The House of Rimmon

Night, in the garden of NAAMAN at Damascus. At the left, on a slightly raised terrace, thepalace, with softly gleaming lights and music coming from the open latticed windows. Thegarden is full of oleanders, roses, pomegranates, abundance of crimson flowers; the air is heavywith their fragrance: a fountain at the right is plashing gently: behind it is an arbour coveredwith vines. Near the centre of the garden stands a small, hideous image of the god Rimmon. Backof the arbour rises the lofty square tower of the House of Rimmon, which casts a shadow fromthe moon across the garden. The background is a wide, hilly landscape, with a high road passingover the mountains toward the snow-clad summits of Mount Hermon in the distance. Enter by thepalace door, the lady TSARPI, robed in red and gold, and followed by her maids, KHAMMA andNUBTA. She remains on the terrace: they go down into the garden, looking about, and returningto 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 tellAnd do not know! When comes your master home?NUBTA: Lady, his armour-bearer brought us wordAn hour ago, the master will be hereAt moonset, not before. TSARPI: He haunts the campAnd leaves me much alone; yet I can passThe 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 sho