Chapter 4

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."