Bidasari, 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

Of hunting deer, the merchant daily came.