The Project Gutenberg EBook of Malayan Literature, by Various Authors

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Title: Malayan Literature

Author: Various Authors

Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7095]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on March 9, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MALAYAN LITERATURE ***




Produced by Eric Eldred, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.





MALAYAN LITERATURE

Comprising

Romantic Tales, Epic Poetry

And

Royal Chronicles

Translated Into English For The First Time

With A Special Introduction By

CHAUNCEY C. STARKWEATHER, A.B., LL.B.




SPECIAL INTRODUCTION



Easily the most charming poem of Malayan Literature is the Epic of
Bidasari. It has all the absorbing fascination of a fairy tale. We are
led into the dreamy atmosphere of haunted palace and beauteous
plaisance: we glide in the picturesque imaginings of the oriental poet
from the charm of all that is languorously seductive in nature into the
shadowy realms of the supernatural. At one moment the sturdy bowman or
lithe and agile lancer is before us in hurrying column, and at another
we are told of mystic sentinels from another world, of Djinns and
demons and spirit-princes. All seems shadowy, vague, mysterious,
entrancing.

In this tale there is a wealth of imagery, a luxury of picturesqueness,
together with that straightforward simplicity so alluring in the story-
teller. Not only is our attention so captivated that we seem under a
spell, but our sympathy is invoked and retained. We actually wince
before the cruel blows of the wicked queen. And the hot tears of
Bidasari move us to living pity. In the poetic justice that punishes
the queen and rewards the heroine we take a childish delight. In other
words, the oriental poet is simple, sensuous, passionate, thus
achieving Milton's ideal of poetic excellence. We hope that no
philosopher, philologist, or ethnologist will persist in demonstrating
the sun-myth or any other allegory from this beautiful poem. It is a
story, a charming tale, to while away an idle hour, and nothing more.
All lovers of the simple, the beautiful, the picturesque should say to
such learned peepers and botanizers, "Hands off!" Let no learned
theories rule here. Leave this beautiful tale for artists and lovers of
the story pure and simple. Seek no more moral here than you would in a
rose or a lily or a graceful palm. Light, love, color, beauty,
sympathy, engaging fascination--these may be found alike by philosopher
and winsome youth. The story is no more immoral than a drop of dew or a
lotus bloom; and, as to interest, in the land of the improviser and the
story-teller one is obliged to be interesting. For there the audience
is either spellbound, or quickly fades away and leaves the poet to
realize that he must attempt better things.

We think that these folk-stories have, indeed, a common origin, but
that it is in the human heart. We do not look for a Sigurd or Siegfried
on every page. Imagine a nation springing from an ignorant couple on a
sea-girt isle, in a few generations they would have evolved their
Sleeping Beauty and their Prince Charming, their enchanted castles, and
their Djinns and fairies. These are as indigenous to the human heart as
the cradle-song or the battle-cry. We do not find ourselves siding with
those who would trace everything to a first exemplar. Children have
played, and men have loved, and poets have sung from the beginning, and
we need not run to Asia for the source of everything. Universal human
nature has a certain spontaneity.

The translator has tried to reproduce the faithfulness and, in some
measure, to indicate the graceful phrases of the original poem. The
author of Bidasari is unknown, and the date of the poem is a matter of
the utmost uncertainty. Some have attributed to it a Javanese origin,
but upon very slight evidence. The best authorities place its scene in
the country of Palembang, and its time after the arrival of the
Europeans in the Indian archipelago, but suggest that the legend must
be much older than the poem.

The "Makota Radja-Radja" is one of the most remarkable books of
oriental literature. According to M. Aristide Marre, who translated it
into French, its date is 1603. Its author was Bokhari, and he lived at
Djohore. It contains extracts from more than fifty Arab and Persian
authors. It treats of the duties of man to God, to himself and to
society, and of the obligations of sovereigns, subjects, ministers, and
officers. Examples are taken from the lives of kings in Asia. The
author has not the worst opinion of his work, saying distinctly that it
is a complete guide to happiness in this world and the next. He is
particularly copious in his warnings to copyists and translators,
cautioning them against the slightest negligence or inaccuracy, and
promising them for faithfulness a passport to the glories of heaven.
This shows that the author at least took the work seriously. That there
is not a trace of humor in the book would doubtless recommend it to the
dignified and lethargic orientals for whom it was written. Bokhari
seemed to consider himself prophet, priest, and poet-laureate in one.
The work has a high position in the Malayan Peninsula, where it is read
by young and old. The "Crown of Kings" is written in the court language
of Djohore. The author was a Mohammedan mendicant monk. He called the
book the Crown of Kings because "every king who read and followed its
precepts would be a perfect king, and thus only would his crown sit
well on his head, and the book itself will be for him a true crown."

La Fontaine and Lamartine loved stories. The schoolmates of the latter
called the latter "story-lover." They would have loved the story of the
Princess Djouher Manikam, which is written in a simple and natural
style and is celebrated in the East, or, as the Malays say, in the
"country between windward and leeward."

From the "Sedjaret Malayou," worthless as it is as history, one may
obtain side lights upon oriental life. Manners are portrayed in vivid
colors, so that one may come to have a very accurate knowledge of them.
Customs are depicted from which one may learn of the formality and
regard for precedents which is a perspicuous trait of oriental
character. The rigid etiquette of court and home may be remarked. From
the view of morals here described, one may appreciate how far we have
progressed in ethical culture from that prevailing in former times
among the children of these winterless lands.

The readers of this series are to be congratulated in that they are
here placed in possession of a unique and invaluable source of
information concerning the life and literature of the far-away people
of the Indian archipelago. To these pages an added interest accrues
from the fact that the Philippines are now protected by our flag.

The name Malay signifies a wanderer. As a people they are passionate,
vain, susceptible, and endowed with a reckless bravery and contempt of
death. The Malays have considerable originality in versification. The
pantoum is particularly theirs--a form arising from their habits of
improvisation and competitive versifying. They have also the epic or
_sjair_, generally a pure romance, with much naive simplicity and
natural feeling. And finally, they have the popular song, enigma, and
fable.

And so we leave the reader to his pleasant journey to the lands of
Djinns and Mantris and spells and mystic talismans. He will be
entertained by the chrestomathy of Bokhari; he will be entranced by the
story of the winsome and dainty Bidasari.

CHAUNCEY C. STARKWEATHER




CONTENTS


BIDASARI:

  Song I

  Song II

  Song III

  Song IV

  Song V

  Song VI

SEDJARET MALAYOU

THE PRINCESS DJOUHER-MANIKAM

MAKOTA RADJA-RADJA





THE EPIC OF BIDASARI

_Metrical Translation by Chauncey C. Starkweather, A.B., LL.B._

BIDASARI

SONG I

  Hear now the song I sing about a king
  Of Kembajat. A fakir has completed
  The story, that a poem he may make.
  There was a king, a sultan, and he was
  Handsome and wise and perfect in all ways,
  Proud scion of a race of mighty kings.
  He filled the land with merchants bringing wealth
  And travellers. And from that day's report,
  He was a prince most valorous and strong,
  Who never vexing obstacles had met.
  But ever is the morrow all unknown.
  After the Sultan, all accomplished man,
  Had married been a year, or little more,
  He saw that very soon he'd have an heir.
  At this his heart rejoiced, and he was glad
  As though a mine of diamonds were his.
  Some days the joy continued without clouds.
  But soon there came the moment when the prince
  Knew sorrow's blighting force, and had to yield
  His country's capital. A savage bird,
  Garouda called, a very frightful bird,
  Soared in the air, and ravaged all the land.
  It flew with wings and talons wide outstretched,
  With cries to terrify the stoutest heart.
  All people, great and small, were seized with dread,
  And all the country feared and was oppressed,
  And people ran now this way and now that.
  The folk approached the King. He heard the noise
  As of a fray, and, angry, asked the guard,
  "Whence comes this noise?" As soon as this he said
  One of his body-guard replied with awe,
  "Illustrious lord, most merciful of kings,
  A fell garouda follows us about."
  The King's face paled when these dread words be heard.
  The officers arose and beat their breasts.
  The sorrow of the King was greater still
  Because the Queen was ill. He took her hand
  And started without food or anything.
  He trusted all to God, who watches o'er
  The safety of the world. The suff'ring Queen
  Spoke not a word and walked along in tears.
  They went by far _campongs_ and dreary fields
  Beneath a burning sun which overwhelmed
  Their strength. And so the lovely Queen's fair face
  From palest yellow grew quite black. The prince
  Approached the desert with his body torn
  By thorns and brambles. All his care and grief
  Were doubled when he saw his lovely wife
  Who scarce could drag herself along and whom
  He had to lead. Most desolate was he,
  Turning his mind on the good Queen's sad lot.
  Upon the way he gave up all to her.
  Two months they journeyed and one day they came
  Unto a _campong_ of a merchant, where
  They looked for rest because the Queen was weak.
  The path was rugged and the way was hard.
  The prince made halt before the palisades,
  For God had made him stop and rest awhile.
  The Sultan said: "What is this _campong_ here?
  I fain would enter, but I do not dare."
  The good Queen wept and said: "O my beloved,
  What shall I say? I am so tired and weak
  I cannot journey more." The King was quite
  Beside himself and fainted where he sat.
  But on they journeyed to the riverside,
  Stopping at every step.

                  And when the King
  Had gained the bank he saw a little boat
  With roof of bent bamboos and _kadjang_ screen.
  Then to the Queen, "Rest here, my precious one."
  The silver moon was at the full, but veiled
  With clouds, like to a maid who hides her face
  And glances toward her lover timidly.
  Then there was born a daughter, like a flower,
  More beautiful than statue of pure gold,
  Just like the tulips that the princess plucked.
  The mother's heart was broken at the thought
  That she must leave the babe, the child beloved
  They both adored, such beauty it presaged.
  The King with tears exclaimed, "How can we take
  The infant with us o'er this stony road
  Beset with thorns, and burned with dreadful heat?
  Pearl of my palace," said he to the Queen,
  "Weep not so bitterly about the child.
  An offering let us make of her to God.
  God grant she may be found by loving hearts
  Who'll care for her and raise her in their home."
  As soon as they had quite determined there
  To leave the infant princess, their great grief
  No limit knew. But ere they went away
  The King took up the infant in his arms
  And rocked her on his knees until she slept.
  "Sleep on, heart's love, my soul, my little one,
  Weep not for thy dear mother's lot. She fain
  Would take thee with her, but the way is hard.
  Sleep on, dear child, the apple of my eye,
  The image of thy sire. Stay here, fear not.
  For unto God we trust thee, Lord of all.
  Sleep on, my child, chief jewel of my crown,
  And let thy father go. To look at thee
  Doth pierce my heart as by a poniard's blow.
  Ah, sweet my child, dear, tender little one,
  Thy father loves yet leaves thee. Happy be,
  And may no harm come nigh thee. Fare thee well."
  The little princess slept, lulled by his voice.
  He put her from his knees and placed her on
  A finely woven cloth of Ind, and covered her
  With satin webbed with gold. With flowing tears
  The mother wrapped her in a tissue fine
  Adorned with jewels like to sculptured flowers.
  She seized the child and weeping murmured low:
  "O dearest child, my pretty little girl!
  I leave thee to the Master of the world.
  Live happily, although thy mother goes
  And leaves thee here. Ah, sad thy mother's lot!
  Thy father forces her to quit thee now.
  She would prefer with thee to stay, but, no!
  Thy father bids her go. And that is why
  Thy mother's fond heart breaks, she loves thee so,
  And yet must leave thee. Oh, how can I live?"
  The mother fainted, and the grieving King
  Was fain to kill himself, so was he moved.
  He took the Queen's head on his knees. And soon
  By God's decree and ever-sheltering grace
  She to her senses came and stood erect.
  Again she wept on looking at the child.
  "If I should never see thee more, sweet soul,
  Oh, may thy mother share thy fate! Her life
  Is bound to thine. The light is gone from out
  Thy mother's eyes. Hope dies within her heart
  Because she fears to see thee nevermore.
  Oh, may some charitable heart, my child,
  Discover thee!" The prince essayed to dry
  Her tears. "Now come away, my dearest love.
  Soon day will dawn." The prince in grief set out,
  But ever turned and wanted to go back.
  They walked along together, man and wife
  All solitary, with no friends at hand,
  Care-worn and troubled, and the moon shone bright.


SONG II

  I sing in this song of a merchant great
  And of his wealth. His goods and treasures were
  Beyond all count, his happiness without
  Alloy. In Indrapura town there was
  No equal to his fortune. He possessed
  A thousand slaves, both old and young, who came
  From Java and from other lands. His rank
  Was higher than Pangawa's. Wives he had
  In goodly numbers. But he lacked one thing
  That weighed upon his heart--he had no child.
  Now, by the will of God, the merchant great
  Came very early from the palace gates,
  And sought the river-bank, attended by
  His favorite wife. Lila Djouhara was
  The merchant's name. He heard a feeble voice
  As of an infant crying, like the shrill
  Tones of a flute, and from a boat it seemed
  To come. Then toward the wondrous boat he went
  And saw an infant with a pretty face.
  His heart was overjoyed as if he had
  A mine of diamonds found. The spouses said:
  "Whose child is this? It surely must belong
  To one of highest rank. Some cause he had
  To leave her here." The merchant's heart was glad
  To see the bright eyes of the little one.
  He raised her in his arms and took her home.
  Four waiting-maids and nurses two he gave
  The pretty child. The palace rooms were all
  Adorned anew, with rugs and curtains soft,
  And tapestries of orange hue were hung.
  The princess rested on a couch inlaid with gold,
  A splendid couch, with lanterns softly bright
  And tapers burning with a gentle ray.
  The merchant and his wife with all their hearts
  Adored the child, as if it were their own.
  She looked like Mindoudari, and received
  The name of Bidasari. Then they took
  A little fish and changing vital spirits
  They put it in a golden box, then placed
  The box within a casket rich and rare.
  The merchant made a garden, with all sorts
  Of vases filled with flowers, and bowers of green
  And trellised vines. A little pond made glad
  The eyes, with the precious stones and topaz set
  Alternately, in fashion of the land
  Of Pellanggam, a charm for all. The sand
  Was purest gold, with alabaster fine
  All mixed with red pearls and with sapphires blue.
  And in the water deep and clear they kept
  The casket. Since they had the infant found,
  Sweet Bidasari, all the house was filled
  With joy. The merchant and his wife did naught
  But feast and clap their hands and dance. They watched
  The infant night and day. They gave to her
  Garments of gold, with necklaces and gems,
  With rings and girdles, and quaint boxes, too,
  Of perfume rare, and crescent pins and flowers
  Of gold to nestle in the hair, and shoes
  Embroidered in the fashion of Sourat.
  By day and night the merchant guarded her.
  So while sweet Bidasari grew, her lovely face
  Increased in beauty. Her soft skin was white
  And yellow, and she was most beautiful.
  Her ear-rings and her bracelets made her look
  Like some rare gem imprisoned in a glass.
  Her beauty had no equal, and her face
  Was like a nymph's celestial. She had gowns
  As many as she wished, as many as
  A princess fair of Java. There was not
  A second Bidasari in the land.

  I'll tell about Djouhan Mengindra now,
  Sultan of Indrapura. Very wide
  His kingdom was, with ministers of state
  And officers, and regiments of picked
  Young warriors, the bulwark of the throne.
  This most illustrious prince had only been
  Two years the husband of fair Lila Sari,
  A princess lovable and kind. The King
  Was deemed most handsome. And there was within
  All Indrapura none to equal him.
  His education was what it should be,
  His conversation very affable.
  He loved the princess Lila Sari well.
  He gave her everything, and she in turn
  Was good to him, but yet she was so vain.
  "There is no one so beautiful as I,"
  She said. They were united like unto
  The soul and body. And the good King thought
  There could not be another like his wife.
  One day they were together, and the Queen
  Began to sing: "Oh, come, my well-beloved,
  And listen to my words. Thou tellst me oft
  Thou lovest me. But I know not thy heart.
  If some misfortune were to overwhelm
  Wouldst thou be true to me?" He smiled and said:
  "No harm can touch thee, dear. But should it come,
  Whenever thou art 'whelmed I'll perish too."
  With joy the princess said: "My noble prince,
  If there were found a woman whose flower face
  Were fairer than all others in the world,
  Say, wouldst thou wed her?" And the King replied:
  "My friend, my fairest, who is like to thee?
  My soul, my princess, of a noble race,
  Thou'rt sweet and wise and good and beautiful.
  Thou'rt welded to my heart. No thought of mine
  Is separate from thee."

                  The princess smiled;
  Her face was all transfigured with her joy.
  But suddenly the thought came to her mind,
  "Who knows there is none more fair than I?"
  And then she cried: "Now hear me, O my love!
  Were there a woman with an angel-face,
  Wouldst them make her thy wife? If she appeared
  Unto thine eyes more beautiful than I,
  Then would thy heart not burn for her?"

                  The prince
  But smiled, and answered not. She also smiled,
  But said, "Since thou dost hesitate, I know
  That thou wouldst surely wed her." Then the prince
  Made answer: "O my heart, gold of my soul,
  If she in form and birth were like to thee
  I'd join her with thy destiny." Now when
  The princess heard these words she paled and shook.
  With eyes cast down, she left her royal spouse.
  But quick he seized her. With a smile he said:
  "Gold, ruby, dearest friend, I pray thee now,
  Oh, be not vexed with me. Light of my eyes,
  Keep not within thy heart a bitterness
  Because I answered thus unto thy words."
  He took her in his arms and kissed her lips
  And wooed her. And her face again grew sweet
  The while she heard. And yet her woman's heart
  Was grieved and saddened. And she sat apart,
  And swift these thoughts came to her anxious mind:
  "I'll seek to-morrow through this kingdom wide,
  Lest there should be within the land a maid
  More fair than I. To death I shall condemn
  Her straight, lest rival she may be to me.
  For if my lord should marry her, he'd love
  Her more than me. He'd love the younger one,
  And constantly my tortured heart would bleed."
  They angered her, these thoughts, as if her heart
  Were filled with gall. "Now may I be accursed
  If I go not unto the end in love."
  Her heart was not assuaged; she sighed alone.
  Upon the morrow morn the King went out,
  And with him many officers and men.
  Meanwhile the Princess Lila Sari sent
  A summons to a jeweller of skill,
  And at the same time called her four _dyangs_,
  Who came and sat. Dang Wilapat bowed low
  And said, "Our greetings to thee, princess great."
  The Queen replied: "Go forth, _dyangs_, at once
  And find me gold and dust of gold, and take
  It all unto a goldsmith. Let him make
  For me a fan, all decked with beauteous gems,
  With rubies red and pearls; and after that
  A girdle virginal. Count not the price.
  I want it all as quickly as may be."
  And so they hastened, took the gold, and went
  Outside the city, through the whole _campong_
  Of goldsmiths, seeking there the best to make
  The fan and girdle. And the hammered gold
  Soon shone with many amethysts and gems.
  It was a marvel to behold those rare
  And quaintly fashioned ornaments, to deck
  A sultaness. Of priceless worth they were.
  Four days, and all was ready for the Queen.
  But she had never eaten all this time
  Because of grief. She thought the fan more fine
  Than Java princess ever yet possessed.
  She called the four _dyangs_ and said to them:
  "A secret mission have I now for ye.
  Go up and down among the officers
  And show this fan for sale, but never name
  The price. Seek ever if there be a face
  More beautiful than mine; and should ye find
  A face more fair, come tell it straight to me.
  If ye obey my will I'll make ye all
  Inspectresses within the royal home."
  Then forth the women went upon the quest.
  And first among their friends they went with words
  Of mystery and hints of wondrous things
  They had for sale. And so these servants bore
  The story to their masters, "The _dyangs_
  Have something wonderful to sell." And soon
  The daughters of the houses rich began
  To clamor for a sight of this great prize.
  Then the _dyangs,_ went to the houses all.
  The young girls said, "Oh, tell us now the price."
  Dyang Wiravan quickly answered, then
  Dyang Podagah: "Tis a princely thing;
  I'll go and ask the price and tell it thee."
  And so they spoke, and so they looked about
  To find a face more beautiful and rare
  Than their own Queen's, and wearied in the search.
  "Where can we further look?" they said, and then
  Bethought them of the strangers and the priests.
  But in that quarter no one dared to touch
  The precious things, but thought it passing strange
  The Queen should wish to sell. To the _campong_
  Of merchants next they went. A double line
  Of ramparts guarded it. "Here is more stir
  And gayety," they said, "with sport and song,
  Than elsewhere have we found." And so they sought
  The richest merchants. "We have something rare,"
  They said, "made by an artist Javanese."
  When Bidasari's servants saw these folk
  They said: "Bring these things to our house and we
  Will show them to our master. He will buy."
  Then the _dyangs_ with smiles replied: "They are
  Not ours, but our good Queen's. And only we
  May show them, lest a stone be lost, perchance,
  And we be punished." Bidasari's maids
  Were glad and said, "Wait but a moment here
  Until we find what Bidasari wills."
  They found her with her maids, and told the tale.
  Then Bidasari bade them bring to her
  The stranger folk, and said, "If I be pleased
  I'll buy." Dang Ratna Watie went and told
  The women that young Bidasari wished
  To see their wares. The four _dyangs_ came in
  Together. Joy their faces all suffused,
  But they seemed timid, modest, full of fear.
  Then Bidasari's women said to them:
  "Come, O young women, all are loyal here.
  Enter, our sisters and our friends."

                  Now when
  The Queen's _dyangs_ had looked about them there
  They all were dazzled, Bidasari's face
  So beautiful appeared. How beat their hearts!
  As they upon her lovely features gazed,
  Each murmured to herself, "She is more fair
  Than our great Queen."

                  Then Bidasari wished
  To buy the fan, and sent a maid to ask
  Her parents for the gold. The merchant said,
  "Go see what thing it is, and weigh the gold
  For her." The mother feared a trap or trick.
  "Oh, do not buy the fan, my child," she said;
  "I'll buy a finer one for thee. Send this
  Away." But when her father saw her tears
  Of disappointment, "It is thine," he said.
  "What is the price? I'd buy it though it cost
  Thy weight in gold, my darling. Tell me now,
  _Dyangs_." Tjendra Melinee answered him,
  "Are two timbangs too much?" "I'm very poor,"
  He said; "but I will buy it for the child."
  The gold was weighed. The four _dyangs_ straightway
  Departed, hurried to the Queen and said:
  "At last we have discovered, O our Queen,
  What thou hast sought. 'Tis in a near _campong_
  Of merchants very rich and great. Oh, there
  We found a princess fairer than the day;
  More like an angel than a mortal maid.
  No woman in this land compares with her.
  Her name is Bidasari. And the King
  Would surely marry her if once they met,
  For soon she will be ready for a spouse;
  Her innocence is charming. Like a cloud
  The merchant and his wife keep watchful guard.
  Her hair is curly, like a flower full blown.
  Her brow is like the moon but one day old.
  She's like a ring in Peylou made. She would
  Outshine thy beauty, shouldst thou bring her here."
  The princess heard and quickly said: "I feel
  My hatred rise. Oh, may I never see
  Her face! To hear ye speak of her inflames
  My heart with anger. Say, why do ye think
  That she's more fair than I?" Then made reply
  The women: "Bidasari's eyes are soft.
  Her smile is sweet, her skin is tinted like
  The green _tjempakka_, and her graceful form
  Resembles some famed statue nobly made.
  Her cheeks are like the bill of flying bird.
  We loved to look upon her neck. Her nose
  Is like a jasmine bud. Her pretty face
  Is like the yellow of an egg. Her thoughts
  Are pure as crystal. And she wears her hair
  In such a charming way. Her lips are like
  A little polished box. The flowers she wears
  But make her look the prettier. Her teeth
  Are like a bright pomegranate. Ah, the heart
  Doth open when one looketh on her face.
  She's like a princess of the Mount Lidang.
  Her features are like those of Nilagendi,
  Her heels are like the eggs of hens, and make
  Her seem a princess of Siam. Her fingers
  More tapering are than quills of porcupine.
  And solid is the nail of her left hand.
  No noble's girl is Bidasari's peer."
  Now when the princess heard them sing her praise
  Her soul was wounded as if by a thorn.
  Her dark eyes flashed. "Ah, speak no more of her,"
  She said, "nor speak abroad what ye have seen.
  But bring me Bidasari. I would see
  If what ye say be true."

                  "Then we must take
  Her presents first, and strive to gain by them
  Her friendship, and attain our end at last."
  They went to see her every day, and bore
  Rich gifts.

                  The merchant and his wife remarked
  The visits of the Queen's _dyangs_, and how
  They loved their daughter. That is why they gave
  Them all that they desired. But the _dyangs_
  Among themselves kept saying: "How can we
  Take her away? We love her so, and deep
  Within our hearts we pity her. And now
  Her parents have such trust in us, and load
  Us down with gifts. But when, alas, at home
  The princess questions us, what shall we say?
  For she's a powerful Queen. Yet if we make
  Unhappy this dear girl of these good folk,
  Shall we not sin? And still the princess is
  So violent and harsh! Her jealousy
  Would know no limit should the King but hear
  Of this affair."

                  Dang Djoudah answering spoke:
  "We all can go to her and quiet her.
  A word suffices oft. She is our Queen,
  But to the King belongeth power supreme.
  If Bidasari should disdain the throne
  We shall renounce our functions at the court,
  For what the Queen desires is most unjust.
  And if we prove unfaithful we shall be
  O'erwhelmed with maledictions." Thus they spoke
  And went back to the busy-lived _campong_
  Of merchants. Here they thought to go and find
  Djouhara, and obtain what they desired.
  A messenger went after them and said:
  "To Dang Bidouri: Come at once; my friend
  The princess summons you." Then the _dyangs_
  Went to the Queen and found her with the King
  At dinner. With malicious wink of eye
  She made them understand they must not talk
  Before the prince. When he had dined he took
  Some _siri_ from the betel-box, himself
  Anointed with a perfume sweet, and went
  To teach the young folk how to ride and shoot
  The arrow straight, and played at many games.
  Meanwhile the princess Lila Sari called
  Before her the _dyangs_ and questioned them:
  "Why have ye come so late?" Bidouri bowed
  And said: "'Twas very hard to bring her here
  To thee. The merchant and his wife do not
  A moment leave her, for they love her so.
  Her tiring-women ever are about.
  Thou shouldst demand her of her parents, if
  Thou dost desire to see her. Treat her like
  Thy child, for she is still so very young!
  From Bidasari's father thou wilt gain
  All that thou canst desire, he is so rich,
  If thou wilt only love his daughter dear.
  And dost thou give command to bring her here?
  Let us go all alone and summon her
  For Bidasari'll freely follow us."
  They tried to calm the anger of the Queen.
  She bowed her head in silence, but her soul
  Was very heavy, and hypocrisy
  With hate and envy vied within her heart.
  "They love the child, these _dyangs_," to herself
  She said, "and I shall have no easy task.
  I shall attract her here by trickery,
  But she shall never my companion be.
  With Bidasari once within my power
  My heart will be no longer on the rack.
  Go now, _dyangs_," she said, "and seek for me
  The merchant and his wife and hither bring
  Young Bidasari, whom I'll elevate
  Unto the rank of princess, for I have
  No child. Mazendra take with ye. And when
  Young Bidasari shall arrive, conceal
  Her for a day or two. And gently speak
  Unto the merchant and his wife, and say
  Concessions will be granted to the priests
  And strangers in their quarter, should she come.
  Console Lila Djouhara thus, and pledge
  That he may come to see his child whene'er
  His heart impelleth him." An escort went
  With them, and the _dyangs_ bowed low before
  The merchant and his wife, and greeted, too,
  Fair Bidasari. But the merchant said:
  "Why come ye here in so great numbers?" Then
  They straight replied: "Our most beloved Queen
  Hath sent us here with greetings unto thee,
  The master of the house. If thou'lt permit,
  We've come to seek fair Bidasari here."
  They beat their breasts, the merchant and his wife.
  "Our darling, only child! It will be hard
  For her to be the servant of a prince;
  For she hath had her way so long! Her traits
  Are not yet formed. Go back, _dyangs_, and pray
  The Queen to pardon us. Say how we grieve."
  But the _dyangs_ repeated all the words

  Said by the Queen, and so their fears were calmed.
  They hoped Queen Lila Sari would love well
  Fair Bidasari. Then the merchant said:
  "I will obey, and let my darling go,
  So that she may become unto the Queen
  A servant, and perchance a daughter loved.
  Now shall she go with ye. Only I beg
  The Queen to let her come back home to us
  At three days' end. She is not used to stay
  With strangers. Never hath she left us for
  A single day." Then Dang Bidouri said:
  "We'll do our best before the Queen; and why
  Should she not grant to Bidasari this?"
  They bathed fair Bidasari with sweet scents,
  And then arranged her in rich raiment new.
  A fine _sijrash_ she wore with broidered flowers
  Of Pekan, and a satin robe all fringed
  With gold. She bore a plaque of beaten gold
  Bound to a necklace, chiselled, gem-bedecked;
  Her over-tunic was of yellow silk
  With tiny serpents on the buttons 'graved.
  Three bracelets wore the maid, and rarest rings,
  And ear-rings like a wheel in motion wrought.
  Chaste links of gold set forth her beauty rare,
  A fair flow'r in a vase, whose perfume sweet
  Wafts scented breaths as far as one may see.
  They kissed her then with tears and held her close

  Upon their breasts. "Be humble to the Queen,"
  They said, "remember that thou art before
  The King, and near the throne. Ask leave to come
  To see us when thou dost desire. Speak sweetly
  With low and gentle voice."

                  Thus they enjoined.
  And then the merchant said, "_Dyangs_, if ye
  Love Bidasari, see ye vex her not."
  They dried their tears and said: "Be without fear.
  Intrust thy daughter to our mistress dear."
  "My child," he said, "I'll come to see thee oft.
  Thou wilt be better there, my love, than here."
  But Bidasari wept and cried: "Oh, come,
  Dear mother, with me! Wilt thou not, alas?"
  But the fond parents were astounded then
  To learn the mother was not asked to come.
  She stayed with tears, the while the father went.
  As far as to the city's gates. With tears
  He said: "Farewell, O apple of my eye
  I leave thee here. Fear not, my dearest child."
  Then Bidasari wept. Her heart was wrung.
  She went. The merchant followed with his eyes.
  She entered by a hidden door. _Dyangs_
  And _mandars_ flocked to see her, but she hung
  Her head and kept her eyes downcast.

                  The sun
  Announced the evening, and the King was still
  Surrounded by his officers. 'Twas then
  Fair Bidasari to the palace came,
  And stood before the Queen. All the _dyangs_
  Sat on the floor, with servants of the house.
  Like the _pengawas_ Bidasari bowed,
  'Mid the _dyangs_, in presence of the Queen.
  They gave her all the merchant's gifts, as sign
  Of homage. All astonished was the Queen
  At Bidasari's beauty. She appeared
  Almost divine. Bidouri spoke and said,
  "Thou seest Bidasari, O our Queen,
  Lila Djouhari's daughter." At these words
  The Queen was stupefied, and thought: "In truth
  'Tis as they said. She is more lovely than
  The fairest work of art." Bidouri told
  All that the merchant and his wife had said.
  The Queen inclined her head and silence kept,
  But wicked thoughts were surging in her brain.
  A combat raged within her heart. She feared
  The King might see the maiden. "Send away,"
  She said, "the nurses and the women all."
  Fair Bidasari wept when they retired.
  The princess called her to her side and said:

  "Thou must not weep so, Bidasari. They
  Will all return. When thou dost wish to go,
  They will go with thee. Now depart, _dyangs_.
  Ye need not care for Bidasari more.
  I will procure her dames of company
  And servants. You may come from time to time."
  So they arose, and, with prostrations, went.
  The Queen conducted Bidasari then
  Into a room and left her all alone,
  And all afraid.

                  When evening shadows fell,
  The great King bade the Queen to sup with him.
  He sat beside her, smiled and gayly talked,
  As he had been young Bedouwandas, on
  His horse, with sword at belt. "My royal spouse,
  How thou dost love me! for thou wouldst not sup
  Without me, though thou needest food and drink."
  Now when the King had eaten, he retired
  Unto his sleeping-chamber.

                  Still alone
  And weeping much, fair Bidasari stayed,
  In darkness with no one to speak to her.
  She thought on her dear parents. "O my God!
  Why dost Thou leave me here?" The solitude
  Filled her with terror, and she wept until
  The middle of the night, and thought of home.
  Out spake the King: "Now what is that I hear?
  What voice is that so sorrowful and sweet?"
  "It is an infant crying," said the Queen.
  "In all the darkness it has lost its way."
  Her heart was burning, and she sent a word
  To Bidasari that she must not weep,
  And held her peace and waited till the dawn.
  But Bidasari wept the whole night long
  And cried for home. When the _dyangs_ all ran
  To comfort her, they found the door was locked,
  And none could enter. Bidasari thought,
  "What wrong have I committed, that the Queen
  Should be so vexed with me?" When day appeared,
  To the pavilion went the King. The Queen
  Threw wide the door of Bidasari's room
  And entered all alone.

                  Then Bidasari
  The Queen's hand kissed, and begged that she would let
  Her homeward fare. "O gracious Queen," she said,
  "Take pity on me; let me go away.
  I'll come to thee again."

                  The wicked Queen
  Struck her, and said, "Thou ne'er shalt see again
  Thy home." The gentle Bidasari drooped
  Her head and wept afresh, shaking with fear.
  "Forgive the evil I have done, my Queen,
  For I am but a child, and do not know
  How I have sinned against thee," falling at
  Her feet she said. The Queen in anger struck
  Her once again. "I know full well," she said,
  "All thy designs and projects. What! Am I
  To rest in peace and see thy beauty grow,
  And thee become my rival with the King?"
  Then Bidasari knew 'twas jealousy
  That caused the fury of the Queen. Her fear
  Increased, she trembled and bewailed her fate.
  The livelong day she was insulted, struck,
  And of her food deprived.

                  Before the King
  Returned, the Queen departed from the room
  Of Bidasari. The poor child had lost
  Her former color. Black her face had grown
  From blows, as if she had been burnt. Her eyes
  She could not open. Such her sufferings were
  She could not walk. Then unto God she cried:
  "O Lord, creator of the land and sea,
  I do not know my fault, and yet the Queen
  Treats me as guilty of a heinous crime.
  I suffer hell on earth. Why must I live?
  Oh, let me die now, in the faith, dear Lord.
  My soul is troubled and my face is black
  With sorrow. Let me die before the dawn.
  My parents do not help me. They have left
  Me here alone to suffer. In the false
  _Dyangs_ I trusted, as to sisters dear.
  Their lips are smiling, but their hearts are base.
  Their mouths are sweet as honey, but their hearts
  Are full of evil. Oh, what can I say?
  It is the will of God."

                  Such was the grief
  Of Bidasari, and her tears fell fast.
  Now when the King went forth again, the Queen
  Began anew her persecutions harsh.
  With many blows and angry words, she said:
  "Why dost thou groan so loudly? Dost thou seek
  By crying to attract the King, to see
  Thy beauty? 'Tis thy hope, I know full well,
  His younger wife to be. And thou art proud
  Of all thy beauty." Bidasari was
  Astounded, and replied with many tears:
  "May I accursed be if ever I
  Such plottings knew. Thou art a mighty Queen.
  If I have sinned against thee, let me die
  At once. For life is useless to the hearts
  That suffer. Hast thou brought me here to beat?
  How thou hast made me weep! O Queen, art thou
  Without compassion?"

                  All possessed with rage
  The Queen replied: "I do not pity thee.
  I hate thee, when I see thee. Open not
  Thy mouth again." The wicked Queen then seized
  The lovely tresses of the beauteous maid,
  And took a piece of wood with which to strike;
  But Bidasari wept and swooned away.
  The King's voice sounded through the corridor,
  As he returned. The Queen then hastened forth
  And left a _mandar_ there to close and guard
  Fair Bidasari's room, that nothing should
  Be seen. Then asked the King of her, "Whom hast
  Thou beaten now?" The hypocrite replied,
  "It was a child that disobeyed my will."
  "Are there not others for that discipline?
  Is it for thee to strike?" His _siri_ then
  He took, and kissed the Queen with fondest love.
  All the _dyangs_ fair Bidasari's plight
  Observed, and kindly pity filled their breasts.
  "How cruel is the conduct of the Queen!"
  They said. "She made us bring her to her side
  But to maltreat the child the livelong day.
  It seems as if she wished to slay her quite."
  Then secretly they went, with some to watch,
  And sprinkled Bidasari's brow. To life
  She came, and opened those dear wistful eyes.
  "My friends," she said, "I pray ye, let me go
  Back home again unto my father's house."
  "Oh, trust in God, my child," said one in tears.
  "My lot is written from eternity.
  Oh, pray the princess great to take my life,"
  The poor child cried; "I can no longer stand;
  My bones are feeble. Oh, she has no heart!"
  But the _dyangs_, for fear the Queen might see,
  All fled.

  Meanwhile the merchant and his wife
  Wept all the day, and sighed for their dear child,
  Sweet Bidasari. Nor did gentle sleep
  Caress their eyes at night. Each day they sent
  Rich presents of all kinds, and half of them
  Were for the child. But naught the wicked Queen
  To Bidasari gave. So five days passed
  And then Dyang Menzara forth they sent.
  The merchant said: "Oh, tell the mighty Queen
  That I must Bidasari see. I'll bring
  Her back in three days' time." The good
  _Dyang_ went to the queen and bowing low:
  "The merchant fain would see his child," she said.
  At this the features of the Queen grew hard.
  "Did they not give their child to me? Now scarce
  A day has passed, and they must see her face.
  Is it thine own wish or the merchant's? I
  Have said the girl could go where'er she would.
  Can I not have her taken back myself?"
  Then the _dyang_ bowed, beat her breast, and went,
  Sad that she could not Bidasari see,
  And quaking at the anger of the Queen.
  Of the _dyang_, fair Bidasari heard
  The voice, and felt her heart break that she could
  Not speak to her and send a message home.

  Upon the morrow, when the King had gone
  Among his ministers and men of state,
  The Queen again to Bidasari's room
  Repaired, to beat her more. As soon as she
  Beheld the Queen, poor Bidasari prayed
  To her, "O sovereign lady great, permit
  That I may go unto my father's house."
  The princess shook with rage, her face on fire.
  "If thou but sayest a word, I'll slay thee here."
  To whom could Bidasari turn? She bent
  Before the will of God, and in a sweet
  Voice said: "O Lord, my God, have pity now
  Upon me, for the cruel world has none.
  Grant now the Queen's desire and let me die,
  For she reproacheth me, though naught I've done.
  My parents have forgotten me, nor send
  A word." The angry princess struck again
  Her piteous face, and as she swooned away
  A napkin took to twist into a cord
  And strangle her. She summoned to her aid
  Dang Ratna Wali. "Help me pluck this weed;
  I wish to kill her." But the woman fled,
  As base as cruel. Bidasari's ghost
  Arose before her. Yet the child came back
  To consciousness, and thought amid her tears:
  "I'll tell the story of the golden fish
  Unto the Queen, that she may know it all;
  For I can but a little while endure
  These pains." She spoke then to the Queen and said:
  "O Queen, thou dost desire that I shall die.
  Seek out a little casket that doth lie
  All hidden in the fish-pond at our house.
  Within it is a fish. Have it brought here
  And I will tell thee what it signifies."
  The princess called Dyang Sendari: "Go
  And bring here the _dyangs_, with no delay
  From out the merchant's house." When they arrived:
  "Go, now, _dyangs_, for Bidasari saith
  There is a little casket in the pond
  Where she is wont to bathe. Go bring it me,
  In silence, letting no one see ye come."
  Then the _dyangs_ replied: "Oh, hear our prayer
  For Bidasari. How her parents grieve!
  Oh, pardon, princess, let her go with us."
  The Queen with smiles responded: "The young girl
  Is very happy here, and full of joy.
  Her parents must not grieve, for in two days
  If Bidasari doth desire to go
  I'll send her freely. She is vexed that ye
  Come here so often." The _dyangs_ bowed low,
  And smiled, and called enticingly: "Come forth,
  O charming child, pure soul; it is not right
  To treat us so, for we have come to see
  Thy lovely face, and in its beauty bask."
  Sweet Bidasari heard, and could not speak,
  But answered with her tears. The cruel Queen
  Said to them: "Speak no more. But if ye bring
  The little casket, ye will fill the heart
  Of Bidasari with great joy." Forth fared
  Then the _dyangs_, and found the casket small,
  And brought it to the palace of the Queen.
  Again to Bidasari called the good
  _Dyangs_: "Oh, come, dear heart, and take it from
  Our hands yourself." "She sleeps," the princess said.
  "Come back to-morrow." So they bowed and went.
  The princess hastened with the casket rich
  To Bidasari's room, and opened it
  Before her eyes. Within it was a box
  Of agate, beautiful to see, and filled
  With water wherein swam a little fish
  Of form most ravishing. The princess stood
  Amazed to see with eyes of fire a fish
  That swam. Then was she glad, and spoke with joy
  To Bidasari: "Say what signifies
  The fish to thee? What shall I do with it?"
  Then Bidasari bowed and said: "My soul
  Is in that fish. At dawn must thou remove
  It from the water, and at night replace.

  "Leave it not here and there, but hang it from
  Thy neck. If this thou dost, I soon shall die.
  My words are true. Neglect no single day
  To do as I have said, and in three days
  Thou'lt see me dead."

                  The Queen felt in her heart
  A joy unspeakable. She took the fish
  And wore it on a ribbon round her neck.
  Unto the Queen then Bidasari spoke,
  "Oh, give my body to my parents dear
  When I am dead." Again the young maid swooned.
  The Queen believed her dead, and ceased to beat
  Her more. But she yet lived, though seeming dead.
  The joyful Queen a white cloth over her
  Then spread, and called aloud to the _dyangs_,
  "Take Bidasari to her father's house."
  They groaned and trembled when they saw that she
  Was dead, and said with many tears: "Alas!
  O dearest one, O gold all virginal!
  What shall we say when we thy parents see?
  They'll beat their breasts and die of grief. They gave
  Thee to the King because they trusted us."
  But the proud Queen, her face all red with hate:
  "Why stay ye? Take the wretched girl away."
  They saw the Queen's great rage, and bore the maid
  Upon their shoulders forth, and carried her
  Unto her father's house at dead of night.
  Fear seized the merchant. "Say what bring ye here?
  Tell me, _dyangs_." They placed her on the ground.
  The merchant and his wife, beside themselves,
  With tears embraced her form. "I trusted in
  The Queen, and so I sent my child to her.
  O daughter dear, so young, so pure, so sweet,
  What hast thou done that could the Queen displease,
  That she should send thee home like this to me?
  How could the Queen treat Bidasari so?
  For seven days she imprisoned her and sent
  Her home in death. Ah, noble child! alas!
  Thy father's heart will break, no more to hear
  Thy voice. Speak to thy father, O my child,
  My pearl, my gem of women, purest gold,
  Branch of my heart; canst thou not quiet me?
  O Bidasari, why art thou so still?
  Arise, my pretty child, arise and play
  With all thy maids. Here is thy mother, come
  To greet thee. Bid her welcome. Why art thou
  So motionless? Hast thou no pity, dear,
  To see thy father overwhelmed with woe?
  My heart is bursting with despair because
  Thou'rt lost to me."

                  Long time the merchant thus
  Lamented. "What have I to live for now?
  Since thou art dead, thy father too shall die.
  It is his lot both night and day to sigh
  For thee. My God, I cannot understand
  Why this dear child should thus a victim be!
  'Tis the _dyangs_ who have this evil wrought."
  Then, through the whole _campong_, the merchants all
  Made lamentations, rolling on the ground,
  With noise of thunder, and their hearts on fire.
  They sought to speak and could not. Then began
  Again the merchant, and unto his friends
  Told his misfortune, asking back his child.

  The Queen's _dyangs_ shed tears, and gently said:
  "Speak not so loudly. Thou dost know that we
  Are but poor servants, and we tremble lest
  The Queen should hear. If any one of us
  Had done this wrong, we'd tell it to the King.
  Fate only is at fault. Oh, be not wroth
  With us. Our will was good. We had no end
  Except to see thy lovely daughter great
  And powerful. Naught the King hath known of this.
  It was the Queen's mad jealousy and hate."

  The merchant and his wife accepted these,
  The _dyangs'_ words. "It is as they declare.
  The Queen was jealous and embittered thus
  Against our Bidasari. To your home
  Return, _dyangs_. I fear me that the Queen
  May learn of your delay and punish ye."
  They bowed and went, with hearts of burning grief.

  The merchant and his wife then lifted up
  Poor Bidasari. They were all but dead
  With sorrow. On his knees the father took
  The body wrapped in crimson silk. He felt
  A warmth. Then he remembered that within
  The water was her vital spirit still,
  And, placing her upon a mat, sent Dang
  Poulam, the casket from the pond to bring.
  But 'twas not there. Then all the household searched,
  But found it not. The merchant beat his breast.
  "Branch of my heart," he said, "we all had thought
  Thou wouldst become a princess. I have lost
  My reason. I hoped now to summon back
  Thy spirit vital, but the casket's lost.
  My hope is gone. It may be the _dyangs_
  Have stolen it. They're faithful to the Queen.
  We may not trust in them. They're filled with hate
  And trickery." Unconscious all the time
  Lay Bidasari; but at midnight's hour
  She for the first time moved. They torches brought
  And there behind Egyptian curtains, right
  And left, ignited them, with many lamps'
  Soft flames. The servants watched and waited there.
  The father, always at his daughter's side,
  With fixed glance looked for life to come once more
  Back to his darling one. She moved again.
  With opening eyes she saw and recognized
  Her own soft couch, her parents, and her maids.
  She tried but could not speak. Her hot tears fell,
  She slowly turned and looked with fondest love
  Upon her parents.

                  When the merchant saw
  That Bidasari's spirit had returned,
  He took her on his knees and gave her rice.
  She could not walk because such pain she felt.
  She thought upon the Queen and wept afresh.
  They dried her tears, and placed within her mouth
  What food she liked. The merchant tenderly
  Said, "Bidasari, dear, what has thou wrought
  To cause the Queen against thee thus to act?"
  Young Bidasari, with a flood of tears, replied:
  "No wrong at all I wrought the cruel Queen.
  All suddenly her insults she began,
  And beatings." They were stupefied to hear
  Such tales. "Light of my eyes," the father said,
  "We do not doubt thine innocence. Her deeds
  Were those of madness. For her haughty birth
  I care no whit. Wisdom and virtue bind
  True hearts alone. As friends we ne'er must name
  Those false _dyangs_. Not plants medicinal,
  But poison foul, are they. These days are bad.
  Injustice reigns. Believe me, friends, it is
  A sign the last great day shall soon appear.
  Those false _dyangs_ are but a race of slaves,
  Insensible to all that's good. The hour
  The princess knoweth Bidasari lives,
  We all shall die, the princess is so wroth.
  Illustrious Queen they call her--but her words
  Are hard and cruel. May the curse of God
  O'erwhelm her and annihilate! From thee,
  O God, she shall receive the punishment
  Deserved. She who pursueth thus a soul
  Shall know remorse and pain. So God hath willed.
  So God hath willed. Who doth another harm
  Shall suffer in his turn. It shall be done
  To him as he hath done to others. So,
  My child, my crown, have no more fear at all.
  Intrust thyself to God. The cruel Queen
  Shall yet be treated as she treated thee."
  The merchant thus lamented till the night
  Was half departed, shedding sapphire tears.
  The innocent young girl, like marble there,
  Slept till the evening twilight came. Toward dawn
  She swooned anew.

                  The merchant and his wife
  Were much disturbed to see at night she came
  To life, but when the daylight shone again
  They lost her, and her spirit fled away.
  This so distressed the merchant's heart, a lone
  Retreat he sought to find. The parents cried:
  "O dearest child, there's treason in the air.
  Hatred and anger the companions are
  Of lamentations and of curses dire.
  Foul lies for gold are uttered. Men disdain
  The promises of God, the faith they owe.
  Oh, pardon, God! I ne'er thought the _dyangs_
  Would thus conspire. But since they are so bad
  And treated Bidasari thus, we'll go
  And in the desert find a resting-place.
  And may it be a refuge for us all,
  Hidden and unapproachable."

                  His goods
  He gathered then, and all his servants paid,
  And built a home far in the desert land,
  A spot agreeable. A cabin there
  He raised, with ramparts hemmed about, and strong
  _Sasaks_, and seven rows of palisades.
  They placed there many vases full of flowers,
  And every sort of tree for fruit and shade,
  And cool pavilions. This plaisance so fair
  They called Pengtipourlara. It was like
  The garden of Batara Indra. All
  About, the merchant set pomegranate-trees
  And vines of grape. No other garden was
  So beautiful. 'Twas like the garden fair
  Of great Batara Brahma, filled with fruits.
  When all was ready, forth they went, toward night,
  And took young Bidasari, and much food.
  They fared two days and came unto the spot,
  A garden in the desert. Softest rugs
  From China there were spread and of bright hue
  The decorations were, in every tint.
  The house was hung with tapestries, and ceiled
  To represent the heavens flecked with clouds.
  And all about were lanterns hung and lamps.
  Soft curtains and a couch completed this
  Enchanted resting-place. Always the light
  Was uniform, and brilliant as the day.
  'Twas like a palace of a mighty king,
  Magnificent and grand beyond compare.
  There was a table on a damp rug set,
  With drinks for Bidasari, and with bowls
  Of gold, and vases of _souasa_, filled
  With water. All of this beside the couch
  Was placed, with yellow _siri_, and with pure
  _Pinang_, all odorous, to please the child.
  And all was covered with a silken web.
  Young Bidasari bracelets wore, and rings,
  And ear-rings diamond studded. Garments four
  All gem-bedecked upon a cushion lay,
  For Bidasari's wear. When night had come
  Young Bidasari waked. Her parents dear
  Then bathed her, and her tender body rubbed
  With musk and aloes. Then she straight was clad
  In garments of her choosing. Her dear face
  Was beautiful, almost divine. She had
  Regained the loveliness she erst possessed.
  The merchant was astonished, seeing her.
  He told her then that they would leave her there,
  "Branch of my heart and apple of my eye,
  My dearest child, be not disturbed at this.
  I do not mean to work thee any harm,
  Nor to disown thee, but to rescue thee
  From death." But as she listened to these words
  Young Bidasari wept. She thought upon
  Her fate. Into her father's arms she threw
  Herself, and cried: "Why wilt thou leave me here,
  O father dearest, in this desert lone?
  I'll have no one to call in case of need.
  I fear to stay alone. No one there'll be
  To talk to me. I only count those hours
  As happy when I have my parents near."
  The merchant heard fair Bidasari's words
  And wept with his dear wife. With bitter grief
  Their hearts were shattered. Counsels wise they gave
  To Bidasari. "Dearest daughter mine,"
  The father said, "gem of my head, my crown,
  Branch of my heart, light of my eyes, oh, hear
  Thy father's words, and be thou not afraid.
  We brought thee hither, to this fair retreat,
  Far from the town, for, if the Queen should know
  Thou liv'st at night, the false _dyangs_ would come,
  And who against the princess can contend?
  They'd take thee back, and thus exonerate
  Themselves. I'd let myself be chopped in bits
  Before thou shouldst unto the Queen return.
  Thy father cannot leave companions here,
  But after three days he will come to thee.
  Thy parents both will soon come back again."
  Then Bidasari thought: "My parent's words
  Are truth, and if the Queen should find I live
  She would abuse me as before. Give me
  One maid-companion here to be with me,"
  She asked. "My child, trust not," he said, "in slaves,
  Nor servants, for they only follow pay."
  Then Bidasari silence kept, and they,
  The father all distraught and mother fond,
  Wept bitterly at thought of leaving her.
  Fair Bidasari bade them eat, before
  They started. But because of heavy hearts
  They but a morsel tasted. At the dawn
  Young Bidasari swooned again. They made
  All ready to return to town. With tears
  The father said: "O apple of my eye,
  Pearl of all women, branch of my own heart,
  Pure gold, thy parents leave thee with distress.
  No more they'll have a daughter in the house.
  But, dear, take courage, we shall soon come back."
  They left here with a talking bird to cheer
  Her loneliness, close shutting all the gates
  Of all the seven ramparts. Through a wood
  Bushy and thick they took a narrow path,
  In sorrow, but with confidence in God.
  "O sovereign God, protect our child," they said.
  When they had fared unto their house, they prayed
  And gave much alms.

                  When evening shadows came
  Young Bidasari waked, and found herself
  Alone, and was afraid. With bitter tears
  Her eyes were filled. What could she say? She gave
  Herself to God. Alas, our destiny
  Is like a rock. Twas hers to be alone.
  It is in no man's power to turn aside
  Or change whatever is by fate decreed.
  All desolate sat Bidasari. Sleep
  Wooed not her eyes. Now when he heard the cry
  Of "Peladou," the owl lamented loud.
  Upon her parents coming, loaded down
  With dainties for the child, she for a while
  Her woe forgot, and ate and drank with joy.
  The little bird with which she talked upheld
  Her courage with its soothing voice. So ran
  The days away. Upon pretext he gave
  Of hunting deer, the merchant daily came.


SONG III

  Hear now a song about the King Djouhan.
  The wise and powerful prince e'er followed free
  His fancy, and the Princess Lila Sari
  Was very happy in her vanity.
  Since she had killed (for so she thought) the maid,
  Young Bidasari, tainted was her joy.
  "The King will never take a second wife,"
  She mused, "since Bidasari is now dead."
  The King loved Princess Lila Sari well.
  He gratified her every wish, and gave
  Her all she asked, so fond was he of her.
  Whene'er the princess was annoyed, the King,
  With kisses and soft words would quiet her,
  And sing to her sweet songs till she became
  Herself again. "Poor, little, pretty wife,"
  He'd say, and laugh her fretful mood away.
  One night as he lay sleeping on his bed,
  A dream tormented him. "What may it mean?"
  He thought. "Ah, well, to-morrow morn I'll seek
  An explanation." At the dawn he sat
  Upon a rug Egyptian, breaking fast,
  And with him was the princess. When she had
  The dainties tasted, the _dyangs_ arrived
  With leaves of perfume. Then the King went forth
  Into the garden. All the officers
  Were there assembled. When they saw the King
  They all were silent. To a _mantri_ spoke
  The King: "My uncle, come and sit thee here.
  I fain would question thee." The King had scarce
  These words pronounced, when, bowing very low,
  The _mantri_ in respectful tones replied,
  "My greetings to thee, O most merciful
  Of kings." He sat him near the throne. "I dreamed
  Last night," the King continued, "that the moon
  In her full glory fell to earth. What means
  This vision?" Then the _mantri_ with a smile
  Replied: "It means that thou shalt find a mate,
  A dear companion, like in birth to thee,
  Wise and accomplished, well brought up and good,
  The one most lovable in all the land."
  The King's eyes took new fire at this. He said
  With smiles: "I gave the Queen my promise true
  That never I would take a second wife
  Until a fairer I could find than she.
  And still she is so lovely in my eyes,
  Her equal cannot anywhere be found.
  You'd take her for a flow'r. Yet when arise
  Her storms of anger, long it takes to calm
  Her mind, so waspish is her character.
  The thought of this doth sadden me. Should one
  Not satisfy her heart's desire, she flies
  Into a passion and attempts to kill
  Herself. But 'tis my destiny--'tis writ.
  The Queen is like a gem with glint as bright
  As lightning's flash. No one can ever be,
  I tell thee now, so beautiful to me."
  The _mantri_ smiled. "What thou dost say is just,
  O King, but still if thou shouldst someone find
  More beautiful, thou yet couldst keep thy word.
  The beauty of the Queen may fade away.
  The princess thou shalt wed, O King, hath four
  High qualities. She must, to be thy queen,
  Be nobly born, and rich, and fair, and good."
  The prince replied: "O uncle mine, thy words
  Are true. Full many princesses there live,
  But hard it is to find these qualities.
  The Queen is good and wise and lovable.
  I do not wish another wife to wed,
  And wound the Queen with whom three years I've lived
  In love and harmony. Yet if I saw
  A quite celestial maid, perhaps I might
  Forget, and marry her, and give the Queen
  A gay companion." "O accomplished prince,
  Thou sayest truly. Stay long years with her
  Thy Queen, thy first beloved, for she hath all--
  Great beauty and intelligence." They bowed
  As forth from them the King went palaceward.
  He sat beside the Queen, and kissed her cheeks,
  And said: "Thy features shine with loveliness,
  Like to a jewel in a glass. When I
  Must leave thy side, I have no other wish
  But to return. Like Mount Maha Mirou
  Thou art." The princess said: "Wherefore art thou
  So spirited to-day? Thou'rt like a boy."
  "Branch of my heart, my dearest love," he said,
  "Vex not thyself. Thou know'st the adage old:
  First one is taken with a pretty face,
  Then wisdom comes and prudence, and, with these,
  One loves his wife until the day of death.
  If thus thou dost deport thyself, my dear,
  My heart between two wives shall never be
  Divided; thou alone shalt own it all."
  The Queen was charmed to hear his loving words.
  At night the Queen slept, but King remained
  Awake, and watched the moon, and called to mind
  His dream. As dawn approached he slept, and seemed
  To hear an owl's shrill voice, like Pedalou's.
  When it was fully day, the royal pair
  Together broke their fast. The King went forth
  And orders gave, in two days to prepare
  A mighty hunt, to chase the dappled deer,
  With men and dogs and all apparel fit.
  Then back into the palace went the King,
  And told the Queen, who straightway gave commands
  For food to be made ready. At midnight
  Behind Egyptian curtains went to rest
  The King and Queen, but slept not. Still the dream
  Was ever in his thoughts and worried him.
  At dawn he said farewell unto the Queen.
  She was all radiant, and smiling, said:
  "Bring me a fawn. I'll tell the servants all
  To take good care of it, so it may grow
  Quite tame." "What we can do, my dear, we shall,
  So all of thy desires may come to pass."
  And so the King took leave, with kisses fond,
  And, mounted on a hunter brown, set forth,
  With velvet saddle decked with fringe of pearls.
  Lances and shields and arrows and blow-guns
  They bore. The wood they entered, and the beasts
  All fled before their steps at dawn's first ray.
  And when the sun was up, they loosed the hounds
  With savage cries. Toward noon an animal
  In flight they saw, and would have followed it,
  But then up spake the King and said, "We are
  So hot and weary, let us linger here
  For rest." One-half the company astray
  Had gone, each striving to be first of all.
  The King, attended by a faithful three,
  Reclined upon the ground, and sent them forth
  For water. So the _mantris_ went to find
  A river or a pond, and faring far
  To Bidasari's plaisance came at last.
  They stopped astounded, then approached the place.
  When they were near the lovely garden close,
  They said: "There was no garden here before.
  To whom does this belong? Perchance it is
  A spirit's bower. No human voice is heard
  But just the cry of 'minahs' and 'bajans.'
  Whom shall we call, lest spectres should appear?"
  They wandered round the ramparts, and a gate
  Discovered, shut with heavy iron bar,
  And vainly tried to open it. Then one
  Of them went back, and found the King, and said:
  "Hail, sovereign lord, we have no water found,
  But a _campong_ here in the desert lone,
  As splendid as a sultan's, with all sorts
  Of trees and flow'rs, and not a mortal there.
  'Tis girt about with double ramparts strong.
  No name is seen, and all the gates are shut,
  So that we could not enter."

                  Scarce the King
  Had heard the _mantri's_ word when off he rushed
  To see the fair domain. Before the gate
  He stood astonished. "Truly, _mantris_ mine,
  It is as you have said. I once was here
  And then the wood was filled with thorns and briers."
  "'Tis not a nobleman's _campong_. It must
  Have recently been made. Now summon all
  The _mantris_ here and see what they will say."
  They called aloud, "Oh, hasten, friends, and bring
  The water here." Seven times they called, but none
  Responded. Said the King, "It is enough.
  'Tis like as if one called unto the dead."

  "We'd best not enter," said the _mantris_ then,
  "It may be the abode of demons fell.
  We are afraid. Why should we linger here?
  Return, O King, for should the spirits come
  It might to us bring evil. Thou shouldst not
  Expose thyself to danger." But the King
  Upon the _mantris_ smiled. "Ye are afraid
  Of demons, spectres, spirits? I've no fear.
  Break down the barriers. I'll go alone
  Within the precincts." When the gates were forced,
  He entered all alone. The _mantris_ all
  Were terrified lest harm should come to him.
  They sought with him to go. He lightly said:
  "No, _mantris_ mine, whatever God hath willed,
  Must happen. If in flames I were to burn,
  In God I still should trust. 'Tis only He
  That evil can avert. We mortal men
  No power possess. With my own eyes I wish
  To see this apparition. Should it be
  The will of God, I'll come forth safe and sound.
  Be not disturbed. In case of urgent need
  I'll call upon ye. All await me here."
  The _mantris_ made obeisance and replied,
  "Go, then, alone, since thou hast willed it so."
  Into the plaisance strode the King. He saw
  That all was like a temple richly decked,
  With rugs of silk and colored tapestries
  Of pictured clouds and wheels all radiant,
  And lamps and candelabra hung about,
  And lanterns bright. 'Twas like a palace rich.
  The eyes were dazzled with magnificence.
  And seats there were, and dainty tables rare.
  As through the palace went the King, the more
  Astonished he became at all he saw,
  But nowhere found a trace of human soul.
  Then spake the little bird: "Illustrious King,
  What seek'st thou here? This mansion is the house
  Of ghosts and demons who will injure thee."
  The King was filled with wonder thus to hear
  A bird address him. But it flew away,
  And hid behind a couch. "The bird I'll find,"
  He said, and ope'd the curtains soft. He saw
  Full stretched, upon a bed in dragon's shape,
  A human form, in heavy-lidded sleep
  That seemed like death, and covered with a cloth
  Of blue, whose face betokened deepest grief.
  "Is it a child celestial?" thought the King,
  "Or doth she feign to sleep? Awake, my sweet,
  And let us be good friends and lovers true."
  So spake the King, but still no motion saw.
  He sat upon the couch, and to himself
  He said: "If it a phantom be, why are
  The eyes so firmly shut? Perhaps she's dead.
  She truly is of origin divine,
  Though born a princess." Then he lifted high
  The covering delicate that hid the form
  Of Bidasari sweet, and stood amazed
  At all the magic beauty of her face.
  Beside himself, he cried, "Awake, my love."
  He lifted her and said, with kisses warm,
  "Oh, have no fear of me, dear heart. Thy voice
  Oh, let me hear, my gold, my ruby pure,
  My jewel virginal. Thy soul is mine.
  Again he pressed her in his arms, and gave
  Her many kisses, chanting love-songs low.
  "Thou dost not wake, O dearest one, but thou
  Art yet alive, because I see thee breathe.
  Sleep not too long, my love. Awake to me,
  For thou hast conquered with thy loveliness
  My heart and soul." So fell the King in love
  With Bidasari. "Ah, my sweet," he said,
  "In all the world of love thou'rt worthiest."
  The _mantris_ grew uneasy at his stay.
  They rose and said: "What doth the King so long?
  If harm befell him, what would be our fate?
  Oh, let us call him back at once, my lords."
  So one approached the palace, and cried out:
  "Return, O prince accomplished, to us now.
  Already night is near. Back thou may'st come
  To-morrow ere the dawn. We are afraid
  Lest spirits harm thee. Come, O King, for we
  A-hungered are, and wait for thy return."
  But the illustrious prince was mad with love
  Of Bidasari. Pensively he cried:
  "Branch of my heart, light of mine eyes, my love,
  Pure gold, thou'rt like angel. Now must I
  Depart. To-morrow I will come again."
  With no more words he left her, but returned.
  "My heart would tell me, wert thou really dead.
  Some trouble hast thou, dearest one?" he cried.
  "What bitter grief hath caused thee thus to sleep?"
  He found the nobles murmuring and vexed.
  "O King," they said, "our hearts were filled with fear
  Lest evil had befallen thee. What sight
  So strange hath kept thee all these hours?" The King
  Replied with laughter, "There was naught to see."
  But they remarked his brow o'ercast with thought,
  And said, "O King, thy heart is sorely vexed."
  "Nay, nay," the King replied, "I fell asleep.
  Naught did I hear except the _mantri's*_ voice.
  It surely is the home of demons dread
  And spirits. Let us go, lest they surprise
  Us here." He seemed much moved. "We naught have gained
  But weariness. So let us all go home
  To-night, and hither come again at dawn.
  For I a promise gave the Queen to bring
  A fawn and a _kidjang_." The _mantris_ said:
  "None have we taken yet. But game we'll find
  To-morrow, and will save a pretty fawn."
  The King, when they returned, went straight within
  The palace. There he saw the Queen, but thought
  Of Bidasari. "O my love," he said,
  "To-morrow I'm resolved to hunt again,
  And bring thee back a fawn, and win thy thanks.
  I'm never happy when away from thee,
  My dearest love. Thine image is engraved
  Upon my heart." Then he caressed the Queen
  And fondled her, but still his heart went out
  To Bidasari. All night long his eyes
  He did not close in sleep, but thought of her,
  In all her beauty rare. Before the dawn
  The royal couple rose. The King then gave
  Command that those who wished should hunt again
  With him. At sunrise forth they fared.

  On Bidasari let us look again.
  When night had gone, in loneliness she rose,
  And ate and drank. Then to the bath perfumed
  She went, and coming to her chamber, took
  Some _siri_ from the betel-box. She saw
  A _sepah_ recently in use and cast
  It forth. She thought within herself:
  "Who could have used it? Someone hath been here."
  She ran through all the rooms, but nothing found
  Except the _sepah_ in the betel-box.
  "Had it my father been, he would have left
  Some food for me. Oh, he is very rash
  To leave me here alone." Upon the couch
  She sat and wept, and could not tell her grief
  To anyone. "When we no longer may
  Live happily," she said, "'tis best to die.
  My parents never can forgiven be,
  To leave me here like any infidel.
  And if I suffer, they will sorrow, too."
  The _minahs_, the _bajans_, and talking birds
  Began to sing. She took a 'broidered cloth,
  And 'neath its folds she sweetly fell asleep.

  The King's horse flew apace to the _campong_
  Of Bidasari. All the _mantris_ said:
  "Thou takest not the path for hunting, sire;
  This is but the _campong_ of demons dread
  And spectres. They may do us deadly harm."
  The great prince only laughed, and made as if

  He heard not, still directing his fleet course
  To Bidasari's garden, though they sought
  His wishes to oppose. When they arrived
  Before the palisades, the _mantris_ cried:
  "Avaunt, ye cursed demons, and begone
  Into the thorns and briers." Then to the King:
  "If thou wilt prove the courage of thy men,
  Lead us behind the barriers, among
  The evil spirits. We will go with thee."
  "Nay. Let me go alone," the prince replied,
  "And very shortly I'll come forth again."
  They said: "O prince, to us thy will is law.
  To God most high do we commend thy soul."
  Alone the prince in Bidasari's home
  Set foot. He was astonished, for he saw the bath
  Had recently been used, and all the lamps
  Were trimmed and full of oil. Then opening
  The chests, he saw the traces of a meal,
  And glasses freshly drained. The chambers all
  He searched, and came to Bidasari's couch,
  And, lifting up the curtains, saw her there,
  Asleep beneath the 'broidered covering.
  "Tis certain that she lives," he said. "Perchance
  It is her lot to live at night, and die
  At dawn." Then came he nearer yet, and gazed
  Upon her beauty. Ling'ring tears he saw
  Bedewed her lashes long, and all his heart
  Was sad. Her face was beautiful. Her locks
  Framed * with curls most gracefully. He took
  Her in his arms and cried, with kisses warm:
  "Why hast thou suffered, apple of my eye?"
  He wept abundantly, and said: "My gold,
  My ruby, my carbuncle bright, thy face
  Is like Lila Seprara's, and thy birth
  Is pure and spotless. How could I not love
  A being fair as thou dost seem to me?
  Thy beauty is unspeakable; thou art
  Above all crowns, the glory of all lands.
  My soul adores thee. Lord am I no more
  Of my own heart. Without thee, love, I could
  No longer live; thou art my very soul.
  Hast thou no pity to bestow on me?"
  The more he looked the more he loved. He kissed
  Her ruby lips, and sang this low _pantoum_:


SONG

  Within a vase there stands a china rose;
    Go buy a box of betel, dearest one.
  I love the beauty that thine eyes disclose;
    Of my existence, dear, thou art the sun.

  Go buy a box of betel, dearest one.
    Adorned with _sountings_ brave of sweet _campak_,
  Of my existence, dear, thou art the sun;
    Without thee, everything my life would lack.

  Adorned with _sountings_ fair of sweet _campak_,
    A carafe tall will hold the sherbet rare;
  Without thee, everything my heart would lack;
    Thou'rt like an angel come from heaven so fair.

  A carafe tall will hold the sherbet rare,
    Most excellent for woman's feeble frame.
  Thou'rt like an angel come from heaven so fair,
    Love's consolation, guardian of its flame.

  At the approach of night the _mantris_ said,
  "What doth the King so long away from us?"
  They were disturbed, the prince seemed so unlike
  Himself and filled with such unrestfulness.
  "I fear me much," then said a _mantri_ there,
  "That some mishap hath overwhelmed the King.
  Perhaps by some bad spirit he's possessed,
  That he to this weird spot should fain return."
  One went and cried: "Come hither, O our King!
  The day declines; we've waited here since dawn."
  The King responded to the call, and came
  With smiling face, though pale, unto the gate:
  "Come here, my uncle; come and talk with me,
  Thy King. No evil thing hath come to pass."
  "O lord supreme, most worthy prince, return.
  If harm should come to thee, we all should die."
  "Be calm, my uncle, I will not this night
  Return, but he may stay with me who wills."
  "O King, with spirits what hast thou to do?
  Thy face is pale and worn, and tells of care."
  The King but sighed, and said: "My heart is full
  Of trouble, but the will of God is good.
  Here yesterday a fair celestial form
  With angel face I saw. 'Twas here alone."
  And so the King told all that had occurred.
  "Go back," he added. "Leave me here with her.
  Say to the Queen I've lingered still a day
  For my amusement, with my retinue."
  Then half the escort stayed, and half repaired
  Back to the palace to acquaint the Queen
  The King would stay another day and hunt.
  When all was dark, sweet Bidasari waked
  And saw the King, and tried to flee away.
  He seized and kissed her. "Ruby, gold," he said,
  "My soul, my life, oh, say, where wouldst thou go?
  I've been alone with thee for two whole days,
  And all the day thou wrapped in sleep didst lie.
  Where wouldst thou go, my dove?" The gentle girl
  Was much afraid and trembled, and she thought:
  "Is it a spirit come to find me here?
  Avaunt thee and begone, O spectre dread,"
  She said, amid her tears. "No phantom I,"
  Replied the King; "be not afraid. I wish
  To marry thee." Then Bidasari strove
  Again to flee. Then sang the King a song
  That told of love and happiness. Its words
  Astonished Bidasari, and she cried:
  "Art thou a pirate? Why dost thou come here?
  Speak not such things to me. If thou shouldst be
  Discovered by my father, he would cut
  Thee into pieces. Thou shouldst go alone
  To death, and find no pardon in his heart.
  Take all my gems and hasten forth at once."
  The King replied: "'Tis not thy gems I want,
  But thee. I am a pirate, but thy heart
  Is all I want to steal. Should spectres come
  In thousands, I would fear them not at all.
  No tears, my love, bright glory of my crown.
  Where wouldst thou go? Hast thou no pity, sweet,
  For me? I am a powerful prince. Who dares
  Oppose my will? Pure gold, all virginal,
  Where wouldst thou go?" So spake the King, and fair
  Young Bidasari trembled more and more.
  "Approach me not," she cried, "but let me bathe
  My face." "I'll bathe it for thee, dear," he said.
  But Bidasari threw the water pure
  Into his face. "Not that way, child," he laughed;
  "My vesture thou hast wet. But I shall stay
  And meet thy parents here. Oh, hearken, love.
  I followed far the chase, and wandered here.
  I sought a pretty fawn to take the Queen;
  But now thy face I've seen, no more I wish
  To go away. Oh, have no fear, my child;
  I would not harm thee. When thy parents come,
  I'll ask them for thy hand. I trust they'll grant
  My prayer. I'll lead thee forth from this fair spot
  Unto my palace. Thou shalt sit beside
  The Queen, and live in happiness complete."
  Sweet Bidasari bowed her head and wept,
  All red with modesty. Unto herself she said:
  "I never thought it was a king. How rude
  I was! I hope the King will not be vexed."
  He calmed her fears with tender words of love.
  "Branch of my heart," he said, "light of my eyes,
  Have no more fear. Soon as thy parents fond
  Have given their consent, I'll lead thee forth.
  My palace is not far. A single day
  Will take us there. It is not difficult
  To go and come." Then Bidasari knew
  It was the King of that same land. With fright
  She nearly swooned at thought of all the woe
  The Queen had caused her. "O my lord," she said,
  "I'm but a subject humble. Give me not
  The throne. I have my parents, and with them
  Must stay." The King was overjoyed. "My dear,"
  He said, "by what names are thy parents known?"
  With low, sweet voice the tender girl replied:
  "Lila Djouhara is my father's name.
  He dwelleth in Pesara." "Dearest one,
  Tell me the truth. Why have they treated thee
  In such a fashion--why abandoned thee
  In solitude? Thy father is not poor
  A merchant rich is he, of birth, who hath
  A host of slaves and servants. For what cause
  Hath he his daughter left in this far spot?
  He is renowned among the merchants all,
  Both good and honest. What hath forced him here
  Within this lonely wood to hide thee, dear?
  Oh, tell me all; let nothing be concealed."
  She thought: "It was the fault of his own Queen.
  But if I tell him all--he never saw
  Me there, within the palace--should he not
  Believe, I'll be a liar in his eyes."
  She feared to speak and tell him of the Queen.
  She thought, "So cruel was the Queen to me
  When she but feared a rival, what would come
  If I should sit beside her on the throne?"
  Then in her sweet voice Bidasari said:
  "My glorious King, I am afraid to speak.
  I am not suited to a royal throne.
  But since thou lovest me, how dare I lie?
  If thou dost favor me, the Queen will vex
  Her heart. My parents fear her. 'Tis the cause
  Why hither they have brought me. Three long months
  Ago I came, for terror of the Queen."
  She thought on all the horror of those days,
  And choked with sobs, and could no longer talk.
  Then tenderly the King spake to the girl:
  "Ah, well, my darling love, confide in me
  The secret thy dear heart conceals. Fear naught;
  The Queen is good and wise, and knoweth how
  To win all hearts. Why should she render thee
  Unhappy? Speak not thus, my pretty one;
  The Queen could never do an evil deed.
  When thou art near her, thou shalt see, my dear,
  Whether she loves or hates thee."

                                 At these words
  Young Bidasari knew the King esteemed
  The Queen, and felt her heart sink in her breast.
  "My words are true," she said, "but still perchance
  My prince cannot believe. But was I not
  Within thy palace six or seven nights?
  The sweat of pain became my couch, so great
  Was my desire to see my parents dear.
  They sent me dainties, but all the _dyangs_
  Were kept as prisoners by the princess there.
  She said she'd take me back herself. One day
  I was, indeed, sent home, but scarce alive."
  She told him everything that came to pass.
  He listened stupefied, and said: "How could
  It be that thou wert in the palace hid,
  And I not see thee there? Why was it thou
  Wert not beside the Queen? I've never left
  The palace for a single day. Where wert
  Thou hid? Thy strange words I believe, my dear.
  Speak without fear and let me know the whole."
  Urged by the King, young Bidasari told
  Him all. And when the conduct of the Queen
  He learned, the King was wonder-struck. A rage
  Most terrible possessed him. But his love
  For Bidasari mounted higher still
  And his compassion. "So the Queen thus wrought!
  I never thought hypocrisy could be
  So great! I never in the princess saw
  Such bent for evil. But be not, my dear,
  Disconsolate. It is a lucky thing
  Thou didst not quite succumb. No longer speak
  Of that bad woman's ways. Thank God we've met!
  So weep no more, my love. I'll give to thee
  A throne more beautiful than hers, and be
  Thy dear companion until death." "O King,"
  She said: "I have no beauty fit to grace
  A throne. Oh, let me stay a simple maid,
  And think of me no more." The King replied:
  "I will not give thee up. But I must still
  Return, and meditate how I may win
  Thee back to life complete." With kisses warm
  He covered her fair face. She bowed her head,
  And silence kept; and when the morning dawned
  She swooned anew. It was a proof to him
  That she had told the truth. A mortal hate
  Then filled the prince's heart against the Queen.
  Touched with deep pity for the maiden young,
  He kissed her once again, and left her there,
  So white and still, as if she lay in death.
  What of the _mantris_? They awaited long
  The King, in silence. Then the oldest said:
  "O sovereign lord, O caliph great, wilt thou
  Not now return?" "I'll come again, dear heart,"
  He said, and sought the city. Straight he went
  Into the palace, to the Queen, who asked:
  "What bringest thou from hunting?" He replied
  In murmurs: "I have taken naught at all.
  For my own pleasure I remained all night."
  "'Tis nothing, lord, provided no harm came
  To thee. But say what thou didst seek, to stay
  So long? I always have prepared for thee
  The food for thy great hunts, but never yet
  Have I received a recompense?" The King
  To this replied with smiles: "Prepare afresh,
  For I to-morrow shall depart again.
  If I take nothing, I'll return at once."
  As he caressed the Queen, upon her breast
  He felt the little magic fish of gold
  All safe. Then gave he quick commands to all.
  "I'll hunt to-morrow, and shall surely bring
  Some wondrous game." Now when the princess fell
  Asleep he found upon her heart no more
  The little fish. "'Tis as the maiden said,"
  He thought. "The princess hath a wicked soul.
  With such a heart I cannot go with her
  Through life." Through all the night he could not sleep,
  But thought upon the girl. He was as sad
  As though he heard a touching song. At dawn
  The royal couple rose and went to bathe.
  The King into the palace came again
  And sat upon the throne adorned with gems.
  He donned the royal robe to wear before
  The dear young girl. A vestment 'twas of silk,
  All gold embroidered, with a tunic bright,
  Of orange hue. His mien was most superb,
  As doth become a mighty king. He bore
  A quiver of Ceylon, most deftly wrought.
  When all the _mantris_ had assembled there,
  The King within the palace once more went
  And met the Queen. Caressing her he took
  The little fish that lay upon her breast.
  The princess wept, and at the door she cried:
  "Why takest thou my little ornament?"
  The great King gave no heed, and went away,
  At dawn's glad hour, when birds begin to sing.
  Swords gleamed and lances shone, and through the wood
  They hastened on, with quivers and blow-guns,
  And seemed a walking city.

                  Now again
  To Bidasari let us turn. When dawn
  Appeared, she rose and sat in loneliness,
  Her face grew still more beautiful. Her state
  Astonished her. "Perhaps it is the King
  Who hath this wonder wrought. How happy I
  To be no longer dead!" She washed her face
  And felt still sad, but with her pensiveness
  A certain joy was mingled, for her pain
  Was passed. Her grief the "talking bird" allayed
  With songs about the mighty King and love.


SONG

    There's _siri_ in a golden vase,
    Good Dang Melini plants a rose;
    The King admires a pretty face,
    To-day he'll come to this fair close.

    Good Dang Melini plants a rose,
    Here in the garden they will meet;
    To-day he'll come to this fair close,
    To man and maiden love is sweet.

    Here in the garden they will meet,
    Go seek the fairest fruit and flower;
    To man and maiden love is sweet,
    The King is coming to the bower.

  Lo! At this very instant they approached.
  Dear Bidasari hid behind the couch.
  The King searched everywhere, and found at last
  The maiden hiding, bathed in bitter tears.
  Then kissing her, the King inquired: "My love,
  Bright glory of my crown; pray tell to me
  Why thou art sad." He dried her tears. But she
  Still hung her head in silence. Then the King
  For elephants and horses to be sent
  Gave orders. "Go with _mantris_ two at once,
  And bring the merchant and his wife, and bid
  Forty _dyangs_ to hasten here forthwith."
  Then went the _mantris_ forth in haste, and found
  The merchant and his wife and said, "The King
  Inviteth ye to come." Then through the wood
  The parents hurried to the plaisance fair
  Of Bidasari, there to meet the King.
  Before his Majesty they bowed with fear.
  The great King smiled. "Be not afraid," he said,
  "My uncle and my mother. Let us go
  Within, to see thy lovely child. I make
  Ye now my parents. We have friendly been,
  And still shall be." Beside the King they saw
  Fair Bidasari seated, as with steps
  Still hesitating they the palace sought.
  The father fond was glad within his heart,
  His daughter was so beautiful. She seemed
  A princess lovely of the Mount Lidang.
  "Dear Bidasari, sweetest child," they said,
  "Behind the King, dear daughter, thou should stand."
  She made as if to go, but still the King
  Restrained her, "No, my pretty one," he said;
  "Thy place is at my side. So God hath willed."
  The oldest _mantri_, called for counsel, spoke:
  "Lila Djouhara good, what sayest thou?
  Art thou not glad to see thy daughter made
  A queen? What happiness hath come to thee!"
  The merchant bowed before the King, and said:
  "Make her thy servant, not thy wife, my lord.
  Thy glorious Queen we fear. She e'er hath shown
  For Bidasari hatred dire, because
  A child so lovely might attract the King."
  The monarch hearing him thus speak, still more
  Toward him was borne. "My uncle," then he cried,
  "Have no more fear. But never shall I make
  A servant of thy daughter."

                  Then he gave
  Command to build a castle in the wood.
  And all the workers came, and built it there,
  With ramparts three. As if by magic then
  A golden palace rose. The outer gate
  Was iron, loaded down with arms, and held
  By demons and by Ethiopians.
  These were the keepers of the gates, with steeds
  Untamed. With swords unsheathed they stood alert
  And waited for the King's commands. Of brass
  All chiselled was the second gate, supplied
  With cannons and with powder, guarded safe
  By beings supernatural. The third
  Was silver, such as may be seen in far
  Eirak. The beauty of the castle was
  Beyond compare! From far it seemed to be
  As double, like an elephant with two
  White ivory tusks. Where may its like be found?
  Three diamonds pure reflected all the light,
  Big as a melon. Now the castle built,
  The King a plaisance beautiful desired
  With gay pavilions, and all kinds of plants.
  The middle booth nine spacious rooms displayed,
  One for the royal audiences, adorned
  And pleasant as a bed of flowers.

                  The King
  A festival maintained for forty days,
  With games and sports and dances to divert.
  And never was such animation seen!
  All ate and drank to sound of music sweet.
  They passed the loving-cup and drank to each
  In turn.

                  For forty days resounded there
  The gongs and _gendarangs_, and joyous tones
  Of gay _serouni_ and _nefiri_ glad.
  "How beautiful is Bidasari!" all
  Exclaimed; "a thousand times more lovely than
  The Queen. Thrice happy are the merchant now
  And his good wife; by marriage they're allied
  To our great King, though strangers to the land.
  We count it strange that Bidasari's face
  In naught is like the merchant nor his wife.
  Who knoweth but that she, in mortal shape,
  An angel fair may be? Full many slaves
  The merchant hath, but never children own."
  "He found her when a babe, upon the shore,"
  Another said, "and brought her up."

                  The King
  Heard all their words. He thought: "It is the truth
  And this I take as proof of her high birth.
  She certainly is noble or come down
  From heaven."

                  When four days had fled, the wives
  Of _mantris_ dressed the beauteous girl. They clad
  Her form in satins soft of Egypt, shot
  With gold, adorned with precious stones inset
  And many gems. Her beauty was enhanced
  The more, till she a radiant angel seemed.
  She wore a tunic, crimson and pomegranate,
  With buttons shaped like butterflies. She was
  Adorned with _padaka_ of five quaint clasps,
  And belt called _naga souma_. Ear-rings rich
  She had, of diamonds set in gold, and wrought
  Most wondrously, as bright as daylight's gleam;
  A ring most marvellous and rare she wore
  Called _astakouna_, and another named
  _Gland kana_, and a third from far Ceylon,
  Studded with precious stones. Her eyes were like
  The stars of orient skies. Her teeth were black,
  Her face like water shone. Her chiselled nose
  Was prominent and Mike a flower fresh culled.
  When she was dressed, upon a couch of pearls
  Her mother put her. Supple was her form,
  And white, as she reclined, by many maids
  Surrounded. In his royal garb the prince
  Was clad, and dazzling to the eyes of all
  Who saw. He wore a kingly crown which shone
  With diamonds bright and lucent amethysts
  And many stones, and all majestic seemed.
  Then rice was brought. The King with pleasure ate
  And what was left he gave the _mantris'_ wives.
  When all had finished he perfumed himself
  And gazed upon his lovely wife. Her face
  And form were charming. Her soft tresses curled
  In grace. Her eyes still kept the trace of tears,
  Which made her lovelier. The silken folds
  Of soft Egyptian curtains fell. They were alone.
  "Awake, my darling," said the prince at dawn,
  "Crown of my life, awake, my pretty one."
  Then Bidasari waked and said, with tears:
  "My friend, I had all sorts of wondrous dreams.
  I saw a palm-tree tall with tufted limbs,
  And fruits all ripe." When three days more had fled
  And all the people saw and loud acclaimed,
  Then Bidasari took the rank of Queen.
  The King o'erloaded her with gifts and loved
  Her tenderly. "Oh, let us live and die
  Together, dear, and, as the days go by,
  Think more of one another, and our love
  Preserve, as in the hollow of the hand
  Oil is upheld, nor falls a single drop."
  So spake the King.

                  The merchant and his wife
  Were soon established in the neighborhood,
  Near to Queen Bidasari's palace grand.
  A hundred servants had they to fulfil
  Their orders. They sent gifts to all their friends,
  And food to last a month.

                  A certain day
  It chanced that Bidasari said: "O King,
  Why goest thou no more within the gates
  Of that thine other palace? Of a truth
  Queen Lila Sari will be vexed, because
  Thou hast abandoned her so long a time.
  She'll think that I have kept thee from her side
  Unwilling thou shouldst go." So, with all sorts
  Of words, fair Bidasari strove to urge
  The King to visit Lila Sari. "I
  Will go to-morrow," finally he said.
  He went, when morning came, and met the Queen.
  She turned him back, and with sharp, bitter words
  Reproached him. "Wretched one, I will not see
  Thy face. I love thee not. I hate thee. Go!
  Lila Djouhara's son-in-law, thou'rt not
  To me an equal. Thy new wife's an ape,
  Who liveth in the woods."

                  But when the King
  Heard these vociferations of the Queen,
  He said: "Branch of my heart, light of my eyes,
  Oh, be not vexed, my dear. It was not I
  Who wrong began, but thou didst cause it all.
  For thou didst hide thy deed from me, and drive
  Me on to this extremity. Oh, why
  Art thou now angry with me? If thou wilt
  But love her, and attach thy heart to hers,
  She'll pardon thee, and take thee as a friend."
  As more and more enraged the Queen became,
  Her wrath with strong reproaches overflowed.
  "Depart from here, accursed of God! Thou art
  No longer husband mine. Go live with her
  Whom God hath struck, but whom thou dost delight
  To honor. Formerly of noble blood
  Thou wert, but now no more than broken straw.
  Thou needst not further try to flatter me.
  Though thou shouldst purify thyself seven times, false one,
  I'd not permit thee to approach my side."
  The King grew angry and replied: "Tis thou
  Who art despicable. Thy cunning tricks
  Are worthless now. Thy jealousy insane
  Was without cause, and common were thy acts.
  Thy wit is much below thy beauty.
  Will follow thee, should I protection cease."
  "Have I forgot my noble birth?" she asked.

  "But thou hast erred, to lower thine high estate
  To people of such base extraction. Here
  And everywhere thy shame is known, that thou
  Art wedded to a gadabout. Is it
  For princes thus to wed a merchant's child?
  She ought far in the woods to dwell, and know
  Most evil destiny." The King but smiled
  And said: "If this event is noised abroad,
  'Tis thou who wilt receive an evil name.
  For who in all the land would dare prevent
  The King from marrying? I ought to take
  From thee all I have given. But before
  The people I've no wish to humble thee.
  Is it because I met thy every wish
  That thou art grown so bad? Most evil hath
  Thy conduct been, and I with thee am wroth,"
  And in hot anger rushed the King away,
  And straight repaired to Bidasari's side.



SONG IV


  This song will tell again about the prince
  Of Kembajat, most powerful. He was chased
  By fell _garouda_, horrid bird of prey,
  And sought another land. His way he took
  Toward Indrapura. At the break of dawn
  A daughter fair was born, a princess true,
  Within a boat that lay upon a shore.
  The Queen and he abandoned her, and went
  Back to the royal palace and for days
  Bemoaned her fate. Of her they nothing heard.
  "Alas my child!" the father cried, "my dear,
  In whose care art thou now? We do not know
  If thou art dead or living. Thus thy sire
  Hath no repose. Light of mine eyes, my love,
  My purest gold, our hearts are torn with grief.
  An evil fate was ours to hide thee there.
  We do repent the deed. To think that thou
  Perchance hath fallen among the poorest folk!
  A slave perhaps thou art!" The prince's son
  Remarked the sorrow of his parents dear,
  And was profoundly moved. "Have I," he asked,
  "A sister? Tell me why have ye concealed
  Her far away? Did ye not care for her?
  Was she a burden that ye must forsake
  Her thus? Doth shame not fill your parents' hearts?"
  But when he heard the tale in full, he said:
  "O father, let me go to seek for her,
  My sister dear. If I succeed I'll bring
  Her back to thee." "Oh, leave us not, my son,"
  The father said. "Thou art our only heir.
  Like a tamed bird upon our shoulders fain
  We've carried thee, and watched thee, day and night.
  Why shouldst thou leave us now? Oh, go not forth.
  Vex not thyself about thy sister dear.
  From travellers we shall get news of her,
  And her abode discover."

                        Then the prince
  Bowed low and said: "My father, lord, and King,
  I am but strengthened in my wish to go
  And find my sister. Let me now depart,
  And seek for news of her." The King replied:
  "Well, go, my dearest son; thy heart is good.
  Though but a child thou still dost bear a brain."
  Then summoned the young prince the merchants all,
  And bought much goods and questioned them in turn
  About all neighboring villages and camps.
  They told whate'er they knew most willingly,
  For much the young prince was beloved by them.
  Among them was a youth of handsome face,
  Fair Bidasari's foster-brother tall.
  Amid the strangers sat he near the throne;
  His name was Sinapati. He was brave
  And wise. Now as he watched the prince he thought,
  "How strangely like dear Bidasari's face
  Is his, as when a reed is split in twain
  There is no difference between the halves."
  His home he left when Bidasari fair
  Became the Queen. He thought of her and wept.
  The prince observed him there, and said, with smiles:
  "Young man, my friend, from what far town art thou?
  Why dost thou weep so bitterly? What thoughts
  Arise in thee and make thy visage dark?"
  Young Sinapati bowed and said: "My lord,
  I came from Indrapura, in a ship,
  My wares to sell. For that I do not weep.
  But sorrow cometh to my heart whene'er
  I think upon my home, and brothers dear,
  And sisters."

                  At these words the prince rejoiced.
  He thought, "From him some news I'll surely learn."
  Sherbets and dainties then to all the folk
  He offered, and the cup went 'round from dawn
  Till noon, and then the merchants went away;
  But the young prince kept Sinapati there.
  Now he already strong affection felt
  For him and said: "My friend, toward thee I'm moved
  And look upon thee as a brother dear.
  Thou dost at Indrapura live, but who
  May be thy patron there?" Then with a smile
  Young Sinapati said: "My patron's called
  Lila Djouhara, merchant great. He owns
  Some six or seven swift ships, and toileth more
  Than ever since he Bidasari took
  As child." In two days' time the young prince went
  With Sinapati to his father's house.
  "I bring thee news," he said, "but nothing yet
  Is sure. Behold from Indrapura far
  A youth, from whom I've things of import great.
  A merchant of Pesara, very rich,
  My sister must have found. All well agrees
  With what to me thou saidst. Now must we seek
  For confirmation of the glad report."
  To Sinapati gold and gems they gave.
  Then spake the King: "If this be so I'll send
  An envoy bearing richest gifts, and thanks
  Within a letter writ."

                  The youthful prince
  Bowed low and said: "Oh, send me on this quest!
  Lila Djouhara I would like to see.
  Perhaps he's virtuous and just. If I
  Am made full sure it is my sister dear,
  I'll send a messenger. And if it be
  I'll bring her back."

                  The King was moved
  To hear his son thus speak. "O dearest child,"
  He said: "I'm very loath to let thee go.
  But thou must many horsemen take with thee,
  Lest thou shouldst long be absent."

                  "Why should I
  Be long away?" the prince replied, with bows;
  "For if Lila Djouhara will not let
  Her come, I shall forthwith return to thee."
  The King could now no more object. He gave
  Commands to make an expedition great.
  With richest gifts, and food, and princely things,
  And sent him forth with blessings on his head.
  "Stay not too long; thou art my only hope,"
  The King exclaimed; "I'm getting old, my son,
  And thou my heir upon the throne must be."
  They started early on the fourteenth day
  Of that same month. And Sinapati rode
  Beside the Prince.

                  Some went on foot and some
  On horses. When they far had gone, the prince
  Said to the youth: "Now listen, friend. When we
  Arrive thou must not name my family
  And rank. I'm someone from another town.
  It doth not please me to declare my rank
  To strangers. Should the girl my sister prove,
  Thou mayst tell all, for I shall soon return."
  Thus speaking, the young prince his way maintained,
  And soon arrived near to the city sought.
  He Sinapati left, and went within
  The gates, with four companions, true as steel,
  And six attendants. They at once repaired
  To the _campong_ of good Lila Djouhara.
  They found it closed, with a forsaken look.
  "There's no one here. The King hath taken all
  Away, both old and young," said the _mandar_.
  Then Sinapati beat his breast and said:
  "What hath become of my dear patron, then?"
  "Be not disturbed. No harm hath come to him.
  The merchant with the King hath gone, because
  The King hath married Bidasari fair,
  And made of her a queen, and built a fine
  New palace in the country wild. There all
  Is joy and happiness." Beyond all count
  Was Sinapati glad to hear these words.
  Then to the prince he said: "My gracious lord,
  Lila Djouhara's near at hand. He is
  In highest favor with the King, and bears
  A title new." They hurried forth to find
  His residence. "It is the left _campong_,"
  Remarked a country-man. "Thy lord is grand
  And powerful now, and master of us here.
  The King hath now become his son-in-law."
  Then Sinapati went within the gates
  And saw his mother there. Her heart was touched.
  She kissed him and inquired, "Whom hast thou brought?"
  "It is a friend," he answered. "Come, my lord,"
  She to the young prince said, "enter and rest."
  "He's so like Bidasari," to herself
  She said. "What is thy name, my brave young man,
  Thou seemest nobly born. In very truth
  Thou'rt handsome and well mannered." Then the prince
  Said: "Poutra Bangsawan I'm called. Thy son
  I've followed here." But Sinapati paid
  Him homage, and they knew him for a prince.
  Before his door young Sinapati slept
  At night to guard him safe. Next day there came
  An invitation from Lila Mengindra
  (Before, Djouhara). So they started forth.
  Lila Mengindra was astonished quite
  To see the prince's face so beautiful.
  "Who is this most distinguished stranger here?"
  He asked himself. "My master, speak a word
  To Poutra Bangsawan, a friend of mine,"
  Said Sinapati. So the old man turned
  And spoke unto the prince, "Come here, my son,
  And sit thee near thy father." He felt drawn
  To him, he looked so much like Bidasari.
  The young prince smiled and on the dais sat.
  "What is thy visit's purpose?" then inquired
  The good old man. The prince with bows polite
  Replied: "I'm but a humble stranger, come
  To find my sister. I bespeak thine aid."
  "Be not afraid, my son, but trust in me,
  Nor fear to give thy sister's name. If thou
  Wilt have it so I'll take thee for a son;
  I love thee for thou hast a face so like
  My daughter's." Then the brave young prince began
  And told his sister's story, how she was
  In time of stress abandoned on the shore.
  "And if I only knew," he said, "where now
  She is, I'd be her master's willing slave."
  Now when Lila Mengindra heard his tale
  His joy was quite unspeakable. His love
  For Bidasari's brother greater grew.
  With smiles he asked: "Now, Poutra Bangsawan,
  Say of what family thou art, that I
  May aid thee in thy quest, and help thee find
  Thy sister." Then the young prince bowed his head
  And pondered, "Shall I lie?" For he knew not
  If 'twere his sister. Lila saw his mood
  And said: "Be not disturbed. It is most sure
  That thy dear sister's here. So speak the truth,
  That my old heart may be surcharged with joy.
  Thy sister's seated on a throne, and like
  A brilliant jewel is her family.
  Be no more sorry. As for me, my heart
  Is full of joy."

                  The prince looked in his face
  And said: "Can I confide in him? I am
  A stranger here and fear to be deceived."
  Said Sinapati: "Speak not thus, I pray,
  For everybody knows this man can tell
  Ten-carat gold from dross. Now list, my lord.
  Although he bids me silent be, a prince
  He is, son of a powerful king, and comes
  To seek his sister." Then within his heart
  The former merchant much rejoiced, as if
  He'd found a mountain of pure gems. He paid
  His homage to the prince in proper form,
  And took him into his abode, to meet
  His wife and all within. The spouses two
  To him exclaimed: "Dear prince, in our old age
  We're very happy. When thy sister sweet
  We found, o'erjoyed were we. And now the King
  Hath married her, and raised her to the throne.
  He hath our family to noble rank
  Upraised, and covered us with benefits."
  Then smiling said the prince: "I learn with joy
  My sister sweet is here. When may I go
  Before the King and see her? For I've come
  To take her home. And yet I fear the King
  Will never let her go away from him.
  When I have seen her I'll return again."
  In three days' time the King gave audience.
  The former merchant with him took the prince,
  Who sent the richest presents on before.
  The princeling was most gorgeously attired
  And bore himself with haughty dignity.
  His robe was rich, his tunic violet
  And fire. His many-colored turban bore
  Bright agates. At his girdle hung his kriss.
  He was entirely clad as prince should be,
  And bracelets wore with little bells and rings.
  His leggings were embroidered with bright flowers
  Called _pouspa angatan_. He seemed divine--
  His beauty was extraordinary. Pearls
  In numbers countless covered all his garb;
  An amulet he had with sacred verse
  From the Koran, a diamond pure. He rode
  A steed most richly housed, with _shabraque _decked
  With gleaming jewels casting rays of light.
  Twas thus the prince set out to meet the King.
  Lila Mengindra with him went. The prince
  Approached the King's pavilion, and at once
  The King remarked his beauty and his mien
  Of noble grace. "Who can he be?" he thought.
  Meanwhile the prince dismounted and appeared
  Before the King. Full seven times he bowed
  And said, "O may your happiness increase,
  Illustrious sovereign!"

                  Then the King with smiles
  Lila Mengindra questioned, "Who is this
  Thou hither bringest, of such noble mien
  And amiable face?"

                  With humble bow
  The former merchant said: "This slave of thine
  Has come from lands remote, from Kembajat,
  Upon the seashore, since thy Majesty
  He wished to see. His presents few he sent
  Before him, which he hopes thou wilt accept."
  The former merchant thought: "I would his rank
  Divulge. But some might think I lied because
  The King hath Bidasari wed, and if
  She knew she was a princess born she might
  Be very vain and haughty."

                  To the prince
  The King was very friendly. "Come and sit
  Here by my side," he said, "for thee I deem
  A brother." "Let me here remain, my lord,
  I am a poor unworthy servitor.
  I hope that thou wilt pardon me. I would
  I might become a subject of thy crown."
  The King thought: "This may be some royal heir
  Who here hath wandered. He resembles much
  Our Bidasari, Pity 'tis that he
  Unto another nation doth belong."
  Then pleasantly he said: "Pray, truly tell
  What is thine origin? Keep nothing back.
  What is thy name? The whole truth let me know."
  The young prince bowed him low and said: "My name
  Is Poutra Bangsawan, of family
  Most humble. I am searching everywhere
  To find a sister lost. When she is found
  I shall return at once." Then said the King:
  "Where is thy sister? I will help thy search.
  Stay here with me a month or two, that we
  May learn to know each other and become
  Fast friends." The young prince then obeisance made
  And said: "I bear thine orders on my head.
  Thou art a king illustrious, and I
  A humble servitor. I am the son
  Of good Lila Mengindra, but for long
  I've absent been. My sister dear I seek.
  Thine aid I do bespeak. From Kembajat
  I come, a subject of thy father there, the King.
  Forgive me, lord, for now thou knowest all."
  The King rejoiced to hear a voice that seemed
  So much like Bidasari's, and inquired
  Of Sinapati, "Tell me now his race."
  Then Sinapati bowed and said: "My lord,
  Of princes and of caliphs is his race.
  His kingdom, not so far, is most superb;
  His palace is most beautiful and grand.
  Swift ships within the harbor lie, all well
  Equipped." At this the King enchanted was,
  To find a prince was brother to his wife.
  Still more he asked and Sinapati said:
  "Because his realm was ravaged by the foe
  He hath misfortunes suffered manifold."
  Then knew the King he was of royal blood
  And had adversity experienced.
  The King came from his throne and said, "My friend,
  My palace enter." So the King and prince
  Went in. They met fair Bidasari there.
  She sat beside a Chinese window quaint,
  All choicely carved. She saw the King and thought,
  "What fine young man is this he bringeth here?"
  When they were seated all, the young prince looked
  At Bidasari: "Beautiful is she,"
  He thought, "my sister dear, and very like
  My father." Then the King with smiling face
  Said: "Bidasari, darling, speak to him.
  He is thy younger brother, come to seek
  Thee here. From Kembajat he came. And thy
  Dear father mourns for thee the livelong day."
  At this fair Bidasari sighed. She bowed
  Her head and silence kept. She much was moved
  Because she had not known her parents true,
  But fancied them Djouhara and his wife.
  "I'm but a merchant's daughter," finally
  She said. "Things all uncertain this young prince
  Hath told. If I'm the daughter of a King,
  Why hath he left me here, and never sought
  For me through all these years? 'Tis not so far
  From here to Kembajat." The young prince bowed.
  "Thy words I bear upon my head," he said,
  "O sister dear. Pray banish from thy heart
  All hatred. If thou'rt lowly born, I am
  Likewise. Our realm was ravaged at thy birth.
  But shortly afterward fair peace returned,
  And to his own my father came again.
  I've seen how much he suffers in his heart.
  Thy name he never utters without tears--
  He never hath forgotten thee. Forgive
  Him, then, in what he was remiss. Except
  For stern necessity he never would
  Have thee abandoned."

                  Then the King with smiles
  Said: "Speak to him, my dear. He tells the truth.
  Thy parents wandered through a desert land
  Beneath a cruel sun. Impossible
  It was to carry thee through brier and brush."
  Down at his sister's feet the young prince knelt.
  Then Bidasari clasped him in her arms.
  The brave young prince to them recounted all
  The sorrows of his parents. Much he wept,
  And they wept, too, as he the story told.
  Then sat they down to dine. And afterward
  They _siri_ took and perfumes of all kinds.
  Then the young prince took leave. "Where goest thou,
  My brother?" asked the King. "I fain would go
  Straight home to my dear parents," said the prince.
  But, with a voice affectionate, the King
  Replied: "Seek not Lila Mengindra. Here
  Thou shouldst remain, for thou hast met within
  This palace thy dear sister. There is room
  Enough for thee. Stay here with all thy folk
  And retinue." The prince bowed low, and forth
  Unto the merchant went, and to him said:
  "Within the palace now I shall remain
  With all my retinue, for thus the King
  Commands." The merchant said: "'Tis very well
  For where can one lodge better than within
  The palace?" So the prince returned, with all
  His people, to the palace of the King.
  Then all the _mantris_ came, and festivals
  And feasts were held. As long as he remained
  At Indrapura, the young prince received
  All courtesies. And Bidasari fair
  Was known as daughter of a mighty king.
  The news was carried far and wide, and all
  Repeated how her brother brave had come
  To seek for her.

                  Queen Lila Sari heard
  And was surprised. She sighed in solitude,
  And felt a woe unspeakable. She said
  To a _mandar_: "I was in too much haste.
  On the _dyangs_ I counted, but they come
  No more. All four have gone and homage paid
  To Bidasari. All my tricks are foiled.
  In no one can I trust." Dang Lila then
  Approached and said: "Acts of unfaithfulness
  Bring never happiness. God's on the side
  Of loyalty. Now those _dyangs_ are sad
  And languish after thee, but fear the King,
  Dost thou not think, O Queen, thou ill hast wrought?
  For while the King is absent none will come
  Thy heart to cheer." The Queen replied with ire:
  "Seek not to consolation give. The King
  Esteems me not. I'll not humiliate
  Myself before him. Who is that young prince,
  So called, who hither came? A pirate's son
  He well may prove, and calls himself a prince.
  Go ye, _dyangs_, pay service to the King,
  And he may favor ye as he did her."
  She seemed most wroth. But she repented sore
  In truth, and pined away in sorrow deep.
  In other days she had no wish nor whim
  Unsatisfied. Now all were for the King.
  The Queen's heart angrier grew from day to day
  As if a scorpion's sting had wounded her.
  And her distress grew greater when she thought
  Upon the love of other days. Her heart
  Was inconsolable because so bitterly
  She missed the pomp and glory of her court.
  But Bidasari to the King one day
  Said: "Send back these _mendars_; for if they all
  Stay here, Queen Lila Sari all alone
  Will be." The King with smiles replied: "Oh, no!
  I will not let them go. She is so fell
  And barbarous, she no one loves. She is
  Much better all alone." Then to the King
  Fair Bidasari said: "Thine anger was
  Too prompt. She spoke in wrath because she was
  Accustomed to a court. In what to thee
  Hath she been wanting, that thou shouldst repel
  Her thus? Thou gav'st her love, and now thou dost
  Abandon her in sorrow. Be not thus
  Incensed with her, for should she come to want
  The shame would be reflected on thy head."
  The King's face lighted, and he said: "My dear,
  I went to see her, but she drove me forth
  With bitter words. Her conduct was beyond
  All bearing. And she heaped on me abuse."
  But Princess Bidasari said: "Dwell not
  On that, my friend. She was disturbed by wrath
  And jealousy. In other days thou didst
  Embrace and kiss her. Now she is alone.
  And thou perchance didst somehow hurt
  Or bruise her body." All his anger left
  The King at this. He said: "O purest soul,
  Thou speakest well and wisely. How could I
  Not love thee, dear, and cling to thee for life?
  Oh, never may we separated be!
  Branch of my heart, light of my eyes, thou dost
  But good desire. Thou'rt all the world to me.
  I'll go to her, since thou doth ask. Perchance
  A reconciliation may be made.
  But she must first admit her faults. If she
  Repentance shows, to see her I will go."
  The merchant's wife had come and heard these words.
  Her warm tears fell. She thought within herself,
  "My daughter hath no vengeance in her heart."
  Then Dang Bidouri brought delicious rice
  Unto the King and Queen. They ate and drank,
  And stronger grew their love from hour to hour.
  Then gave the King commands to call the prince.
  He came with smiling face and graceful bows.
  "Sit here beside us," said the King, and all
  The three dined there together, royal ones,
  Surrounded by deft servants and _dyangs_.
  They chatted gayly, and, with laughter, ate.
  When all was finished, from the betel-box
  The King of _siri_ took, perfumed himself,
  And then the prince retired.

                  When two short months
  Had fled, the prince bethought him of his home
  And parents. To himself he said, "I'll go."
  He gave commands to preparation make
  For his departure. "I am loath to leave
  My sister," he to Sinapati said.
  "My life is joyous here. But there at home
  I've left my parents in solicitude."
  Then Sinapati bowed and said, "With thee
  I'll go."


SONG V

  A certain day the _mantris_ came
  Before the King, in the pavilion grand.
  And with them came the youthful prince, and cast
  Himself before the throne. The King with smiles
  Said: "Sit thou at my side, my brother dear,
  I have not seen thee for a day entire."
  The princeling bowed and said: "My gracious lord
  If thou wilt pardon me, I would return
  And give my parents dear the joyful news.
  My father bade me seek my sister lost,
  And still he nothing knows of her good fate."
  The King replied with sorrow: "Brother mine,
  Why wilt thou go so soon? We scarcely are
  Acquainted, and I have not had enough
  Of thy dear company." The prince replied:
  "Oh, be not sorrowful, my gracious lord.
  As soon as I have my dear father seen
  I'll tell him what good things have come to pass.
  'Twill soothe his heart to hear my sister's joy.
  My parents will be glad in learning all
  Thy goodness great. And pray consider me
  Thy subject leal. Soon I'll return again."
  The King's emotion grew. With pleasant voice
  He said: "Take counsel of thy sister. Heed
  What she may say." They found the Queen within,
  Fair Bidasari, and attending her
  Dyang Agous Djouhari. All sat down
  And took some _siri_ from the betel-box.
  The Queen to the young prince then spoke: "Come here.
  My brother, why have I thy face not seen
  For two long days?" With bows the prince replied:
  "I've had a multitude of things to do.
  Thus came I not; for my companions all
  Seek homeward to return. So I must take
  My leave of thee upon the morrow morn,
  When pales the silver moon before the dawn."
  The Queen was grieved to hear these words, and shed
  A flood of tears. Her tender heart was touched.
  Beside herself with sorrow she exclaimed:
  "O prince illustrious! How canst thou go,
  Since we have met? I've loved thee from the time
  I knew thou wert my brother. I am grieved
  To hear thee say thou wilt so soon depart.
  Of low extraction must I be! 'Twas wrong
  For thee to call thyself my brother. I
  A poor and feeble orphan am, and how
  Should I the love deserve of a great prince?"
  When this he heard the prince bowed low his head
  And was much troubled. "Sister sweet," he said,
  "Grieve not like this. I only do return
  Because our parents must so anxious be.
  I love thee so, my darling, that my heart
  Is nearly breaking. If thou speakest thus
  To me, my dear, my grief will still increase.
  I could not leave thee, but I must respect
  Our parents' wishes. They commanded me
  All haste to make. So--sweet--I pray thee have
  Compassion on me."

                  Much disturbed, the King
  Observed the sorrow of the princess fair.
  He kissed her lips, to her a _sepah_ gave,
  And said with tender voice: "My darling wife,
  What dost thou wish? Let now thy brother go.
  We'll see thy parents here ere many days."
  The Queen wept bitterly, and said to him:
  "His wishes I do not oppose. Let him
  Do whatsoe'er it pleaseth him to do.
  For I am but a stranger, a lost child,
  And who should think of me or love me true?"
  Then bowed the prince and said: "In very truth,
  I know thou art my sister. Speak not thus.
  God knows how much I love thee, sister mine.
  If thou dost not permit me to depart
  I'll not resist. I'm happy here with thee,
  But our dear parents are in cruel doubt,
  And look for news of thee. Now that I know
  Thy husband is a king, our parents dear
  Would be so overjoyed to learn it too!"
  Then spoke the King with face all radiant,
  "Return not, brother mine," he said. "I'll send
  Swift messengers to bear the gladsome news
  That Bidasari's found. Then, if he wills,
  Thy royal father here we'll hope to see.
  I'll go myself to meet him when he comes."
  The young prince bowed and said: "Nay, rather send
  Thy messengers, a great king cannot go
  So far away." Queen Bidasari heard
  These words and much rejoiced, and gayly gave
  Her brother then her betel-box.

                  The King
  Caressed his wife and said, "My dearest soul,
  Love not thy brother more than me." He called
  Lila Mengindra. Soon the merchant came
  Before the King and prince. The King exclaimed:
  "Come here, my uncle. Tell me, wilt thou take
  A letter to the King of Kembajat--
  To prove to him we live?"

                  So spake the King
  And called his counsellor of state, who came
  And kissed his hands. The King then bade him write
  A letter, all in characters of gold.
  "Well," cried the King, "let's hear the letter now,"
  "Now glory be to God," it thus began,
  And all fair Bidasari's history
  Recited. Then the King a mighty host
  Assembled and with elephants and steeds
  Ten _mantris_ took the letter of the prince
  Unto his parents. With the cavalcade
  There went a _laksimana_ great, who bore,
  As king's ambassador, bejewelled flags
  And standards rich, and presents of much worth.
  Then Sinapati by the King was called
  A _laksimana mantri_, and received
  A fine equipment, with a hundred men
  To follow him. 'Twas thus the King preserved
  His reputation as a mighty king.

  When he had sent the embassy, the King
  Went to his wife, and they were very gay.
  His love for her grew greater every day.
  The former merchant also was beloved.
  He gave the King good counsel, and obeyed
  His orders willingly. He often dined
  Together with the King and Queen. His wealth
  Grew vast. No one at all could with him vie,
  In Indrapura. He was much attached
  To the chief _mantri_. They were equals both
  In prudence, wisdom, and fidelity,
  With power unquestioned over all the folk.
  Beneath their sway prosperity increased,
  And many merchants came from far and wide.
  The kingdom was at peace. The King rejoiced,
  And everyone was happy in the land.



SONG VI

  The _laksimana mantri_ now I'll sing,
  Who went upon the embassy. As soon
  As the great King of Kembajat had news
  Of his arrival, he was much rejoiced.
  He told the Queen, and in the audience-hall
  Awaited. Then went forth the officers
  With elephants and _payongs_. A countless throng
  Attended them, with music and with flags.
  They met the embassy, and, with rich gifts,
  They gave the King's commands. Into the town
  Then entered all. The King was very glad,
  As if his only daughter had returned.
  All bowed before the King, who took the gifts,
  While servants took the letter to the chief
  Of _mantris_. And he gave it to the King,
  The monarch read, and was possessed with joy.
  He could not thank enough the merchant good,
  Who raised his daughter to a royal throne.
  He wished forthwith to go and see his child.
  The letter cordial invitation gave.
  But one thing troubled him: "He straight inquired,
  'Hath not the prince, my son, the liberty
  To come back home?'" The _laksimana_ bowed
  And said: "The King wished not to let him come
  And begged with tears that he would stay. The Queen
  Feared if her brother went she'd never see
  Her father. From your children both I bring
  Warm greetings. Kind indulgence from your heart
  They ask, and press their invitation. I
  Crave pardon for myself, O King, and hope
  Thy children dear may see their father's face,
  And that the kingdoms may become one realm."
  At these words smiled the King. "Ah, well!" he said,
  "I'll wait for seven days still." Then questions flew,
  And the great king learned all about his child.

  The Indrapura _mantris_ went apart
  When evening came. A separate palace grand
  The King assigned them, with the best of food.
  He orders gave for preparations great.
  Unto the Queen he said: "In seven days' time,
  My dear, I look to start, for I shall have
  No peace until I've seen our darling child."
  Then he assembled there his _mantris_ all,
  Both young and old, with elephants and steeds.
  And all was ready to set forth, as he had wished.
  The while the morning stars were twinkling still,
  The royal gong resounded many times.
  The guards leaped forth with joy. The officers
  Came out and took their shining helms of war.
  Their naked swords all glistened. It was thus
  They made the glittering royal cavalcade.
  Their flags and banners flaunted in the air,
  All those who stayed behind were sad, as if
  A knife had cut them. All together marched,
  The lancers and the horsemen, and they seemed
  A moving city. Soon all darkened was
  The moon, as someone sorrowful. The swords
  And lances glistened like an island in
  The middle of the sea. Thus is described
  The royal escort marching through the land.
  The King was mounted on an elephant,
  His _siri_-bearer seated close behind.
  A rich _payong_ of royalty, all tricked
  With bells, was stretched above his head,
  And drums and other instruments without
  Cessation sounded. Thus went forth the King,
  And soon to Indrapura came.

                  When near
  He halted and forthwith an envoy sent
  His coming to announce, together with
  The _laksimana mantri_. "Mighty King,"
  They said, "thy royal father hath arrived."
  The King his heralds ordered then to call
  Lila Mengindra. With a smile he said
  To him: "Assemble in the square the folk
  And army. Straight to my pavilion let
  Them come, and all in holiday attire,
  For I my father am to meet to-day."
  Lila Mengindra bowed and hied him forth
  To execute the orders of the King.
  The King within his palace went, and sat
  Upon a jewelled seat. The Queen was there,
  And good Lila Mengindra at her side.
  The King said smilingly: "Light of my eyes,
  Let all the palace decorated be.
  Assemble all the palace folk and all
  The younger girls. For now without the gates
  Our parents wait. To-morrow I shall go
  To meet them." Then Queen Bidasari cried,
  With smiles: "My brother they have come to see.
  I cannot go before them and declare
  Myself their daughter." But the young prince said:
  "Oh, speak not thus, my sister, but give heed
  To what I say to thee, and be not wroth.
  If I'm the only one they love, alone
  I'll go with them away." Then to the King
  He said: "With my dear sister I but jest,
  To quiet her alarms." He bowed before the King
  And asked permission forth to go at once
  To meet his father. "Nay," replied the King,
  "We'll go together." A repast was served
  With every kind of food. The royal three
  Together ate. Then from the betel-box
  They _siri_ took, and perfumes sweet they used.
  The prince then from the palace forth did go.
  Next day the King invited him to start
  With him upon the royal progress. All
  The banners waved, and everyone was glad.
  Then to the Queen he said: "Stay here, my love,
  And I will hither bring thy father dear."
  These words rejoiced the Queen. She said: "Go forth,
  My dear, and I will follow with my eyes."
  The King then took his leave with the young prince,
  With many _mantris_ following. The strains
  Of gladsome music sounded. All the bells
  Were rung, and those without the cavalcade
  Were sad.

  Ere long they came to the frontier,
  And King met King. The folk of Kembajat
  Were all astonished at the young King's face,
  As beautiful as painter's masterpiece.
  The old King looked with smiles on all. His joy
  Was great. The King of Indrapura bowed
  Respectfully, and made them bring to him
  The elephant that bore 'neath gay _payong_
  His consort's father. "Son, where goest thou?"
  "I've come to seek thee." Then the old King said:
  "Why didst thou come in person? 'Twould have been
  Enough if thou hadst _mantris_ sent instead."