The House of Rimmon

impious devotee
Of liberty, who loves the city more
Than he reveres the city’s ancient god:
This frigid husband who sets you below
His dream of duty to a horde of slaves:
This man I hate, and I will humble him. Tsarpi

I think I hate him too. He stands apart
From me, ev’n while he holds me in his arms,
By something that I cannot understand,
Nor supple to my will, nor melt with tears,
Nor quite dissolve with blandishments, although
He swears he loves his wife next to his honour!
Next? That’s too low! I will be first or nothing.

Rezon

With me you are the first, the absolute!
When you and I have triumphed you shall reign;
And you and I will bring this hero down.

Tsarpi

But how? For he is strong.

Rezon

By these, the eyes
Of Tsarpi; and by this, the rod of Rimmon.

Tsarpi

Speak clearly; tell your plan.

Rezon

You know the host
Of the Assyrian king has broken forth
Again to conquer us. Envoys have come
From Shalmaneser to demand surrender.
Our king Benhadad wavers, for he knows
His weakness. All the nobles, all the rich,
Would purchase peace that they may grow more rich:
Only the people and the soldiers, led
By Naaman, would fight for liberty.
Blind fools! Today the envoys came to pay
Their worship to our god, whom they adore
In Nineveh as Asshur’s brother-god.
They talked with me in secret. Promises,
Great promises! For every noble house
That urges peace, a noble recompense:
The king, submissive, kept in royal state
And splendour: most of all, honour and wealth
Shall crown the House of Rimmon, and his priest⁠—
Yea, and his priestess. For we two will rise
Upon the city’s fall. The common folk
Shall suffer; Naaman shall sink with them
In wreck; but I shall rise, and you shall rise
Above me! You shall climb, through incense-smoke,
And days of pomp, and nights of revelry,
Glorious rites and ecstasies of love,
Unto the topmost room in Rimmon’s tower,
The secret, lofty room, the couch of bliss,
And the divine embraces of the god.

Tsarpi

Throwing out her arms in exultation.

All, all I wish! What must I do for this?

Rezon

Turn Naaman away from thoughts of war;
Or purchase him with love’s delights to yield
This point⁠—I care not how⁠—and afterwards
The future shall be ours.

Tsarpi

And if I fail?

Rezon

I have another shaft. The last appeal,
Before the king decides, is to the oracle
Of Rimmon. You shall read the signs!
A former priestess of his temple, you
Shall be the interpreter of heaven, and speak
A word to melt this brazen soldier’s heart
Within his breast.

Tsarpi

But if it flame instead?

Rezon

I know the 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 wine with sacred venom, 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 gods bless this?

Rezon

The gods 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, pushing back her long, dark hair from her temples. Ruahmah

What have I heard? O God, what shame is this
Plotted beneath Thy pure and silent stars!
Was it for this that I was brought away
Captive from Israel’s blessed hills to serve
A heathen mistress in a land of lies?
Ah, treacherous, shameful priest! Ah, shameless wife
Of one too noble 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 lust and luxury; I faint beneath
The shadow of this House of Rimmon. God
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 before 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
With grief in every note of that dear music.

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