Chapter II: Part 2

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.

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."

But when the King
Heard these vociferations of the Queen,
He said: "Branch of my heart, light of my eyes,
Oh, be not vexed, my dear. It was not I
Who wrong began, but thou didst cause it all.
For thou didst hide thy deed from me, and drive
Me on to this extremity. Oh, why
Art thou now angry with me? If thou wilt
But love her, and attach thy heart to hers,
She'll pardon thee, and take thee as a friend."
As more and more enraged the Queen became,
Her wrath with strong reproaches overflowed.
"Depart from here, accursed of God! Thou art
No longer husband mine. Go live with her
Whom God hath struck, but whom thou dost delight
To honor. Formerly of noble blood
Thou wert, but now no more than broken straw.
Thou needst not further try to flatter me.
Though thou shouldst purify thyself seven times, false one,
I'd not permit thee to approach my side."
The King grew angry and replied: "Tis thou
Who art despicable. Thy cunning tricks
Are worthless now. Thy jealousy insane
Was without cause, and common were thy acts.
Thy wit is much below thy beauty.
Will follow thee, should I protection cease."
"Have I forgot my noble birth?" she asked.

"But thou hast erred, to lower thine high estate
To people of such base extraction. Here
And everywhere thy shame is known, that thou
Art wedded to a gadabout. Is it
For princes thus to wed a merchant's child?
She ought far in the woods to dwell, and know
Most evil destiny." The King but smiled
And said: "If this event is noised abroad,
'Tis thou who wilt receive an evil name.
For who in all the land would dare prevent
The King from marrying? I ought to take
From thee all I have given. But before
The people I've no wish to humble thee.
Is it because I met thy every wish
That thou art grown so bad? Most evil hath
Thy conduct been, and I with thee am wroth,"
And in hot anger rushed the King away,
And straight repaired to Bidasari's side.

SONG IV

This song will tell again about the prince
Of Kembajat, most powerful. He was chased
By fell _garouda_, horrid bird of prey,
And sought another land. His way he took
Toward Indrapura. At the break of dawn
A daughter fair was born, a princess true,
Within a boat that lay upon a shore.
The Queen and he abandoned her, and went
Back to the royal palace and for days
Bemoaned her fate. Of her they nothing heard.
"Alas my child!" the father cried, "my dear,
In whose care art thou now? We do not know
If thou art dead or living. Thus thy sire
Hath no repose. Light of mine eyes, my love,
My purest gold, our hearts are torn with grief.
An evil fate was ours to hide thee there.
We do repent the deed. To think that thou
Perchance hath fallen among the poorest folk!
A slave perhaps thou art!" The prince's son
Remarked the sorrow of his parents dear,
And was profoundly moved. "Have I," he asked,
"A sister? Tell me why have ye concealed
Her far away? Did ye not care for her?
Was she a burden that ye must forsake
Her thus? Doth shame not fill your parents' hearts?"
But when he heard the tale in full, he said:
"O father, let me go to seek for her,
My sister dear. If I succeed I'll bring
Her back to thee." "Oh, leave us not, my son,"
The father said. "Thou art our only heir.
Like a tamed bird upon our shoulders fain
We've carried thee, and watched thee, day and night.
Why shouldst thou leave us now? Oh, go not forth.
Vex not thyself about thy sister dear.
From travellers we shall get news of her,
And her abode discover."

Then the prince
Bowed low and said: "My father, lord, and King,
I am but strengthened in my wish to go
And find my sister. Let me now depart,
And seek for news of her." The King replied:
"Well, go, my dearest son; thy heart is good.
Though but a child thou still dost bear a brain."
Then summoned the young prince the merchants all,
And bought much goods and questioned them in turn
About all neighboring villages and camps.
They told whate'er they knew most willingly,
For much the young prince was beloved by them.
Among them was a youth of handsome face,
Fair Bidasari's foster-brother tall.
Amid the strangers sat he near the throne;
His name was Sinapati. He was brave
And wise. Now as he watched the prince he thought,
"How strangely like dear Bidasari's face
Is his, as when a reed is split in twain
There is no difference between the halves."
His home he left when Bidasari fair
Became the Queen. He thought of her and wept.
The prince observed him there, and said, with smiles:
"Young man, my friend, from what far town art thou?
Why dost thou weep so bitterly? What thoughts
Arise in thee and make thy visage dark?"
Young Sinapati bowed and said: "My lord,
I came from Indrapura, in a ship,
My wares to sell. For that I do not weep.
But sorrow cometh to my heart whene'er
I think upon my home, and brothers dear,
And sisters."

At these words the prince rejoiced.
He thought, "From him some news I'll surely learn."
Sherbets and dainties then to all the folk
He offered, and the cup went 'round from dawn
Till noon, and then the merchants went away;
But the young prince kept Sinapati there.
Now he already strong affection felt
For him and said: "My friend, toward thee I'm moved
And look upon thee as a brother dear.
Thou dost at Indrapura live, but who
May be thy patron there?" Then with a smile
Young Sinapati said: "My patron's called
Lila Djouhara, merchant great. He owns
Some six or seven swift ships, and toileth more
Than ever since he Bidasari took
As child." In two days' time the young prince went
With Sinapati to his father's house.
"I bring thee news," he said, "but nothing yet
Is sure. Behold from Indrapura far
A youth, from whom I've things of import great.
A merchant of Pesara, very rich,
My sister must have found. All well agrees
With what to me thou saidst. Now must we seek
For confirmation of the glad report."
To Sinapati gold and gems they gave.
Then spake the King: "If this be so I'll send
An envoy bearing richest gifts, and thanks
Within a letter writ."

The youthful prince
Bowed low and said: "Oh, send me on this quest!
Lila Djouhara I would like to see.
Perhaps he's virtuous and just. If I
Am made full sure it is my sister dear,
I'll send a messenger. And if it be
I'll bring her back."

The King was moved
To hear his son thus speak. "O dearest child,"
He said: "I'm very loath to let thee go.
But thou must many horsemen take with thee,
Lest thou shouldst long be absent."