NAAMAN: [Kneeling]
Where
is my King?
Master, the bearer of thy sword returns.
The golden yoke thou gavest me I broke
On him who sent it. Asshur’s
Bull hath fled
Dehorned. The standards of his host
are thine!
Damascus is all thine, at peace, and free!
BENHADAD: [Holding out his arms.]
Thou art a mighty man of valour!
Come,
And let me fold thy courage to my heart.
REZON: [Lifting his rod.]
Forbear, O King! Stand back from
him, all men!
By the great name of Rimmon I proclaim
This man a leper! On his brow I
see
The death-white seal, the finger-print
of doom!
That tiny spot will spread, eating his
flesh,
Gnawing his fingers bone from bone, until
The impious heart that dared defy the
gods
Dissolves in the slow death which now
begins.
Unclean! unclean! Henceforward he
is dead:
No human hand shall touch him, and no
home
Of men shall give him shelter. He
shall walk
Only with corpses of the selfsame death
Down the long path to a forgotten tomb.
Avoid, depart, I do adjure you all,
Leave him to god,—the leper
Naaman!
[All shrink back horrified. REZON retires into the temple; the crowd melts away, wailing: TSARPI is among the first to go, followed by her attendants, except RUAHMAH, who crouches, with her face covered, not far from NAAMAN.]
BENHADAD: [Lingering and turning back.]
Alas, my son! O Naaman, my son!
Why did I let thee go? Thou art
cast out
Irrevocably from the city’s life
Which thou hast saved. Who can resist
the gods?
I must obey the law, and touch thy hand
Never again. Yet none shall take
from thee
Thy glorious title, captain of my host!
I will provide for thee, and thou shalt
dwell
With guards of honour in a house of mine
Always. Damascus never shall forget
What thou hast done! O miserable
words
Of crowned impotence! O mockery
of power
Given to kings, who cannot even defend
Their dearest from the secret wrath of
heaven!
Naaman, my son, my son! [Exit.]
NAAMAN: [Slowly, passing his hand over his
eyes, and looking up.]
Am
I alone
With thee, inexorable one, whose pride
Offended takes this horrible revenge?
I must submit my mortal flesh to thee,
Almighty, but I will not call thee god!
Yet thou hast found the way to wound my
soul
Most deeply through the flesh; and I must
find
The way to let my wounded soul escape!
[Drawing his sword.]
Come, my last friend, thou art more merciful
Than Rimmon. Why should I endure
the doom
He sends me? Irretrievably cut off
From all dear intercourse of human love,
From all the tender touch of human hands,
From all brave comradeship with brother-men,
With eyes that see no faces through this
dark,
With ears that hear all voices far away,
Why should I cling to misery, and grope
My long, long way from pain to pain, alone?