THE EPIC of BIDASARI

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.

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."

"Why should I Be long away?" the prince replied, with bows; "For if Lila Djouhara will not let Her come, I shall forthwith return to thee." The King could now no more object. He gave Commands to make an expedition great. With richest gifts, and food, and princely things, And sent him forth with blessings on his head. "Stay not too long; thou art my only hope," The King exclaimed; "I'm getting old, my son, And thou my heir upon the throne must be." They started early on the fourteenth day Of that same month. And Sinapati rode Beside the Prince.

Some went on foot and some On horses. When they far had gone, the prince Said to the youth: "Now listen, friend. When we Arrive thou must not name my family And rank. I'm someone from another town. It doth not please me to declare my rank To strangers. Should the girl my sister prove, Thou mayst tell all, for I shall soon return." Thus speaking, the young prince his way maintained, And soon arrived near to the city sought. He Sinapati left, and went within The gates, with four companions, true as steel, And six attendants. They at once repaired To the campong of good Lila Djouhara. They found it closed, with a forsaken look. "There's no one here. The King hath taken all Away, both old and young," said the mandar . Then Sinapati beat his breast and said: "What hath become of my dear patron, then?" "Be not disturbed. No harm hath come to him. The merchant with the King hath gone, because The King hath married Bidasari fair, And made of her a queen, and built a fine New palace in the country wild. There all Is joy and happiness." Beyond all count Was Sinapati glad to hear these words. Then to the prince he said: "My gracious lord, Lila Djouhara's near at hand. He is In highest favor with the King, and bears A title new." They hurried forth to find His residence. "It is the left campong ," Remarked a country-man. "Thy lord is grand And powerful now, and master of us here. The King hath now become his son-in-law." Then Sinapati went within the gates And saw his mother there. Her heart was touched. She kissed him and inquired, "Whom hast thou brought?" "It is a friend," he answered. "Come, my lord," She to the young prince said, "enter and rest." "He's so like Bidasari," to herself She said. "What is thy name, my brave young man, Thou seemest nobly born. In very truth Thou'rt handsome and well mannered." Then the prince Said: "Poutra Bangsawan I'm called. Thy son I've followed here." But Sinapati paid Him homage, and they knew him for a prince. Before his door young Sinapati slept At night to guard him safe. Next day there came An invitation from Lila Mengindra (Before, Djouhara). So they started forth. Lila Mengindra was astonished quite To see the prince's face so beautiful. "Who is this most distinguished stranger here?" He asked himself. "My master, speak a word To Poutra Bangsawan, a friend of mine," Said Sinapati. So the old man turned And spoke unto the prince, "Come here, my son, And sit thee near thy father." He felt drawn To him, he looked so much like Bidasari. The young prince smiled and on the dais sat. "What is thy visit's purpose?" then inquired The good old man. The prince with bows polite Replied: "I'm but a humble stranger, come To find my sister. I bespeak thine aid." "Be not afraid, my son, but trust in me, Nor fear to give thy sister's name. If thou Wilt have it so I'll take thee for a son; I love thee for thou hast a face so like My daughter's." Then the brave young prince began And told his sister's story, how she was In time of stress abandoned on the shore. "And if I only knew," he said, "where now She is, I'd be her master's willing slave." Now when Lila Mengindra heard his tale His joy was quite unspeakable. His love For Bidasari's brother greater grew. With smiles he asked: "Now, Poutra Bangsawan, Say of what family thou art, that I May aid thee in thy quest, and help thee find Thy sister." Then the young prince bowed his head And pondered, "Shall I lie?" For he knew not If 'twere his sister. Lila saw his mood And said: "Be not disturbed. It is most sure That thy dear sister's here. So speak the truth, That my old heart may be surcharged with joy. Thy sister's seated on a throne, and like A brilliant jewel is her family. Be no more sorry. As for me, my heart Is full of joy."

The prince looked in his face And said: "Can I confide in him? I am A stranger here and fear to be deceived." Said Sinapati: "Speak not thus, I pray, For everybody knows this man can tell Ten-carat gold from dross. Now list, my lord. Although he bids me silent be, a prince He is, son of a powerful king, and comes To seek his sister." Then within his heart The former merchant much rejoiced, as if He'd found a mountain of pure gems. He paid His homage to the prince in proper form, And took him into his abode, to meet His wife and all within. The spouses two To him exclaimed: "Dear prince, in our old age We're very happy. When thy sister sweet We found, o'erjoyed were we. And now the King Hath married her, and raised her to the throne. He hath our family to noble rank Upraised, and covered us with benefits." Then smiling said the prince: "I learn with joy My sister sweet is here. When may I go Before the King and see her? For I've come To take her home. And yet I fear the King Will never let her go away from him. When I have seen her I'll return again." In three days' time the King gave audience. The former merchant with him took the prince, Who sent the richest presents on before. The princeling was most gorgeously attired And bore himself with haughty dignity. His robe was rich, his tunic violet And fire. His many-colored turban bore Bright agates. At his girdle hung his kriss. He was entirely clad as prince should be, And bracelets wore with little bells and rings. His leggings were embroidered with bright flowers Called pouspa angatan . He seemed divine— His beauty was extraordinary. Pearls In numbers countless covered all his garb; An amulet he had with sacred verse From the Koran, a diamond pure. He rode A steed most richly housed, with _shabraque _decked With gleaming jewels casting rays of light. Twas thus the prince set out to meet the King. Lila Mengindra with him went. The prince Approached the King's pavilion, and at once The King remarked his beauty and his mien Of noble grace. "Who can he be?" he thought. Meanwhile the prince dismounted and appeared Before the King. Full seven times he bowed And said, "O may your happiness increase, Illustrious sovereign!"

Then the King with smiles Lila Mengindra questioned, "Who is this Thou hither bringest, of such noble mien And amiable face?"

With humble bow The former merchant said: "This slave of thine Has come from lands remote, from Kembajat, Upon the seashore, since thy Majesty He wished to see. His presents few he sent Before him, which he hopes thou wilt accept." The former merchant thought: "I would his rank Divulge. But some might think I lied because The King hath Bidasari wed, and if She knew she was a princess born she might Be very vain and haughty."

To the prince The King was very friendly. "Come and sit Here by my side," he said, "for thee I deem A brother." "Let me here remain, my lord, I am a poor unworthy servitor. I hope that thou wilt pardon me. I would I might become a subject of thy crown." The King thought: "This may be some royal heir Who here hath wandered. He resembles much Our Bidasari, Pity 'tis that he Unto another nation doth belong." Then pleasantly he said: "Pray, truly tell What is thine origin? Keep nothing back. What is thy name? The whole truth let me know." The young prince bowed him low and said: "My name Is Poutra Bangsawan, of family Most humble. I am searching everywhere To find a sister lost. When she is found I shall return at once." Then said the King: "Where is thy sister? I will help thy search. Stay here with me a month or two, that we May learn to know each other and become Fast friends." The young prince then obeisance made And said: "I bear thine orders on my head. Thou art a king illustrious, and I A humble servitor. I am the son Of good Lila Mengindra, but for long I've absent been. My sister dear I seek. Thine aid I do bespeak. From Kembajat I come, a subject of thy father there, the King. Forgive me, lord, for now thou knowest all." The King rejoiced to hear a voice that seemed So much like Bidasari's, and inquired Of Sinapati, "Tell me now his race." Then Sinapati bowed and said: "My lord, Of princes and of caliphs is his race. His kingdom, not so far, is most superb; His palace is most beautiful and grand. Swift ships within the harbor lie, all well Equipped." At this the King enchanted was, To find a prince was brother to his wife. Still more he asked and Sinapati said: "Because his realm was ravaged by the foe He hath misfortunes suffered manifold." Then knew the King he was of royal blood And had adversity experienced. The King came from his throne and said, "My friend, My palace enter." So the King and prince Went in. They met fair Bidasari there. She sat beside a Chinese window quaint, All choicely carved. She saw the King and thought, "What fine young man is this he bringeth here?" When they were seated all, the young prince looked At Bidasari: "Beautiful is she," He thought, "my sister dear, and very like My father." Then the King with smiling face Said: "Bidasari, darling, speak to him. He is thy younger brother, come to seek Thee here. From Kembajat he came. And thy Dear father mourns for thee the livelong day." At this fair Bidasari sighed. She bowed Her head and silence kept. She much was moved Because she had not known her parents true, But fancied them Djouhara and his wife. "I'm but a merchant's daughter," finally She said. "Things all uncertain this young prince Hath told. If I'm the daughter of a King, Why hath he left me here, and never sought For me through all these years? 'Tis not so far From here to Kembajat." The young prince bowed. "Thy words I bear upon my head," he said, "O sister dear. Pray banish from thy heart All hatred. If thou'rt lowly born, I am Likewise. Our realm was ravaged at thy birth. But shortly afterward fair peace returned, And to his own my father came again. I've seen how much he suffers in his heart. Thy name he never utters without tears— He never hath forgotten thee. Forgive Him, then, in what he was remiss. Except For stern necessity he never would Have thee abandoned."

Then the King with smiles Said: "Speak to him, my dear. He tells the truth. Thy parents wandered through a desert land Beneath a cruel sun. Impossible It was to carry thee through brier and brush." Down at his sister's feet the young prince knelt. Then Bidasari clasped him in her arms. The brave young prince to them recounted all The sorrows of his parents. Much he wept, And they wept, too, as he the story told. Then sat they down to dine. And afterward They siri took and perfumes of all kinds. Then the young prince took leave. "Where goest thou, My brother?" asked the King. "I fain would go Straight home to my dear parents," said the prince. But, with a voice affectionate, the King Replied: "Seek not Lila Mengindra. Here Thou shouldst remain, for thou hast met within This palace thy dear sister. There is room Enough for thee. Stay here with all thy folk And retinue." The prince bowed low, and forth Unto the merchant went, and to him said: "Within the palace now I shall remain With all my retinue, for thus the King Commands." The merchant said: "'Tis very well For where can one lodge better than within The palace?" So the prince returned, with all His people, to the palace of the King. Then all the mantris came, and festivals And feasts were held. As long as he remained At Indrapura, the young prince received All courtesies. And Bidasari fair Was known as daughter of a mighty king. The news was carried far and wide, and all Repeated how her brother brave had come To seek for her.

Queen Lila Sari heard And was surprised. She sighed in solitude, And felt a woe unspeakable. She said To a mandar : "I was in too much haste. On the dyangs I counted, but they come No more. All four have gone and homage paid To Bidasari. All my tricks are foiled. In no one can I trust." Dang Lila then Approached and said: "Acts of unfaithfulness Bring never happiness. God's on the side Of loyalty. Now those dyangs are sad And languish after thee, but fear the King, Dost thou not think, O Queen, thou ill hast wrought? For while the King is absent none will come Thy heart to cheer." The Queen replied with ire: "Seek not to consolation give. The King Esteems me not. I'll not humiliate Myself before him. Who is that young prince, So called, who hither came? A pirate's son He well may prove, and calls himself a prince. Go ye, dyangs , pay service to the King, And he may favor ye as he did her." She seemed most wroth. But she repented sore In truth, and pined away in sorrow deep. In other days she had no wish nor whim Unsatisfied. Now all were for the King. The Queen's heart angrier grew from day to day As if a scorpion's sting had wounded her. And her distress grew greater when she thought Upon the love of other days. Her heart Was inconsolable because so bitterly She missed the pomp and glory of her court. But Bidasari to the King one day Said: "Send back these mendars ; for if they all Stay here, Queen Lila Sari all alone Will be." The King with smiles replied: "Oh, no! I will not let them go. She is so fell And barbarous, she no one loves. She is Much better all alone." Then to the King Fair Bidasari said: "Thine anger was Too prompt. She spoke in wrath because she was Accustomed to a court. In what to thee Hath she been wanting, that thou shouldst repel Her thus? Thou gav'st her love, and now thou dost Abandon her in sorrow. Be not thus Incensed with her, for should she come to want The shame would be reflected on thy head." The King's face lighted, and he said: "My dear, I went to see her, but she drove me forth With bitter words. Her conduct was beyond All bearing. And she heaped on me abuse." But Princess Bidasari said: "Dwell not On that, my friend. She was disturbed by wrath And jealousy. In other days thou didst Embrace and kiss her. Now she is alone. And thou perchance didst somehow hurt Or bruise her body." All his anger left The King at this. He said: "O purest soul, Thou speakest well and wisely. How could I Not love thee, dear, and cling to thee for life? Oh, never may we separated be! Branch of my heart, light of my eyes, thou dost But good desire. Thou'rt all the world to me. I'll go to her, since thou doth ask. Perchance A reconciliation may be made. But she must first admit her faults. If she Repentance shows, to see her I will go." The merchant's wife had come and heard these words. Her warm tears fell. She thought within herself, "My daughter hath no vengeance in her heart." Then Dang Bidouri brought delicious rice Unto the King and Queen. They ate and drank, And stronger grew their love from hour to hour. Then gave the King commands to call the prince. He came with smiling face and graceful bows. "Sit here beside us," said the King, and all The three dined there together, royal ones, Surrounded by deft servants and dyangs . They chatted gayly, and, with laughter, ate. When all was finished, from the betel-box The King of siri took, perfumed himself, And then the prince retired.

When two short months Had fled, the prince bethought him of his home And parents. To himself he said, "I'll go." He gave commands to preparation make For his departure. "I am loath to leave My sister," he to Sinapati said. "My life is joyous here. But there at home I've left my parents in solicitude." Then Sinapati bowed and said, "With thee I'll go."

SONG V

A certain day the mantris came Before the King, in the pavilion grand. And with them came the youthful prince, and cast Himself before the throne. The King with smiles Said: "Sit thou at my side, my brother dear, I have not seen thee for a day entire." The princeling bowed and said: "My gracious lord If thou wilt pardon me, I would return And give my parents dear the joyful news. My father bade me seek my sister lost, And still he nothing knows of her good fate." The King replied with sorrow: "Brother mine, Why wilt thou go so soon? We scarcely are Acquainted, and I have not had enough Of thy dear company." The prince replied: "Oh, be not sorrowful, my gracious lord. As soon as I have my dear father seen I'll tell him what good things have come to pass. 'Twill soothe his heart to hear my sister's joy. My parents will be glad in learning all Thy goodness great. And pray consider me Thy subject leal. Soon I'll return again." The King's emotion grew. With pleasant voice He said: "Take counsel of thy sister. Heed What she may say." They found the Queen within, Fair Bidasari, and attending her Dyang Agous Djouhari. All sat down And took some siri from the betel-box. The Queen to the young prince then spoke: "Come here. My brother, why have I thy face not seen For two long days?" With bows the prince replied: "I've had a multitude of things to do. Thus came I not; for my companions all Seek homeward to return. So I must take My leave of thee upon the morrow morn, When pales the silver moon before the dawn." The Queen was grieved to hear these words, and shed A flood of tears. Her tender heart was touched. Beside herself with sorrow she exclaimed: "O prince illustrious! How canst thou go, Since we have met? I've loved thee from the time I knew thou wert my brother. I am grieved To hear thee say thou wilt so soon depart. Of low extraction must I be! 'Twas wrong For thee to call thyself my brother. I A poor and feeble orphan am, and how Should I the love deserve of a great prince?" When this he heard the prince bowed low his head And was much troubled. "Sister sweet," he said, "Grieve not like this. I only do return Because our parents must so anxious be. I love thee so, my darling, that my heart Is nearly breaking. If thou speakest thus To me, my dear, my grief will still increase. I could not leave thee, but I must respect Our parents' wishes. They commanded me All haste to make. So—sweet—I pray thee have Compassion on me."

Much disturbed, the King Observed the sorrow of the princess fair. He kissed her lips, to her a sepah gave, And said with tender voice: "My darling wife, What dost thou wish? Let now thy brother go. We'll see thy parents here ere many days." The Queen wept bitterly, and said to him: "His wishes I do not oppose. Let him Do whatsoe'er it pleaseth him to do. For I am but a stranger, a lost child, And who should think of me or love me true?" Then bowed the prince and said: "In very truth, I know thou art my sister. Speak not thus. God knows how much I love thee, sister mine. If thou dost not permit me to depart I'll not resist. I'm happy here with thee, But our dear parents are in cruel doubt, And look for news of thee. Now that I know Thy husband is a king, our parents dear Would be so overjoyed to learn it too!" Then spoke the King with face all radiant, "Return not, brother mine," he said. "I'll send Swift messengers to bear the gladsome news That Bidasari's found. Then, if he wills, Thy royal father here we'll hope to see. I'll go myself to meet him when he comes." The young prince bowed and said: "Nay, rather send Thy messengers, a great king cannot go So far away." Queen Bidasari heard These words and much rejoiced, and gayly gave Her brother then her betel-box.

The King Caressed his wife and said, "My dearest soul, Love not thy brother more than me." He called Lila Mengindra. Soon the merchant came Before the King and prince. The King exclaimed: "Come here, my uncle. Tell me, wilt thou take A letter to the King of Kembajat— To prove to him we live?"

So spake the King And called his counsellor of state, who came And kissed his hands. The King then bade him write A letter, all in characters of gold. "Well," cried the King, "let's hear the letter now," "Now glory be to God," it thus began, And all fair Bidasari's history Recited. Then the King a mighty host Assembled and with elephants and steeds Ten mantris took the letter of the prince Unto his parents. With the cavalcade There went a laksimana great, who bore, As king's ambassador, bejewelled flags And standards rich, and presents of much worth. Then Sinapati by the King was called A laksimana mantri , and received A fine equipment, with a hundred men To follow him. 'Twas thus the King preserved His reputation as a mighty king.

When he had sent the embassy, the King Went to his wife, and they were very gay. His love for her grew greater every day. The former merchant also was beloved. He gave the King good counsel, and obeyed His orders willingly. He often dined Together with the King and Queen. His wealth Grew vast. No one at all could with him vie, In Indrapura. He was much attached To the chief mantri . They were equals both In prudence, wisdom, and fidelity, With power unquestioned over all the folk. Beneath their sway prosperity increased, And many merchants came from far and wide. The kingdom was at peace. The King rejoiced, And everyone was happy in the land.

SONG VI

The laksimana mantri now I'll sing, Who went upon the embassy. As soon As the great King of Kembajat had news Of his arrival, he was much rejoiced. He told the Queen, and in the audience-hall Awaited. Then went forth the officers With elephants and payongs . A countless throng Attended them, with music and with flags. They met the embassy, and, with rich gifts, They gave the King's commands. Into the town Then entered all. The King was very glad, As if his only daughter had returned. All bowed before the King, who took the gifts, While servants took the letter to the chief Of mantris . And he gave it to the King, The monarch read, and was possessed with joy. He could not thank enough the merchant good, Who raised his daughter to a royal throne. He wished forthwith to go and see his child. The letter cordial invitation gave. But one thing troubled him: "He straight inquired, 'Hath not the prince, my son, the liberty To come back home?'" The laksimana bowed And said: "The King wished not to let him come And begged with tears that he would stay. The Queen Feared if her brother went she'd never see Her father. From your children both I bring Warm greetings. Kind indulgence from your heart They ask, and press their invitation. I Crave pardon for myself, O King, and hope Thy children dear may see their father's face, And that the kingdoms may become one realm." At these words smiled the King. "Ah, well!" he said, "I'll wait for seven days still." Then questions flew, And the great king learned all about his child.

The Indrapura mantris went apart When evening came. A separate palace grand The King assigned them, with the best of food. He orders gave for preparations great. Unto the Queen he said: "In seven days' time, My dear, I look to start, for I shall have No peace until I've seen our darling child." Then he assembled there his mantris all, Both young and old, with elephants and steeds. And all was ready to set forth, as he had wished. The while the morning stars were twinkling still, The royal gong resounded many times. The guards leaped forth with joy. The officers Came out and took their shining helms of war. Their naked swords all glistened. It was thus They made the glittering royal cavalcade. Their flags and banners flaunted in the air, All those who stayed behind were sad, as if A knife had cut them. All together marched, The lancers and the horsemen, and they seemed A moving city. Soon all darkened was The moon, as someone sorrowful. The swords And lances glistened like an island in The middle of the sea. Thus is described The royal escort marching through the land. The King was mounted on an elephant, His siri -bearer seated close behind. A rich payong of royalty, all tricked With bells, was stretched above his head, And drums and other instruments without Cessation sounded. Thus went forth the King, And soon to Indrapura came.

When near He halted and forthwith an envoy sent His coming to announce, together with The laksimana mantri . "Mighty King," They said, "thy royal father hath arrived." The King his heralds ordered then to call Lila Mengindra. With a smile he said To him: "Assemble in the square the folk And army. Straight to my pavilion let Them come, and all in holiday attire, For I my father am to meet to-day." Lila Mengindra bowed and hied him forth To execute the orders of the King. The King within his palace went, and sat Upon a jewelled seat. The Queen was there, And good Lila Mengindra at her side. The King said smilingly: "Light of my eyes, Let all the palace decorated be. Assemble all the palace folk and all The younger girls. For now without the gates Our parents wait. To-morrow I shall go To meet them." Then Queen Bidasari cried, With smiles: "My brother they have come to see. I cannot go before them and declare Myself their daughter." But the young prince said: "Oh, speak not thus, my sister, but give heed To what I say to thee, and be not wroth. If I'm the only one they love, alone I'll go with them away." Then to the King He said: "With my dear sister I but jest, To quiet her alarms." He bowed before the King And asked permission forth to go at once To meet his father. "Nay," replied the King, "We'll go together." A repast was served With every kind of food. The royal three Together ate. Then from the betel-box They siri took, and perfumes sweet they used. The prince then from the palace forth did go. Next day the King invited him to start With him upon the royal progress. All The banners waved, and everyone was glad. Then to the Queen he said: "Stay here, my love, And I will hither bring thy father dear." These words rejoiced the Queen. She said: "Go forth, My dear, and I will follow with my eyes." The King then took his leave with the young prince, With many mantris following. The strains Of gladsome music sounded. All the bells Were rung, and those without the cavalcade Were sad.

Ere long they came to the frontier, And King met King. The folk of Kembajat Were all astonished at the young King's face, As beautiful as painter's masterpiece. The old King looked with smiles on all. His joy Was great. The King of Indrapura bowed Respectfully, and made them bring to him The elephant that bore 'neath gay payong His consort's father. "Son, where goest thou?" "I've come to seek thee." Then the old King said: "Why didst thou come in person? 'Twould have been Enough if thou hadst mantris sent instead." His joy o'erflowed his heart. His son-in-law He greatly loved. Upon his elephant He said: "Approach, my son, thou art a king Renowned. Thy body and thy soul are both Alike, and both of royal stock!" He pressed Him in his arms and said: "Light of my eyes, Almighty God hath heard my many prayers, And granted me a perfect son-in-law." The King of Indrapura bowed and smiled Most graciously. Then to the young prince said His father: "Mount, my son, beside me, here." The young prince mounted at his father's side. He was as beautiful as chiselled gold.

Within the town the kings made entry then Amid a joyous throng. When they had come, The former merchant bowed before them both, The mangkouboumi now. The mighty King Of Indrapura bowed and said: "My sire, Speak to my uncle here; for he brought up Thy daughter." Scarcely had the old King heard These words than he exclaimed with joy: "Come here, My brother, let us now acquaintance make." The old King, seated on his elephant, Shed all about him rays of happiness, And all the people there were greatly moved. "This is my brother well beloved," he said, And kissed his brow. "How great hath been his love, His faithfulness has proved beyond compare." The former merchant bowed, and to the King Replied: "I am thy slave, O King, and bear Thine orders on my head. Thou dost o'erwhelm Thy servant with thy favor." Then upon The royal throne, which was all gem-bedecked, The old King sat, the young prince at his side, With all the mantris near. Then came the Queen Consort. The prince and Bidasari fair Came from their seats, their mother to receive. All entered then the palace. The young Queen, Fair Bidasari, bowed and was embraced By both her parents. With a flood of tears Her father said: "Alas, my darling child, Fruit of my heart, light of my eyes, keep not A hatred in thy soul against us now. The will of God is now made manifest. We long have separated been. At last We see each other with our very eyes. Great wrong we did thus to abandon thee, But still let not thy heart a stranger be To us. Peace later came to our dear land— Such was our destiny. What could we do? We were in flight. We thought, 'May God decree Some honorable man shall find her here!' How can we now be glad enough 'twas thus Ordained! What recompense can we present?" Sweet Bidasari wept as she recalled The past. The King her husband was much moved, And felt great pity when her tears he saw. And all were sad with sorrow mixed with joy, Because they knew she was of royal birth. Food now was served, and quickly the dyangs Brought salvers for the princes. The two kings Ate of the rice till they were surfeited, Then to their children offered it. All took The siri placed before them, and straightway Themselves anointed with rare perfumes sweet. When all had eaten, the five royal ones Lila Mengindra called, and gave to him The remnants of the feast. The kings then spoke To him and to his wife. They both bowed low And kissed the royal hands. Then said the King Of Kembajat: "My children, I had planned— In case we ever met on earth and ere The prey of death became—a feast to give, To last a month, and to it ye invite. In triumph I my daughter fain would bear, With all of ye. I would at once repair Unto the isle of Nousa Antara, And there I'd hold a royal festival With all the members of our family, And all the bitis , mandars , and dyangs . Such was my plan—if ever I should find My daughter dear. Now while this moon doth last Let me the project see fulfilled before Your parents come to die."

The gracious King Of Indrapura at these words bowed low And said: "I bear thy words upon my head. It shall be done as thou hast wished, my King." And when the evening came all was prepared. Soft mattresses were spread, and the two queens Betook them to their chambers, and the rich Egyptian curtains fell. They vainly sought to sleep. They talked together of their sorrows past And evil days. And neither kings nor queens That night could slumber.

At the break of day The talking bird began to sing and prate. A little later the bajangs began Their song. Then all arose, and bathed, and broke Their fast, and chattered and amused themselves. The King of Indrapura then gave word Unto the mangkouboumi : "All prepare That's necessary, ere the moon be full. Get ready all the various kinds of ships, And load them down with every sort of arms. Prepare all sorts of games to pass the time, And get in order all the cannons great And fire-arms. Thus the King commands."

Straightway The mangkouboumi bowed before the King, And went his orders to obey. He made The ships all ready, with new paint and gold. When three were well equipped, on board he took The people of the city. All the old Were left behind, but of the young none stayed. Then to the King the mangkouboumi said, "All is prepared." At this the King rejoiced, And to the King of Kembajat sent word, Who told his wife, and she was all aglow. They started from the palace, kings and queen And prince, and lovely Bidasari, too, Attended by the courtiers all. The strains Of music sounded and the bells were rung. All those whose lot it was to stay at home Were pained, as if a knife had stricken them. The cannons roared; the royal banners waved.

In three days' sail they reached the island fair, Of Nousa Antara, and the ships made fast. The two queens sat and watched the deft dyangs Take up the coral white and pink, and toyed With pretty shells. The King set foot upon The isle of Nousa Antara. The King And his dear wife upon the shore came forth, With their sweet daughter Bidasari pure. The King of Indrapura with them went, The prince walked near them on the left.

The King Of Indrapura ordered that a tent Be raised, and one was made. It was as large As any palace, set with royal throne. The two queens entered it and sought repose. The prince before his father bowed and said, "My royal father, let me go and hunt." To this the King of Kembajat replied, "Do what thou dost desire, light of my eyes." The King of Indrapura said with smiles, "I'll go with thee to hunt, my brother dear." The prince replied, "I shall in truth be charmed, My brother." "Forth we'll fare to-morrow morn," Returned the King of Indrapura. "Call The folk together."

When the dawn appeared, The King and prince together started forth, Escorted by a band of hunters tried, And beat the woods for game. The King and prince And all their following made rapid work. The game took flight. The King then drew his bow And many animals were killed. A deer Came running by. His arrow struck him full Upon the shoulder, and the huntsmen seized And quickly killed him. In the pathless woods Of Nousa Antara there was much game. A tiger roared, the King and prince pursued. The tiger swiftly fled. The prince sat down Within the forest deep. To overtake The beast he was unable. To return He sought, but could not find the way. Alone He was, and in perplexity, because His huntsmen he no longer could descry. Then, wandering to and fro, he found at last A pleasure garden of the days gone by, Belonging to King Lila, beautiful And without flaw. He was astonished quite When he perceived a palace. All alone He found himself, when he had entered there. He walked about, but found no living soul. Unto himself he said: "Can this domain A habitation be of demons dread And spirits? Can this be the cause of all The solitude which reigns?" On all sides then He looked. All suddenly a voice he heard, But still no one could see. Amazed he stood. The mystic voice exclaimed, "Have pity, lord, And free me from this room." As in a dream The prince these accents heard. He answered then: "Who art thou? Whose strange voice is this I hear, The while I no one see? Dost thou belong Unto the race of demons and of spectres? Where is the key, that I may ope the door?" Then the dyang of Mendoudari said Unto the prince: "Look toward the left, for there The key thou'lt find that opes the palace tower." He took the key and opened wide the door. All those who were within, when they beheld The prince's face, fell prostrate at his feet. To them the prince cried out: "Say to what race Ye do belong. This quickly tell. And whose This palace beautiful?" Then answered him Dang Tjindra Melini: "O Royal prince, We are God's creatures, like to thee. And this Fair palace of the King Lila is now By Ifrid occupied, a spirit-king, With whom now lives the prince illustrious, Lila. His daughter, Princess Mendoudari, Is shut alone within a chamber here, And Ifrid, king of spirits, cometh oft. On every third day cometh he. His eyes Are brilliant as the sun." When this he heard The prince was glad. The room he entered then. The Princess Mendoudari sought to flee. "Where wouldst thou go, my friend," he said. "I've sought And found thee. Do not flee away from me." The Princess Mendoudari said with tears: "And art thou mad enough hither to come? The spirits will destroy thee without doubt." These words rejoiced the prince, and to her then He sang a low sweet song of love and wooing. The princess answered with a dreamy chant. And when the young prince heard her gentle lay He felt a yearning pity for her fate. "Be not afraid, my dear," he said, "for I Will triumph over all thine enemies." Then Dang Sendari served them dainty food; And what was left, to her the princess gave. The prince too siri from the betel-box And rare sweet perfumes used. When evening came, A soft couch for the prince was spread. And then The princess sought her room, and curtains drew Of rich Egyptian stuff. The prince had asked, "When comes the spirit-king?" And she had said, "At early dawn." The young prince could not sleep, But through the long night hours sang soft pantoums . When daylight came the prince arose. He heard A spirit coming to the palace. Then with fear Was seized the princess fair. "Behold," she cried, "He cometh." Then the young prince took his arms. "Fear not," he said; "have confidence in God. What he decrees must always come to pass. If I'm destroyed, then follow me in death. I only ask one thing of thee, my love. When I am dead, I pray thee weep for me, And let thy mantle be my winding-sheet. Now let thy glances follow as I go."

I'll tell of Ifrid now—the spirit-king. He lurked beneath the palace. When he heard The princess talking with the prince his ire Arose like burning flame. His cry was like A thunder-burst. The very palace shook. "Depart from here," unto the prince he roared, "And feel my mighty power." Then sweet love-songs Exchanging with the princess went he forth. His mien was like Sang Samba's, and his face Was nobly firm, as if he went to meet A roaring tiger. At his side he wore A rare carbuncled sword, and arrows bore With points in deadly poison dipped. Ifrid, The creature with two heads, like spectre came With laughter horrid. He took up a stone And hurled it at the prince, who dodged its flight. Then full of wrath Ifrid upon him rushed. But swift the prince let fly an arrow sharp, And pierced his heart. One groan, and then he fell, And died beside the river. Then the prince Made haste to join the princess.

When she saw The spirit Ifrid dead she much rejoiced And bowed before the prince. Great gladness shone In her fair face, because her woe had ceased, And she was happy that 'twas to the prince She owed her rescue. 'Twas as if she'd found A mountain great of jewels. Then she said: "Caliph a high divinity once was And called himself King Lila. God will bless Thee for thy deeds, O mighty prince."

The prince With kisses said: "Thou hast a charming mouth. Thy form is supple. Prithee tell me why I should not love thee? Thou art beautiful As a statue of pure gold, and thou shalt be A princess in my palace. Well I know Thine origin is noble, and thy race Is high." They gayly chatted while some food Was served. The prince, with pleasure, at the side Of the fair princess ate. When all was done He took some siri from the betel-box And perfumes used. "Thou art a jasmine sweet," He said, "an antidote to every ill, And thou shalt be my wife."

Next day the prince Took her behind him on his horse, and they Departed. The dyangs accompanied them.

Now will I tell about the mantris all. Until the fall of evening, with the King Of Indrapura, they in waiting stayed, To welcome back the prince. And much disturbed They were that he delayed so long to come. The King then bade them seek the prince, and see Why he remained so long apart from them. Then mantris four set out, and hunted far And wide, but found him not. They brought the news That he could not be found. The King was sad And ordered them to go and tell the King, His wife's dear father, that the prince was lost. The old King fainted when he heard the tale. With oil of rose they sprinkled him, and back Unto his senses came he. "O my child," He said, "my heart hath lost all hope. Where now Art thou? I'll go, myself, to seek."

The King Wept much, and his dear wife. And as for her— Sweet Bidasari—she appeared to wish To kill herself, for never on the earth Did brother love his sister like the prince And Bidasari. At the fall of day Back came the King of Indrapura, sad And weeping. Then the King of Kembajat Said: "O my son, be silent. Do not weep, For thou dost but increase the pain I feel." But Indrapura's King replied: "Alas! He was my brother true, so brave and good!" But while they were lamenting thus the prince Stood there before them with his consort fair. He bowed to all. The King, his father, saw And could not speak. He thought, "It is the voice Of my dear son." Then recognition came And he was wild with joy. The prince then told How he had chased the tiger, and had lost His way within a wood: how he had killed A spirit there, Ifrid, the dread.

The King Heard all he said and much rejoiced. Then came The servants serving tasteful food to all. The King ate with his wife and children dear. Together they were six. All sorts of rare And dainty food were served them, and the King Took siri from the betel-box, and used Sweet perfumes. The great King of Kembajat Then gave a festival which lasted quite Seven days, with music and diversions gay. Glad joy was at its height, of pleasure born And of the dance. The kings amused themselves. All kinds of games they had. Intji Bibi, A singer of Malacca, sang with grace. The seven days passed, the Princess Mendoudari Was all in finery arrayed. The wives Of the two kings took her in hand. The prince Was by the mangkouboumi ta'en in charge. The princess sweetest perfumes did exhale. Her manners were most gracious and polite As of a well-born person. Every sort Of gem and jewel sparkled from her robes. She wore a ring—'twas astokouna called— And yet another one, glangkano named, And still another, with bright stones all carved In fashion of Ceylon. Her tresses curled Like to a full-blown flower, and on them shone Full many precious stones. The tourie buds Became her well. Her features were as bright As those of some celestial being pure. Fair Mendoudari thus was clad, and led To the bride's seat, and at her either hand Stood mantris' daughters seven with waving fans. Meanwhile the mangkouboumi patiently Achieved the tiring of the prince. He wore A royal crown, made in the island fair Called Nousa Antara, and a rich coat Which opened at the sides, made in the West. A chiselled necklace hung about his neck. His tunic flamed with orange, like the robe Of great Schahid Schah Pri. His girdle bright Was cloth of tjindi , fringed with agates rare. An amulet he wore with diamond pure, With sacred words engraved of the Koran. He wore a jewel like a butterfly, Most beautiful, and many rings and gems. His features of the rarest beauty were, Like those of some divinity of heaven. When thus arrayed, the youthful prince came forth And made obeisance to his parents both. He went to the appointed place, and all The children of the court assembled there Before him, while two sons of heralds stood Beside him, waving fans like floating clouds. All kept the strictest silence. Then a band Of soldiers came, with blades all glittering. The royal sword, all diamond decked, flashed rays Of light. Three times around the island went They all, with sound of music and the noise Of bells. And all who heard in vain essayed To estimate the number. Everyone Ran forth to see the progress—men and women. Some tore their garments, some their children lost, Distracted by the pleasure and the noise. When ended the procession, the young prince At Princess Mendoudari's right was placed, Within the palace. Then to them was brought Rice called adapadap , and they became A wedded pair. And all the folk dispersed. In three days' time was Mendoudari dressed Anew by Bidasari. She was robed With vesture of embroidered silk. The prince Was likewise gayly clad, to suit the glad Occasion. Now again they made, in state, A royal progress round about the isle. The King and Bidasari rode in one Grand chariot, and, within another, went The prince and Mendoudari, his fair bride. Then back they came for rest, upon the soft Rich palace cushions. Then the mighty King Of Kembajat inquired of his dear wife: "What think'st thou, love? Shall we to-morrow morn Return?" With smiles the Queen replied, "I bear Thine orders on my head." Next day the hearts Of all the royal company were filled With joy. The officers assembled then To take the King's commands, and he was pleased To see them dutiful. The following morn The song of the bajans awaked the King. At early dawn each princess with her lord, And all the officers, embarked upon The ship. They sailed far from the island fair, Nousa Antara, and in three days came To Indrapura and the river's mouth. When at the palace they arrived again, The mantris came in joy and kissed their hands. The King of Kembajat said that he wished To go. Scarce had fair Indrapura's King Heard that his parents to their home desired At once to go, when he the mantris called And orders gave. The King of Kembajat Set out with his dear wife next day at dawn. Within the palace of their daughter sweet They met fair Indrapura's King. The King Of Kembajat sat at his side, and said In softest tones: "Well, Bidasari, child, Thy parents now will homeward fare. Obey The King, thy gracious husband, in all things. The former merchant brought thee up. He will A father be to thee. Strive hard to win Thy husband's heart, and never disregard His wishes." Scarcely had she heard these words Than at her father's knees she fell, and shed A flood of tears. The King embraced his child And, weeping, said: "My daughter dear, pure gold, My crown's chief gem, light of my very eyes, Branch of my heart, be not disturbed, my soul, Nor let thy heart be sad." The royal four All wept together. Then the father said: "My son, accomplished prince, we trust to thee Our Bidasari. Show her the right path If she aside should step, for hither she As prisoner came. Correction should she need, For us it will not be a shame." At this Fair Indrapura's King was greatly moved. He bowed and said: "My father, speak not thus. I have the best opinion of the girl. Our hearts are one, as body with the soul. This kingdom all is hers, the guardian I Of her possessions, and I'll satisfy Her every wish." The King with joy replied: "Well, daughter, jewel of my crown, thou art No more beneath my sway, but wholly now Under the orders of thy husband dear." He much was moved, and to the mangkouboumi Said, "Brother, take my treasures all, for we Can never all thy goodness recompense." The former merchant and his wife bowed low: "Your gratitude, O prince, is great, but all Thy treasures are thy royal daughter's meed. For her we'll guard them." But the King replied: "Nay, speak not thus, my brother. Should I give All Indrapura's weight in purest gold It would not pay thee for thy care and love. We are to thee devoted from our hearts." At dawn they breakfasted, but all were sad, Because from Bidasari now must part Her parents dear and brother. Much she wept Because she felt her heart go out to him Her brother. Then she said: "I've one to take The place of parents, but where shall I find A brother?" Princess Mendoudari bowed To Bidasari, and they kissed with tears. Fair Bidasari said: "My sister dear, Sweet Mendoudari, when wilt thou return? Stay not too long at Kembajat, for I Could not thine absence bear. Farewell, my love." The King embraced his daughter. Bitterly Both wept. The royal father said, "Stay here, My son-in-law, with thy dear wife." The King Before his parents bowed. The youthful prince Before the King his brother bowed, and went To Bidasari's side, his sister dear, With heavy heart. Then, weeping much, he said: "O sister mine, gem of my crown, be not So sorrowful. I go, but if thou dost Desire, I'll come each year to visit thee." Sweet Bidasari kissed him. But her grief Was inexpressible. "O brother dear, Illustrious prince," she said, "thine absence would E'en then be much too long." The prince replied, With bows: "Assuage thy grief, my sister dear. For if the King permits, perhaps I may Come sooner back to thee."

The mighty King Of Indrapura said, in friendly tones: "Although he be thy brother, still, my dear, I love him much. We ne'er have had the least Misunderstanding. Why art thou not gay? And why art thou not willing he should go? If 'twere not for thy father I would keep Him here."

The King departed, followed by His son, who took his father just beyond The gates. The mangkouboumi bowed his head Before the King, who with much ardor said, "O father of dear Bidasari, give Aid and protection to thy lovely child." The mangkouboumi bowed again, and said: "Whate'er is fit, I'll do. Upon my head I bear thine orders. I thy servant am." The prince embraced the former merchant too, And said, "O uncle dear, my sister guide, And counsel her if any fault she doth." Then said the King of Kembajat, "My son, Come, let us start at once."

So forth he fared. The prince and all the escort with him went. A few days passed and they were home again. New garments to the escort all were given, And many presents to the officers. By mantris four the King rich treasures sent Unto his children loved, with many steeds And elephants. When safely they arrived At Indrapura, they appeared before The mangkouboumi . He presented them Unto the King, and said: "O sire, these gifts Are from thy son." The King replied: "Why dost Thou bring them here, my uncle? Keep them all In thine own treasury." Then he retired Within and said to Bidasari sweet: "Thy father, dear, hath sent us presents rare, And four young mantris , and a thousand men With elephants and horses. All is thine." The fair young Queen with smiles to him replied: "All that with me to share thou dost desire. Whatever be thy wish, I wish it too." The King adored his wife, and was to her Devoted. His great happiness increased And his domains extended every year. When Bidasari's royal birth was known, The news spread far and wide, and everywhere Was told. The realm of Indrapura grew More populous and powerful year by year.

The wicked Princess Lila Sari lived Alone and desolate, in sadness deep And full repentance for her evil deeds.

This song is weak because my skill is small. My heart was deeply stirred. And that is why I made, poor fakir I, this poem here. I have not made it long, because too sad I was, and troubled. Now at last 'tis done. For this, at least, your blessings I deserve.

THE END.