Part 3

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.