisha: My
son,Peace
has been granted thee. ‘Tis thine to findThe
only way to keep it. Go in peace.

Naaman:Thou
hast not answered me,—may I bow down?

Elisha:The
answer must be thine. The heart that knowsThe
perfect peace of gratitude and love,Walks
in the light and needs no other rule.When
next thou comest into Rimmon’s House,Thy
heart will tell thee how to go in peace.

CURTAIN.

* Note
that this scene is not intended to be put upon the stage, the effect of
the action upon the drama being given at the beginning of Act IV.

< < < The House of Rimmon Act 1 – Act 2 – Act 3 – Act 4
The House of Rimmon Act 1 – Act 2 – Act 3 – Act 4 > > >

American Literature – Children Books – American Poetry – Henry Van Dyke – Poems by Henry Van Dyke

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Drama in 4 acts: “The House of Rimmon” by Henry Van Dyke

ACT III

Scene I

Scene II *

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