Bidasari, 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: