Chapter I: Part 1

MALAYAN LITERATURE

Comprising

Romantic Tales, Epic Poetry

And

Royal Chronicles

Translated Into English For The First Time

With A Special Introduction By

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

SPECIAL INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAUNCEY C. STARKWEATHER

CONTENTS

BIDASARI:

Song I

Song II

Song III

Song IV

Song V

Song VI

SEDJARET MALAYOU

THE PRINCESS DJOUHER-MANIKAM

MAKOTA RADJA-RADJA

THE EPIC OF BIDASARI

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

BIDASARI

SONG I

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

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

SONG II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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