The House of Rimmon

By Henry van Dyke Jr.

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Dramatis Personae

Benhadad, King of Damascus
Rezon, High Priest of the House of Rimmon
Saballidin, A Noble of Damascus
Hazael, Courtier of Damascus
Izdubhar, Courtier of Damascus
Rakhaz, Courtier of Damascus
Shumakim, The King’s Fool
Elisha, Prophet of Israel
Naaman, Captain of the Armies of Damascus
Ruahmah, A Captive Maid of Israel
Tsarpi, Wife to Naaman
Khamma, Attendant of Tsarpi
Nubta, Attendant of Tsarpi
Soldiers, Servants, Citizens, etc., etc.

Scene: Damascus and the Mountains of Samaria.

Time: 850 BC.

The House of Rimmon

A Drama in Four Acts

Act I

Scene I

Night, in the garden of Naaman at Damascus. At the left, on a slightly raised terrace, the palace, with softly gleaming lights and music coming from the open latticed windows. The garden is full of oleanders, roses, pomegranates, abundance of crimson flowers; the air is heavy with their fragrance: a fountain at the right is plashing gently: behind it is an arbour covered with vines. Near the centre of the garden stands a small, hideous image of the god Rimmon. Back of the arbour rises the lofty square tower of the House of Rimmon, which casts a shadow from the moon across the garden. The background is a wide, hilly landscape, with a high road passing over the mountains toward the snow-clad summits of Mount Hermon in the distance. Enter by the palace door, the lady Tsarpi, robed in red and gold, and followed by her maids, Khamma and Nubta. She remains on the terrace: they go down into the garden, looking about, and returning to her.

Khamma	There’s no one here; the garden is asleep.
Nubta	The flowers are nodding, all the birds abed, And nothing wakes except the watchful stars!
Khamma	The stars are sentinels discreet and mute: How many things they know and never tell!
Tsarpi	Impatiently. Unlike the stars, how many things you tell And do not know! When comes your master home?
Nubta	Lady, his armour-bearer brought us word An hour ago, the master will be here At moonset, not before.
Tsarpi	He haunts the camp And leaves me much alone; yet I can pass The time of absence not unhappily, If I but know the time of his return. An hour of moonlight yet! Khamma, my mirror! These curls are ill arranged, this veil too low⁠— So⁠—that is better, careless maids! Withdraw⁠— But warn me if your master should appear.
Khamma	Mistress, have no concern; for when we hear The clatter of his horse along the street, We’ll run this way and lead your dancers down With song and laughter⁠—you shall know in time.
	Exeunt Khamma and Nubta, laughing. Tsarpi descends the steps.
Tsarpi	My guest is late; but he will surely come! Hunger and thirst will bring him to my feet. The man who burns to drain the cup of love⁠— The priest whose greed of glory never fails⁠— Both, both have need of me, and he will come. And I⁠—what do I need? Why everything That helps my beauty to a higher throne; All that a priest can promise, all a man Can give, and all a god bestow, I need: This may a woman win, and this will I.
	Enter Rezon quietly from the shadow of the trees. He stands behind Tsarpi and listens, smiling, to her last words. Then he drops his mantle of leopard-skin, and lifts his high-priest’s rod of bronze, shaped at one end like a star, at the other like a thunderbolt.
Rezon	Tsarpi!
Tsarpi	The mistress of the house of Naaman Salutes the keeper of the House of Rimmon.
	She bows low before him.
Rezon	Rimmon receives you with his star of peace;
	He lowers the star-point of the rod, which glows for a moment with rosy light above her head.
	And I, his chosen minister, kneel down Before your regal beauty, and implore The welcome of the woman for the man.
Tsarpi	Giving him her hand, but holding off his embrace. Thus Tsarpi welcomes Rezon! Nay, no more! Till I have heard what errand brings you here By night, within the garden of the man Who hates you most and fears you least in 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