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
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ACT IV

Scene I

The
interior of Naaman’s tent,
at night. Ruahmah alone,
sleeping on the ground. A vision appears to her through the curtains of
the tent: Elisha standing
on the hillside at Dothan: Naaman,
restored to sight, comes in and kneels before him. Elisha blesses
him, and he goes out rejoicing. The vision of the prophet turns to Ruahmah and
lifts his hand in warning.

Elisha:Daughter
of Israel, what dost thou here?Thy
prayer is granted. Naaman is healed:Mar
not true service with a selfish thought.Nothing
remains for thee to do, exceptGive
thanks, and go whither the Lord commands.Obey,—obey!
Ere Naaman returnsThou
must depart to thine own house in Shechem.

[The vision
vanishes.]

Ruahmah: [Waking and
rising slowly.]A
dream, a dream, a messenger of God!O
dear and dreadful vision, art thou true?Then
am I glad with all my broken heart.Nothing
remains,—nothing remains but this,—Give
thanks, obey, depart,—and so I do.Farewell,
my master’s sword! Farewell to you,My
amulet! I lay you on the hiltHis
hand shall clasp again: bid him farewellFor
me, since I must look upon his faceNo
more for ever!—Hark, what sound was that?

[Enter
soldier hurriedly.]

Soldier:Mistress,
an arméd troop, footmen and horse,Mounting
the hill!

Ruahmah: My
lord returns in triumph.

Soldier:Not
so, for these are enemies; they marchIn
haste and silence, answering not our cries.

Ruahmah:Our
enemies? Then hold your ground,—on guard!Fight!
fight! Defend the pass, and drive them down.

[Exit
soldier. Ruahmah draws Naaman’s sword
from the scabbard and hurries out of the tent. Confused noise of
fighting outside. Three or four soldiers are driven in by a troop of
men in disguise. Ruahmah follows:
she is beaten to her knees, and her sword is broken.]

Rezon: [Throwing
aside the cloth which covers his face.]Hold
her! So, tiger-maid, we’ve found your lairAnd
trapped you. Where is Naaman,Your
master?

Ruahmah: [Rising, her
arms held by two of Rezon’s followers.] He
is far beyond your reach.

Rezon:Brave
captain! He has saved himself, the leper,And
left you here?

Ruahmah: The
leper is no more.

Rezon:What
mean you?

Ruahmah: He
has gone to meet his God.

Rezon:Dead?
Dead? Behold how Rimmon’s wrath is swift!Damascus
shall be mine; I’ll terrifyThe
King with this, and make my terms. But no!False
maid, you sweet-faced harlot, you have liedTo
save him,—speak.

Ruahmah: I
am not what you say,Nor
have I lied, nor will I ever speakA
word to you, vile servant of a traitor-god.

Rezon:Break
off this little flute of blasphemy,This
ivory neck,—twist it, I say!Give
her a swift despatch after her leper!But
stay,—if he still lives he’ll follow her,And
so we may ensnare him. Harm her not!Bind
her! Away with her to Rimmon’s House!Is
all this carrion dead? There’s one that moves,—A
spear,—fasten him down! All quiet now?Then
back to our Damascus! Rimmon’s faceShall
be made bright with sacrifice.

[Exeunt,
forcing Ruahmah with
them. Musical interlude. A wounded soldier crawls from a dark corner of
the tent and finds the chain with Naaman’s seal,
which has fallen to the ground in the struggle.]

Wounded Soldier:The
signet of my lord, her amulet!Lost,
lost! Ah, noble lady,—let me dieWith
this upon my breast.

[The tent is
dark. Enter Naaman and
his company in haste, with torches.]

Naaman: What
bloody workIs
here? God, let me live to punish himWho
wrought this horror! Treacherously slainAt
night, by unknown hands, my brave companions:Tsarpi,
my best beloved, light of my soul,Put
out in darkness! O my broken lampOf
life, where art thou? Nay, I cannot find her.

Wounded Soldier: [Raising
himself on his arm.]Master!

Naaman: [Kneels
beside him.] One
living? Quick, a torch this way!Lift
up his head,—so,—carefully!Courage,
my friend, your captain is beside you.Call
back your soul and make report to him.

Wounded Soldier:Hail,
captain! O my captain,—here!

Naaman:Be
patient,—rest in peace,—the fight is done.Nothing
remains but render your account.

Wounded Soldier:They
fell upon us suddenly,—we foughtOur
fiercest,—every man,—our lady foughtFiercer
than all. They beat us down,—she’s gone.Rezon
has carried her away a captive. See,—Her
amulet,—I die for you, my captain.

Naaman: [He gently
lays the dead soldier on the ground, and rises.]Farewell.
This last report was brave; but strangeBeyond
my thought! How came the High Priest here?And
what is this? my chain, my seal! But thisHas
never been in Tsarpi’s hand. I gaveThis
signet to a captive maid one night,—A
maid of Israel. How long ago?Ruahmah
was her name,—almost forgotten!So
long ago,—how comes this token here?What
is this mystery, Saballidin?

Saballidin:Ruahmah
is her name who brought you hither.

Naaman:Where
then is Tsarpi?

Saballidin: In
Damascus.She
left you when the curse of Rimmon fell,—Took
refuge in his House,—and there she waitsHer
lord’s return,—Rezon’s return.

Naaman: ‘Tis
false!

Saballidin:The
falsehood is in her. She hath been friendWith
Rezon in his priestly plot to winAssyria’s
favour,—friend to his designTo
sell his country to enrich his temple,—And
friend to him in more,—I will not name it.

Naaman:Nor
will I credit it. Impossible!

Saballidin:Did
she not plead with you against the war,Counsel
surrender, seek to break your will?

Naaman:She
did not love my work, a soldier’s task.She
never seemed to be at one with meUntil
I was a leper.

Saballidin: From
whose handDid
you receive the sacred cup?

Naaman: From
hers.

Saballidin:And
from that hour the curse began to work.

Naaman:But
did she not have pity when she sawMe
smitten? Did she not beseech the KingFor
letters and a guard to make this journey?Has
she not been the fountain of my hope,My
comforter and my most faithful guideIn
this adventure of the dark? All thisIs
proof of perfect love that would have sharedA
leper’s doom rather than give me up.Can
I doubt her who dared to love like this?

Saballidin:O
master, doubt her not,—but know her name;Ruahmah!
It was she alone who wroughtThis
wondrous work of love. She won the KingTo
furnish forth this company. She ledOur
march, kept us in heart, fought off despair,Watched
over you as if you were her child,Prepared
your food, your cup, with her own hands,Sang
you asleep at night, awake at dawn,—

Naaman: [Interrupting.]Enough!
I do remember every hourOf
that sweet comradeship! And now her voiceWakens
the echoes in my lonely breast.Shall
I not see her, thank her, speak her name?Ruahmah!
Let me live till I have lookedInto
her eyes and called her my Ruahmah! [To his
soldiers.]Away!
away! I burn to take the roadThat
leads me back to Rimmon’s House,—But
not to bow,—by God, never to bow!

Scene II

Time: Three
days later

Inner
court of the House of Rimmon; a temple with huge pillars at each side.
In the right foreground the seat of the King; at the left, of equal
height, the seat of the High Priest. In the background a broad flight
of steps, rising to a curtain of cloudy gray, embroidered with two
gigantic hands holding thunderbolts. The temple is in half darkness at
first. Enter Khamma and Nubta,
robed as Kharimati, or religious dancers, in gowns of black gauze with
yellow embroideries and mantles.

Khamma:All
is ready for the rites of worship; our lady will play a great part in
them. She has put on her Tyrian robes, and all her ornaments.

Nubta:That
is a sure sign of a religious purpose. She is most devout, our lady
Tsarpi!

Khamma:A
favourite of Rimmon, too! The High Priest has assured her of it. He is
a great man,—next to the King, now that Naaman is gone.

Nubta:But
if Naaman should come back, healed of the leprosy?

Khamma:How
can he come back? The Hebrew slave that went away with him, when they
caught her, said that he was dead. The High Priest has shut her up in
the prison of the temple, accusing her of her master’s death.

Nubta:Yet
I think he does not believe it, for I heard him telling our mistress
what to do if Naaman should return.

Khamma:What,
then?

Nubta:She
will claim him as her husband. Was she not wedded to him before the
god? That is a sacred bond. Only the High Priest can loose it. She will
keep her hold on Naaman for the sake of the House of Rimmon. A wife
knows her husband’s secrets, she can tell—

[Enter Shumakim,
with his flagon, walking unsteadily.]

Khamma:Hush!
here comes the fool Shumakim. He is never sober.

Shumakim: [Laughing.]Are
there two of you? I see two, but that is no proof. I think there is
only one, but beautiful enough for two. What were you talking to
yourself about, fairest one!

Khamma:About
the lady Tsarpi, fool, and what she would do if her husband returned.

Shumakim:Fie!
fie! That is no talk for an innocent fool to hear. Has she a husband?

Nubta:You
know very well that she is the wife of Lord Naaman.

Shumakim:I
remember that she used to wear his name and his jewels. But I thought
he had exchanged her,—for a leprosy.

Khamma:You
must have heard that he went away to Samaria to look for healing. Some
say that he died on the journey; but others say he has been cured, and
is on his way home to his wife.

Shumakim:It
may be, for this is a mad world, and men never know when they are well
off,—except us fools. But he must come soon if he would find his wife
as he parted from her,—or the city where he left it.
The Assyrians have returned with a greater army, and this time they
will make an end of us. There is no Naaman now, and the Bull will
devour Damascus like a bunch of leeks, flowers and all,—flowers and
all, my double-budded fair one! Are you not afraid?

Nubta:We
belong to the House of Rimmon. He will protect us.

Shumakim:What?
The mighty one who hides behind the curtain there, and tells his
secrets to Rezon? No doubt he will take care of you, and of himself.
Whatever game is played, the gods never lose. But for the protection of
the common people and the rest of us fools, I would rather have Naaman
at the head of an army than all the sacred images between here and
Babylon.

Khamma:You
are a wicked old man. You mock the god. He will punish you.

Shumakim: [Bitterly.]How
can he punish me? Has he not already made me a fool? Hark, here comes
my brother the High Priest, and my brother the King. Rimmon made us
all; but nobody knows who made Rimmon, except the High Priest; and he
will never tell.

[Gongs and
cymbals sound. Enter Rezon with
priests, and the King with courtiers. They take their
seats. A throng of Khali and Kharimati come in, Tsarpi presiding;
a sacred dance is performed with torches, burning incense, and
chanting, in which Tsarpi leads.]

Chant

Hail,
mighty Rimmon, ruler of the whirl-storm,Hail,
shaker of mountains, breaker-down of forests,Hail,
thou who roarest terribly in the darkness,Hail,
thou whose arrows flame across the heavens!Hail,
great destroyer, lord of flood and tempest,In
thine anger almighty, in thy wrath eternal,Thou
who delightest in ruin, maker of desolations,Immeru,
Addu, Berku, Rimmon!See
we tremble before thee, low we bow at thine altar,Have
mercy upon us, be favourable unto us,Save
us from our enemy, accept our sacrifice,Barku,
Immeru, Addu, Rimmon!

[Silence
follows, all bowing down.]

Rezon:O
King, last night the counsel from aboveWas
given in answer to our divination.Ambassadors
must go forthwith to craveAssyria’s
pardon, and a second offerOf
the same terms of peace we did rejectNot
long ago.

Benhadad: Dishonour!
Yet I seeNo
other way! Assyria will refuse,Or
make still harder terms. Disaster, shameFor
this gray head, and ruin for Damascus!

Rezon:Yet
may we trust Rimmon will favour us,If
we adhere devoutly to his worship.He
will incline his brother-god, the Bull,To
spare us, if we supplicate him nowWith
costly gifts. Therefore I have preparedA
sacrifice: Rimmon shall be well pleasedWith
the red blood that bathes his knees to-night!

Benhadad:My
mind is dark with doubt,—I do forebodeSome
horror! Let me go,—I am an old man,—If
Naaman my captain were alive!But
he is dead,—the glory is departed!

[He rises,
trembling, to leave the throne. Trumpet sounds,—Naaman’s call;—enter Naaman,
followed by soldiers; he kneels at the foot of the throne.]

Benhadad: [Half-whispering.]Art
thou a ghost escaped from Allatu?How
didst thou pass the seven doors of death?O
noble ghost I am afraid of thee,And
yet I love thee,—let me hear thy voice!

Naaman:No
ghost, my King, but one who lives to serveThee
and Damascus with his heart and swordAs
in the former days. The only GodHas
healed my leprosy: my life is cleanTo
offer to my country and my King.

Benhadad: [Starting
toward him.]O
welcome to thy King! Thrice welcome!

Rezon: [Leaving his
seat and coming toward Naaman.] Stay!The
leper must appear before the priest,The
only one who can pronounce him clean. [Naaman turns;
they stand looking each other in the face.]Yea,—thou
art cleansed: Rimmon hath pardoned thee,—In
answer to the daily prayers of herWhom
he restores to thine embrace,—thy wife.

[Tsarpi comes
slowly toward Naaman.]

Naaman:From
him who rules this House will I receiveNothing!
I seek no pardon from his priest,No
wife of mine among his votaries!

Tsarpi: [Holding out
her hands.]Am
I not yours? Will you renounce our vows?

Naaman:The
vows were empty,—never made you mineIn
aught but name. A wife is one who sharesHer
husband’s thought, incorporates his heartWith
hers by love, and crowns him with her trust.She
is God’s remedy for loneliness,And
God’s reward for all the toil of life.This
you have never been to me,—and soI
give you back again to Rimmon’s HouseWhere
you belong. Claim what you will of mine,—Not
me! I do renounce you,—or release you,—According
to the law. If you demandA
further cause than what I have declared,I
will unfold it fully to the King.

Rezon: [Interposing
hurriedly.]No
need of that! This duteous lady yieldsTo
your caprice as she has ever done:She
stands a monument of loyaltyAnd
woman’s meekness.

Naaman: Let
her stand for that!Adorn
your temple with her piety!But
you in turn restore to me the treasureYou
stole at midnight from my tent.

Rezon:What
treasure! I have stolen none from you.

Naaman:The
very jewel of my soul,—Ruahmah!My
King, the captive maid of Israel,To
whom thou didst commit my broken lifeWith
letters to Samaria,—my light,My
guide, my saviour in this pilgrimage,—Dost
thou remember?

Benhadad: I
recall the maid,—But
dimly,—for my mind is old and weary,She
was a fearless maid, I trusted herAnd
gave thee to her charge. Where is she now?

Naaman:This
robber fell upon my camp by night,—While
I was with Elisha at the Jordan,—Slaughtered
my soldiers, carried off the maid,And
holds her somewhere in imprisonment.O
give this jewel back to me, my King,And
I will serve thee with a grateful heartFor
ever. I will fight for thee, and leadThine
armies on to glorious victoryOver
all foes! Thou shalt no longer fearThe
host of Asshur, for thy throne shall standEncompassed
with a wall of dauntless hearts,And
founded on a mighty people’s love,And
guarded by the God of righteousness.

Benhadad:I
feel the flame of courage at thy breathLeap
up among the ashes of despair.Thou
hast returned to save us! Thou shalt haveThe
maid; and thou shalt lead my host again!Priest,
I command you give her back to him.

Rezon:O
master, I obey thy word as thouHast
ever been obedient to the voiceOf
Rimmon. Let thy fiery captain waitUntil
the sacrifice has been performed,And
he shall have the jewel that he claims.Must
we not first placate the city’s godWith
due allegiance, keep the ancient faith,And
pay our homage to the Lord of Wrath?

Benhadad: [Sinking
back upon his throne in fear.]I
am the faithful son of Rimmon’s House,—And
lo, these many years I worship him!My
thoughts are troubled,—I am very old,But
still a King! O Naaman, be patient!Priest,
let the sacrifice be offered.

[The
High Priest lifts his rod. Gongs and cymbals sound. The curtain is
rolled back, disclosing the image of Rimmon; a gigantic and hideous
idol, with a cruel human face, four horns, the mane of a lion, and huge
paws stretched in front of him enclosing a low altar of black stone. Ruahmah stands
on the altar, chained, her arms are bare and folded on her breast. The
people prostrate themselves in silence, with signs of astonishment and
horror.]

Rezon:Behold
the sacrifice! Bow down, bow down!

Naaman: [Stabbing
him.]Bow
thou, black priest! Down,—down to hell!Ruahmah!
do not die! I come to thee.

[Naaman rushes
toward her, attacked by the priests, crying “Sacrilege! Kill him!” But
the soldiers stand
on the steps and beat them back. He springs upon the altar and clasps
her by the hand. Tumult and confusion. The King rises and speaks with a
loud voice, silence follows.]

Benhadad:Peace,
peace! The King commands all weapons down!O
Naaman, what wouldst thou do? BewareLest
thou provoke the anger of a god.

Naaman:There
is no God but one, the Merciful,Who
gave this perfect woman to my soulThat
I might learn through her to worship Him,And
know the meaning of immortal Love.

Benhadad: [Agitated.]Yet
she is consecrated, bound, and doomedTo
sacrificial death; but thou art swornTo
live and lead my host,—Hast thou not sworn?

Naaman:Only
if thou wilt keep thy word to me!Break
with this idol of iniquityWhose
shadow makes a darkness in the land;Give
her to me who gave me back to thee;And
I will lead thine army to renownAnd
plant thy banners on the hill of triumph.But
if she dies, I die with her, defying Rimmon.

[Cries
of “Spare them! Release her! Give us back our Captain!” and “Sacrilege!
Let them die!” Then silence, all turning toward the King.]

Benhadad:Is
this the choice? Must we destroy the bondOf
ancient faith, or slay the city’s living hope!I
am an old, old man,—and yet the King!Must
I decide?—O let me ponder it!

[His head
sinks upon his breast. All stand eagerly looking at him.]

Naaman:Ruahmah,
my Ruahmah! I have comeTo
thee at last! And art thou satisfied?

Ruahmah: [Looking
into his face.]Belovéd,
my belovéd, I am gladOf
all, and glad for ever, come what may.Nothing
can harm me,—since my lord is come!

< < < The House of Rimmon Act 1 – Act 2 – Act 3 – Act 4
The Little-Neck Clam > > >

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 IV

Scene I

Scene II

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