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diff --git a/16659-h/16659-h.htm b/16659-h/16659-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef3a787 --- /dev/null +++ b/16659-h/16659-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13920 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Translations of Shakuntala and Other Works, by Kalidasa</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + + body { margin-left :10%; margin-right :10%; + } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + + p { margin-top : 0.75em; + text-align : justify; + margin-bottom : 0.75em; + font-family : serif; + } + + hr { + width : 100%; + margin-left : auto; + margin-right : auto; + } + + table {margin-left :auto; margin-right : auto; + } + + .blockquote { margin-left :10%; margin-right :10%; + font-size :95%; + } + + .center { + text-align :center; + } + + .smcap { + font-variant : small-caps; + } + + p.quotsig {text-align: right; margin-right: 15%; + } + + .fnanchor { font-size : 80%; + font-weight : normal; + font-style : normal; + } + .footnote { + margin-left : 8%; + margin-right : 7%; + font-size : 90%; + } + + .poem { + margin-left : 8%; + margin-right : 7%; + text-align : left; + } + + .poem br { + display : none; + } + + .poem .stanza { + margin : 1em 0; + } + + .poem span { + display : block; + margin : 0; + padding-left : 3em; + text-indent : -3em; + } + + .poem span.i2 { + display : block; + margin-left : 2em; + } + + .poem span.i4 { + display : block; + margin-left : 4em; + } + + .poem span.i6 { + display : block; + margin-left : 6em; + } + + .poem span.i8 { + display : block; + margin-left : 8em; + } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + + </style> + </head> + <body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Translations of Shakuntala and Other Works, by Kalidasa</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Translations of Shakuntala and Other Works</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Kalidasa</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 5, 2005 [eBook #16659]<br /> +[Most recently updated: February 8, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Jayam Subramanian and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRANSLATIONS OF SHAKUNTALA ***</div> + +<h5>EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY<br /> +EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS</h5> + +<h2>POETRY AND THE DRAMA</h2> + +<h2>KALIDASA</h2> + +<h1>Translations of Shakuntala & Other Works</h1> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>ARTHUR W. RYDER</h3> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /></p> +<div class="center"> +<table summary="advertisement" width="60%" border="1"> +<tr><td align="center"> +THIS IS NO. 629 OF <i> EVERYMAN'S<br /> +LIBRARY</i>. THE PUBLISHERS WILL<br /> +BE PLEASED TO SEND FREELY TO ALL<br /> +APPLICANTS A LIST OF THE PUBLISHED<br /> +AND PROJECTED VOLUMES ARRANGED<br /> +UNDER THE FOLLOWING SECTIONS:</td></tr> +<tr><td><h4> +TRAVEL · SCIENCE · FICTION<br /> +THEOLOGY & PHILOSOPHY<br /> +HISTORY · CLASSICAL<br /> +FOR YOUNG PEOPLE<br /> +ESSAYS · ORATORY<br /> +POETRY & DRAMA<br /> +BIOGRAPHY<br /> +REFERENCE<br /> +ROMANCE<br /> +<img alt="ornamental design" src="images/image04.jpg" width="129" height="69" /></h4> +</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> +<b>THE ORDINARY EDITION IS BOUND<br /> + IN CLOTH WITH GILT DESIGN AND<br /> + COLOURED TOP. THERE IS ALSO A<br /> + LIBRARY EDITION IN REINFORCED CLOTH</b></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"> + LONDON: <b>J.M. DENT & SONS LTD.</b><br /> + NEW YORK: <b>E.P. DUTTON & CO.</b></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/image01.jpg" width="333" height="517" alt="[Facsimile of ivth page]" /> +</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/image02.jpg" width="333" height="523" alt="[Facsimile of vth page]" /> +</div> + +<h5>REPRINTED +1920, 1928</h5> +<h4> PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN</h4> +<p><br /> +<br /></p> +<h5>FIRST ISSUE OF THIS EDITION 1912<br /> +REPRINTED 1920, 1928</h5> +<p><br /></p> +<h5>PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN</h5> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> +<h4><a href="#CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h4> +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<h3>KALIDASA—HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<p>Kalidasa probably lived in the fifth century of the Christian era. +This date, approximate as it is, must yet be given with considerable +hesitation, and is by no means certain. No truly biographical data are +preserved about the author, who nevertheless enjoyed a great +popularity during his life, and whom the Hindus have ever regarded as +the greatest of Sanskrit poets. We are thus confronted with one of the +remarkable problems of literary history. For our ignorance is not due +to neglect of Kalidasa's writings on the part of his countrymen, but +to their strange blindness in regard to the interest and importance of +historic fact. No European nation can compare with India in critical +devotion to its own literature. During a period to be reckoned not by +centuries but by millenniums, there has been in India an unbroken line +of savants unselfishly dedicated to the perpetuation and exegesis of +the native masterpieces. Editions, recensions, commentaries abound; +poets have sought the exact phrase of appreciation for their +predecessors: yet when we seek to reconstruct the life of their +greatest poet, we have no materials except certain tantalising +legends, and such data as we can gather from the writings of a man who +hardly mentions himself.</p> +<p> +One of these legends deserves to be recounted for its intrinsic +interest, although it contains, so far as we can see, no grain of +historic truth, and although it places Kalidasa in Benares, five +hundred miles distant from the only city in which we certainly know +that he spent a part of his life. According to this account, Kalidasa +was a Brahman's child. At the age of six months he was left an orphan +and was adopted by an ox-driver. He grew to manhood without formal +education, yet with remarkable beauty and grace of manner. Now it +happened that the Princess of Benares was a blue-stocking, who +rejected one suitor after another, among them her father's counsellor, +because they failed to reach her standard as scholars and poets. The +rejected counsellor planned a cruel revenge. He took the handsome +ox-driver from the street, gave him the garments of a savant and a +retinue of learned doctors, then introduced him to the princess, after +warning him that he was under no circumstances to open his lips. The +princess was struck with his beauty and smitten to the depths of her +pedantic soul by his obstinate silence, which seemed to her, as indeed +it was, an evidence of profound wisdom. She desired to marry Kalidasa, +and together they went to the temple. But no sooner was the ceremony +performed than Kalidasa perceived an image of a bull. His early +training was too much for him; the secret came out, and the bride was +furious. But she relented in response to Kalidasa's entreaties, and +advised him to pray for learning and poetry to the goddess Kali. The +prayer was granted; education and poetical power descended +miraculously to dwell with the young ox-driver, who in gratitude +assumed the name Kalidasa, servant of Kali. Feeling that he owed this +happy change in his very nature to his princess, he swore that he +would ever treat her as his teacher, with profound respect but without +familiarity. This was more than the lady had bargained for; her anger +burst forth anew, and she cursed Kalidasa to meet his death at the +hands of a woman. At a later date, the story continues, this curse was +fulfilled. A certain king had written a half-stanza of verse, and had +offered a large reward to any poet who could worthily complete it. +Kalidasa completed the stanza without difficulty; but a woman whom he +loved discovered his lines, and greedy of the reward herself, killed +him.</p> +<p> +Another legend represents Kalidasa as engaging in a pilgrimage to a +shrine of Vishnu in Southern India, in company with two other famous +writers, Bhavabhuti and Dandin. Yet another pictures Bhavabhuti as a +contemporary of Kalidasa, and jealous of the less austere poet's +reputation. These stories must be untrue, for it is certain that the +three authors were not contemporary, yet they show a true instinct in +the belief that genius seeks genius, and is rarely isolated.</p> +<p> +This instinctive belief has been at work with the stories which +connect Kalidasa with King Vikramaditya and the literary figures of +his court. It has doubtless enlarged, perhaps partly falsified the +facts; yet we cannot doubt that there is truth in this tradition, late +though it be, and impossible though it may ever be to separate the +actual from the fanciful. Here then we are on firmer ground.</p> +<p> +King Vikramaditya ruled in the city of Ujjain, in West-central India. +He was mighty both in war and in peace, winning especial glory by a +decisive victory over the barbarians who pressed into India through +the northern passes. Though it has not proved possible to identify +this monarch with any of the known rulers, there can be no doubt that +he existed and had the character attributed to him. The name +Vikramaditya—Sun of Valour—is probably not a proper name, but a +title like Pharaoh or Tsar. No doubt Kalidasa intended to pay a +tribute to his patron, the Sun of Valour, in the very title of his +play, <i>Urvashi won by Valour</i>.</p> +<p> +King Vikramaditya was a great patron of learning and of poetry. Ujjain +during his reign was the most brilliant capital in the world, nor has +it to this day lost all the lustre shed upon it by that splendid +court. Among the eminent men gathered there, nine were particularly +distinguished, and these nine are known as the "nine gems." Some of +the nine gems were poets, others represented science—astronomy, +medicine, lexicography. It is quite true that the details of this late +tradition concerning the nine gems are open to suspicion, yet the +central fact is not doubtful: that there was at this time and place a +great quickening of the human mind, an artistic impulse creating works +that cannot perish. Ujjain in the days of Vikramaditya stands worthily +beside Athens, Rome, Florence, and London in their great centuries. +Here is the substantial fact behind Max M&uuml;ller's often ridiculed +theory of the renaissance of Sanskrit literature. It is quite false to +suppose, as some appear to do, that this theory has been invalidated +by the discovery of certain literary products which antedate +Kalidasa. It might even be said that those rare and happy centuries +that see a man as great as Homer or Vergil or Kalidasa or Shakespeare +partake in that one man of a renaissance.</p> +<p> +It is interesting to observe that the centuries of intellectual +darkness in Europe have sometimes coincided with centuries of light in +India. The Vedas were composed for the most part before Homer; +Kalidasa and his contemporaries lived while Rome was tottering under +barbarian assault.</p> +<p> +To the scanty and uncertain data of late traditions may be added some +information about Kalidasa's life gathered from his own writings. He +mentions his own name only in the prologues to his three plays, and +here with a modesty that is charming indeed, yet tantalising. One +wishes for a portion of the communicativeness that characterises some +of the Indian poets. He speaks in the first person only once, in the +verses introductory to his epic poem <i>The Dynasty of +Raghu</i>.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> +Here also we feel his modesty, and here once more we are balked of +details as to his life.</p> +<p> +We know from Kalidasa's writings that he spent at least a part of his +life in the city of Ujjain. He refers to Ujjain more than once, and in +a manner hardly possible to one who did not know and love the city. +Especially in his poem <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i> does he dwell upon the +city's charms, and even bids the cloud make a détour in his long +journey lest he should miss making its +acquaintance.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> +<p> +We learn further that Kalidasa travelled widely in India. The fourth +canto of <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> describes a tour about the whole of +India and even into regions which are beyond the borders of a narrowly +measured India. It is hard to believe that Kalidasa had not himself +made such a "grand tour"; so much of truth there may be in the +tradition which sends him on a pilgrimage to Southern India. The +thirteenth canto of the same epic and <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i> also +describe long journeys over India, for the most part through regions +far from Ujjain. It is the mountains which impress him most deeply. +His works are full of the Himalayas. Apart from his earliest drama +and the slight poem called <i>The Seasons</i>, there is not one of them +which is not fairly redolent of mountains. One, <i>The Birth of the +War-god</i>, might be said to be all mountains. Nor was it only Himalayan +grandeur and sublimity which attracted him; for, as a Hindu critic has +acutely observed, he is the only Sanskrit poet who has described a +certain flower that grows in Kashmir. The sea interested him less. To +him, as to most Hindus, the ocean was a beautiful, terrible barrier, +not a highway to adventure. The "sea-belted earth" of which Kalidasa +speaks means to him the mainland of India.</p> +<p> +Another conclusion that may be certainly drawn from Kalidasa's writing +is this, that he was a man of sound and rather extensive education. He +was not indeed a prodigy of learning, like Bhavabhuti in his own +country or Milton in England, yet no man could write as he did without +hard and intelligent study. To begin with, he had a minutely accurate +knowledge of the Sanskrit language, at a time when Sanskrit was to +some extent an artificial tongue. Somewhat too much stress is often +laid upon this point, as if the writers of the classical period in +India were composing in a foreign language. Every writer, especially +every poet, composing in any language, writes in what may be called a +strange idiom; that is, he does not write as he talks. Yet it is true +that the gap between written language and vernacular was wider in +Kalidasa's day than it has often been. The Hindus themselves regard +twelve years' study as requisite for the mastery of the "chief of all +sciences, the science of grammar." That Kalidasa had mastered this +science his works bear abundant witness.</p> +<p> +He likewise mastered the works on rhetoric and dramatic +theory—subjects which Hindu savants have treated with great, if +sometimes hair-splitting, ingenuity. The profound and subtle systems +of philosophy were also possessed by Kalidasa, and he had some +knowledge of astronomy and law.</p> +<p> +But it was not only in written books that Kalidasa was deeply read. +Rarely has a man walked our earth who observed the phenomena of living +nature as accurately as he, though his accuracy was of course that of +the poet, not that of the scientist. Much is lost to us who grow up +among other animals and plants; yet we can appreciate his "bee-black +hair," his ashoka-tree that "sheds his blossoms in a rain of tears," +his river wearing a sombre veil of mist:</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Although her reeds seem hands that clutch the dress<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hide her charms;<br /></span> </p> + +</blockquote> +<p> +his picture of the day-blooming water-lily at sunset:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The water-lily closes, but<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With wonderful reluctancy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if it troubled her to shut<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her door of welcome to the bee.<br /></span> </p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +The religion of any great poet is always a matter of interest, +especially the religion of a Hindu poet; for the Hindus have ever been +a deeply and creatively religious people. So far as we can judge, +Kalidasa moved among the jarring sects with sympathy for all, +fanaticism for none. The dedicatory prayers that introduce his dramas +are addressed to Shiva. This is hardly more than a convention, for +Shiva is the patron of literature. If one of his epics, <i>The Birth of +the War-god</i>, is distinctively Shivaistic, the other, <i>The Dynasty of +Raghu</i>, is no less Vishnuite in tendency. If the hymn to Vishnu in +<i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> is an expression of Vedantic monism, the hymn +to Brahma in <i>The Birth of the War-god</i> gives equally clear expression +to the rival dualism of the Sankhya system. Nor are the Yoga doctrine +and Buddhism left without sympathetic mention. We are therefore +justified in concluding that Kalidasa was, in matters of religion, +what William James would call "healthy-minded," emphatically not a +"sick soul."</p> +<p> +There are certain other impressions of Kalidasa's life and personality +which gradually become convictions in the mind of one who reads and +re-reads his poetry, though they are less easily susceptible of exact +proof. One feels certain that he was physically handsome, and the +handsome Hindu is a wonderfully fine type of manhood. One knows that +he possessed a fascination for women, as they in turn fascinated him. +One knows that children loved him. One becomes convinced that he never +suffered any morbid, soul-shaking experience such as besetting +religious doubt brings with it, or the pangs of despised love; that +on the contrary he moved among men and women with a serene and godlike +tread, neither self-indulgent nor ascetic, with mind and senses ever +alert to every form of beauty. We know that his poetry was popular +while he lived, and we cannot doubt that his personality was equally +attractive, though it is probable that no contemporary knew the full +measure of his greatness. For his nature was one of singular balance, +equally at home in a splendid court and on a lonely mountain, with men +of high and of low degree. Such men are never fully appreciated during +life. They continue to grow after they are dead.</p> +<p><br /></p> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<p> +Kalidasa left seven works which have come down to us: three dramas, +two epics, one elegiac poem, and one descriptive poem. Many other +works, including even an astronomical treatise, have been attributed +to him; they are certainly not his. Perhaps there was more than one +author who bore the name Kalidasa; perhaps certain later writers were +more concerned for their work than for personal fame. On the other +hand, there is no reason to doubt that the seven recognised works are +in truth from Kalidasa's hand. The only one concerning which there is +reasonable room for suspicion is the short poem descriptive of the +seasons, and this is fortunately the least important of the seven. Nor +is there evidence to show that any considerable poem has been lost, +unless it be true that the concluding cantos of one of the epics have +perished. We are thus in a fortunate position in reading Kalidasa: we +have substantially all that he wrote, and run no risk of ascribing to +him any considerable work from another hand.</p> +<p> +Of these seven works, four are poetry throughout; the three dramas, +like all Sanskrit dramas, are written in prose, with a generous +mingling of lyric and descriptive stanzas. The poetry, even in the +epics, is stanzaic; no part of it can fairly be compared to English +blank verse. Classical Sanskrit verse, so far as structure is +concerned, has much in common with familiar Greek and Latin forms: +it makes no systematic use of rhyme; it depends for its rhythm not +upon accent, but upon quantity. The natural medium of translation into +English seems to me to be the rhymed stanza;<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> in the present work +the rhymed stanza has been used, with a consistency perhaps too rigid, +wherever the original is in verse.</p> + +<p> +Kalidasa's three dramas bear the names: <i>Malavika and Agnimitra, +Urvashi</i>, and <i>Shakuntala</i>. The two epics are <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> +and <i>The Birth of the War-god</i>. The elegiac poem is called <i>The +Cloud-Messenger</i>, and the descriptive poem is entitled <i>The Seasons</i>. +It may be well to state briefly the more salient features of the +Sanskrit <i>genres</i> to which these works belong.</p> +<p> +The drama proved in India, as in other countries, a congenial form to +many of the most eminent poets. The Indian drama has a marked +individuality, but stands nearer to the modern European theatre than +to that of ancient Greece; for the plays, with a very few exceptions, +have no religious significance, and deal with love between man and +woman. Although tragic elements may be present, a tragic ending is +forbidden. Indeed, nothing regarded as disagreeable, such as fighting +or even kissing, is permitted on the stage; here Europe may perhaps +learn a lesson in taste. Stage properties were few and simple, while +particular care was lavished on the music. The female parts were +played by women. The plays very rarely have long monologues, even the +inevitable prologue being divided between two speakers, but a Hindu +audience was tolerant of lyrical digression.</p> +<p> +It may be said, though the statement needs qualification in both +directions, that the Indian dramas have less action and less +individuality in the characters, but more poetical charm than the +dramas of modern Europe.</p> +<p> +On the whole, Kalidasa was remarkably faithful to the ingenious but +somewhat over-elaborate conventions of Indian dramaturgy. His first +play, the <i>Malavika and Agnimitra</i>, is entirely conventional in plot. +The <i>Shakuntala</i> is transfigured by the character of the heroine. The +<i>Urvashi</i>, in spite of detail beauty, marks a distinct decline.</p> +<p> +<i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> and <i>The Birth of the War-god</i> belong to a +species of composition which it is not easy to name accurately. The +Hindu name <i>kavya</i> has been rendered by artificial epic, <i>épopée +savante, Kunstgedicht</i>. It is best perhaps to use the term epic, and +to qualify the term by explanation.</p> +<p> +The <i>kavyas</i> differ widely from the <i>Mahabharata</i> and the <i>Ramayana</i>, +epics which resemble the <i>Iliad</i> and <i>Odyssey</i> less in outward form +than in their character as truly national poems. The <i>kavya</i> is a +narrative poem written in a sophisticated age by a learned poet, who +possesses all the resources of an elaborate rhetoric and metric. The +subject is drawn from time-honoured mythology. The poem is divided +into cantos, written not in blank verse but in stanzas. Several +stanza-forms are commonly employed in the same poem, though not in the +same canto, except that the concluding verses of a canto are not +infrequently written in a metre of more compass than the remainder.</p> +<p> +I have called <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i> an elegiac poem, though it would +not perhaps meet the test of a rigid definition. The Hindus class it +with <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> and <i>The Birth of the War-god</i> as a +<i>kavya</i>, but this classification simply evidences their embarrassment. +In fact, Kalidasa created in <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i> a new <i>genre</i>. No +further explanation is needed here, as the entire poem is translated +below.</p> +<p> +The short descriptive poem called <i>The Seasons</i> has abundant analogues +in other literatures, and requires no comment.</p> +<p> +It is not possible to fix the chronology of Kalidasa's writings, yet +we are not wholly in the dark. <i>Malavika and Agnimitra</i> was certainly +his first drama, almost certainly his first work. It is a reasonable +conjecture, though nothing more, that Urvashi was written late, when +the poet's powers were waning. The introductory stanzas of <i>The +Dynasty of Raghu</i> suggest that this epic was written before <i>The Birth +of the War-god</i>, though the inference is far from certain. Again, it +is reasonable to assume that the great works on which Kalidasa's fame +chiefly rests—<i>Shakuntala</i>, <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i>, <i>The Dynasty of +Raghu</i>, the first eight cantos of <i>The Birth of the War-god</i>—were +composed when he was in the prime of manhood. But as to the succession +of these four works we can do little but guess.</p> +<p> +Kalidasa's glory depends primarily upon the quality of his work, yet +would be much diminished if he had failed in bulk and variety. In +India, more than would be the case in Europe, the extent of his +writing is an indication of originality and power; for the poets of +the classical period underwent an education that encouraged an +exaggerated fastidiousness, and they wrote for a public meticulously +critical. Thus the great Bhavabhuti spent his life in constructing +three dramas; mighty spirit though he was, he yet suffers from the +very scrupulosity of his labour. In this matter, as in others, +Kalidasa preserves his intellectual balance and his spiritual +initiative: what greatness of soul is required for this, every one +knows who has ever had the misfortune to differ in opinion from an +intellectual clique.</p> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<p> +Le nom de Kâlidâsa domine la poésie indienne et la résume brillamment. +Le drame, l'épopée savante, l'élégie attestent aujourd'hui encore la +puissance et la souplesse de ce magnifique génie; seul entre les +disciples de Sarasvatî [the goddess of eloquence], il a eu le bonheur +de produire un chef-d'œuvre vraiment classique, où l'Inde s'admire et +où l'humanité se reconnaît. Les applaudissements qui saluèrent la +naissance de Çakuntalâ à Ujjayinî ont après de longs siècles éclaté +d'un bout du monde à l'autre, quand William Jones l'eut révélée à +l'Occident. Kâlidâsa a marqué sa place dans cette pléiade étincelante +où chaque nom résume une période de l'esprit humain. La série de ces +noms forme l'histoire, ou plutôt elle est l'histoire même.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<p> +It is hardly possible to say anything true about Kalidasa's +achievement which is not already contained in this appreciation. Yet +one loves to expand the praise, even though realising that the critic +is by his very nature a fool. Here there shall at any rate be none +of that cold-blooded criticism which imagines itself set above a +world-author to appraise and judge, but a generous tribute of +affectionate admiration.</p> +<p> +The best proof of a poet's greatness is the inability of men to live +without him; in other words, his power to win and hold through +centuries the love and admiration of his own people, especially when +that people has shown itself capable of high intellectual and +spiritual achievement.</p> +<p> +For something like fifteen hundred years, Kalidasa has been more +widely read in India than any other author who wrote in Sanskrit. +There have also been many attempts to express in words the secret of +his abiding power: such attempts can never be wholly successful, yet +they are not without considerable interest. Thus Bana, a celebrated +novelist of the seventh century, has the following lines in some +stanzas of poetical criticism which he prefixes to a historical +romance:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<p> +<span class="i2">Where find a soul that does not thrill<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In Kalidasa's verse to meet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The smooth, inevitable lines<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like blossom-clusters, honey-sweet?<br /></span> </p> + +</blockquote> +<p> +A later writer, speaking of Kalidasa and another poet, is more laconic +in this alliterative line: <i>Bhaso hasah, Kalidaso vilasah</i>—Bhasa is +mirth, Kalidasa is grace.</p> +<p> +These two critics see Kalidasa's grace, his sweetness, his delicate +taste, without doing justice to the massive quality without which his +poetry could not have survived.</p> +<p> +Though Kalidasa has not been as widely appreciated in Europe as he +deserves, he is the only Sanskrit poet who can properly be said to +have been appreciated at all. Here he must struggle with the truly +Himalayan barrier of language. Since there will never be many +Europeans, even among the cultivated, who will find it possible to +study the intricate Sanskrit language, there remains only one means of +presentation. None knows the cruel inadequacy of poetical translation +like the translator. He understands better than others can, the +significance of the position which Kalidasa has won in Europe. When +Sir William Jones first translated the <i>Shakuntala</i> in 1789, his work +was enthusiastically received in Europe, and most warmly, as was +fitting, by the greatest living poet of Europe. Since that day, as +is testified by new translations and by reprints of the old, there +have been many thousands who have read at least one of Kalidasa's +works; other thousands have seen it on the stage in Europe and +America.</p> +<p> +How explain a reputation that maintains itself indefinitely and that +conquers a new continent after a lapse of thirteen hundred years? None +can explain it, yet certain contributory causes can be named.</p> +<p> +No other poet in any land has sung of happy love between man and woman +as Kalidasa sang. Every one of his works is a love-poem, however much +more it may be. Yet the theme is so infinitely varied that the reader +never wearies. If one were to doubt from a study of European +literature, comparing the ancient classics with modern works, whether +romantic love be the expression of a natural instinct, be not rather a +morbid survival of decaying chivalry, he has only to turn to India's +independently growing literature to find the question settled. +Kalidasa's love-poetry rings as true in our ears as it did in his +countrymen's ears fifteen hundred years ago.</p> +<p> +It is of love eventually happy, though often struggling for a time +against external obstacles, that Kalidasa writes. There is nowhere in +his works a trace of that not quite healthy feeling that sometimes +assumes the name "modern love." If it were not so, his poetry could +hardly have survived; for happy love, blessed with children, is surely +the more fundamental thing. In his drama <i>Urvashi</i> he is ready to +change and greatly injure a tragic story, given him by long tradition, +in order that a loving pair may not be permanently separated. One +apparent exception there is—the story of Rama and Sita in <i>The +Dynasty of Raghu</i>. In this case it must be remembered that Rama is an +incarnation of Vishnu, and the story of a mighty god incarnate is not +to be lightly tampered with.</p> +<p> +It is perhaps an inevitable consequence of Kalidasa's subject that his +women appeal more strongly to a modern reader than his men. The man is +the more variable phenomenon, and though manly virtues are the same in +all countries and centuries, the emphasis has been variously laid. But +the true woman seems timeless, universal. I know of no poet, unless it +be Shakespeare, who has given the world a group of heroines so +individual yet so universal; heroines as true, as tender, as brave as +are Indumati, Sita, Parvati, the Yaksha's bride, and Shakuntala.</p> +<p> +Kalidasa could not understand women without understanding children. It +would be difficult to find anywhere lovelier pictures of childhood +than those in which our poet presents the little Bharata, Ayus, Raghu, +Kumara. It is a fact worth noticing that Kalidasa's children are all +boys. Beautiful as his women are, he never does more than glance at a +little girl.</p> +<p> +Another pervading note of Kalidasa's writing is his love of external +nature. No doubt it is easier for a Hindu, with his almost instinctive +belief in reincarnation, to feel that all life, from plant to god, is +truly one; yet none, even among the Hindus, has expressed this feeling +with such convincing beauty as has Kalidasa. It is hardly true to say +that he personifies rivers and mountains and trees; to him they have a +conscious individuality as truly and as certainly as animals or men or +gods. Fully to appreciate Kalidasa's poetry one must have spent some +weeks at least among wild mountains and forests untouched by man; +there the conviction grows that trees and flowers are indeed +individuals, fully conscious of a personal life and happy in that +life. The return to urban surroundings makes the vision fade; yet the +memory remains, like a great love or a glimpse of mystic insight, as +an intuitive conviction of a higher truth.</p> +<p> +Kalidasa's knowledge of nature is not only sympathetic, it is also +minutely accurate. Not only are the snows and windy music of the +Himalayas, the mighty current of the sacred Ganges, his possession; +his too are smaller streams and trees and every littlest flower. It is +delightful to imagine a meeting between Kalidasa and Darwin. They +would have understood each other perfectly; for in each the same kind +of imagination worked with the same wealth of observed fact.</p> +<p> +I have already hinted at the wonderful balance in Kalidasa's +character, by virtue of which he found himself equally at home in a +palace and in a wilderness. I know not with whom to compare him in +this; even Shakespeare, for all his magical insight into natural +beauty, is primarily a poet of the human heart. That can hardly be +said of Kalidasa, nor can it be said that he is primarily a poet of +natural beauty. The two characters unite in him, it might almost be +said, chemically. The matter which I am clumsily endeavouring to make +plain is beautifully epitomised in <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i>. The former +half is a description of external nature, yet interwoven with human +feeling; the latter half is a picture of a human heart, yet the +picture is framed in natural beauty. So exquisitely is the thing done +that none can say which half is superior. Of those who read this +perfect poem in the original text, some are more moved by the one, +some by the other. Kalidasa understood in the fifth century what +Europe did not learn until the nineteenth, and even now comprehends +only imperfectly: that the world was not made for man, that man +reaches his full stature only as he realises the dignity and worth of +life that is not human.</p> +<p> +That Kalidasa seized this truth is a magnificent tribute to his +intellectual power, a quality quite as necessary to great poetry as +perfection of form. Poetical fluency is not rare; intellectual grasp +is not very uncommon: but the combination has not been found perhaps +more than a dozen times since the world began. Because he possessed +this harmonious combination, Kalidasa ranks not with Anacreon and +Horace and Shelley, but with Sophocles, Vergil, Milton.</p> +<p> +He would doubtless have been somewhat bewildered by Wordsworth's +gospel of nature. "The world is too much with us," we can fancy him +repeating. "How can the world, the beautiful human world, be too much +with us? How can sympathy with one form of life do other than vivify +our sympathy with other forms of life?"</p> +<p> +It remains to say what can be said in a foreign language of Kalidasa's +style. We have seen that he had a formal and systematic education; in +this respect he is rather to be compared with Milton and Tennyson than +with Shakespeare or Burns. He was completely master of his learning. +In an age and a country which reprobated carelessness but were +tolerant of pedantry, he held the scales with a wonderfully even hand, +never heedless and never indulging in the elaborate trifling with +Sanskrit diction which repels the reader from much of Indian +literature. It is true that some western critics have spoken of his +disfiguring conceits and puerile plays on words. One can only wonder +whether these critics have ever read Elizabethan literature; for +Kalidasa's style is far less obnoxious to such condemnation than +Shakespeare's. That he had a rich and glowing imagination, "excelling +in metaphor," as the Hindus themselves affirm, is indeed true; that he +may, both in youth and age, have written lines which would not have +passed his scrutiny in the vigour of manhood, it is not worth while to +deny: yet the total effect left by his poetry is one of extraordinary +sureness and delicacy of taste. This is scarcely a matter for +argument; a reader can do no more than state his own subjective +impression, though he is glad to find that impression confirmed by the +unanimous authority of fifty generations of Hindus, surely the most +competent judges on such a point.</p> +<p> +Analysis of Kalidasa's writings might easily be continued, but +analysis can never explain life. The only real criticism is +subjective. We know that Kalidasa is a very great poet, because the +world has not been able to leave him alone.</p> +<p class="quotsig"><b>ARTHUR W. RYDER.</b></p> + +<h3>SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY</h3> + +<p> +On Kalidasa's life and writings may be consulted A.A. Macdonell's +<i>History of Sanskrit Literature</i> (1900); the same author's article +"Kalidasa" in the eleventh edition of the <i>Encyclopædia Britannica</i> +(1910); and Sylvain Lévi's <i>Le Théâtre Indien</i> (1890).</p> +<p> +The more important translations in English are the following: of the +<i>Shakuntala</i>, by Sir William Jones (1789) and Monier Williams (fifth +edition, 1887); of the <i>Urvashi</i>, by H.H. Wilson (in his <i>Select +Specimens of the Theatre of the Hindus</i>, third edition, 1871); of <i>The +Dynasty of Raghu</i>, by P. de Lacy Johnstone (1902); of <i>The Birth of +The War-god</i> (cantos one to seven), by Ralph T.H. Griffith (second +edition, 1879); of <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i>, by H.H. Wilson (1813).</p> +<p> +There is an inexpensive reprint of Jones's <i>Shakuntala</i> and Wilson's +<i>Cloud-Messenger</i> in one volume in the Camelot Series.</p> + +<h3>KALIDASA</h3> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">An ancient heathen poet, loving more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God's creatures, and His women, and His flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than we who boast of consecrated powers;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still lavishing his unexhausted store<br /></span></p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Of love's deep, simple wisdom, healing o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world's old sorrows, India's griefs and ours;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That healing love he found in palace towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On mountain, plain, and dark, sea-belted shore,<br /></span></p> + +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">In songs of holy Raghu's kingly line<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or sweet Shakuntala in pious grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In hearts that met where starry jasmines twine<br /></span> +</p> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Or hearts that from long, lovelorn absence strove<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Together. Still his words of wisdom shine:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All's well with man, when man and woman love.<br /></span> </p> +</div></blockquote> + +<p><br /> <br /><br /> <br /></p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Willst du die Blüte des frühen, die<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Früchte des späteren Jahres,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Willst du, was reizt und entzückt,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Willst du, was sättigt und nährt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Willst du den Hummel, die erde mit<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Einem Namen begreifen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nenn' ich, Sakuntala, dich, und<br /></span> +<span class="i4">dann ist alles gesagt.<br /></span> </p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p class="quotsig"><b>GOETHE</b></p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><b>FOOTNOTES:</b></p> +<p><br /></p> +<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a></p> +<p>These verses are translated on pp. <a href="#ftnote_123">123, 124</a>.</p> +<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a></p> +<p>The passage will be found on pp. <a href="#Page_190">190-192</a>.</p> +<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a></p> +<p>This matter is more fully discussed in the introduction to my translation of <i>The Little Clay Cart</i> (1905).</p> +<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a></p> +<p>Lévi, <i>Le Théâtre Indien</i>, p. 163.</p> +</div> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h2> + +<table summary="toc" width="80%"> +<tr> <td></td><td align="left">PAGE</td> </tr> +<tr><td>INTRODUCTION: <br />KALIDASA—HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS </td><td +align="left"><a href="#Page_vii">vii</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td> SHAKUNTALA </td><td align="left"><a +href="#Page_1">1</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td>THE STORY OF SHAKUNTALA +</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td> </tr> <tr> +<td>THE TWO MINOR DRAMAS—</td><td align="left"></td> </tr> <tr> <td> + I. Malavika and Agnimitra </td><td align="left"><a +href="#Page_109">109</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td> II. Urvashi</td><td +align="left"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td>THE DYNASTY OF RAGHU </td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td>THE BIRTH OF THE WAR-GOD </td><td align="left"><a +href="#Page_157">157</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td>THE CLOUD-MESSENGER </td><td align="left"><a +href="#Page_183">183</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td>THE SEASONS </td><td align="left"><a +href="#Page_211">211</a></td> </tr> +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a>SHAKUNTALA<br /> +A PLAY IN SEVEN ACTS</h2> + +<p><br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /></p> +<p class="center">DRAMATIS PERSONÆ</p> +<table summary="Dramatis personæ" width="60%"> +<tr><td>KING DUSHYANTA.</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>BHARATA,</td><td><i>nicknamed</i> All-tamer, <i>his son</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>MADHAVYA,</td><td><i>a clown, his companion</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>His charioteer.</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>RAIVATAKA,</td><td><i>a door-keeper</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>BHADRASENA,</td><td><i>a general</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>KARABHAKA,</td><td><i>a servant</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>PARVATAYANA,</td><td><i>a chamberlain</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>SOMARATA,</td><td><i>a chaplain</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>KANVA,</td><td><i>hermit-father</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>SHARNGARAVA</td><td rowspan="3"> }<i>his pupils</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>SHARADVATA </td></tr> +<tr><td>HARITA</td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>DURVASAS,</td><td><i>an irascible sage</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>The chief of police.</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>SUCHAKA</td><td rowspan="2">} <i>policemen</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>JANUKA</td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>A fisherman.</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>SHAKUNTALA,</td><td><i>foster-child of Kanva</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>ANUSUYA</td><td rowspan="2">}<i>her friends</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>PRIYAMVADA </td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>GAUTAMI,</td><td><i>hermit-mother</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>KASHYAPA,</td><td><i>father of the gods</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>ADITI,</td><td><i>mother of the gods</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>MATALI,</td><td><i>charioteer of heaven's king</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>GALAVA,</td><td><i>a pupil in heaven</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>MISHRAKESHI,</td><td><i>a heavenly nymph</i>.</td></tr> +</table> +<p><br /> <br /></p> +<p><i>Stage-director and actress (in the prologue), hermits and hermit-women, +two court poets, palace attendants, invisible fairies</i>.</p> + +<p>The first four acts pass in Kanva's forest hermitage; acts five and +six in the king's palace; act seven on a heavenly mountain. The time +is perhaps seven years.</p> + +<h2>SHAKUNTALA</h2> + +<p>PROLOGUE +<br /> +<br /></p> + +<p class="center"><b>BENEDICTION UPON AUDIENCE</b></p> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<p> +<span class="i2">Eight forms has Shiva, lord of all and king:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And these are water, first created thing;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fire, which speeds the sacrifice begun;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The priest; and time's dividers, moon and sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The all-embracing ether, path of sound;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The earth, wherein all seeds of life are found;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And air, the breath of life: may he draw near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Revealed in these, and bless those gathered here.<br /></span> </p> + +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>The stage-director</i>. Enough of this! (<i>Turning toward the +dressing-room</i>.) Madam, if you are ready, pray come here. (<i>Enter an +actress</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Actress</i>. Here I am, sir. What am I to do?</p> +<p> +<i>Director</i>. Our audience is very discriminating, and we are to offer +them a new play, called <i>Shakuntala and the ring of recognition</i>, +written by the famous Kalidasa. Every member of the cast must be on +his mettle.</p> +<p> +<i>Actress</i>. Your arrangements are perfect. Nothing will go wrong.</p> +<p> +<i>Director</i> (<i>smiling</i>). To tell the truth, madam,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Until the wise are satisfied,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I cannot feel that skill is shown;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The best-trained mind requires support,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And does not trust itself alone.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Actress</i>. True. What shall we do first?</p> +<p> +<i>Director</i>. First, you must sing something to please the ears of the +audience.</p> +<p> +<i>Actress</i>. What season of the year shall I sing about?</p><p><i>Director</i>. +Why, sing about the pleasant summer which has just begun. For at this +time of year</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">A mid-day plunge will temper heat;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The breeze is rich with forest flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To slumber in the shade is sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And charming are the twilight hours.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Actress</i> (<i>sings</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<p> +<span class="i2">The siris-blossoms fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With pollen laden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are plucked to deck her hair<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By many a maiden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But gently; flowers like these<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are kissed by eager bees.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Director</i>. Well done! The whole theatre is captivated by your song, +and sits as if painted. What play shall we give them to keep their +good-will?</p> +<p> +<i>Actress</i>. Why, you just told me we were to give a new play called +<i>Shakuntala and the ring</i>.</p> +<p> +<i>Director</i>. Thank you for reminding me. For the moment I had quite +forgotten.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Your charming song had carried me away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the deer enticed the hero of our play.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p>(<i>Exeunt ambo</i>.)</p> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>ACT I</b></p> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>THE HUNT</b></p> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +(<i>Enter, in a chariot, pursuing a deer</i>, KING DUSHYANTA, <i>bow and +arrow in hand; and a charioteer</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Charioteer</i> (<i>Looking at the king and the deer</i>). Your Majesty,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<p> +<span class="i2">I see you hunt the spotted deer<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With shafts to end his race,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As though God Shiva should appear<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In his immortal chase.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>King</i>. Charioteer, the deer has led us a long chase. And even now</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">His neck in beauty bends<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As backward looks he sends<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At my pursuing car<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That threatens death from far.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fear shrinks to half the body small;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See how he fears the arrow's fall!<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">The path he takes is strewed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With blades of grass half-chewed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From jaws wide with the stress<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of fevered weariness.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He leaps so often and so high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He does not seem to run, but fly.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>In surprise</i>.) Pursue as I may, I can hardly keep him in sight.</p> +<p> +<i>Charioteer</i>. Your Majesty, I have been holding the horses back +because the ground was rough. This checked us and gave the deer a +lead. Now we are on level ground, and you will easily overtake him.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Then let the reins hang loose.</p> +<p> +<i>Charioteer</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>He counterfeits rapid motion</i>.) +Look, your Majesty!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<p> +<span class="i2">The lines hang loose; the steeds unreined<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dart forward with a will.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their ears are pricked; their necks are strained;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their plumes lie straight and still.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They leave the rising dust behind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They seem to float upon the wind.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>joyfully</i>). See! The horses are gaining on the deer.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<p> +<span class="i2">As onward and onward the chariot flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The small flashes large to my dizzy eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What is cleft in twain, seems to blur and mate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What is crooked in nature, seems to be straight.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Things at my side in an instant appear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Distant, and things in the distance, near.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>A voice behind the scenes</i>. O King, this deer belongs to the +hermitage, and must not be killed.</p> +<p> +<i>Charioteer</i> (<i>listening and looking</i>). Your Majesty, here are two +hermits, come to save the deer at the moment when your arrow was about +to fall.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>hastily</i>). Stop the chariot.</p> +<p> +<i>Charioteer</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>He does so. Enter a hermit with his +pupil</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Hermit</i> (<i>lifting his hand</i>). O King, this deer belongs to the +hermitage.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Why should his tender form expire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As blossoms perish in the fire?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How could that gentle life endure<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The deadly arrow, sharp and sure?<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">Restore your arrow to the quiver;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To you were weapons lent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The broken-hearted to deliver,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Not strike the innocent.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>bowing low</i>). It is done. (<i>He does so</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Hermit</i> (<i>joyfully</i>). A deed worthy of you, scion of Puru's race, and +shining example of kings. May you beget a son to rule earth and +heaven.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>bowing low</i>). I am thankful for a Brahman's blessing.</p> +<p> +<i>The two hermits</i>. O King, we are on our way to gather firewood. Here, +along the bank of the Malini, you may see the hermitage of Father +Kanva, over which Shakuntala presides, so to speak, as guardian deity. +Unless other deities prevent, pray enter here and receive a welcome. +Besides,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<p> +<span class="i2">Beholding pious hermit-rites<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Preserved from fearful harm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perceive the profit of the scars<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On your protecting arm.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Is the hermit father there?</p> +<p> +<i>The two hermits</i>. No, he has left his daughter to welcome guests, and +has just gone to Somatirtha, to avert an evil fate that threatens her.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Well, I will see her. She shall feel my devotion, and report +it to the sage.</p> +<p> +<i>The two hermits</i>. Then we will go on our way. (<i>Exit hermit with +pupil</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Charioteer, drive on. A sight of the pious hermitage will +purify us.</p> +<p> +<i>Charioteer</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>He counterfeits motion again</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>looking about</i>). One would know, without being told, that +this is the precinct of a pious grove.</p> +<p> +<i>Charioteer</i>. How so?</p> <p> +<i>King</i>. Do you not see? Why, here</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<p> +<span class="i2">Are rice-grains, dropped from bills of parrot chicks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the trees; and pounding-stones where sticks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A little almond-oil; and trustful deer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That do not run away as we draw near;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And river-paths that are besprinkled yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From trickling hermit-garments, clean and wet.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Besides,</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The roots of trees are washed by many a stream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That breezes ruffle; and the flowers' red gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is dimmed by pious smoke; and fearless fawns<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Move softly on the close-cropped forest lawns.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Charioteer</i>. It is all true.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>after a little</i>). We must not disturb the hermitage. Stop +here while I dismount.</p> +<p> +<i>Charioteer</i>. I am holding the reins. Dismount, your Majesty.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>dismounts and looks at himself</i>). One should wear modest +garments on entering a hermitage. Take these jewels and the bow. (<i>He +gives them to the charioteer</i>.) Before I return from my visit to the +hermits, have the horses' backs wet down.</p> +<p> +<i>Charioteer</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>walking and looking about</i>). The hermitage! Well, I will +enter. (<i>As he does so, he feels a throbbing in his arm</i>.)</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">A tranquil spot! Why should I thrill?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Love cannot enter there—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet to inevitable things<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Doors open everywhere.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>A voice behind the scenes</i>. This way, girls!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>listening</i>). I think I hear some one to the right of the +grove. I must find out. (<i>He walks and looks about</i>.) Ah, here are +hermit-girls, with watering-pots just big enough for them to handle. +They are coming in this direction to water the young trees. They are +charming!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The city maids, for all their pains,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Seem not so sweet and good;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our garden blossoms yield to these<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Flower-children of the wood.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +I will draw back into the shade and wait for them. (<i>He stands, gazing +toward them. Enter</i> SHAKUNTALA, <i>as described, and her two friends</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>First friend</i>. It seems to me, dear, that Father Kanva cares more for +the hermitage trees than he does for you. You are delicate as a +jasmine blossom, yet he tells you to fill the trenches about the +trees.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Oh, it isn't Father's bidding so much. I feel like a +real sister to them. (<i>She waters the trees</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Shakuntala, we have watered the trees that blossom in +the summer-time. Now let's sprinkle those whose flowering-time is +past. That will be a better deed, because we shall not be working for +a reward.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. What a pretty idea! (<i>She does so</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). And this is Kanva's daughter, Shakuntala. (<i>In +surprise</i>.) The good Father does wrong to make her wear the hermit's +dress of bark.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The sage who yokes her artless charm<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With pious pain and grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would try to cut the toughest vine<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With a soft, blue lotus-leaf.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> + Well, I will step behind a tree and see how she acts with her +friends. (<i>He conceals himself</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Oh, Anusuya! Priyamvada has fastened this bark dress so +tight that it hurts. Please loosen it. (ANUSUYA <i>does so</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>laughing</i>). You had better blame your own budding +charms for that.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. She is quite right.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Beneath the barken dress<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon the shoulder tied,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In maiden loveliness<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her young breast seems to hide,<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">As when a flower amid<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The leaves by autumn tossed—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pale, withered leaves—lies hid,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And half its grace is lost.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Yet in truth the bark dress is not an enemy to her beauty. It serves +as an added ornament. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The meanest vesture glows<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On beauty that enchants:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lotus lovelier shows<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Amid dull water-plants;<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">The moon in added splendour<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shines for its spot of dark;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet more the maiden slender<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Charms in her dress of bark.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>looking ahead</i>). Oh, girls, that mango-tree is trying +to tell me something with his branches that move in the wind like +fingers. I must go and see him. (<i>She does so</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. There, Shakuntala, stand right where you are a minute.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Why?</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. When I see you there, it looks as if a vine were +clinging to the mango-tree.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I see why they call you the flatterer.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. But the flattery is true.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Her arms are tender shoots; her lips<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are blossoms red and warm;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bewitching youth begins to flower<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In beauty on her form.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Oh, Shakuntala! Here is the jasmine-vine that you named +Light of the Grove. She has chosen the mango-tree as her husband.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>approaches and looks at it, joyfully</i>). What a pretty +pair they make. The jasmine shows her youth in her fresh flowers, and +the mango-tree shows his strength in his ripening fruit. (<i>She stands +gazing at them</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Anusuya, do you know why Shakuntala looks so +hard at the Light of the Grove?</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. No. Why?</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. She is thinking how the Light of the Grove has found a +good tree, and hoping that she will meet a fine lover.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. That's what you want for yourself. (<i>She tips her +watering-pot</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Look, Shakuntala! Here is the spring-creeper that Father +Kanva tended with his own hands—just as he did you. You are +forgetting her.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I'd forget myself sooner. (<i>She goes to the creeper and +looks at it, joyfully</i>.) Wonderful! Wonderful! Priyamvada, I have +something pleasant to tell you.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. What is it, dear?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. It is out of season, but the spring-creeper is covered +with buds down to the very root.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>running up</i>). Really?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Of course. Can't you see?</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>looking at it joyfully</i>). And I have something pleasant +to tell <i>you</i>. You are to be married soon.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>snappishly</i>). You know that's just what you want for +yourself.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. I'm not teasing. I really heard Father Kanva say that +this flowering vine was to be a symbol of your coming happiness.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Priyamvada, that is why Shakuntala waters the +spring-creeper so lovingly.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. She is my sister. Why shouldn't I give her water? (<i>She +tips her watering-pot</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. May I hope that she is the hermit's daughter by a mother of a +different caste? But it <i>must</i> be so.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Surely, she may become a warrior's bride;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Else, why these longings in an honest mind?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The motions of a blameless heart decide<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of right and wrong, when reason leaves us blind.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Yet I will learn the whole truth.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>excitedly</i>). Oh, oh! A bee has left the jasmine-vine +and is flying into my face. (<i>She shows herself annoyed by the bee</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>ardently</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">As the bee about her flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swiftly her bewitching eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Turn to watch his flight.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She is practising to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Coquetry and glances' play<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Not from love, but fright.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>Jealously</i>.)</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Eager bee, you lightly skim<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er the eyelid's trembling rim<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Toward the cheek aquiver.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gently buzzing round her cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whispering in her ear, you seek<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Secrets to deliver.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">While her hands that way and this<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strike at you, you steal a kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Love's all, honeymaker.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I know nothing but her name,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not her caste, nor whence she came—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You, my rival, take her.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Oh, girls! Save me from this dreadful bee!</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Who are we, that we should save you? +Call upon Dushyanta. For pious groves are in the protection of the +king.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. A good opportunity to present myself. Have no—(<i>He checks +himself. Aside</i>.) No, they would see that I am the king. I prefer to +appear as a guest.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. He doesn't leave me alone! I am going to run away. +(<i>She takes a step and looks about</i>.) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! He is +following me. Please save me.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>hastening forward</i>). Ah!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">A king of Puru's mighty line<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Chastises shameless churls;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What insolent is he who baits<br /></span> +<span class="i4">These artless hermit-girls?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>The girls are a little flurried on seeing the king</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. It is nothing very dreadful, sir. But our friend +(<i>indicating</i> SHAKUNTALA) was teased and frightened by a bee.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to</i> SHAKUNTALA). I hope these pious days are happy ones. +(SHAKUNTALA's <i>eyes drop in embarrassment</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Yes, now that we receive such a distinguished guest.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Welcome, sir. Go to the cottage, Shakuntala, and bring +fruit. This water will do to wash the feet.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Your courteous words are enough to make me feel at home.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Then, sir, pray sit down and rest on this shady bench.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. You, too, are surely wearied by your pious task. Pray be +seated a moment.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>aside to</i> SHAKUNTALA). My dear, we must be polite to +our guest. Shall we sit down? (<i>The three girls sit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>to herself</i>). Oh, why do I have such feelings when I +see this man? They seem wrong in a hermitage.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>looking at the girls</i>). It is delightful to see your +friendship. For you are all young and beautiful.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>aside to</i> ANUSUYA). Who is he, dear? With his mystery, +and his dignity, and his courtesy? He acts like a king and a +gentleman.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. I am curious too. I am going to ask him. (<i>Aloud</i>.) Sir, +you are so very courteous that I make bold to ask you something. What +royal family do you adorn, sir? What country is grieving at your +absence? Why does a gentleman so delicately bred submit to the weary +journey into our pious grove?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>aside</i>). Be brave, my heart. Anusuya speaks your very +thoughts.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>aside</i>). Shall I tell at once who I am, or conceal it? (<i>He +reflects</i>.) This will do. (<i>Aloud</i>.) I am a student of Scripture. It +is my duty to see justice done in the cities of the king. And I have +come to this hermitage on a tour of inspection.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Then we of the hermitage have some one to take care of us. +(SHAKUNTALA <i>shows embarrassment</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>observing the demeanour of the pair. Aside to</i> +SHAKUNTALA). Oh, Shakuntala! If only Father were here to-day.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. What would he do?</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. He would make our distinguished guest happy, if it +took his most precious treasure.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>feigning anger</i>). Go away! You mean something. I'll not +listen to you.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I too would like to ask a question about your friend.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. Sir, your request is a favour to us.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Father Kanva lives a lifelong hermit. Yet you say that your +friend is his daughter. How can that be?</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Listen, sir. There is a majestic royal sage named +Kaushika—</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Ah, yes. The famous Kaushika.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Know, then, that he is the source of our friend's being. +But Father Kanva is her real father, because he took care of her when +she was abandoned.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. You waken my curiosity with the word "abandoned." May I hear +the whole story?</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Listen, sir. Many years ago, that royal sage was leading a +life of stern austerities, and the gods, becoming strangely jealous, +sent the nymph Menaka to disturb his devotions.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Yes, the gods feel this jealousy toward the austerities of +others. And then—</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Then in the lovely spring-time he saw her intoxicating +beauty—(<i>She stops in embarrassment</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. The rest is plain. Surely, she is the daughter of the nymph.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Yes.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is as it should be.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">To beauty such as this<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No woman could give birth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The quivering lightning flash<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is not a child of earth.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(SHAKUNTALA <i>hangs her head in confusion</i>.) <i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). +Ah, my wishes become hopes.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>looking with a smile at</i> SHAKUNTALA). Sir, it seems as +if you had more to say. (SHAKUNTALA <i>threatens her friend with her +finger</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. You are right. Your pious life interests me, and I have +another question.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Do not hesitate. We hermit people stand ready to answer +all demands.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My question is this:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Does she, till marriage only, keep her vow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As hermit-maid, that shames the ways of love?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or must her soft eyes ever see, as now,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Soft eyes of friendly deer in peaceful grove?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Sir, we are under bonds to lead a life of virtue. But it +is her father's wish to give her to a suitable lover.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>joyfully to himself</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">O heart, your wish is won!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All doubt at last is done;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The thing you feared as fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is the jewel of your desire.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>pettishly</i>). Anusuya, I'm going.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. What for?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I am going to tell Mother Gautami that Priyamvada is +talking nonsense. (<i>She rises</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. My dear, we hermit people cannot neglect to entertain a +distinguished guest, and go wandering about.</p> +<p> +(SHAKUNTALA <i>starts to walk away without answering</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>aside</i>). She is going! (<i>He starts up as if to detain her, +then checks his desires</i>.) A thought is as vivid as an act, to a +lover.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Though nurture, conquering nature, holds<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Me back, it seems<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As had I started and returned<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In waking dreams.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>approaching</i> SHAKUNTALA). You dear, peevish girl! You +mustn't go.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>turns with a frown</i>). Why not?</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. You owe me the watering of two trees. You can go when +you have paid your debt. (<i>She forces her to come back</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is plain that she is already wearied by watering the trees. +See!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Her shoulders droop; her palms are reddened yet;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Quick breaths are struggling in her bosom fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blossom o'er her ear hangs limply wet;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">One hand restrains the loose, dishevelled hair.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +I therefore remit her debt. (<i>He gives the two friends a ring. They +take it, read the name engraved on it, and look at each other</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Make no mistake. This is a present—from the king.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Then, sir, you ought not to part with it. Your word is +enough to remit the debt.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Well, Shakuntala, you are set free by this kind +gentleman—or rather, by the king himself. Where are you going now?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>to herself</i>). I would never leave him if I could help +myself.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Why don't you go now?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I am not <i>your</i> servant any longer. I will go when I +like.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>looking at</i> SHAKUNTALA. <i>To himself</i>). Does she feel toward +me as I do toward her? At least, there is ground for hope.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Although she does not speak to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She listens while I speak;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her eyes turn not to see my face,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But nothing else they seek.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>A voice behind the scenes</i>. Hermits! Hermits! Prepare to defend the +creatures in our pious grove. King Dushyanta is hunting in the +neighbourhood.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The dust his horses' hoofs have raised,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Red as the evening sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Falls like a locust-swarm on boughs<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where hanging garments dry.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>aside</i>). Alas! My soldiers are disturbing the pious grove in +their search for me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The voice behind the scenes</i>. Hermits! +Hermits! Here is an elephant who is terrifying old men, women, and +children.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">One tusk is splintered by a cruel blow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against a blocking tree; his gait is slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For countless fettering vines impede and cling;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He puts the deer to flight; some evil thing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He seems, that comes our peaceful life to mar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fleeing in terror from the royal car.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> + +<p> +(<i>The girls listen and rise anxiously</i>.) +</p> + +<p> +<i>King</i>. I have offended sadly against the hermits. I must go back.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. Your Honour, we are frightened by this alarm of the +elephant. Permit us to return to the cottage.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i> (<i>to</i> SHAKUNTALA). Shakuntala dear, Mother Gautami will be +anxious. We must hurry and find her.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>feigning lameness</i>). Oh, oh! I can hardly walk.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. You must go very slowly. And I will take pains that the +hermitage is not disturbed.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. Your honour, we feel as if we knew you very well. +Pray pardon our shortcomings as hostesses. May we ask you to seek +better entertainment from us another time?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. You are too modest. I feel honoured by the mere sight of you.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Anusuya, my foot is cut on a sharp blade of grass, and +my dress is caught on an amaranth twig. Wait for me while I loosen it. +(<i>She casts a lingering glance at the king, and goes out with her two +friends</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>sighing</i>). They are gone. And I must go. The sight of +Shakuntala has made me dread the return to the city. I will make my +men camp at a distance from the pious grove. But I cannot turn my own +thoughts from Shakuntala.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">It is my body leaves my love, not I;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My body moves away, but not my mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For back to her my struggling fancies fly<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like silken banners borne against the wind. <br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p>(<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>ACT II</b> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>THE SECRET</b> +<br /></p> +<p> +(<i>Enter the clown</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>sighing</i>). Damn! Damn! Damn! I'm tired of being friends with +this sporting king. "There's a deer!" he shouts, "There's a boar!" And +off he chases on a summer noon through woods where shade is few and +far between. We drink hot, stinking water from the mountain streams, +flavoured with leaves—nasty! At odd times we get a little tepid meat +to eat. And the horses and the elephants make such a noise that I +can't even be comfortable at night. Then the hunters and the +bird-chasers—damn 'em—wake me up bright and early. They do make an +ear-splitting rumpus when they start for the woods. But even that +isn't the whole misery. There's a new pimple growing on the old boil. +He left us behind and went hunting a deer. And there in a hermitage +they say he found—oh, dear! oh, dear! he found a hermit-girl named +Shakuntala. Since then he hasn't a thought of going back to town. I +lay awake all night, thinking about it. What can I do? Well, I'll see +my friend when he is dressed and beautified. (<i>He walks and looks +about</i>.) Hello! Here he comes, with his bow in his hand, and his girl +in his heart. He is wearing a wreath of wild flowers! I'll pretend to +be all knocked up. Perhaps I can get a rest that way. (<i>He stands, +leaning on his staff. Enter the king, as described</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Although my darling is not lightly won,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She seemed to love me, and my hopes are bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though love be balked ere joy be well begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A common longing is itself delight.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>Smiling</i>.) Thus does a lover deceive himself. He judges his love's +feelings by his own desires.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Her glance was loving—but 'twas not for me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her step was slow—'twas grace, not coquetry;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her speech was short—to her detaining friend.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In things like these love reads a selfish end!<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>standing as before</i>). Well, king, I can't move my hand. I +can only greet you with my voice.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>looking and smiling</i>). What makes you lame?</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Good! You hit a man in the eye, and then ask him why the +tears come.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I do not understand you. Speak plainly.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. When a reed bends over like a hunchback, do you blame the +reed or the river-current?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. The river-current, of course.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. And you are to blame for my troubles.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. How so?</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. It's a fine thing for you to neglect your royal duties and +such a sure job—to live in the woods! What's the good of talking? +Here I am, a Brahman, and my joints are all shaken up by this eternal +running after wild animals, so that I can't move. Please be good to +me. Let us have a rest for just one day.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). He says this. And I too, when I remember +Kanva's daughter, have little desire for the chase. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The bow is strung, its arrow near;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And yet I cannot bend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That bow against the fawns who share<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Soft glances with their friend.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>observing the king</i>). He means more than he says. I might as +well weep in the woods.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>smiling</i>). What more could I mean? I have been thinking that +I ought to take my friend's advice.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>cheerfully</i>). Long life to you, then. (<i>He unstiffens</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Wait. Hear me out.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Well, sir?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. When you are rested, you must be my companion in another +task—an easy one.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Crushing a few sweetmeats?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I will tell you presently.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Pray command my leisure.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Who stands without? (<i>Enter the door-keeper</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Door-keeper</i>. I await your Majesty's commands.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Raivataka, summon the general.</p> +<p> +<i>Door-keeper</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>He goes out, then returns with the +general</i>.) Follow me, sir. There is his Majesty, listening to our +conversation. Draw near, sir.</p> +<p> +<i>General</i> (<i>observing the king, to himself</i>). Hunting is declared to +be a sin, yet it brings nothing but good to the king. See!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He does not heed the cruel sting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of his recoiling, twanging string;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mid-day sun, the dripping sweat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Affect him not, nor make him fret;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His form, though sinewy and spare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is most symmetrically fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No mountain-elephant could be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More filled with vital strength than he.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He approaches</i>.) Victory to your Majesty! The forest is full of +deer-tracks, and beasts of prey cannot be far off. What better +occupation could we have?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Bhadrasena, my enthusiasm is broken. Madhavya has been +preaching against hunting.</p> +<p> +<i>General</i> (<i>aside to the clown</i>). Stick to it, friend Madhavya. I will +humour the king a moment. (<i>Aloud</i>.) Your Majesty, he is a chattering +idiot. Your Majesty may judge by his own case whether hunting is an +evil. Consider:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The hunter's form grows sinewy, strong, and light;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He learns, from beasts of prey, how wrath and fright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Affect the mind; his skill he loves to measure<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With moving targets. 'Tis life's chiefest pleasure.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>angrily</i>). Get out! Get out with your strenuous life! The +king has come to his senses. But you, you son of a slave-wench, can go +chasing from forest to forest, till you fall into the jaws of some old +bear that is looking for a deer or a jackal.</p> + +<p> +<i>King</i>. Bhadrasena, I cannot take your advice, because I am in the +vicinity of a hermitage. So for to-day</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The hornèd buffalo may shake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The turbid water of the lake;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shade-seeking deer may chew the cud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Boars trample swamp-grass in the mud;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bow I bend in hunting, may<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enjoy a listless holiday.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>General</i>. Yes, your Majesty.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Send back the archers who have gone ahead. And forbid the +soldiers to vex the hermitage, or even to approach it. Remember:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">There lurks a hidden fire in each<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Religious hermit-bower;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cool sun-stones kindle if assailed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By any foreign power.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>General</i>. Yes, your Majesty.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Now will you get out with your strenuous life? (<i>Exit +general</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to his attendants</i>). Lay aside your hunting dress. And you, +Raivataka, return to your post of duty.</p> +<p> +<i>Raivataka</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. You have got rid of the vermin. Now be seated on this flat +stone, over which the trees spread their canopy of shade. I can't sit +down till you do.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Lead the way.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Follow me. (<i>They walk about and sit down</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Friend Madhavya, you do not know what vision is. You have not +seen the fairest of all objects.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. I see you, right in front of me.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Yes, every one thinks himself beautiful. But I was speaking of +Shakuntala, the ornament of the hermitage.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>to himself</i>). I mustn't add fuel to the flame. (<i>Aloud</i>.) +But you can't have her because she is a hermit-girl. What is the use +of seeing her?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Fool!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">And is it selfish longing then,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That draws our souls on high<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through eyes that have forgot to wink,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As the new moon climbs the sky?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Besides, Dushyanta's thoughts dwell on no forbidden object.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Well, tell me about her.</p> + +<p><i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Sprung from a nymph of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wanton and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who spurned the blessing given,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Going her way;<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">By the stern hermit taken<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In her most need:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So fell the blossom shaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Flower on a weed.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. (<i>laughing</i>). You are like a man who gets tired of good dates +and longs for sour tamarind. All the pearls of the palace are yours, +and you want this girl!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My friend, you have not seen her, or you could not talk so.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. She must be charming if she surprises <i>you</i>.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Oh, my friend, she needs not many words.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">She is God's vision, of pure thought<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Composed in His creative mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His reveries of beauty wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The peerless pearl of womankind.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So plays my fancy when I see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How great is God, how lovely she.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. How the women must hate her!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. This too is in my thought.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">She seems a flower whose fragrance none has tasted,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A gem uncut by workman's tool,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A branch no desecrating hands have wasted,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fresh honey, beautifully cool.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">No man on earth deserves to taste her beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her blameless loveliness and worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unless he has fulfilled man's perfect duty—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And is there such a one on earth?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Marry her quick, then, before the poor girl falls into the +hands of some oily-headed hermit.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. She is dependent on her father, and he is not here.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. But how does she feel toward you?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My friend, +hermit-girls are by their very nature timid. And yet</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">When I was near, she could not look at me;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She smiled—but not to me—and half denied it;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She would not show her love for modesty,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet did not try so very hard to hide it.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Did you want her to climb into your lap the first time she +saw you?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. But when she went away with her friends, she almost showed +that she loved me.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">When she had hardly left my side,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"I cannot walk," the maiden cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And turned her face, and feigned to free<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The dress not caught upon the tree.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. She has given you some memories to chew on. I suppose that is +why you are so in love with the pious grove.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My friend, think of some pretext under which we may return to +the hermitage.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. What pretext do you need? Aren't you the king?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What of that?</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Collect the taxes on the hermits' rice.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Fool! It is a very different tax which these hermits pay—one +that outweighs heaps of gems.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The wealth we take from common men,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wastes while we cherish;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These share with us such holiness<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As ne'er can perish.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Voices behind the scenes</i>. Ah, we have found him.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>Listening</i>). The voices are grave and tranquil. These must be +hermits. (<i>Enter the door-keeper</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Door-keeper</i>. Victory, O King. There are two hermit-youths at the +gate.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Bid them enter at once.</p> +<p> +<i>Door-keeper</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>He goes out, then returns with the +youths</i>.) Follow me.</p> +<p> +<i>First youth</i> (<i>looking at the king</i>). A majestic presence, yet it +inspires confidence. Nor is this wonderful in a king who is half a +saint. For to him</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The splendid palace serves as hermitage;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His royal government, courageous, sage,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Adds daily to his merit; it is given<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To him to win applause from choirs of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose anthems to his glory rise and swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Proclaiming him a king, and saint as well.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Second youth</i>. My friend, is this Dushyanta, friend of Indra?</p> +<p> +<i>First youth</i>. It is.</p> +<p> +<i>Second youth</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Nor is it wonderful that one whose arm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might bolt a city gate, should keep from harm<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The whole broad earth dark-belted by the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For when the gods in heaven with demons fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dushyanta's bow and Indra's weapon bright<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are their reliance for the victory.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>The two youths</i> (<i>approaching</i>). Victory, O King!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>rising</i>). I salute you.</p> +<p> +<i>The two youths</i>. All hail! (<i>They offer fruit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>receiving it and bowing low</i>). May I know the reason of your +coming?</p> +<p> +<i>The two youths</i>. The hermits have learned that you are here, and they +request—</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. They command rather.</p> +<p> +<i>The two youths</i>. The powers of evil disturb our pious life in the +absence of the hermit-father. We therefore ask that you will remain a +few nights with your charioteer to protect the hermitage.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I shall be most happy to do so.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>to the king</i>). You rather seem to like being collared this +way.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Raivataka, tell my charioteer to drive up, and to bring the +bow and arrows.</p> +<p> +<i>Raivataka</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>Exit</i>)</p> +<p> +<i>The two youths</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Thou art a worthy scion of<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The kings who ruled our nation<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And found, defending those in need,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their truest consecration.<br /></span></p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Pray go +before. And I will follow straightway.</p> +<p> +<i>The two youths</i>. Victory, O King! (<i>Exeunt</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Madhavya, have you no curiosity to see Shakuntala?</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. I <i>did</i> have an unending curiosity, but this talk about the +powers of evil has put an end to it.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Do not fear. You will be with me.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. I'll stick close to your chariot-wheel. (<i>Enter the +door-keeper</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Door-keeper</i>. Your Majesty, the chariot is ready, and awaits your +departure to victory. But one Karabhaka has come from the city, a +messenger from the queen-mother.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>respectfully</i>). Sent by my mother?</p> +<p> +<i>Door-keeper</i>. Yes.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Let him enter.</p> +<p> +<i>Door-keeper</i> (<i>goes out and returns with</i> KARABHAKA). Karabhaka, here +is his Majesty. You may draw near.</p> +<p> +<i>Karabhaka</i> (<i>approaching and bowing low</i>). Victory to your Majesty. +The queen-mother sends her commands—</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What are her commands?</p> +<p> +<i>Karabhaka</i>. She plans to end a fasting ceremony on the fourth day +from to-day. And on that occasion her dear son must not fail to wait +upon her.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. On the one side is my duty to the hermits, on the other my +mother's command. Neither may be disregarded. What is to be done?</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>laughing</i>). Stay half-way between, like Trishanku.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. In truth, I am perplexed.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Two inconsistent duties sever<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My mind with cruel shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when the current of a river<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is split upon a rock.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He reflects</i>.) My friend, the queen-mother has always felt toward +you as toward a son. Do you return, tell her what duty keeps me here, +and yourself perform the offices of a son.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. You don't think I am afraid of the devils?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>smiling</i>). O mighty Brahman, who could suspect it?</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. But I want to travel like a prince.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I will send all the soldiers with you, for the pious grove +must not be disturbed. <i>Clown</i> (<i>strutting</i>). Aha! Look at the +heir-apparent!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). The fellow is a chatterbox. He might betray my +longing to the ladies of the palace. Good, then! (<i>He takes the clown +by the hand. Aloud</i>.) Friend Madhavya, my reverence for the hermits +draws me to the hermitage. Do not think that I am really in love with +the hermit-girl. Just think:</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">A king, and a girl of the calm hermit-grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bred with the fawns, and a stranger to love!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then do not imagine a serious quest;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The light words I uttered were spoken in jest.</span></p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Oh, I understand that well enough. (<i>Exeunt ambo</i>.)</p> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>ACT III</b> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>THE LOVE-MAKING</b> +<br /></p> +<p> +(<i>Enter a pupil, with sacred grass for the sacrifice</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Pupil</i> (<i>with meditative astonishment</i>). How great is the power of +King Dushyanta! Since his arrival our rites have been undisturbed.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He does not need to bend the bow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For every evil thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Awaiting not the arrow, flees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the twanging of the string.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Well, I will take this sacred grass to the priests, to strew the +altar. (<i>He walks and looks about, then speaks to some one not +visible</i>.) Priyamvada, for whom are you carrying this cuscus-salve and +the fibrous lotus-leaves? (<i>He listens</i>.) What do you say? That +Shakuntala has become seriously ill from the heat, and that these +things are to relieve her suffering? Give her the best of care, +Priyamvada. She is the very life of the hermit-father. And I will give +Gautami the holy water for her. (<i>Exit. Enter the lovelorn king</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>with a meditative sigh</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">I know that stern religion's power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Keeps guardian watch my maiden o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet all my heart flows straight to her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like water to the valley-floor.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Oh, mighty Love, thine arrows are made of flowers. How can they be so +sharp? (<i>He recalls something</i>.) Ah, I understand.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Shiva's devouring wrath still burns in thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As burns the eternal fire beneath the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Else how couldst thou, thyself long since consumed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kindle the fire that flames so ruthlessly?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Indeed, the moon and thou inspire confidence, only to deceive the host +of lovers.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Thy shafts are blossoms; coolness streams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From moon-rays: thus the poets sing;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But to the lovelorn, falsehood seems<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To lurk in such imagining;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The moon darts fire from frosty beams;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy flowery arrows cut and sting.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +And yet</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">If Love will trouble her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose great eyes madden me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I greet him unafraid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though wounded ceaselessly.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +O mighty god, wilt thou not show me mercy after such reproaches?</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">With tenderness unending<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I cherished thee when small,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In vain—thy bow is bending;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On me thine arrows fall.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My care for thee to such a plight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has brought me; and it serves me right.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +I have driven off the powers of evil, and the hermits have dismissed +me. Where shall I go now to rest from my weariness? (<i>He sighs</i>.) +There is no rest for me except in seeing her whom I love. (<i>He looks +up</i>.) She usually spends these hours of midday heat with her friends +on the vine-wreathed banks of the Malini. I will go there. (<i>He walks +and looks about</i>.) I believe the slender maiden has just passed +through this corridor of young trees. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The stems from which she gathered flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are still unhealed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sap where twigs were broken off<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is uncongealed.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He feels a breeze stirring</i>.) This is a pleasant spot, with the wind +among the trees.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Limbs that love's fever seizes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their fervent welcome pay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To lotus-fragrant breezes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That bear the river-spray.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> + (<i>He studies the ground</i>.) Ah, Shakuntala must be in this reedy +bower. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">In white sand at the door<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fresh footprints appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The toe lightly outlined,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The heel deep and clear.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +I will hide among the branches, and see what happens. (<i>He does so. +Joyfully</i>.) Ah, my eyes have found their heaven. Here is the darling +of my thoughts, lying upon a flower-strewn bench of stone, and +attended by her two friends. I will hear what they say to each other. +(<i>He stands gazing. Enter</i> SHAKUNTALA <i>with her two friends</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>fanning her</i>). Do you feel better, dear, when we +fan you with these lotus-leaves?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>wearily</i>). Oh, are you fanning me, my dear girls? (<i>The +two friends look sorrowfully at each other</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. She is seriously ill. (<i>Doubtfully</i>.) Is it the heat, or is it +as I hope? (<i>Decidedly</i>.) It <i>must</i> be so.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">With salve upon her breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With loosened lotus-chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My darling, sore oppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is lovely in her pain.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">Though love and summer heat<br /></span> +<span class="i4">May work an equal woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No maiden seems so sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When summer lays her low.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>aside to</i> ANUSUYA). Anusuya, since she first saw the +good king, she has been greatly troubled. I do not believe her fever +has any other cause.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. I suspect you are right. I am going to ask her. My dear, I +must ask you something. You are in a high fever.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is too true.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Her lotus-chains that were as white<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As moonbeams shining in the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Betray the fever's awful pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fading, show a darker stain.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>half rising</i>.) Well, say whatever you like. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Shakuntala dear, you have not told us what is going on in +your mind. But I have heard old, romantic stories, and I can't help +thinking that you are in a state like that of a lady in love. Please +tell us what hurts you. We have to understand the disease before we +can even try to cure it.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Anusuya expresses my own thoughts.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. It hurts me terribly. I can't tell you all at once.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Anusuya is right, dear. Why do you hide your trouble? +You are wasting away every day. You are nothing but a beautiful +shadow.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Priyamvada is right. See!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Her cheeks grow thin; her breast and shoulders fail;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her waist is weary and her face is pale:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She fades for love; oh, pitifully sweet!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As vine-leaves wither in the scorching heat.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>sighing</i>). I could not tell any one else. But I shall +be a burden to you.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. That is why we insist on knowing, dear. Grief must +be shared to be endured.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">To friends who share her joy and grief<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She tells what sorrow laid her here;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She turned to look her love again<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When first I saw her—yet I fear!<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Ever since I saw the good king who protects the pious +grove—(<i>She stops and fidgets</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. Go on, dear.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I love him, and it makes me feel like this.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. Good, good! You have found a lover worthy of your +devotion. But of course, a great river always runs into the sea.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>joyfully</i>). I have heard what I longed to hear.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">'Twas love that caused the burning pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis love that eases it again;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when, upon a sultry day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rain breaks, and washes grief away.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Then, if you think best, make the good king take pity +upon me. If not, remember that I was. <i>King</i>. Her words end all +doubt.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>aside to</i> ANUSUYA). Anusuya, she is far gone in love +and cannot endure any delay.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Priyamvada, can you think of any scheme by which we could +carry out her wishes quickly and secretly?</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. We must plan about the "secretly." The "quickly" is not +hard.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. How so?</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Why, the good king shows his love for her in his tender +glances, and he has been wasting away, as if he were losing sleep.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is quite true.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The hot tears, flowing down my cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All night on my supporting arm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on its golden bracelet, seek<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To stain the gems and do them harm.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">The bracelet slipping o'er the scars<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon the wasted arm, that show<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My deeds in hunting and in wars,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All night is moving to and fro.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>reflecting</i>). Well, she must write him a love-letter. +And I will hide it in a bunch of flowers and see that it gets into the +king's hand as if it were a relic of the sacrifice.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. It is a pretty plan, dear, and it pleases me. What does +Shakuntala say?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I suppose I must obey orders.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Then compose a pretty little love-song, with a hint of +yourself in it.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I'll try. But my heart trembles, for fear he will +despise me.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Here stands the eager lover, and you pale<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For fear lest he disdain a love so kind:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The seeker may find fortune, or may fail;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But how could fortune, seeking, fail to find?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +And again:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The ardent lover comes, and yet you fear<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lest he disdain love's tribute, were it brought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hope of which has led his footsteps here—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pearls need not seek, for they themselves are sought.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. You are too modest about your own charms. Would +anybody put up a parasol to keep off the soothing autumn moonlight?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>smiling</i>). I suppose I shall have to obey orders. (<i>She +meditates</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is only natural that I should forget to wink when I see my +darling. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">One clinging eyebrow lifted,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As fitting words she seeks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her face reveals her passion<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For me in glowing cheeks.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Well, I have thought out a little song. But I haven't +anything to write with.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Here is a lotus-leaf, glossy as a parrot's breast. You +can cut the letters in it with your nails.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Now listen, and tell me whether it makes sense.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. Please.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>reads</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">I know not if I read your heart aright;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why, pitiless, do you distress me so?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I only know that longing day and night<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tosses my restless body to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That yearns for you, the source of all its woe.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>advancing</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Though Love torments you, slender maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet he consumes me quite,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As daylight shuts night-blooming flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And slays the moon outright.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>perceive the king and rise joyfully</i>). Welcome to +the wish that is fulfilled without delay. (SHAKUNTALA <i>tries to +rise</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Do not try to rise, beautiful Shakuntala.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your limbs from which the strength is fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That crush the blossoms of your bed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bruise the lotus-leaves, may be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pardoned a breach of courtesy.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> + <i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>sadly to herself</i>). Oh, my heart, you were so +impatient, and now you find no answer to make.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Your Majesty, pray do this stone bench the honour of +sitting upon it. (SHAKUNTALA <i>edges away</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>seating himself</i>). Priyamvada, I trust your friend's illness +is not dangerous.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>smiling</i>). A remedy is being applied and it will soon +be better. It is plain, sir, that you and she love each other. But I +love her too, and I must say something over again.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Pray do not hesitate. It always causes pain in the end, to +leave unsaid what one longs to say.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Then listen, sir.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I am all attention.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. It is the king's duty to save hermit-folk from all +suffering. Is not that good Scripture?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. There is no text more urgent.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Well, our friend has been brought to this sad state by +her love for you. Will you not take pity on her and save her life?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. We cherish the same desire. I feel it a great honour.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>with a jealous smile</i>). Oh, don't detain the good king. +He is separated from the court ladies, and he is anxious to go back to +them.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Bewitching eyes that found my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You surely see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It could no longer live apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor faithless be.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I bear Love's arrows as I can;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wound not with doubt a wounded man.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. But, your Majesty, we hear that kings have many favourites. +You must act in such a way that our friend may not become a cause of +grief to her family.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What more can I say?</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Though many queens divide my court,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But two support the throne;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your friend will find a rival in<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The sea-girt earth alone.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. We are content. (SHAKUNTALA <i>betrays her joy</i>.) +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>aside to</i> ANUSUYA). Look, Anusuya! See how the dear +girl's life is coming back moment by moment—just like a peahen in +summer when the first rainy breezes come.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. You must please ask the king's pardon for the rude +things we said when we were talking together.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Anybody who says it was rude, may ask +his pardon. Nobody else feels guilty.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Your Majesty, pray forgive what we said when we did not +know that you were present. I am afraid that we say a great many +things behind a person's back.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>smiling</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Your fault is pardoned if I may<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Relieve my weariness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By sitting on the flower-strewn couch<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Your fevered members press.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. But that will not be enough to satisfy him.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>feigning anger</i>). Stop! You are a rude girl. You make +fun of me when I am in this condition.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i> (<i>looking out of the arbour</i>). Priyamvada, there is a little +fawn, looking all about him. He has probably lost his mother and is +trying to find her. I am going to help him.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. He is a frisky little fellow. You can't catch him alone. +I'll go with you. (<i>They start to go</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I will not let you go and leave me alone.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>smiling</i>). You alone, when the king of the world +is with you! (<i>Exeunt</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Are my friends gone?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>looking about</i>). Do not be anxious, beautiful Shakuntala. +Have you not a humble servant here, to take the place of your friends? +Then tell me:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Shall I employ the moistened lotus-leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To fan away your weariness and grief?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or take your lily feet upon my knee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And rub them till you rest more easily?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I will not offend against those to whom I owe honour. +(<i>She rises weakly and starts to walk away</i>.) <i>King</i> (<i>detaining +her</i>). The day is still hot, beautiful Shakuntala, and you are +feverish.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Leave not the blossom-dotted couch<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To wander in the midday heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With lotus-petals on your breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With fevered limbs and stumbling feet.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He lays his hand upon her</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Oh, don't! Don't! For I am not mistress of myself. Yet +what can I do now? I had no one to help me but my friends.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I am rebuked.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I was not thinking of your Majesty. I was accusing fate.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Why accuse a fate that brings what you desire?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Why not accuse a fate that robs me of self-control and +tempts me with the virtues of another?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Though deeply longing, maids are coy<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And bid their wooers wait;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though eager for united joy<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In love, they hesitate.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">Love cannot torture them, nor move<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their hearts to sudden mating;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perhaps they even torture love<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By their procrastinating.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(SHAKUNTALA <i>moves away</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Why should I not have my way? (<i>He approaches and seizes her +dress</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Oh, sir! Be a gentleman. There are hermits wandering +about.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Do not fear your family, beautiful Shakuntala. Father Kanva +knows the holy law. He will not regret it.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">For many a hermit maiden who<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By simple, voluntary rite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dispensed with priest and witness, yet<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Found favour in her father's sight.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He looks about</i>.) Ah, I have come into the open air. (<i>He leaves</i> +SHAKUNTALA <i>and retraces his steps</i>.) <i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>takes a step, +then turns with an eager gesture</i>).</p> +<p> +O King, I cannot do as you would have me. You hardly know me after +this short talk. But oh, do not forget me.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">When evening comes, the shadow of the tree<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is cast far forward, yet does not depart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even so, belovèd, wheresoe'er you be,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The thought of you can never leave my heart.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>takes a few steps. To herself</i>). Oh, oh! When I hear +him speak so, my feet will not move away. I will hide in this amaranth +hedge and see how long his love lasts. (<i>She hides and waits</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Oh, my belovèd, my love for you is my whole life, yet +you leave me and go away without a thought.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Your body, soft as siris-flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Engages passion's utmost powers;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How comes it that your heart is hard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As stalks that siris-blossoms guard?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. When I hear this, I have no power to go.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What have I to do here, where she is not? (<i>He gazes on the +ground</i>.) Ah, I cannot go.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The perfumed lotus-chain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That once was worn by her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fetters and keeps my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A hopeless prisoner. (<i>He lifts it reverently</i>.)<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>looking at her arm</i>). Why, I was so weak and ill that +when the lotus-bracelet fell off, I did not even notice it.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>laying the lotus-bracelet on his heart</i>). Ah!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Once, dear, on your sweet arm it lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on my heart shall ever stay;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though you disdain to give me joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I find it in a lifeless toy.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I cannot hold back after that. I will use the bracelet +as an excuse for my coming. (<i>She approaches</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>seeing her. Joyfully</i>). The queen of my life! As soon as I +complained, fate proved kind to me.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">No sooner did the thirsty bird<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With parching throat complain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than forming clouds in heaven stirred<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And sent the streaming rain.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>standing before the king</i>). When I was going away, sir, +I remembered that this lotus-bracelet had fallen from my arm, and I +have come back for it. My heart seemed to tell me that you had taken +it. Please give it back, or you will betray me, and yourself too, to +the hermits.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I will restore it on one condition.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. What condition?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. That I may myself place it where it belongs.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>to herself</i>). What can I do? (<i>She approaches</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Let us sit on this stone bench. (<i>They walk to the bench and +sit down</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>taking</i> SHAKUNTALA'S <i>hand</i>). Ah!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">When Shiva's anger burned the tree<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of love in quenchless fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Did heavenly fate preserve a shoot<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To deck my heart's desire?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>feeling his touch</i>). Hasten, my dear, hasten.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>joyfully to himself</i>). Now I am content. She speaks as a wife +to her husband. (<i>Aloud</i>.) Beautiful Shakuntala, the clasp of the +bracelet is not very firm. May I fasten it in another way?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>smiling</i>). If you like.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>artfully delaying before he fastens it</i>). See, my beautiful +girl!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The lotus-chain is dazzling white<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As is the slender moon at night.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perhaps it was the moon on high<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That joined her horns and left the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Believing that your lovely arm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would, more than heaven, enhance her charm.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I cannot see it. The pollen from the lotus over my ear +has blown into my eye.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Will you permit me to blow it away?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I should not like to be an object of pity. But why +should I not trust you? <i>King</i>. Do not have such thoughts. A new +servant does not transgress orders.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. It is this exaggerated courtesy that frightens me.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). I shall not break the bonds of this sweet +servitude. (<i>He starts to raise her face to his</i>. SHAKUNTALA <i>resists +a little, then is passive</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Oh, my bewitching girl, have no fear of me.</p> +<p> +(SHAKUNTALA <i>darts a glance at him, then looks down. The king raises +her face. Aside</i>.)</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Her sweetly trembling lip<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With virgin invitation<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Provokes my soul to sip<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Delighted fascination.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. You seem slow, dear, in fulfilling your promise.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. The lotus over your ear is so near your eye, and so like it, +that I was confused. (<i>He gently blows her eye</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Thank you. I can see quite well now. But I am ashamed +not to make any return for your kindness.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What more could I ask?</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">It ought to be enough for me<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To hover round your fragrant face;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is not the lotus-haunting bee<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Content with perfume and with grace?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. But what does he do if he is not content?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. This! This! (<i>He draws her face to his</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>A voice behind the scenes</i>. O sheldrake bride, bid your mate +farewell. The night is come.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>listening excitedly</i>). Oh, my dear, this is Mother +Gautami, come to inquire about me. Please hide among the branches. +(<i>The king conceals himself. Enter </i> GAUTAMI, <i>with a bowl in her +hand</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. Here is the holy water, my child. (<i>She sees </i> SHAKUNTALA +<i>and helps her to rise</i>.) So ill, and all alone here with the gods?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. It was just a moment ago that Priyamvada and Anusuya +went down to the river.</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i> (<i>sprinkling</i> SHAKUNTALA <i>with the holy water</i>). May you +live long and happy, my child. Has the fever gone down? (<i>She touches +her</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. There is a difference, mother.</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. The sun is setting. Come, let us go to the cottage.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>weakly rising. To herself</i>). Oh, my heart, you delayed +when your desire came of itself. Now see what you have done. (<i>She +takes a step, then turns around. Aloud</i>.) O bower that took away my +pain, I bid you farewell until another blissful hour. (<i>Exeunt</i> +SHAKUNTALA <i>and</i> GAUTAMI.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>advancing with a sigh</i>.) The path to happiness is strewn with +obstacles.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Her face, adorned with soft eye-lashes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Adorable with trembling flashes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of half-denial, in memory lingers;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sweet lips guarded by her fingers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The head that drooped upon her shoulder—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why was I not a little bolder?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Where shall I go now? Let me stay a moment in this bower where my +belovèd lay. (<i>He looks about</i>.)</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The flower-strewn bed whereon her body tossed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bracelet, fallen from her arm and lost;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dear love-missive, in the lotus-leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cut by her nails: assuage my absent grief<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And occupy my eyes—I have no power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though she is gone, to leave the reedy bower.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He reflects</i>.) Alas! I did wrong to delay when I had found my love. +So now</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">If she will grant me but one other meeting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll not delay; for happiness is fleeting;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So plans my foolish, self-defeated heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when she comes, I play the coward's part.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>A voice behind the scenes</i>. O King!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The flames rise heavenward from the evening altar;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And round the sacrifices, blazing high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flesh-eating demons stalk, like red cloud-masses,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And cast colossal shadows on the sky.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>listens. Resolutely</i>). Have no fear, hermits. I am here. +(<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>ACT IV</b> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>SHAKUNTALA'S DEPARTURE</b> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<b>SCENE I</b></p> +<p> +(<i>Enter the two friends, gathering flowers</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Priyamvada, dear Shakuntala has been properly married by +the voluntary ceremony and she has a husband worthy of her. And yet I +am not quite satisfied.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Why not?</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. The sacrifice is over and the good king was dismissed +to-day by the hermits. He has gone back to the city and there he is +surrounded by hundreds of court ladies. I wonder whether he will +remember poor Shakuntala or not.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. You need not be anxious about that. Such handsome men +are sure to be good. But there is something else to think about. I +don't know what Father will have to say when he comes back from his +pilgrimage and hears about it.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. I believe that he will be pleased.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Why?</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Why not? You know he wanted to give his daughter to a lover +worthy of her. If fate brings this about of itself, why shouldn't +Father be happy?</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. I suppose you are right. (<i>She looks at her +flower-basket</i>.) My dear, we have gathered flowers enough for the +sacrifice.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. But we must make an offering to the gods that watch over +Shakuntala's marriage. We had better gather more.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Very well. (<i>They do so</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>A voice behind the scenes</i>. Who will bid me welcome?</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i> (<i>listening</i>). My dear, it sounds like a guest announcing +himself.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Well, Shakuntala is near the cottage. (<i>Reflecting</i>.) +Ah, but to-day her heart is far away. Come, we must do with the +flowers we have. (<i>They start to walk away</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>The voice</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Do you dare despise a guest like me?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because your heart, by loving fancies blinded,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Has scorned a guest in pious life grown old,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your lover shall forget you though reminded,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or think of you as of a story told.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>The two girls listen and show dejection</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Oh, dear! The very thing has happened. The dear, +absent-minded girl has offended some worthy man.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i> (<i>looking ahead</i>). My dear, this is no ordinary somebody. It +is the great sage Durvasas, the irascible. See how he strides away!</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Nothing burns like fire. Run, fall at his feet, bring +him back, while I am getting water to wash his feet.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. I will. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>stumbling</i>). There! I stumbled in my excitement, and +the flower-basket fell out of my hand. (<i>She collects the scattered +flowers</i>. ANUSUYA <i>returns</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. My dear, he is anger incarnate. Who could appease him? But +I softened him a little.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Even that is a good deal for him. Tell me about it.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. When he would not turn back, I fell at his feet and prayed +to him. "Holy sir," I said, "remember her former devotion and pardon +this offence. Your daughter did not recognise your great and holy +power to-day."</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. And then—</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Then he said: "My words must be fulfilled. But the curse +shall be lifted when her lover sees a gem which he has given her for a +token." And so he vanished.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. We can breathe again. When the good king went away, he +put a ring, engraved with his own name, on Shakuntala's finger to +remember him by. That will save her.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Come, we must finish the sacrifice for her. (<i>They walk +about</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>gazing</i>). Just look, Anusuya! There is the dear girl, +with her cheek resting on her left hand. She looks like a painted +picture. She is thinking about him. How could she notice a guest when +she has forgotten herself?</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Priyamvada, we two must keep this thing to ourselves. We +must be careful of the dear girl. You know how delicate she is.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Would any one sprinkle a jasmine-vine with scalding +water? (<i>Exeunt ambo</i>.)</p> +<p> +SCENE II.—<i>Early Morning</i></p> +<p> +(<i>Enter a pupil of</i> KANVA, <i>just risen from sleep</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Pupil</i>. Father Kanva has returned from his pilgrimage, and has bidden +me find out what time it is. I will go into the open air and see how +much of the night remains. (<i>He walks and looks about</i>.) See! The dawn +is breaking. For already</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The moon behind the western mount is sinking;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The eastern sun is heralded by dawn;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From heaven's twin lights, their fall and glory linking,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brave lessons of submission may be drawn.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +And again:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Night-blooming lilies, when the moon is hidden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have naught but memories of beauty left.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hard, hard to bear! Her lot whom heaven has bidden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To live alone, of love and lover reft.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +And again:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">On jujube-trees the blushing dewdrops falter;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The peacock wakes and leaves the cottage thatch;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A deer is rising near the hoof-marked altar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And stretching, stands, the day's new life to catch.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +And yet again:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The moon that topped the loftiest mountain ranges,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That slew the darkness in the midmost sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is fallen from heaven, and all her glory changes:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So high to rise, so low at last to lie!<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i> (<i>entering hurriedly. To herself</i>). That is just what +happens to the innocent. Shakuntala has been treated shamefully by the +king. <i>Pupil</i>. I will tell Father Kanva that the hour of morning +sacrifice is come. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. The dawn is breaking. I am awake bright and early. But what +shall I do now that I am awake? My hands refuse to attend to the +ordinary morning tasks. Well, let love take its course. For the dear, +pure-minded girl trusted him—the traitor! Perhaps it is not the good +king's fault. It must be the curse of Durvasas. Otherwise, how could +the good king say such beautiful things, and then let all this time +pass without even sending a message? (<i>She reflects</i>.) Yes, we must +send him the ring he left as a token. But whom shall we ask to take +it? The hermits are unsympathetic because they have never suffered. It +seemed as if her friends were to blame and so, try as we might, we +could not tell Father Kanva that Shakuntala was married to Dushyanta +and was expecting a baby. Oh, what shall we do? (<i>Enter</i> PRIYAMVADA.)</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Hurry, Anusuya, hurry! We are getting Shakuntala ready +for her journey.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i> (<i>astonished</i>). What do you mean, my dear?</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamuada</i>. Listen. I just went to Shakuntala, to ask if she had +slept well.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. And then—</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. I found her hiding her face for shame, and Father Kanva +was embracing her and encouraging her. "My child," he said, "I bring +you joy. The offering fell straight in the sacred fire, and auspicious +smoke rose toward the sacrificer. My pains for you have proved like +instruction given to a good student; they have brought me no regret. +This very day I shall give you an escort of hermits and send you to +your husband."</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. But, my dear, who told Father Kanva about it?</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. A voice from heaven that recited a verse when he had +entered the fire-sanctuary.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i> (<i>astonished</i>). What did it say?</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. Listen. (<i>Speaking in good Sanskrit</i>.)</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Know, Brahman, that your child,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like the fire-pregnant tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bears kingly seed that shall be born<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For earth's prosperity.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> + <i>Anusuya</i> (<i>hugging</i> PRIYAMVADA). I am so glad, dear. But my joy is +half sorrow when I think that Shakuntala is going to be taken away +this very day.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. We must hide our sorrow as best we can. The poor girl +must be made happy to-day.</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Well, here is a cocoa-nut casket, hanging on a branch of +the mango-tree. I put flower-pollen in it for this very purpose. It +keeps fresh, you know. Now you wrap it in a lotus-leaf, and I will get +yellow pigment and earth from a sacred spot and blades of panic grass +for the happy ceremony. (PRIYAMVADA <i>does so. Exit</i> ANUSUYA.)</p> +<p> +<i>A voice behind the scenes</i>. Gautami, bid the worthy Sharngarava and +Sharadvata make ready to escort my daughter Shakuntala.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>listening</i>). Hurry, Anusuya, hurry! They are calling +the hermits who are going to Hastinapura. (<i>Enter</i> ANUSUYA, <i>with +materials for the ceremony</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. Come, dear, let us go. (<i>They walk about</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>looking ahead</i>). There is Shakuntala. She took the +ceremonial bath at sunrise, and now the hermit-women are giving her +rice-cakes and wishing her happiness. Let's go to her. (<i>They do so. +Enter</i> SHAKUNTALA <i>with attendants as described, and</i> GAUTAMI.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Holy women, I salute you.</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. My child, may you receive the happy title "queen," showing +that your husband honours you.</p> +<p> +<i>Hermit-women</i>. My dear, may you become the mother of a hero. (<i>Exeunt +all but</i> GAUTAMI.)</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>approaching</i>). Did you have a good bath, dear?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Good morning, girls. Sit here.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>seating themselves</i>). Now stand straight, while we +go through the happy ceremony.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. It has happened often enough, but I ought to be very +grateful to-day. Shall I ever be adorned by my friends again? (<i>She +weeps</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. You ought not to weep, dear, at this happy time. +(<i>They wipe the tears away and adorn her</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. You are so beautiful, you ought to have the finest gems. +It seems like an insult to give you these hermitage things. (<i>Enter</i> +HARITA, <i>a hermit-youth with ornaments</i>.) <i>Harita</i>. Here are +ornaments for our lady. (<i>The women look at them in astonishment</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. Harita, my son, whence come these things?</p> +<p> +<i>Harita</i>. From the holy power of Father Kanva.</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. A creation of his mind?</p> +<p> +<i>Harita</i>. Not quite. Listen. Father Kanva sent us to gather blossoms +from the trees for Shakuntala, and then</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">One tree bore fruit, a silken marriage dress<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That shamed the moon in its white loveliness;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Another gave us lac-dye for the feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From others, fairy hands extended, sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like flowering twigs, as far as to the wrist,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gave us gems, to adorn her as we list.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i> (<i>Looking at</i> SHAKUNTALA). A bee may be born in a hole in +a tree, but she likes the honey of the lotus.</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. This gracious favour is a token of the queenly happiness +which you are to enjoy in your husband's palace. (SHAKUNTALA <i>shows +embarrassment</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Harita</i>. Father Kanva has gone to the bank of the Malini, to perform +his ablutions. I will tell him of the favour shown us by the trees. +(<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. My dear, we poor girls never saw such ornaments. How shall +we adorn you? (<i>She stops to think, and to look at the ornaments</i>.) +But we have seen pictures. Perhaps we can arrange them right.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I know how clever you are. (<i>The two friends adorn her. +Enter</i> KANVA, <i>returning after his ablutions</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Shakuntala must go to-day;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I miss her now at heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I dare not speak a loving word<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or choking tears will start.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">My eyes are dim with anxious thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love strikes me to the life:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet I strove for pious peace—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have no child, no wife.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">What must a father feel, when come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pangs of parting from his child at home?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He walks about</i>.) <i>The two friends</i>. There, Shakuntala, we have +arranged your ornaments. Now put on this beautiful silk dress. +(SHAKUNTALA <i>rises and does so</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. My child, here is your father. The eyes with which he seems +to embrace you are overflowing with tears of joy. You must greet him +properly. (SHAKUNTALA <i>makes a shamefaced reverence</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. My child,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Like Sharmishtha, Yayati's wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Win favour measured by your worth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And may you bear a kingly son<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like Puru, who shall rule the earth.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. My child, this is not a prayer, but a benediction.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. My daughter, walk from left to right about the fires in which +the offering has just been thrown. (<i>All walk about</i>.)</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The holy fires around the altar kindle,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And at their margins sacred grass is piled;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath their sacrificial odours dwindle<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Misfortunes. May the fires protect you, child!<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(SHAKUNTALA <i>walks about them from left to right</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. Now you may start, my daughter. (<i>He glances about</i>.) Where +are Sharngarava and Sharadvata? (<i>Enter the two pupils</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>The two pupils</i>. We are here, Father.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. Sharngarava, my son, lead the way for your sister.</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. Follow me. (<i>They all walk about</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. O trees of the pious grove, in which the fairies dwell,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">She would not drink till she had wet<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Your roots, a sister's duty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor pluck your flowers; she loves you yet<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Far more than selfish beauty.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">'Twas festival in her pure life<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When budding blossoms showed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now she leaves you as a wife—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oh, speed her on her road!<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> + <i>Sharngarava</i> (<i>listening to the song of koïl-birds</i>). Father,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The trees are answering your prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In cooing cuckoo-song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bidding Shakuntala farewell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their sister for so long.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Invisible beings</i>,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">May lily-dotted lakes delight your eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May shade-trees bid the heat of noonday cease;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May soft winds blow the lotus-pollen nigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May all your path be pleasantness and peace.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>All listen in astonishment</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. My child, the fairies of the pious grove bid you farewell. +For they love the household. Pay reverence to the holy ones.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>does so. Aside to</i> PRIYAMVADA). Priyamvada, I long to +see my husband, and yet my feet will hardly move. It is hard, hard to +leave the hermitage.</p> +<p> +<i>Priyamvada</i>. You are not the only one to feel sad at this farewell. +See how the whole grove feels at parting from you.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The grass drops from the feeding doe;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The peahen stops her dance;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pale, trembling leaves are falling slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tears of clinging plants.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>recalling something</i>). Father, I must say good-bye to +the spring-creeper, my sister among the vines.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. I know your love for her. See! Here she is at your right +hand.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>approaches the vine and embraces it</i>). Vine sister, +embrace me too with your arms, these branches. I shall be far away +from you after to-day. Father, you must care for her as you did for +me.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">My child, you found the lover who<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had long been sought by me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No longer need I watch for you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll give the vine a lover true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This handsome mango-tree.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +And now start on your journey. <i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>going to the two +friends</i>). Dear girls, I leave her in your care too.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. But who will care for poor us? (<i>They shed tears</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. Anusuya! Priyamvada! Do not weep. It is you who should cheer +Shakuntala. (<i>All walk about</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Father, there is the pregnant doe, wandering about near +the cottage. When she becomes a happy mother, you must send some one +to bring me the good news. Do not forget.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. I shall not forget, my child.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>stumbling</i>) Oh, oh! Who is it that keeps pulling at my +dress, as if to hinder me? (<i>She turns round to see</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">It is the fawn whose lip, when torn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By kusha-grass, you soothed with oil;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fawn who gladly nibbled corn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Held in your hand; with loving toil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You have adopted him, and he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would never leave you willingly.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. My dear, why should you follow me when I am going away +from home? Your mother died when you were born and I brought you up. +Now I am leaving you, and Father Kanva will take care of you. Go back, +dear! Go back! (<i>She walks away, weeping</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. Do not weep, my child. Be brave. Look at the path before you.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Be brave, and check the rising tears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That dim your lovely eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your feet are stumbling on the path<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That so uneven lies.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. Holy Father, the Scripture declares that one should +accompany a departing loved one only to the first water. Pray give us +your commands on the bank of this pond, and then return.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. Then let us rest in the shade of this fig-tree. (<i>All do +so</i>.) What commands would it be fitting for me to lay on King +Dushyanta? (<i>He reflects</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Anusuya</i>. My dear, there is not a living thing in the whole +hermitage that is not grieving to-day at saying good-bye to you. Look!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The sheldrake does not heed his mate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who calls behind the lotus-leaf;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He drops the lily from his bill<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And turns on you a glance of grief.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. Son Sharngarava, when you present Shakuntala to the king, +give him this message from me.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Remembering my religious worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your own high race, the love poured forth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By her, forgetful of her friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pay her what honour custom lends<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To all your wives. And what fate gives<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond, will please her relatives.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. I will not forget your message, Father.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i> (<i>turning to</i> SHAKUNTALA). My child, I must now give you my +counsel. Though I live in the forest, I have some knowledge of the +world.</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. True wisdom, Father, gives insight into everything.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. My child, when you have entered your husband's home,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Obey your elders; and be very kind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To rivals; never be perversely blind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And angry with your husband, even though he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should prove less faithful than a man might be;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be as courteous to servants as you may,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not puffed with pride in this your happy day:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus does a maiden grow into a wife;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But self-willed women are the curse of life.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +But what does Gautami say?</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. This is advice sufficient for a bride. (<i>To </i> SHAKUNTALA.) +You will not forget, my child.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. Come, my daughter, embrace me and your friends.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Oh, Father! Must my friends turn back too?</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. My daughter, they too must some day be given in marriage. +Therefore they may not go to court. Gautami will go with you.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>throwing her arms about her father</i>). I am torn from +my father's breast like a vine stripped from a sandal-tree on the +Malabar hills. How can I live in another soil? (<i>She weeps</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. My daughter, why distress yourself so?</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">A noble husband's honourable wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You are to spend a busy, useful life<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the world's eye; and soon, as eastern skies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bring forth the sun, from you there shall arise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A child, a blessing and a comfort strong—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You will not miss me, dearest daughter, long.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>falling at his feet</i>). Farewell, Father.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. My daughter, may all that come to you which I desire for you.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>going to her two friends</i>). Come, girls! Embrace me, +both of you together.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>do so</i>). Dear, if the good king should perhaps be +slow to recognise you, show him the ring with his own name engraved on +it.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Your doubts make my heart beat faster.</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. Do not be afraid, dear. Love is timid.</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i> (<i>looking about</i>). Father, the sun is in mid-heaven. She +must hasten.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>embracing</i> KANVA <i>once more</i>). Father, when shall I see +the pious grove again?</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. My daughter,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">When you have shared for many years<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The king's thoughts with the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When to a son who knows no fears<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You shall have given birth,<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">When, trusted to the son you love,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Your royal labours cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come with your husband to the grove<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And end your days in peace.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. My child, the hour of your departure is slipping by. Bid +your father turn back. No, she would never do that. Pray turn back, +sir.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. Child, you interrupt my duties in the pious grove.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Yes, Father. You will be busy in the grove. You will not +miss me. But oh! I miss you. <i>Kanva</i>. How can you think me so +indifferent? (<i>He sighs</i>.)</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">My lonely sorrow will not go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For seeds you scattered here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before the cottage door, will grow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I shall see them, dear.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Go. And peace go with you. (<i>Exit</i> SHAKUNTALA, <i>with</i> GAUTAMI, +SHARNGARAVA, <i>and</i> SHARADVATA.)</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i> (<i>gazing long after her. Mournfully</i>). Oh, oh! +Shakuntala is lost among the trees.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. Anusuya! Priyamvada! Your companion is gone. Choke down your +grief and follow me. (<i>They start to go back</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>The two friends</i>. Father, the grove seems empty without Shakuntala.</p> +<p> +<i>Kanva</i>. So love interprets. (<i>He walks about, sunk in thought</i>.) Ah! +I have sent Shakuntala away, and now I am myself again. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">A girl is held in trust, another's treasure;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To arms of love my child to-day is given;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now I feel a calm and sacred pleasure;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have restored the pledge that came from heaven.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>Exeunt omnes</i>.)</p> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +ACT V +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +SHAKUNTALA'S REJECTION +<br /></p> +<p> +(<i>Enter a chamberlain</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i> (<i>sighing</i>). Alas! To what a state am I reduced!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">I once assumed the staff of reed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For custom's sake alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As officer to guard at need<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ladies round the throne.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But years have passed away and made<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It serve, my tottering steps to aid.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +The king is within. I will tell him of the urgent business which +demands his attention. (<i>He takes a few steps</i>.) But what is the +business? (<i>He recalls it</i>.) Yes, I remember. Certain hermits, pupils +of Kanva, desire to see his Majesty. Strange, strange!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The mind of age is like a lamp<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose oil is running thin;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One moment it is shining bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then darkness closes in.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He walks and looks about</i>.) Here is his Majesty.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He does not seek—until a father's care<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is shown his subjects—rest in solitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As a great elephant recks not of the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until his herd is sheltered in the wood.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +In truth, I hesitate to announce the coming of Kanva's pupils to the +king. For he has this moment risen from the throne of justice. But +kings are never weary. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The sun unyokes his horses never;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blows night and day the breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shesha upholds the world forever:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And kings are like to these.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He walks about. Enter the king, the clown, and retinue according to +rank</i>.) <i>King</i> (<i>betraying the cares of office</i>). Every one is happy +on attaining his desire—except a king. His difficulties increase with +his power. Thus:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Security slays nothing but ambition;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With great possessions, troubles gather thick;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pain grows, not lessens, with a king's position,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As when one's hand must hold the sunshade's stick.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Two court poets behind the scenes</i>. Victory to your Majesty.</p> +<p> +<i>First poet</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The world you daily guard and bless,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not heeding pain or weariness;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thus is your nature made.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A tree will brave the noonday, when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun is fierce, that weary men<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May rest beneath its shade.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Second poet</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Vice bows before the royal rod;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strife ceases at your kingly nod;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You are our strong defender.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Friends come to all whose wealth is sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But you, alike to rich and poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are friend both strong and tender.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>listening</i>). Strange! I was wearied by the demands of my +office, but this renews my spirit.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Does a bull forget that he is tired when you call him the +leader of the herd?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Well, let us sit down. (<i>They seat themselves, and +the retinue arranges itself. A lute is heard behind the scenes</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>listening</i>). My friend, listen to what is going on in the +music-room. Some one is playing a lute, and keeping good time. I +suppose Lady Hansavati is practising.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Be quiet. I wish to listen.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i> (<i>looks at the king</i>). Ah, the king is occupied. I must +await his leisure. (<i>He stands aside</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>A song behind the scenes</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">You who kissed the mango-flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Honey-loving bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gave her all your passion's power,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ah, so tenderly!<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">How can you be tempted so<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the lily, pet?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fresher honey's sweet, I know;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But can you forget?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What an entrancing song!</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. But, man, don't you understand what the words mean?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>smiling</i>). I was once devoted to Queen Hansavati. And the +rebuke comes from her. Friend Madhavya, tell Queen Hansavati in my +name that the rebuke is a very pretty one.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Yes, sir. (<i>He rises</i>.) But, man, you are using another +fellow's fingers to grab a bear's tail-feathers with. I have about as +much chance of salvation as a monk who hasn't forgotten his passions.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Go. Soothe her like a gentleman.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. I suppose I must. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). Why am I filled with wistfulness on hearing +such a song? I am not separated from one I love. And yet</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">In face of sweet presentment<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or harmonies of sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Man e'er forgets contentment,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By wistful longings bound.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">There must be recollections<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of things not seen on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deep nature's predilections,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loves earlier than birth.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He shows the wistfulness that comes from unremembered things</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i> (<i>approaching</i>). Victory to your Majesty. Here are +hermits who dwell in the forest at the foot of the Himalayas. They +bring women with them, and they carry a message from Kanva. What is +your pleasure with regard to them?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>astonished</i>). Hermits? Accompanied by women? From Kanva?</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. Yes.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Request my chaplain Somarata in my name to receive these +hermits in the manner prescribed by Scripture, and to conduct them +himself before me. I will await them in a place fit for their +reception.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>rising</i>). Vetravati, conduct me to the fire-sanctuary.</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. Follow me, your Majesty. (<i>She walks about</i>) Your Majesty, +here is the terrace of the fire-sanctuary. It is beautiful, for it has +just been swept, and near at hand is the cow that yields the milk of +sacrifice. Pray ascend it.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>ascends and stands leaning on the shoulder of an attendant</i>.) +Vetravati, with what purpose does Father Kanva send these hermits to +me?</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Do leaguèd powers of sin conspire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To balk religion's pure desire?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has wrong been done to beasts that roam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Contented round the hermits' home?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do plants no longer bud and flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To warn me of abuse of power?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These doubts and more assail my mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But leave me puzzled, lost, and blind.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. How could these things be in a hermitage that rests in the +fame of the king's arm? No, I imagine they have come to pay homage to +their king, and to congratulate him on his pious rule.</p> +<p> +(<i>Enter the chaplain and the chamberlain, conducting the two pupils +of</i> KANVA, <i>with</i> GAUTAMI <i>and</i> SHAKUNTALA.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. Follow me, if you please.</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. Friend Sharadvata,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The king is noble and to virtue true;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">None dwelling here commit the deed of shame;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet we ascetics view the worldly crew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As in a house all lapped about with flame.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Sharadvata</i>. Sharngarava, your emotion on entering the city is quite +just. As for me,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Free from the world and all its ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I see them spending worldly days<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As clean men view men smeared with oil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As pure men, those whom passions soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As waking men view men asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As free men, those in bondage deep.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Chaplain</i>. That is why men like you are great.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>observing an evil omen</i>). Oh, why does my right eye +throb?</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. Heaven avert the omen, my child. May happiness wait upon +you. (<i>They walk about</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chaplain</i> (<i>indicating the king</i>). O hermits, here is he who protects +those of every station and of every age. He has already risen, and +awaits you. Behold him.</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. Yes, it is admirable, but not surprising. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Fruit-laden trees bend down to earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The water-pregnant clouds hang low;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Good men are not puffed up by power—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The unselfish are by nature so.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. Your Majesty, the hermits seem to be happy. They give you +gracious looks.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>observing</i> SHAKUNTALA). Ah!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Who is she, shrouded in the veil<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That dims her beauty's lustre,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Among the hermits like a flower<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Round which the dead leaves cluster?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. Your Majesty, she is well worth looking at.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Enough! I must not gaze upon another's wife.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>laying her hand on her breast. Aside</i>). Oh, my heart, +why tremble so? Remember his constant love and be brave.</p> +<p> +<i>Chaplain</i> (<i>advancing</i>). Hail, your Majesty. The hermits have been +received as Scripture enjoins. They have a message from their teacher. +May you be pleased to hear it.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>respectfully</i>). I am all attention.</p> +<p> +<i>The two pupils</i> (<i>raising their right hands</i>). Victory, O King.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>bowing low</i>). I salute you all.</p> +<p> +<i>The two pupils</i>. All hail.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Does your pious life proceed without disturbance?</p> +<p> +<i>The two pupils</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">How could the pious duties fail<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While you defend the right?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or how could darkness' power prevail<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er sunbeams shining bright?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). Indeed, my royal title is no empty one. +(<i>Aloud</i>.) Is holy Kanva in health?</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. O King, those who have religious power can command +health. He asks after your welfare and sends this message.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What are his commands?</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. He says: "Since you have met this my daughter and have +married her, I give you my glad consent. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">You are the best of worthy men, they say;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And she, I know, Good Works personified;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Creator wrought for ever and a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In wedding such a virtuous groom and bride.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +She is with child. Take her and live with her in virtue."</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. Bless you, sir. I should like to say that no one invites me +to speak.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Speak, mother.</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Did she with father speak or mother?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Did you engage her friends in speech?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your faith was plighted each to other;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let each be faithful now to each.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. What will my husband say?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>listening with anxious suspicion</i>). What is this insinuation?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>to herself</i>). Oh, oh! So haughty and so slanderous!</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. "What is this insinuation?" What is your question? +Surely you know the world's ways well enough.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Because the world suspects a wife<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who does not share her husband's lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her kinsmen wish her to abide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With him, although he love her not.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. You cannot mean that this young woman is my wife.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>sadly to herself</i>). Oh, my heart, you feared it, and +now it has come. <i>Sharngarava</i>. O King,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">A king, and shrink when love is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turn coward's back on truth, and flee!<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What means this dreadful accusation?</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i> (<i>furiously</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">O drunk with power! We might have known<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That you were steeped in treachery.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. A stinging rebuke!</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i> (<i>to</i> SHAKUNTALA). Forget your shame, my child. I will +remove your veil. Then your husband will recognise you. (<i>She does +so</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>observing</i> SHAKUNTALA. <i>To himself</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">As my heart ponders whether I could ever<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have wed this woman that has come to me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In tortured loveliness, as I endeavour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bring it back to mind, then like a bee<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">That hovers round a jasmine flower at dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While frosty dews of morning still o'erweave it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hesitates to sip ere they be gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I cannot taste the sweet, and cannot leave it.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Portress</i> (<i>to herself</i>). What a virtuous king he is! Would any other +man hesitate when he saw such a pearl of a woman coming of her own +accord?</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. Have you nothing to say, O King?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Hermit, I have taken thought. I cannot believe that this woman +is my wife. She is plainly with child. How can I take her, confessing +myself an adulterer?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>to herself</i>). Oh, oh, oh! He even casts doubt on our +marriage. The vine of my hope climbed high, but it is broken now.</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. Not so.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">You scorn the sage who rendered whole<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His child befouled, and choked his grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who freely gave you what you stole<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And added honour to a thief!<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Sharadvata</i>. Enough, Sharngarava. Shakuntala, we have said what we +were sent to say. You hear his words. Answer him.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>to herself</i>). He loved me so. He is so changed. Why +remind him? Ah, but I must clear my own character. Well, I will try. +(<i>Aloud</i>.) My dear husband—(<i>She stops</i>.) No, he doubts my right to +call him that. Your Majesty, it was pure love that opened my poor +heart to you in the hermitage. Then you were kind to me and gave me +your promise. Is it right for you to speak so now, and to reject me?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>stopping his ears</i>). Peace, peace!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">A stream that eats away the bank,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grows foul, and undermines the tree.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So you would stain your honour, while<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You plunge me into misery.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Very well. If you have acted so because you really fear +to touch another man's wife, I will remove your doubts with a token +you gave me.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. An excellent idea!</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>touching her finger</i>). Oh, oh! The ring is lost. (<i>She +looks sadly at</i> GAUTAMI.)</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i>. My child, you worshipped the holy Ganges at the spot where +Indra descended. The ring must have fallen there.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Ready wit, ready wit!</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Fate is too strong for me there. I will tell you +something else.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Let me hear what you have to say.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. One day, in the bower of reeds, you were holding a +lotus-leaf cup full of water.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I hear you.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. At that moment the fawn came up, my adopted son. Then +you took pity on him and coaxed him. "Let him drink first," you said. +But he did not know you, and he would not come to drink water from +your hand. But he liked it afterwards, when I held the very same +water. Then you smiled and said: "It is true. Every one trusts his own +sort. You both belong to the forest."</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is just such women, selfish, sweet, false, that entice +fools. <i>Gautami</i>. You have no right to say that. She grew up in the +pious grove. She does not know how to deceive.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Old hermit woman,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The female's untaught cunning may be seen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In beasts, far more in women selfish-wise;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cuckoo's eggs are left to hatch and rear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By foster-parents, and away she flies.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>angrily</i>). Wretch! You judge all this by your own false +heart. Would any other man do what you have done? To hide behind +virtue, like a yawning well covered over with grass!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). But her anger is free from coquetry, because +she has lived in the forest. See!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Her glance is straight; her eyes are flashing red;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her speech is harsh, not drawlingly well-bred;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her whole lip quivers, seems to shake with cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her frown has straightened eyebrows arching bold.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +No, she saw that I was doubtful, and her anger was feigned. Thus</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">When I refused but now<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hard-heartedly, to know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of love or secret vow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her eyes grew red; and so,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bending her arching brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She fiercely snapped Love's bow.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>Aloud</i>.) My good girl, Dushyanta's conduct is known to the whole +kingdom, but not this action.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Well, well. I had my way. I trusted a king, and put +myself in his hands. He had a honey face and a heart of stone. (<i>She +covers her face with her dress and weeps</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. Thus does unbridled levity burn.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Be slow to love, but yet more slow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With secret mate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With those whose hearts we do not know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love turns to hate.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Why do you trust this girl, and accuse me of an imaginary +crime? <i>Sharngarava</i> (<i>disdainfully</i>). You have learned your wisdom +upside down.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">It would be monstrous to believe<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A girl who never lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Trust those who study to deceive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And think it very wise.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Aha, my candid friend! Suppose I were to admit that I am such +a man. What would happen if I deceived the girl?</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. Ruin.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is unthinkable that ruin should fall on Puru's line.</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. Why bandy words? We have fulfilled our Father's +bidding. We are ready to return.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Leave her or take her, as you will;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She is your wife;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Husbands have power for good or ill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er woman's life.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Gautami, lead the way. (<i>They start to go</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. He has deceived me shamelessly. And will you leave me +too? (<i>She starts to follow</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Gautami</i> (<i>turns around and sees her</i>). Sharngarava, my son, +Shakuntala is following us, lamenting piteously. What can the poor +child do with a husband base enough to reject her?</p> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i> (<i>turns angrily</i>). You self-willed girl! Do you dare +show independence? (SHAKUNTALA <i>shrinks in fear</i>.) Listen.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">If you deserve such scorn and blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What will your father with your shame?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But if you know your vows are pure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Obey your husband and endure.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Remain. We must go.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Hermit, why deceive this woman? Remember:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Night-blossoms open to the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Day-blossoms to the sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A man of honour ever strives<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Another's wife to shun.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Sharngarava</i>. O King, suppose you had forgotten your former actions +in the midst of distractions. Should you now desert your wife—you who +fear to fail in virtue?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I ask <i>you</i> which is the heavier sin:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Not knowing whether I be mad<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or falsehood be in her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall I desert a faithful wife<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or turn adulterer?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Chaplain</i> (<i>considering</i>). Now if this were done—</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Instruct me, my teacher.</p> +<p> +<i>Chaplain</i>. Let the woman remain in my house until her child is born.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Why this?</p> +<p> +<i>Chaplain</i>. The chief astrologers have told you that your first child +was destined to be an emperor. If the son of the hermit's daughter is +born with the imperial birthmarks, then welcome her and introduce her +into the palace. Otherwise, she must return to her father.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is good advice, my teacher.</p> +<p> +<i>Chaplain</i> (<i>rising</i>). Follow me, my daughter.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. O mother earth, give me a grave! (<i>Exit weeping, with +the chaplain, the hermits, and</i> GAUTAMI. <i>The king, his memory clouded +by the curse, ponders on</i> SHAKUNTALA.)</p> +<p> +<i>Voices behind the scenes</i>. A miracle! A miracle!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>listening</i>). What does this mean? (<i>Enter the chaplain</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chaplain</i> (<i>in amazement</i>). Your Majesty, a wonderful thing has +happened.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What?</p> +<p> +<i>Chaplain</i>. When Kanva's pupils had departed,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">She tossed her arms, bemoaned her plight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Accused her crushing fate—--<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What then?</p> +<p> +<i>Chaplain</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Before our eyes a heavenly light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In woman's form, but shining bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seized her and vanished straight.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>All betray astonishment</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My teacher, we have already settled the matter. Why speculate +in vain? Let us seek repose. <i>Chaplain</i>. Victory to your Majesty. +(<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Vetravati, I am bewildered. Conduct me to my apartment.</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. Follow me, your Majesty.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>walks about. To himself</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">With a hermit-wife I had no part,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All memories evade me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet my sad and stricken heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would more than half persuade me.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>Exeunt omnes</i>.)</p> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +ACT VI +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +SEPARATION FROM SHAKUNTALA +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> +<p> +SCENE I.—<i>In the street before the Palace</i> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> +<p> +(<i>Enter the chief of police, two policemen, and a man with his hands +bound behind his back</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>The two policemen</i> (<i>striking the man</i>). Now, pickpocket, tell us +where you found this ring. It is the king's ring, with letters +engraved on it, and it has a magnificent great gem.</p> +<p> +<i>Fisherman</i> (<i>showing fright</i>). Be merciful, kind gentlemen. I am not +guilty of such a crime.</p> +<p> +<i>First policeman</i>. No, I suppose the king thought you were a pious +Brahman, and made you a present of it.</p> +<p> +<i>Fisherman</i>. Listen, please. I am a fisherman, and I live on the +Ganges, at the spot where Indra came down.</p> +<p> +<i>Second policeman</i>. You thief, we didn't ask for your address or your +social position.</p> +<p> +<i>Chief</i>. Let him tell a straight story, Suchaka. Don't interrupt.</p> +<p> +<i>The two policemen</i>. Yes, chief. Talk, man, talk.</p> +<p> +<i>Fisherman</i>. I support my family with things you catch fish +with—nets, you know, and hooks, and things.</p> +<p> +<i>Chief</i> (<i>laughing</i>). You have a sweet trade.</p> +<p> +<i>Fisherman</i>. Don't say that, master.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">You can't give up a lowdown trade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That your ancestors began;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A butcher butchers things, and yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's the tenderest-hearted man.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Chief</i>. Go on. Go on.</p> +<p> +<i>Fisherman</i>. Well, one day I was cutting up a carp. In its maw I see +this ring with the magnificent great gem. And then I was just trying +to sell it here when you kind gentlemen grabbed me. That is the only +way I got it. Now kill me, or find fault with me.</p> +<p> +<i>Chief</i> (<i>smelling the ring</i>). There is no doubt about it, Januka. +It has been in a fish's maw. It has the real perfume of raw meat. Now +we have to find out how he got it. We must go to the palace.</p> +<p> +<i>The two policemen</i> (<i>to the fisherman</i>). Move on, you cutpurse, move +on. (<i>They walk about</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chief</i>. Suchaka, wait here at the big gate until I come out of the +palace. And don't get careless.</p> +<p> +<i>The two policemen</i>. Go in, chief. I hope the king will be nice to +you.</p> +<p> +<i>Chief</i>. Good-bye. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Suchaka</i>. Januka, the chief is taking his time.</p> +<p> +<i>Januka</i>. You can't just drop in on a king.</p> +<p> +<i>Suchaka</i>. Januka, my fingers are itching (<i>indicating the fisherman</i>) +to kill this cutpurse.</p> +<p> +<i>Fisherman</i>. Don't kill a man without any reason, master.</p> +<p> +<i>Januka</i> (<i>looking ahead</i>). There is the chief, with a written order +from the king. (<i>To the fisherman</i>.) Now you will see your family, or +else you will feed the crows and jackals. (<i>Enter the chief</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chief</i>. Quick! Quick! (<i>He breaks off</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Fisherman</i>. Oh, oh! I'm a dead man. (<i>He shows dejection</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chief</i>. Release him, you. Release the fishnet fellow. It is all +right, his getting the ring. Our king told me so himself.</p> +<p> +<i>Suchaka</i>. All right, chief. He is a dead man come back to life. (<i>He +releases the fisherman</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Fisherman</i> (<i>bowing low to the chief</i>). Master, I owe you my life. +(<i>He falls at his feet</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chief</i>. Get up, get up! Here is a reward that the king was kind +enough to give you. It is worth as much as the ring. Take it. (<i>He +hands the fisherman a bracelet</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Fisherman</i> (<i>joyfully taking it</i>). Much obliged.</p> +<p> +<i>Januka</i>. He <i>is</i> much obliged to the king. Just as if he had been +taken from the stake and put on an elephant's back.</p> +<p> +<i>Suchaka</i>. Chief, the reward shows that the king thought a lot of the +ring. The gem must be worth something.</p> +<p> +<i>Chief</i>. No, it wasn't the fine gem that pleased the king. It was this +way.</p> +<p> +<i>The two policemen</i>. Well?</p> +<p> +<i>Chief</i>. I think, when the king saw it, he remembered somebody he +loves. You know how dignified he is usually. But as soon as he saw it, +he broke down for a moment.</p> +<p> +<i>Suchaka</i>. You have done the king a good turn, chief.</p> +<p> +<i>Januka</i>. All for the sake of this fish-killer, it seems to me. (<i>He +looks enviously at the fisherman</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Fisherman</i>. Take half of it, masters, to pay for something to drink.</p> +<p> +<i>Januka</i>. Fisherman, you are the biggest and best friend I've got. The +first thing we want, is all the brandy we can hold. Let's go where +they keep it. (<i>Exeunt omnes</i>.)</p> +<p> +SCENE II.—<i>In the Palace Gardens</i></p> +<p> +(<i>Enter</i> MISHRAKESHI, <i>flying through the air</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. I have taken my turn in waiting upon the nymphs. And +now I will see what this good king is doing. Shakuntala is like a +second self to me, because she is the daughter of Menaka. And it was +she who asked me to do this. (<i>She looks about</i>.) It is the day of the +spring festival. But I see no preparations for a celebration at court. +I might learn the reason by my power of divination. But I must do as +my friend asked me. Good! I will make myself invisible and stand near +these girls who take care of the garden. I shall find out that way. +(<i>She descends to earth. Enter a maid, gazing at a mango branch, and +behind her, a second</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>First maid</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">First mango-twig, so pink, so green,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First living breath of spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You are sacrificed as soon as seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A festival offering.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Second maid</i>. What are you chirping about to yourself, little cuckoo?</p> +<p> +<i>First maid</i>. Why, little bee, you know that the cuckoo goes crazy +with delight when she sees the mango-blossom.</p> +<p> +<i>Second maid</i> (<i>joyfully</i>). Oh, has the spring really come?</p> +<p> +<i>First maid</i>. Yes, little bee. And this is the time when you too buzz +about in crazy joy. <i>Second maid</i>. Hold me, dear, while I stand on +tiptoe and offer this blossom to Love, the divine.</p> +<p> +<i>First maid</i>. If I do, you must give me half the reward of the +offering.</p> +<p> +<i>Second maid</i>. That goes without saying, dear. We two are one. (<i>She +leans on her friend and takes the mango-blossom</i>.) Oh, see! The +mango-blossom hasn't opened, but it has broken the sheath, so it is +fragrant. (<i>She brings her hands together</i>.) I worship mighty Love.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">O mango-twig I give to Love<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As arrow for his bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Most sovereign of his arrows five,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Strike maiden-targets low.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>She throws the twig. Enter the chamberlain</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i> (<i>angrily</i>). Stop, silly girl. The king has strictly +forbidden the spring festival. Do you dare pluck the mango-blossoms?</p> +<p> +<i>The two maids</i> (<i>frightened</i>). Forgive us, sir. We did not know.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. What! You have not heard the king's command, which is +obeyed even by the trees of spring and the creatures that dwell in +them. See!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The mango branches are in bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet pollen does not form;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cuckoo's song sticks in his throat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Although the days are warm;<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">The amaranth-bud is formed, and yet<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Its power of growth is gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The love-god timidly puts by<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The arrow he has drawn.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. There is no doubt of it. This good king has wonderful +power.</p> +<p> +<i>First maid</i>. A few days ago, sir, we were sent to his Majesty by his +brother-in-law Mitravasu to decorate the garden. That is why we have +heard nothing of this affair.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. You must not do so again.</p> +<p> +<i>The two maids</i>. But we are curious. If we girls may know about it, +pray tell us, sir. Why did his Majesty forbid the spring festival? +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. Kings are fond of celebrations. There must be some good +reason.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i> (<i>to himself</i>). It is in everybody's mouth. Why should I +not tell it? (<i>Aloud</i>.) Have you heard the gossip concerning +Shakuntala's rejection?</p> +<p> +<i>The two maids</i>. Yes, sir. The king's brother-in-law told us, up to +the point where the ring was recovered.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. There is little more to tell. When his Majesty saw the +ring, he remembered that he had indeed contracted a secret marriage +with Shakuntala, and had rejected her under a delusion. And then he +fell a prey to remorse.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He hates the things he loved; he intermits<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The daily audience, nor in judgment sits;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spends sleepless nights in tossing on his bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At times, when he by courtesy is led<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To address a lady, speaks another name,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then stands for minutes, sunk in helpless shame.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. I am glad to hear it.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. His Majesty's sorrow has forbidden the festival.</p> +<p> +<i>The two maids</i>. It is only right.</p> +<p> +<i>A voice behind the scenes</i>. Follow me.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i> (<i>listening</i>). Ah, his Majesty approaches. Go, and +attend to your duties. (<i>Exeunt the two maids. Enter the king, wearing +a dress indicative of remorse; the clown, and the portress</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i> (<i>observing the king</i>). A beautiful figure charms in +whatever state. Thus, his Majesty is pleasing even in his sorrow. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">All ornament is laid aside; he wears<br /></span> +<span class="i4">One golden bracelet on his wasted arm;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His lip is scorched by sighs; and sleepless cares<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Redden his eyes. Yet all can work no harm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On that magnificent beauty, wasting, but<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gaining in brilliance, like a diamond cut.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i> (<i>observing the king</i>). No wonder Shakuntala pines for +him, even though he dishonoured her by his rejection of her.</p> <p><i>King</i> (<i>walks about slowly, sunk in thought</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Alas! My smitten heart, that once lay sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Heard in its dreams my fawn-eyed love's laments,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wakened now, awakens but to weeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To bitter grief, and tears of penitence.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. That is the poor girl's fate.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>to himself</i>). He has got his Shakuntala-sickness again. I +wish I knew how to cure him.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain (advancing)</i>. Victory to your Majesty. I have examined +the garden. Your Majesty may visit its retreats.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Vetravati, tell the minister Pishuna in my name that a +sleepless night prevents me from mounting the throne of judgment. He +is to investigate the citizens' business and send me a memorandum.</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. Yes, your Majesty. <i>(Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. And you, Parvatayana, return to your post of duty.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. You have got rid of the vermin. Now amuse yourself in this +garden. It is delightful with the passing of the cold weather.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>sighing</i>). My friend, the proverb makes no mistake. +Misfortune finds the weak spot. See!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">No sooner did the darkness lift<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That clouded memory's power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than the god of love prepared his bow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And shot the mango-flower.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">No sooner did the ring recall<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My banished maiden dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No sooner do I vainly weep<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For her, than spring is here.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Wait a minute, man. I will destroy Love's arrow with my +stick. (<i>He raises his stick and strikes at the mango branch</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Enough! I see your pious power. My friend, where +shall I sit now to comfort my eyes with the vines? They remind me +somehow of her.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Well, you told one of the maids, the clever painter, that +you would spend this hour in the bower of spring-creepers. And you +asked her to bring you there the picture of the lady Shakuntala which +you painted on a tablet.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is my only consolation. Lead the way to the bower of +spring-creepers.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Follow me. (<i>They walk about</i>. MISHRAKESHI <i>follows</i>.) Here +is the bower of spring-creepers, with its jewelled benches. Its +loneliness seems to bid you a silent welcome. Let us go in and sit +down. (<i>They do so</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. I will hide among the vines and see the dear girl's +picture. Then I shall be able to tell her how deep her husband's love +is. (<i>She hides</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>sighing</i>). I remember it all now, my friend. I told you how I +first met Shakuntala. It is true, you were not with me when I rejected +her. But I had told you of her at the first. Had you forgotten, as I +did?</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. This shows that a king should not be separated a single +moment from some intimate friend.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. No, I didn't forget. But when you had told the whole story, +you said it was a joke and there was nothing in it. And I was fool +enough to believe you. No, this is the work of fate.</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. It must be.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>after meditating a moment</i>). Help me, my friend.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. But, man, this isn't right at all. A good man never lets +grief get the upper hand. The mountains are calm even in a tempest.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My friend, I am quite forlorn. I keep thinking of her pitiful +state when I rejected her. Thus:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">When I denied her, then she tried<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To join her people. "Stay," one cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her father's representative.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She stopped, she turned, she could but give<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A tear-dimmed glance to heartless me—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That arrow burns me poisonously.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. How his fault distresses him!</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Well, I don't doubt it was some heavenly being that carried +her away.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Who else would dare to touch a faithful wife? Her friends told +me that Menaka was her mother. My heart persuades me that it was +she, or companions of hers, who carried Shakuntala away.</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. His madness was wonderful, not his awakening reason.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. But in that case, you ought to take heart. You will meet her +again.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. How so?</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Why, a mother or a father cannot long bear to see a daughter +separated from her husband.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My friend,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">And was it phantom, madness, dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or fatal retribution stern?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My hopes fell down a precipice<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And never, never will return.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Don't talk that way. Why, the ring shows that incredible +meetings do happen.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>looking at the ring</i>). This ring deserves pity. It has fallen +from a heaven hard to earn.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Your virtue, ring, like mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is proved to be but small;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her pink-nailed finger sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You clasped. How could you fall?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. If it were worn on any other hand, it would deserve +pity. My dear girl, you are far away. I am the only one to hear these +delightful words.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Tell me how you put the ring on her finger.</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. He speaks as if prompted by my curiosity.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Listen, my friend. When I left the pious grove for the city, +my darling wept and said: "But how long will you remember us, dear?"</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. And then you said—--</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Then I put this engraved ring on her finger, and said to +her—--</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Well, what?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Count every day one letter of my name;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Before you reach the end, dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will come to lead you to my palace halls<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A guide whom I shall send, dear.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Then, through my madness, it fell out cruelly. <i>Mishrakeshi</i>. It was +too charming an agreement to be frustrated by fate.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. But how did it get into a carp's mouth, as if it had been a +fish-hook?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. While she was worshipping the Ganges at Shachitirtha, it fell.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. I see.</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. That is why the virtuous king doubted his marriage with +poor Shakuntala. Yet such love does not ask for a token. How could it +have been?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Well, I can only reproach this ring.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>smiling</i>). And I will reproach this stick of mine. Why are +you crooked when I am straight?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>not hearing him</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">How could you fail to linger<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On her soft, tapering finger,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in the water fall?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +And yet</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Things lifeless know not beauty;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But I—I scorned my duty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sweetest task of all.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. He has given the answer which I had ready.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. But that is no reason why I should starve to death.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>not heeding</i>). O my darling, my heart burns with repentance +because I abandoned you without reason. Take pity on me. Let me see +you again. (<i>Enter a maid with a tablet</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Maid</i>. Your Majesty, here is the picture of our lady. (<i>She produces +the tablet</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>gazing at it</i>). It is a beautiful picture. See!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">A graceful arch of brows above great eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lips bathed in darting, smiling light that flies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reflected from white teeth; a mouth as red<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As red karkandhu-fruit; love's brightness shed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er all her face in bursts of liquid charm—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The picture speaks, with living beauty warm.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>looking at it</i>). The sketch is full of sweet meaning. My +eyes seem to stumble over its uneven surface. What more can I say? I +expect to see it come to life, and I feel like speaking to it.</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. The king is a clever painter. I seem to see the dear +girl before me.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My friend,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">What in the picture is not fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is badly done;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet something of her beauty there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I feel, is won.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. This is natural, when love is increased by remorse.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>sighing</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">I treated her with scorn and loathing ever;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now o'er her pictured charms my heart will burst:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A traveller I, who scorned the mighty river.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And seeks in the mirage to quench his thirst.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. There are three figures in the picture, and they are all +beautiful. Which one is the lady Shakuntala?</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. The poor fellow never saw her beauty. His eyes are +useless, for she never came before them.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Which one do you think?</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>observing closely</i>). I think it is this one, leaning against +the creeper which she has just sprinkled. Her face is hot and the +flowers are dropping from her hair; for the ribbon is loosened. Her +arms droop like weary branches; she has loosened her girdle, and she +seems a little fatigued. This, I think, is the lady Shakuntala, the +others are her friends.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. You are good at guessing. Besides, here are proofs of my love.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">See where discolorations faint<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of loving handling tell;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And here the swelling of the paint<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shows where my sad tears fell.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Chaturika, I have not finished the background. Go, get the brushes.</p> +<p> +<i>Maid</i>. Please hold the picture, Madhavya, while I am gone.</p> + +<p><i>King</i>. I will hold it. (<i>He does so. Exit maid</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. What are you going to add?</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. Surely, every spot that the dear girl loved.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Listen, my friend.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The stream of Malini, and on its sands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The swan-pairs resting; holy foot-hill lands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of great Himalaya's sacred ranges, where<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The yaks are seen; and under trees that bear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bark hermit-dresses on their branches high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A doe that on the buck's horn rubs her eye.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>aside</i>). To hear him talk, I should think he was going to +fill up the picture with heavy-bearded hermits.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. And another ornament that Shakuntala loved I have forgotten to +paint.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. What?</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. Something natural for a girl living in the forest.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The siris-blossom, fastened o'er her ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose stamens brush her cheek;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lotus-chain like autumn moonlight soft<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon her bosom meek.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. But why does she cover her face with fingers lovely as the +pink water-lily? She seems frightened. (<i>He looks more closely</i>.) I +see. Here is a bold, bad bee. He steals honey, and so he flies to her +lotus-face.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Drive him away.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. It is your affair to punish evil-doers.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. True. O welcome guest of the flowering vine, why do you waste +your time in buzzing here?</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Your faithful, loving queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perched on a flower, athirst,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is waiting for you still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor tastes the honey first.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. A gentlemanly way to drive him off!</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. This kind are obstinate, even when you warn them.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>angrily</i>). Will you not obey my command? Then listen:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">'Tis sweet as virgin blossoms on a tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lip I kissed in love-feasts tenderly;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sting that dear lip, O bee, with cruel power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you shall be imprisoned in a flower.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Well, he doesn't seem afraid of your dreadful punishment. +(<i>Laughing. To himself</i>.) The man is crazy, and I am just as bad, from +associating with him.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Will he not go, though I warn him?</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. Love works a curious change even in a brave man.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>aloud</i>). It is only a picture, man.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. A picture?</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. I too understand it now. But to him, thoughts are real +experiences.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. You have done an ill-natured thing.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">When I was happy in the sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when my heart was warm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You brought sad memories back, and made<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love a painted form.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He sheds a tear</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. Fate plays strangely with him.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My friend, how can I endure a grief that has no respite?</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">I cannot sleep at night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And meet her dreaming;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I cannot see the sketch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While tears are streaming.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. My friend, you have indeed atoned—and in her friend's +presence—for the pain you caused by rejecting dear Shakuntala. +(<i>Enter the maid</i> CHATURIKA.)</p> +<p> +<i>Maid</i>. Your Majesty, I was coming back with the box of +paint-brushes—--</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Well?</p> +<p> +<i>Maid</i>. I met Queen Vasumati with the maid Pingalika. And the queen +snatched the box from me, saying: "I will take it to the king myself."</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. How did you escape?</p> +<p> +<i>Maid</i>. The queen's dress caught on a vine. And while her maid was +setting her free, I excused myself in a hurry. <i>A voice behind the +scenes</i>. Follow me, your Majesty.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i> (<i>listening</i>). Man, the she-tiger of the palace is making a +spring on her prey. She means to make one mouthful of the maid.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My friend, the queen has come because she feels touched in her +honour. You had better take care of this picture.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. "And yourself," you might add. (<i>He takes the picture and +rises</i>.) If you get out of the trap alive, call for me at the Cloud +Balcony. And I will hide the thing there so that nothing but a pigeon +could find it. (<i>Exit on the run</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. Though his heart is given to another, he is courteous +to his early flame. He is a constant friend.</p> +<p> +(<i>Enter the portress with a document</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. Victory to your Majesty.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Vetravati, did you not meet Queen Vasumati?</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. Yes, your Majesty. But she turned back when she saw that I +carried a document.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. The queen knows times and seasons. She will not interrupt +business.</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. Your Majesty, the minister sends word that in the press of +various business he has attended to only one citizen's suit. This he +has reduced to writing for your Majesty's perusal.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Give me the document. (<i>The portress does so</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>reads</i>). "Be it known to his Majesty. A seafaring merchant +named Dhanavriddhi has been lost in a shipwreck. He is childless, and +his property, amounting to several millions, reverts to the crown. +Will his Majesty take action?" (<i>Sadly</i>.) It is dreadful to be +childless. Vetravati, he had great riches. There must be several +wives. Let inquiry be made. There may be a wife who is with child.</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. We have this moment heard that a merchant's daughter of +Saketa is his wife. And she is soon to become a mother.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. The child shall receive the inheritance. Go, inform the +minister.</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>She starts to go</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Wait a moment.</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i> (<i>turning back</i>). Yes, your Majesty. <i>King</i>. After all, +what does it matter whether he have issue or not?</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Let King Dushyanta be proclaimed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To every sad soul kin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That mourns a kinsman loved and lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet did not plunge in sin.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. The proclamation shall be made. (<i>She goes out and soon +returns</i>.) Your Majesty, the royal proclamation was welcomed by the +populace as is a timely shower.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>sighing deeply</i>). Thus, when issue fails, wealth passes, on +the death of the head of the family, to a stranger. When I die, it +will be so with the glory of Puru's line.</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. Heaven avert the omen!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Alas! I despised the happiness that offered itself to me.</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. Without doubt, he has dear Shakuntala in mind when he +thus reproaches himself.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Could I forsake the virtuous wife<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who held my best, my future life<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cherished it for glorious birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As does the seed-receiving earth?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. She will not long be forsaken.</p> +<p> +<i>Maid</i> (<i>to the portress</i>). Mistress, the minister's report has +doubled our lord's remorse. Go to the Cloud Balcony and bring Madhavya +to dispel his grief.</p> +<p> +<i>Portress</i>. A good suggestion. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Alas! The ancestors of Dushyanta are in a doubtful case.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">For I am childless, and they do not know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I am gone, what child of theirs will bring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The scriptural oblation; and their tears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Already mingle with my offering.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeshi</i>. He is screened from the light, and is in darkness.</p> +<p> +<i>Maid</i>. Do not give way to grief, your Majesty. You are in the prime +of your years, and the birth of a son to one of your other wives will +make you blameless before your ancestors. (<i>To herself</i>.) He does not +heed me. The proper medicine is needed for any disease. <i>King</i> +(<i>betraying his sorrow</i>). Surely,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The royal line that flowed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A river pure and grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dies in the childless king,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like streams in desert sand.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He swoons</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Maid</i> (<i>in distress</i>). Oh, sir, come to yourself.</p> +<p> +<i>Mishrakeski</i>. Shall I make him happy now? No, I heard the mother of +the gods consoling Shakuntala. She said that the gods, impatient for +the sacrifice, would soon cause him to welcome his true wife. I must +delay no longer. I will comfort dear Shakuntala with my tidings. +(<i>Exit through the air</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>A voice behind the scenes</i>. Help, help!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>comes to himself and listens</i>). It sounds as if Madhavya were +in distress.</p> +<p> +<i>Maid</i>. Your Majesty, I hope that Pingalika and the other maids did +not catch poor Madhavya with the picture in his hands.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Go, Chaturika. Reprove the queen in my name for not +controlling her servants.</p> +<p> +<i>Maid</i>. Yes, your Majesty. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>The voice</i>. Help, help!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. The Brahman's voice seems really changed by fear. Who waits +without? (<i>Enter the chamberlain</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. Your Majesty commands?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. See why poor Madhavya is screaming so.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. I will see. (<i>He goes out, and returns trembling</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Parvatayana, I hope it is nothing very dreadful.</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. I hope not.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Then why do you tremble so? For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Why should the trembling, born<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of age, increasing, seize<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your limbs and bid them shake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like fig-leaves in the breeze?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. Save your friend, O King!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. From what?</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. From great danger.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Speak plainly, man.</p> +<p><i>Chamberlain</i>. On the Cloud Balcony, +open to the four winds of heaven—--</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. What has happened there?</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">While he was resting on its height,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which palace peacocks in their flight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can hardly reach, he seemed to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Snatched up—by what, we could not see.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>rising quickly</i>). My very palace is invaded by evil +creatures. To be a king, is to be a disappointed man.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The moral stumblings of mine own,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The daily slips, are scarcely known;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who then that rules a kingdom, can<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Guide every deed of every man?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>The voice</i>. Hurry, hurry!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>hears the voice and quickens his steps</i>). Have no fear, my +friend.</p> +<p> +<i>The voice</i>. Have no fear! When something has got me by the back of +the neck, and is trying to break my bones like a piece of sugar-cane!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>looks about</i>). A bow! a bow! (<i>Enter a Greek woman with a +bow</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Greek woman</i>. A bow and arrows, your Majesty. And here are the +finger-guards. (<i>The king takes the bow and arrows</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Another voice behind the scenes</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Writhe, while I drink the red blood flowing clear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And kill you, as a tiger kills a deer;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let King Dushyanta grasp his bow; but how<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can all his kingly valour save you now?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>angrily</i>). He scorns me, too! In one moment, miserable demon, +you shall die. (<i>Stringing his bow</i>.) Where is the stairway, +Parvatayana?</p> +<p> +<i>Chamberlain</i>. Here, your Majesty. (<i>All make haste</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>Looking about</i>). There is no one here.</p> +<p> +<i>The Clown's voice</i>. Save me, save me! I see you, if you can't see me. +I am a mouse in the claws of the cat. I am done for. <i>King</i>. You are +proud of your invisibility. But shall not my arrow see you? Stand +still. Do not hope to escape by clinging to my friend.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">My arrow, flying when the bow is bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall slay the wretch and spare the innocent;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When milk is mixed with water in a cup,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swans leave the water, and the milk drink up.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>He takes aim. Enter</i> MATALI <i>and the clown</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. O King, as Indra, king of the gods, commands,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Seek foes among the evil powers alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For them your bow should bend;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not cruel shafts, but glances soft and kind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should fall upon a friend.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>hastily withdrawing the arrow</i>). It is Matali. Welcome to the +charioteer of heaven's king.</p> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Well! He came within an inch of butchering me. And you +welcome him.</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Hear, O King, for what purpose Indra sends me to +you.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I am all attention.</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. There is a host of demons who call themselves +Invincible—the brood of Kalanemi.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. So Narada has told me.</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Heaven's king is powerless; you shall smite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His foes in battle soon;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Darkness that overcomes the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is scattered by the moon.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +Take your bow at once, enter my heavenly chariot, and set forth for +victory.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I am grateful for the honour which Indra shows me. But why did +you act thus toward Madhavya?</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. I will tell you. I saw that you were overpowered by some +inner sorrow, and acted thus to rouse you. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The spurnèd snake will swell his hood;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fire blazes when 'tis stirred;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brave men are roused to fighting mood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By some insulting word.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> + <i>King</i>. Friend Madhavya, I must obey the bidding of heaven's king. +Go, acquaint the minister Pishuna with the matter, and add these words +of mine:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Your wisdom only shall control<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The kingdom for a time;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My bow is strung; a distant goal<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Calls me, and tasks sublime.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Clown</i>. Very well. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. Enter the chariot. (<i>The king does so. Exeunt omnes</i>.)</p> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +ACT VII +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> +<p> +(<i>Enter, in a chariot that flies through the air, the king and</i> +MATALI.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Matali, though I have done what Indra commanded, I think +myself an unprofitable servant, when I remember his most gracious +welcome.</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. O King, know that each considers himself the other's debtor. +For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">You count the service given<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Small by the welcome paid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which to the king of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Seems mean for such brave aid.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Ah, no! For the honour given me at parting went far beyond +imagination. Before the gods, he seated me beside him on his throne. +And then</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He smiled, because his son Jayanta's heart<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Beat quicker, by the self-same wish oppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And placed about my neck the heavenly wreath<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Still fragrant from the sandal on his breast.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. But what do you not deserve from heaven's king? Remember:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Twice, from peace-loving Indra's sway<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The demon-thorn was plucked away:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">First, by Man-lion's crooked claws;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Again, by your smooth shafts to-day.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. This merely proves Indra's majesty. Remember:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">All servants owe success in enterprise<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To honour paid before the great deed's done;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could dawn defeat the darkness otherwise<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Than resting on the chariot of the sun?<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. The feeling becomes you. (<i>After a little</i>.) See, O King! +Your glory has the happiness of being published abroad in heaven.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">With colours used by nymphs of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To make their beauty shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gods write upon the surface given<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of many a magic vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As worth their song, the simple story<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of those brave deeds that made your glory.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Matali, when I passed before, I was intent on fighting the +demons, and did not observe this region. Tell me. In which path of the +winds are we?</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">It is the windpath sanctified<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By holy Vishnu's second stride;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which, freed from dust of passion, ever<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upholds the threefold heavenly river;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, driving them with reins of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Guides the stars in wheeling flight.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. That is why serenity pervades me, body and soul. (<i>He observes +the path taken by the chariot</i>.) It seems that we have descended into +the region of the clouds.</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. How do you perceive it?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Plovers that fly from mountain-caves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Steeds that quick-flashing lightning laves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And chariot-wheels that drip with spray—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A path o'er pregnant clouds betray.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. You are right. And in a moment you will be in the world over +which you bear rule.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>looking down</i>). Matali, our quick descent gives the world of +men a mysterious look. For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The plains appear to melt and fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From mountain peaks that grow more tall;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The trunks of trees no longer hide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor in their leafy nests abide;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The river network now is clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For smaller streams at last appear:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It seems as if some being threw<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world to me, for clearer view.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. You are a good observer, O King. (<i>He looks down, +awe-struck</i>.) There is a noble loveliness in the earth. <i>King</i>. +Matali, what mountain is this, its flanks sinking into the eastern and +into the western sea? It drips liquid gold like a cloud at sunset.</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. O King, this is Gold Peak, the mountain of the fairy +centaurs. Here it is that ascetics most fully attain to magic powers. +See!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The ancient sage, Marichi's son,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Child of the Uncreated One,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Father of superhuman life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dwells here austerely with his wife.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>reverently</i>). I must not neglect the happy chance. I cannot +go farther until I have walked humbly about the holy one.</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. It is a worthy thought, O King. (<i>The chariot descends</i>.) We +have come down to earth.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>astonished</i>). Matali,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The wheels are mute on whirling rim;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Unstirred, the dust is lying there;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We do not bump the earth, but skim:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Still, still we seem to fly through air.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. Such is the glory of the chariot which obeys you and Indra.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. In which direction lies the hermitage of Marichi's son?</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i> (<i>pointing</i>). See!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Where stands the hermit, horridly austere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom clinging vines are choking, tough and sore;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half-buried in an ant-hill that has grown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">About him, standing post-like and alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sun-staring with dim eyes that know no rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dead skin of a serpent on his breast:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So long he stood unmoved, insensate there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That birds build nests within his mat of hair.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>gazing</i>). All honour to one who mortifies the flesh so +terribly.</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i> (<i>checking the chariot</i>). We have entered the hermitage of +the ancient sage, whose wife Aditi tends the coral-trees. <i>King</i>. +Here is deeper contentment than in heaven. I seem plunged in a pool of +nectar.</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i> (<i>stopping the chariot</i>). Descend, O King.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>descending</i>). But how will you fare?</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. The chariot obeys the word of command. I too will descend. +(<i>He does so</i>.) Before you, O King, are the groves where the holiest +hermits lead their self-denying life.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I look with amazement both at their simplicity and at what +they might enjoy.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Their appetites are fed with air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where grows whatever is most fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They bathe religiously in pools<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which golden lily-pollen cools;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They pray within a jewelled home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are chaste where nymphs of heaven roam:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They mortify desire and sin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With things that others fast to win.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. The desires of the great aspire high. (<i>He walks about and +speaks to some one not visible</i>.) Ancient Shakalya, how is Marichi's +holy son occupied? (<i>He listens</i>.) What do you say? That he is +explaining to Aditi, in answer to her question, the duties of a +faithful wife? My matter must await a fitter time. (<i>He turns to the +king</i>.) Wait here, O King, in the shade of the ashoka tree, till I +have announced your coming to the sire of Indra.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Very well. (<i>Exit</i> MATALI. <i>The king's arm throbs, a happy +omen</i>.)</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">I dare not hope for what I pray;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why thrill—in vain?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For heavenly bliss once thrown away<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Turns into pain.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>A voice behind the scenes</i>. Don't! You mustn't be so foolhardy. Oh, +you are always the same.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>listening</i>). No naughtiness could feel at home in this spot. +Who draws such a rebuke upon himself? (<i>He looks towards the sound. In +surprise</i>.) It is a child, but no child in strength. And two +hermit-women are trying to control him.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He drags a struggling lion cub,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lioness' milk half-sucked, half-missed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Towzles his mane, and tries to drub<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Him tame with small, imperious fist.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>Enter a small boy, as described, and two hermit-women</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Boy</i>. Open your mouth, cub. I want to count your teeth.</p> +<p> +<i>First woman</i>. Naughty boy, why do you torment our pets? They are like +children to us. Your energy seems to take the form of striking +something. No wonder the hermits call you All-tamer.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Why should my heart go out to this boy as if he were my own +son? (<i>He reflects</i>.) No doubt my childless state makes me +sentimental.</p> +<p> +<i>Second woman</i>. The lioness will spring at you if you don't let her +baby go.</p> +<p> +<i>Boy</i> (<i>smiling</i>). Oh, I'm dreadfully scared. (<i>He bites his lip</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>in surprise</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The boy is seed of fire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which, when it grows, will burn;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A tiny spark that soon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To awful flame may turn.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>First woman</i>. Let the little lion go, dear. I will give you another +plaything.</p> +<p> +<i>Boy</i>. Where is it? Give it to me. (<i>He stretches out his hand</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>looking at the hand</i>.) He has one of the imperial birthmarks! +For</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Between the eager fingers grow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The close-knit webs together drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like some lone lily opening slow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To meet the kindling blush of dawn.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Second woman</i>. Suvrata, we can't make him stop by talking. Go. In my +cottage you will find a painted clay peacock that belongs to the +hermit-boy Mankanaka. Bring him that.</p> +<p> +<i>First woman</i>. I will. (<i>Exit</i>.) <i>Boy</i>. Meanwhile I'll play with +this one.</p> +<p> +<i>Hermit-woman</i> (<i>looks and laughs</i>). Let him go.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My heart goes out to this wilful child. (<i>Sighing</i>.)</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">They show their little buds of teeth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In peals of causeless laughter;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They hide their trustful heads beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your heart. And stumbling after<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come sweet, unmeaning sounds that sing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To you. The father warms<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And loves the very dirt they bring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon their little forms.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Hermit-woman</i> (<i>shaking her finger</i>). Won't you mind me? (<i>She looks +about</i>.) Which one of the hermit-boys is here? (<i>She sees the king</i>.) +Oh, sir, please come here and free this lion cub. The little rascal is +tormenting him, and I can't make him let go.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Very well. (<i>He approaches, smiling</i>.) O little son of a great +sage!</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Your conduct in this place apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is most unfit;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twould grieve your father's pious heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And trouble it.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">To animals he is as good<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As good can be;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You spoil it, like a black snake's brood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In sandal tree.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Hermit-woman</i>. But, sir, he is not the son of a hermit.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. So it would seem, both from his looks and his actions. But in +this spot, I had no suspicion of anything else. (<i>He loosens the boy's +hold on the cub, and touching him, says to himself</i>.)</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">It makes me thrill to touch the boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stranger's son, to me unknown;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What measureless content must fill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The man who calls the child his own!<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Hermit-woman</i> (<i>looking at the two</i>). Wonderful! wonderful!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Why do you say that, mother? + +<i>Hermit-woman</i>. I am astonished to see how much the boy looks like +you, sir. You are not related. Besides, he is a perverse little +creature and he does not know you. Yet he takes no dislike to you.</p> + +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>caressing the boy</i>). Mother, if he is not the son of a +hermit, what is his family?</p> +<p> +<i>Hermit-woman</i>. The family of Puru.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). He is of one family with me! Then could my +thought be true? (<i>Aloud</i>.) But this is the custom of Puru's line:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">In glittering palaces they dwell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While men, and rule the country well;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then make the grove their home in age,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And die in austere hermitage.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +But how could human beings, of their own mere motion, attain this +spot?</p> +<p> +<i>Hermit-woman</i>. You are quite right, sir. But the boy's mother was +related to a nymph, and she bore her son in the pious grove of the +father of the gods.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). Ah, a second ground for hope. (<i>Aloud</i>.) What +was the name of the good king whose wife she was?</p> +<p> +<i>Hermit-woman</i>. Who would speak his name? He rejected his true wife.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). This story points at me. Suppose I ask the boy +for his mother's name. (<i>He reflects</i>.) No, it is wrong to concern +myself with one who may be another's wife.</p> +<p> +(<i>Enter the first woman, with the clay peacock</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>First woman</i>. Look, All-tamer. Here is the bird, the <i>shakunta</i>. +Isn't the <i>shakunta</i> lovely?</p> +<p> +<i>Boy</i> (<i>looks about</i>). Where is my mamma? (<i>The two women burst out +laughing</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>First woman</i>. It sounded like her name, and deceived him. He loves +his mother.</p> +<p> +<i>Second woman</i>. She said: "See how pretty the peacock is." That is +all.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>to himself</i>). His mother's name is Shakuntala! But names are +alike. I trust this hope may not prove a disappointment in the end, +like a mirage.</p> +<p> +<i>Boy</i>. I like this little peacock, sister. Can it fly? (<i>He seizes the +toy</i>.) <i>First woman</i> (<i>looks at the boy. Anxiously</i>), Oh, the amulet +is not on his wrist.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Do not be anxious, mother. It fell while he was struggling +with the lion cub. (<i>He starts to pick it up</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>The two women</i>. Oh, don't, don't! (<i>They look at him</i>.) He has +touched it! (<i>Astonished, they lay their hands on their bosoms, and +look at each other</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Why did you try to prevent me?</p> +<p> +<i>First woman</i>. Listen, your Majesty. This is a divine and most potent +charm, called the Invincible. Marichi's holy son gave it to the baby +when the birth-ceremony was performed. If it falls on the ground, no +one may touch it except the boy's parents or the boy himself.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. And if another touch it?</p> +<p> +<i>First woman</i>. It becomes a serpent and stings him.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Did you ever see this happen to any one else?</p> +<p> +<i>Both women</i>. More than once.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>joyfully</i>). Then why may I not welcome my hopes fulfilled at +last? (<i>He embraces the boy</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Second woman</i>. Come, Suvrata. Shakuntala is busy with her religious +duties. We must go and tell her what has happened. (<i>Exeunt ambo</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Boy</i>. Let me go. I want to see my mother.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My son, you shall go with me to greet your mother.</p> +<p> +<i>Boy</i>. Dushyanta is my father, not you.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>smiling</i>). You show I am right by contradicting me. (<i>Enter</i> +SHAKUNTALA, <i>wearing her hair in a single braid</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>doubtfully</i>). I have heard that All-tamer's amulet did +not change when it should have done so. But I do not trust my own +happiness. Yet perhaps it is as Mishrakeshi told me. (<i>She walks +about</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>looking at</i> SHAKUNTALA. <i>With plaintive joy</i>). It is she. It +is Shakuntala.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The pale, worn face, the careless dress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The single braid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Show her still true, me pitiless,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The long vow paid.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>seeing the king pale with remorse. Doubtfully</i>). It is +not my husband. Who is the man that soils my boy with his caresses? +The amulet should protect him. <i>Boy</i> (<i>running to his mother</i>). +Mother, he is a man that belongs to other people. And he calls me his +son.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My darling, the cruelty I showed you has turned to happiness. +Will you not recognise me?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>to herself</i>). Oh, my heart, believe it. Fate struck +hard, but its envy is gone and pity takes its place. It is my husband.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Black madness flies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Comes memory;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before my eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love I see.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">Eclipse flees far;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Light follows soon;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The loving star<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Draws to the moon.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Victory, victo—-- (<i>Tears choke her utterance</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The tears would choke you, sweet, in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My soul with victory is fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because I see your face again—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No jewels, but the lips are red.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Boy</i>. Who is he, mother?</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Ask fate, my child. (<i>She weeps</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Dear, graceful wife, forget;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let the sin vanish;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strangely did madness strive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reason to banish.<br /></span></p> +<p> +<span class="i2">Thus blindness works in men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love's joy to shake;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spurning a garland, lest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It prove a snake. (<i>He falls at her feet</i>.)<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. Rise, my dear husband. Surely, it was some old sin of +mine that broke my happiness—though it has turned again to happiness. +Otherwise, how could you, dear, have acted so? You are so kind. (<i>The +king rises</i>.) But what brought back the memory of your suffering +wife? <i>King</i>. I will tell you when I have plucked out the dart of +sorrow.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">'Twas madness, sweet, that could let slip<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A tear to burden your dear lip;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On graceful lashes seen to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"> (<i>He does so</i>.)<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>sees more clearly and discovers the ring</i>). My husband, +it is the ring!</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Yes. And when a miracle recovered it, my memory returned.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. That was why it was so impossible for me to win your +confidence.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Then let the vine receive her flower, as earnest of her union +with spring.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I do not trust it. I would rather you wore it.</p> +<p> +(<i>Enter</i> MATALI)</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. I congratulate you, O King, on reunion with your wife and on +seeing the face of your son.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My desires bear sweeter fruit because fulfilled through a +friend. Matali, was not this matter known to Indra?</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i> (<i>smiling</i>.) What is hidden from the gods? Come. Marichi's +holy son, Kashyapa, wishes to see you.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. My dear wife, bring our son. I could not appear without you +before the holy one.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i>. I am ashamed to go before such parents with my husband.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is the custom in times of festival. Come. (<i>They walk +about</i>. KASHYAPA <i>appears seated, with</i> ADITI.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i> (<i>looking at the king</i>). Aditi,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">'Tis King Dushyanta, he who goes before<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your son in battle, and who rules the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose bow makes Indra's weapon seem no more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than a fine plaything, lacking sterner worth.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Aditi</i>. His valour might be inferred from his appearance.</p> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. O King, the parents of the gods look upon you with a glance +that betrays parental fondness. Approach them. <i>King</i>. Matali,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Sprung from the Creator's children, do I see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Great Kashyapa and Mother Aditi?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pair that did produce the sun in heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To which each year twelve changing forms are given;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That brought the king of all the gods to birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who rules in heaven, in hell, and on the earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Vishnu, than the Uncreated higher,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chose as his parents with a fond desire.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. It is indeed they.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>falling before them</i>). Dushyanta, servant of Indra, does +reverence to you both.</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i>. My son, rule the earth long.</p> +<p> +<i>Aditi</i>. And be invincible. (SHAKUNTALA <i>and her son fall at their +feet</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i>. My daughter,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Your husband equals Indra, king<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of gods; your son is like his son;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No further blessing need I bring:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Win bliss such as his wife has won.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Aditi</i>. My child, keep the favour of your husband. And may this fine +boy be an honour to the families of both parents. Come, let us be +seated. (<i>All seat themselves</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i> (<i>indicating one after the other</i>).</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Faithful Shakuntala, the boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you, O King, I see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A trinity to bless the world—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Faith, Treasure, Piety.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Holy one, your favour shown to us is without parallel. You +granted the fulfilment of our wishes before you called us to your +presence. For, holy one,</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The flower comes first, and then the fruit;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The clouds appear before the rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Effect comes after cause; but you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First helped, then made your favour plain.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Matali</i>. O King, such is the favour shown by the parents of the +world. <i>King</i>. Holy one, I married this your maid-servant by the +voluntary ceremony. When after a time her relatives brought her to me, +my memory failed and I rejected her. In so doing, I sinned against +Kanva, who is kin to you. But afterwards, when I saw the ring, I +perceived that I had married her. And this seems very wonderful to me.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Like one who doubts an elephant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though seeing him stride by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet believes when he has seen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The footprints left; so I.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i>. My son, do not accuse yourself of sin. Your infatuation +was inevitable. Listen.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I am all attention.</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i>. When the nymph Menaka descended to earth and received +Shakuntala, afflicted at her rejection, she came to Aditi. Then I +perceived the matter by my divine insight. I saw that the unfortunate +girl had been rejected by her rightful husband because of Durvasas' +curse. And that the curse would end when the ring came to light.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i> (<i>with a sigh of relief. To himself</i>). Then I am free from +blame.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>to herself</i>). Thank heaven! My husband did not reject +me of his own accord. He really did not remember me. I suppose I did +not hear the curse in my absent-minded state, for my friends warned me +most earnestly to show my husband the ring.</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i>. My daughter, you know the truth. Do not now give way to +anger against your rightful husband. Remember:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The curse it was that brought defeat and pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The darkness flies; you are his queen again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reflections are not seen in dusty glass,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which, cleaned, will mirror all the things that pass.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. It is most true, holy one.</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i>. My son, I hope you have greeted as he deserves the son +whom Shakuntala has borne you, for whom I myself have performed the +birth-rite and the other ceremonies.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Holy one, the hope of my race centres in him.</p> +<p><i>Kashyapa</i>. Know then that his courage will make him emperor.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Journeying over every sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His car will travel easily;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The seven islands of the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will bow before his matchless worth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because wild beasts to him were tame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All-tamer was his common name;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As Bharata he shall be known,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For he will bear the world alone.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. I anticipate everything from him, since you have performed the +rites for him.</p> +<p> +<i>Aditi</i>. Kanva also should be informed that his daughter's wishes are +fulfilled. But Menaka is waiting upon me here and cannot be spared.</p> +<p> +<i>Shakuntala</i> (<i>to herself</i>). The holy one has expressed my own desire.</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i>. Kanva knows the whole matter through his divine insight. +(<i>He reflects</i>.) Yet he should hear from us the pleasant tidings, how +his daughter and her son have been received by her husband. Who waits +without? (<i>Enter a pupil</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Pupil</i>. I am here, holy one.</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i>. Galava, fly through the air at once, carrying pleasant +tidings from me to holy Kanva. Tell him how Durvasas' curse has come +to an end, how Dushyanta recovered his memory, and has taken +Shakuntala with her child to himself.</p> +<p> +<i>Pupil</i>. Yes, holy one. (<i>Exit</i>.)</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i> (<i>to the king</i>). My son, enter with child and wife the +chariot of your friend Indra, and set out for your capital.</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Yes, holy one.</p> +<p> +<i>Kashyapa</i>. For now</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">May Indra send abundant rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Repaid by sacrificial gain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With aid long mutually given,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rule you on earth, and he in heaven.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Holy one, I will do my best. </p> +<p><i>Kashyapa</i>. What more, my son, shall I do for you?</p> +<p> +<i>King</i>. Can there be more than this? Yet may this prayer be fulfilled.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">May kingship benefit the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wisdom grow in scholars' band;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May Shiva see my faith on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And make me free of all rebirth.<br /></span> </p> +</blockquote> +<p> +(<i>Exeunt omnes</i>. + + + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> + +<h4><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h4> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE STORY OF SHAKUNTALA</h2> + +<p> +In the first book of the vast epic poem <i>Mahabharata</i>, Kalidasa found +the story of Shakuntala. The story has a natural place there, for +Bharata, Shakuntala's son, is the eponymous ancestor of the princes +who play the leading part in the epic.</p> +<p> +With no little abbreviation of its epic breadth, the story runs as +follows:—</p> +<p><b> +THE EPIC TALE</b></p> +<p> +Once that strong-armed king, with a mighty host of men and chariots, +entered a thick wood. Then when the king had slain thousands of wild +creatures, he entered another wood with his troops and his chariots, +intent on pursuing a deer. And the king beheld a wonderful, beautiful +hermitage on the bank of the sacred river Malini; on its bank was the +beautiful hermitage of blessèd, high-souled Kanva, whither the great +sages resorted. Then the king determined to enter, that he might see +the great sage Kanva, rich in holiness. He laid aside the insignia of +royalty and went on alone, but did not see the austere sage in the +hermitage. Then, when he did not see the sage, and perceived that the +hermitage was deserted, he cried aloud, "Who is here?" until the +forest seemed to shriek. Hearing his cry, a maiden, lovely as Shri, +came from the hermitage, wearing a hermit garb. "Welcome!" she said at +once, greeting him, and smilingly added: "What may be done for you?" +Then the king said to the sweet-voiced maid: "I have come to pay +reverence to the holy sage Kanva. Where has the blessèd one gone, +sweet girl? Tell me this, lovely maid." Shakuntala said: "My blessèd +father has gone from the hermitage to gather fruits. Wait a moment. +You shall see him when he returns."</p> +<p> +The king did not see the sage, but when the lovely girl of the fair +hips and charming smile spoke to him, he saw that she was radiant +in her beauty, yes, in her hard vows and self-restraint all youth and +beauty, and he said to her:</p> +<p> +"Who are you? Whose are you, lovely maiden? Why did you come to the +forest? Whence are you, sweet girl, so lovely and so good? Your beauty +stole my heart at the first glance. I wish to know you better. Answer +me, sweet maid."</p> +<p> +The maiden laughed when thus questioned by the king in the hermitage, +and the words she spoke were very sweet: "O Dushyanta, I am known as +blessed Kanva's daughter, and he is austere, steadfast, wise, and of a +lofty soul."</p> +<p> +Dushyanta said: "But he is chaste, glorious maid, holy, honoured by +the world. Though virtue should swerve from its course, he would not +swerve from the hardness of his vow. How were you born his daughter, +for you are beautiful? I am in great perplexity about this. Pray +remove it."</p> +<p> +[Shakuntala here explains how she is the child of a sage and a nymph, +deserted at birth, cared for by birds (<i>shakuntas</i>), found and reared +by Kanva, who gave her the name Shakuntala.]</p> +<p> +Dushyanta said: "You are clearly a king's daughter, sweet maiden, as +you say. Become my lovely wife. Tell me, what shall I do for you? Let +all my kingdom be yours to-day. Become my wife, sweet maid."</p> +<p> +Shakuntala said: "Promise me truly what I say to you in secret. The +son that is born to me must be your heir. If you promise, Dushyanta, I +will marry you."</p> +<p> +"So be it," said the king without thinking, and added: "I will bring +you too to my city, sweet-smiling girl.</p> +<p> +So the king took the faultlessly graceful maiden by the hand and dwelt +with her. And when he had bidden her be of good courage, he went +forth, saying again and again: "I will send a complete army for you, +and tell them to bring my sweet-smiling bride to my palace." When he +had made this promise, the king went thoughtfully to find Kanva. "What +will he do when he hears it, this holy, austere man?" he wondered, and +still thinking, he went back to his capital.</p> +<p> +Now the moment he was gone, Kanva came to the hermitage. And +Shakuntala was ashamed and did not come to meet her father. But +blessed, austere Kanva had divine discernment. He discovered her, and +seeing the matter with celestial vision, he was pleased and said: +"What you have done, dear, to-day, forgetting me and meeting a man, +this does not break the law. A man who loves may marry secretly the +woman who loves him without a ceremony; and Dushyanta is virtuous and +noble, the best of men. Since you have found a loving husband, +Shakuntala, a noble son shall be born to you, mighty in the world."</p> +<p> +Sweet Shakuntala gave birth to a boy of unmeasured prowess. His hands +were marked with the wheel, and he quickly grew to be a glorious boy. +As a six years' child in Kanva's hermitage he rode on the backs of +lions, tigers, and boars near the hermitage, and tamed them, and ran +about playing with them. Then those who lived in Kanva's hermitage +gave him a name. "Let him be called All-tamer," they said: "for he +tames everything."</p> +<p> +But when the sage saw the boy and his more than human deeds, he said +to Shakuntala: "It is time for him to be anointed crown prince." When +he saw how strong the boy was, Kanva said to his pupils: "Quickly +bring my Shakuntala and her son from my house to her husband's palace. +A long abiding with their relatives is not proper for married women. +It destroys their reputation, and their character, and their virtue; +so take her without delay." "We will," said all the mighty men, and +they set out with Shakuntala and her son for Gajasahvaya.</p> +<p> +When Shakuntala drew near, she was recognised and invited to enter, +and she said to the king: "This is your son, O King. You must anoint +him crown prince, just as you promised before, when we met."</p> +<p> +When the king heard her, although he remembered her, he said: "I do +not remember. To whom do you belong, you wicked hermit-woman? I do not +remember a union with you for virtue, love, and wealth.<a name="FNanchor_1_5" id="FNanchor_1_5"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_1_5" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Either go +or stay, or do whatever you wish."</p> +<p> +When he said this, the sweet hermit-girl half fainted from shame and +grief, and stood stiff as a pillar. Her eyes darkened with passionate +indignation; her lips quivered; she seemed to consume the king as she +gazed at him with sidelong glances. Concealing her feelings and nerved +by anger, she held in check the magic power that her ascetic life +had given her. She seemed to meditate a moment, overcome by grief and +anger. She gazed at her husband, then spoke passionately: "O shameless +king, although you know, why do you say, 'I do not know,' like any +other ordinary man?"</p> +<p> +Dushyanta said: "I do not know the son born of you, Shakuntala. Women +are liars. Who will believe what you say? Are you not ashamed to say +these incredible things, especially in my presence? You wicked +hermit-woman, go!"</p> +<p> +Shakuntala said: "O King, sacred is holy God, and sacred is a holy +promise. Do not break your promise, O King. Let your love be sacred. +If you cling to a lie, and will not believe, alas! I must go away; +there is no union with a man like you. For even without you, +Dushyanta, my son shall rule this foursquare earth adorned with kingly +mountains."</p> +<p> +When she had said so much to the king, Shakuntala started to go. But a +bodiless voice from heaven said to Dushyanta: "Care for your son, +Dushyanta. Do not despise Shakuntala. You are the boy's father. +Shakuntala tells the truth."</p> +<p> +When he heard the utterance of the gods, the king joyfully said to his +chaplain and his ministers: "Hear the words of this heavenly +messenger. If I had received my son simply because of her words, he +would be suspected by the world, he would not be pure."</p> +<p> +Then the king received his son gladly and joyfully. He kissed his head +and embraced him lovingly. His wife also Dushyanta honoured, as +justice required. And the king soothed her, and said: "This union +which I had with you was hidden from the world. Therefore I hesitated, +O Queen, in order to save your reputation. And as for the cruel words +you said to me in an excess of passion, these I pardon you, my +beautiful, great-eyed darling, because you love me."</p> +<p> +Then King Dushyanta gave the name Bharata to Shakuntala's son, and had +him anointed crown prince.</p> +<p> +It is plain that this story contains the material for a good play; the +very form of the epic tale is largely dramatic. It is also plain, in a +large way, of what nature are the principal changes which a dramatist +must introduce in the original. For while Shakuntala is charming in +the epic story, the king is decidedly contemptible. Somehow or +other, his face must be saved.</p> +<p> +To effect this, Kalidasa has changed the old story in three important +respects. In the first place, he introduces the curse of Durvasas, +clouding the king's memory, and saving him from moral responsibility +in his rejection of Shakuntala. That there may be an ultimate recovery +of memory, the curse is so modified as to last only until the king +shall see again the ring which he has given to his bride. To the +Hindu, curse and modification are matters of frequent occurrence; and +Kalidasa has so delicately managed the matter as not to shock even a +modern and Western reader with a feeling of strong improbability. Even +to us it seems a natural part of the divine cloud that envelops the +drama, in no way obscuring human passion, but rather giving to human +passion an unwonted largeness and universality.</p> +<p> +In the second place, the poet makes Shakuntala undertake her journey +to the palace before her son is born. Obviously, the king's character +is thus made to appear in a better light, and a greater probability is +given to the whole story.</p> +<p> +The third change is a necessary consequence of the first; for without +the curse, there could have been no separation, no ensuing remorse, +and no reunion.</p> +<p> +But these changes do not of themselves make a drama out of the epic +tale. Large additions were also necessary, both of scenes and of +characters. We find, indeed, that only acts one and five, with a part +of act seven, rest upon the ancient text, while acts two, three, four, +and six, with most of seven, are a creation of the poet. As might have +been anticipated, the acts of the former group are more dramatic, +while those of the latter contribute more of poetical charm. It is +with these that scissors must be chiefly busy when the play—rather +too long for continuous presentation as it stands—is performed on the +stage.</p> +<p> +In the epic there are but three characters—Dushyanta, Shakuntala, +Kanva, with the small boy running about in the background. To these +Kalidasa has added from the palace, from the hermitage, and from the +Elysian region which is represented with vague precision in the last +act.</p> +<p> +The conventional clown plays a much smaller part in this play than in +the others which Kalidasa wrote. He has also less humour. The real +humorous relief is given by the fisherman and the three policemen in +the opening scene of the sixth act. This, it may be remarked, is the +only scene of rollicking humour in Kalidasa's writing.</p> +<p> +The forest scenes are peopled with quiet hermit-folk. Far the most +charming of these are Shakuntala's girl friends. The two are +beautifully differentiated: Anusuya grave, sober; Priyamvada +vivacious, saucy; yet wonderfully united in friendship and in devotion +to Shakuntala, whom they feel to possess a deeper nature than theirs.</p> +<p> +Kanva, the hermit-father, hardly required any change from the epic +Kanva. It was a happy thought to place beside him the staid, motherly +Gautami. The small boy in the last act has magically become an +individual in Kalidasa's hands. In this act too are the creatures of a +higher world, their majesty not rendered too precise.</p> +<p> +Dushyanta has been saved by the poet from his epic shabbiness; it may +be doubted whether more has been done. There is in him, as in some +other Hindu heroes, a shade too much of the meditative to suit our +ideal of more alert and ready manhood.</p> +<p> +But all the other characters sink into insignificance beside the +heroine. Shakuntala dominates the play. She is actually on the stage +in five of the acts, and her spirit pervades the other two, the second +and the sixth. Shakuntala has held captive the heart of India for +fifteen hundred years, and wins the love of increasing thousands in +the West; for so noble a union of sweetness with strength is one of +the miracles of art.</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> + + Though lovely women walk the world to-day + By tens of thousands, there is none so fair + In all that exhibition and display + With her most perfect beauty to compare— +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +because it is a most perfect beauty of soul no less than of outward +form. Her character grows under our very eyes. When we first meet her, +she is a simple maiden, knowing no greater sorrow than the death of a +favourite deer; when we bid her farewell, she has passed through happy +love, the mother's joys and pains, most cruel humiliation and +suspicion, and the reunion with her husband, proved at last not to +have been unworthy. And each of these great experiences has been met +with a courage and a sweetness to which no words can render justice.</p> +<p> +Kalidasa has added much to the epic tale; yet his use of the original +is remarkably minute. A list of the epic suggestions incorporated in +his play is long. But it is worth making, in order to show how keen is +the eye of genius. Thus the king lays aside the insignia of royalty +upon entering the grove (Act I). Shakuntala appears in hermit garb, a +dress of bark (Act I). The quaint derivation of the heroine's name +from <i>shakunta</i>—bird—is used with wonderful skill in a passage (Act +VII) which defies translation, as it involves a play on words. The +king's anxiety to discover whether the maiden's father is of a caste +that permits her to marry him is reproduced (Act I). The marriage +without a ceremony is retained (Act IV), but robbed of all offence. +Kanva's celestial vision, which made it unnecessary for his child to +tell him of her union with the king, is introduced with great delicacy +(Act IV). The curious formation of the boy's hand which indicated +imperial birth adds to the king's suspense (Act VII). The boy's rough +play with wild animals is made convincing (Act VII) and his very +nickname All-tamer is preserved (Act VII). Kanva's worldly wisdom as +to husband and wife dwelling together is reproduced (Act IV). No small +part of the give-and-take between the king and Shakuntala is given +(Act V), but with a new dignity.</p> +<p> +Of the construction of the play I speak with diffidence. It seems +admirable to me, the apparently undue length of some scenes hardly +constituting a blemish, as it was probably intended to give the actors +considerable latitude of choice and excision. Several versions of the +text have been preserved; it is from the longer of the two more +familiar ones that the translation in this volume has been made. In +the warm discussion over this matter, certain technical arguments of +some weight have been advanced in favour of this choice; there is also +a more general consideration which seems to me of importance. I find +it hard to believe that any lesser artist could pad such a +masterpiece, and pad it all over, without making the fraud apparent on +almost every page. The briefer version, on the other hand, might +easily grow out of the longer, either as an acting text, or as a +school-book.</p> +<p> +We cannot take leave of Shakuntala in any better way than by quoting +the passage<a name="FNanchor_2_6" id="FNanchor_2_6"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_2_6" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> in which Lévi's +imagination has conjured up "the +memorable <i>première</i> when Shakuntala saw the light, in the presence of +Vikramaditya and his court."</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p> + La fête du printemps approche; Ujjayinî, la ville aux riches + marchands et la capitale intellectuelle de l'Inde, glorieuse et + prospère sous un roi victorieux et sage, se prépare à célébrer + la solennité avec une pompe digne de son opulence et de son + goût.... L'auteur applaudi de Mâlavikâ ... le poète dont le + souple génie s'accommode sans effort au ton de l'épopée ou de + l'élégie, Kâlidâsa vient d'achever une comédie héroïque + annoncée comme un chef-d'œuvre par la voix de ses amis.... Le + poète a ses comédiens, qu'il a éprouvés et dressés à sa manière + avec Mâlavikâ. Les comédiens suivront leur poète familier, + devenu leur maître et leur ami.... Leur solide instruction, + leur goût épuré reconnaissent les qualités maîtresses de + l'œuvre, l'habileté de l'intrigue, le juste équilibre des + sentiments, la fraîcheur de l'imagination ...</p> +<p> + Vikramâditya entre, suivi des courtisans, et s'asseoit sur son + trône; ses femmes restent à sa gauche; à sa droite les rois + vassaux accourus pour rendre leurs hommages, les princes, les + hauts fonctionnaires, les littérateurs et les savants, groupés + autour de Varâha-mihira l'astrologue et d'Amarasimha le + lexicographe ...</p> +<p> + Tout à coup, les deux jolies figurantes placées devant le + rideau de la coulisse en écartent les plis, et Duhsanta, l'arc + et les flèches à la main, paraît monté sur un char; son cocher + tient les rênes; lancés à la poursuite d'une gazelle + imaginaire, ils simulent par leurs gestes la rapidité de la + course; leurs stances pittoresques et descriptives suggèrent à + l'imagination un décor que la peinture serait impuissante à + tracer. Ils approchent de l'ermitage; le roi descend à terre, + congédie le cocher, les chevaux et le char, entend les voix des + jeunes filles et se cache. Un mouvement de curiosité agite + les spectateurs; fille d'une Apsaras et création de Kâlidâsa, + Çakuntalâ réunit tous les charmes; l'actrice saura-t-elle + répondre à l'attente des connaisseurs et réaliser l'idéal? Elle + paraît, vêtue d'une simple tunique d'écorce qui semble cacher + ses formes et par un contraste habile les embellit encore; la + ligne arrondie du visage, les yeux longs, d'un bleu sombre, + langoureux, les seins opulents mal emprisonnés, les bras + délicats laissent à deviner les beautés que le costume + ascétique dérobe. Son attitude, ses gestes ravissent à la fois + les regards et les cœurs; elle parle, et sa voix est un chant. + La cour de Vikrâmaditya frémit d'une émotion sereine et + profonde: un chef-d'œuvre nouveau vient d'entrer dans + l'immortalité. +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> +<p><a name="Footnote_1_5" id="Footnote_1_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_5"><span class="label">[1]</span></a></p> +<p> +The Hindu equivalent of "for better, for worse."</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_2_6" id="Footnote_2_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_6"><span class="label">[2]</span></a></p> +<p><i>Le Théatre Indien</i>, pages 368-371. This is without +competition the best work in which any part of the Sanskrit literature +has been treated, combining erudition, imagination, and taste. The +book is itself literature of a high order. The passage is +unfortunately too long to be quoted entire.</p> + +</div> + +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> +<h4><a href="#CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h4> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE TWO MINOR DRAMAS</h2> + +<p><b><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a>I.—"MALAVIKA AND AGNIMITRA"</b> +<br /> +<br /></p> + +<p> +<i>Malavika and Agnimitra</i> is the earliest of Kalidasa's three dramas, +and probably his earliest work. This conclusion would be almost +certain from the character of the play, but is put beyond doubt by the +following speeches of the prologue:</p> +<p> +<i>Stage-director</i>. The audience has asked us to present at this spring +festival a drama called <i>Malavika and Agnimitra</i>, composed by +Kalidasa. Let the music begin.</p> +<p> +<i>Assistant</i>. No, no! Shall we neglect the works of such illustrious +authors as Bhasa, Saumilla, and Kaviputra? Can the audience feel any +respect for the work of a modern poet, a Kalidasa?</p> +<p> +<i>Stage-director</i>. You are quite mistaken. Consider:</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Not all is good that bears an ancient name,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor need we every modern poem blame:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wise men approve the good, or new or old;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The foolish critic follows where he's told.<br /></span> + +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<i>Assistant</i>. The responsibility rests with you, sir.</p> +<p> +There is irony in the fact that the works of the illustrious authors +mentioned have perished, that we should hardly know of their existence +were it not for the tribute of their modest, youthful rival. But +Kalidasa could not read the future. We can imagine his feelings of +mingled pride and fear when his early work was presented at the spring +festival before the court of King Vikramaditya, without doubt the most +polished and critical audience that could at that hour have been +gathered in any city on earth. The play which sought the approbation +of this audience shows no originality of plot, no depth of passion. +It is a light, graceful drama of court intrigue. The hero, King +Agnimitra, is an historical character of the second century before +Christ, and Kalidasa's play gives us some information about him that +history can seriously consider. The play represents Agnimitra's +father, the founder of the Sunga dynasty, as still living. As the seat +of empire was in Patna on the Ganges, and as Agnimitra's capital is +Vidisha—the modern Bhilsa—it seems that he served as regent of +certain provinces during his father's lifetime. The war with the King +of Vidarbha seems to be an historical occurrence, and the fight with +the Greek cavalry force is an echo of the struggle with Menander, in +which the Hindus were ultimately victorious. It was natural for +Kalidasa to lay the scene of his play in Bhilsa rather than in the +far-distant Patna, for it is probable that many in the audience were +acquainted with the former city. It is to Bhilsa that the poet refers +again in <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i>, where these words are addressed to the +cloud:</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">At thine approach, Dasharna land is blest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With hedgerows where gay buds are all aglow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With village trees alive with many a nest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Abuilding by the old familiar crow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With lingering swans, with ripe rose-apples' darker show.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">There shalt thou see the royal city, known<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Afar, and win the lover's fee complete,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">If thou subdue thy thunders to a tone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of murmurous gentleness, and taste the sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love-rippling features of the river at thy feet.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Yet in Kalidasa's day, the glories of the Sunga dynasty were long +departed, nor can we see why the poet should have chosen his hero and +his era as he did.</p> +<p> +There follows an analysis of the plot and some slight criticism.</p> +<p> +In addition to the stage-director and his assistant, who appear in the +prologue, the characters of the play are these:</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p class="center">DRAMATIS PERSONÆ</p> + +<table summary="Dramatis Personæ" width="60%"> +<tr><td>AGNIMITRA,</td><td><i>king in Vidisha</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>GAUTAMA,</td><td><i>a clown, his friend</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>GANADASA </td><td rowspan="2"> }<i>dancing-masters</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>HARADATTA</td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>DHARINI, </td><td><i>the senior queen</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>IRAVATI,</td><td><i>the junior queen</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>MALAVIKA,</td><td><i>maid to Queen Dharini, later discovered to be a princess</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>KAUSHIKI,</td><td><i>a Buddhist nun</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>BAKULAVALIKA,</td><td><i>a maid, friend of Malavika</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>NIPUNIKA,</td><td><i>maid to Queen Iravati</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><i>A counsellor, a chamberlain, a humpback, two court poets, +maids, and mute attendants</i>.</td></tr> +</table> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +The scene is the palace and gardens of King Agnimitra, the time a few +days.</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b>ACT I</b>.—After the usual prologue, the maid Bakulavalika appears with +another maid. From their conversation we learn that King Agnimitra has +seen in the palace picture-gallery a new painting of Queen Dharini +with her attendants. So beautiful is one of these, Malavika, that the +king is smitten with love, but is prevented by the jealous queen from +viewing the original. At this point the dancing-master Ganadasa +enters. From him Bakulavalika learns that Malavika is a wonderfully +proficient pupil, while he learns from her that Malavika had been sent +as a present to Queen Dharini by a general commanding a border +fortress, the queen's brother.</p> +<p> +After this introductory scene, the king enters, and listens to a +letter sent by the king of Vidarbha. The rival monarch had imprisoned +a prince and princess, cousins of Agnimitra, and in response to +Agnimitra's demand that they be set free, he declares that the +princess has escaped, but that the prince shall not be liberated +except on certain conditions. This letter so angers Agnimitra that he +despatches an army against the king of Vidarbha.</p> +<p> +Gautama, the clown, informs Agnimitra that he has devised a plan for +bringing Malavika into the king's presence. He has stirred an envious +rivalry in the bosoms of the two dancing-masters, who soon appear, +each abusing the other vigorously, and claiming for himself the +pre-eminence in their art. It is agreed that each shall exhibit his +best pupil before the king, Queen Dharini, and the learned Buddhist +nun, Kaushiki. The nun, who is in the secret of the king's desire, is +made mistress of ceremonies, and the queen's jealous opposition is +overborne.</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +<b>ACT II</b>.—The scene is laid in the concert-hall of the palace. The nun +determines that Ganadasa shall present his pupil first. Malavika is +thereupon introduced, dances, and sings a song which pretty plainly +indicates her own love for the king. He is in turn quite ravished, +finding her far more beautiful even than the picture. The clown +manages to detain her some little time by starting a discussion as to +her art, and when she is finally permitted to depart, both she and the +king are deeply in love. The court poet announces the noon hour, and +the exhibition of the other dancing-master is postponed.</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b>ACT III</b>.—The scene is laid in the palace garden. From the +conversation of two maids it appears that a favourite ashoka-tree is +late in blossoming. This kind of tree, so the belief runs, can be +induced to put forth blossoms if touched by the foot of a beautiful +woman in splendid garments.</p> +<p> +When the girls depart, the king enters with the clown, his confidant. +The clown, after listening to the king's lovelorn confidences, reminds +him that he has agreed to meet his young Queen Iravati in the garden, +and swing with her. But before the queen's arrival, Malavika enters, +sent thither by Dharini to touch the ashoka-tree with her foot, and +thus encourage it to blossom. The king and the clown hide in a +thicket, to feast their eyes upon her. Presently the maid Bakulavalika +appears, to adorn Malavika for the ceremony, and engages her in +conversation about the king. But now a third pair enter, the young +Queen Iravati, somewhat flushed with wine, and her maid Nipunika. They +also conceal themselves to spy upon the young girls. Thus there are +three groups upon the stage: the two girls believe themselves to be +alone; the king and the clown are aware of the two girls, as are also +the queen and her maid; but neither of these two pairs knows of the +presence of the other. This situation gives rise to very entertaining +dialogue, which changes its character when the king starts forward +to express his love for Malavika. Another sudden change is brought +about when Iravati, mad with jealousy, joins the group, sends the two +girls away, and berates the king. He excuses himself as earnestly as a +man may when caught in such a predicament, but cannot appease the +young queen, who leaves him with words of bitter jealousy.</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +<b>ACT IV</b>.—The clown informs the king that Queen Dharini has locked +Malavika and her friend in the cellar, and has given orders to the +doorkeeper that they are to be released only upon presentation of her +own signet-ring, engraved with the figure of a serpent. But he +declares that he has devised a plan to set them free. He bids the king +wait upon Queen Dharini, and presently rushes into their presence, +showing his thumb marked with two scratches, and declaring that he has +been bitten by a cobra. Imploring the king to care for his childless +mother, he awakens genuine sympathy in the queen, who readily parts +with her serpent-ring, supposed to be efficacious in charming away the +effects of snake-poison. Needless to say, he uses the ring to procure +the freedom of Malavika and her friend, and then brings about a +meeting with Agnimitra in the summer-house. The love-scene which +follows is again interrupted by Queen Iravati. This time the king is +saved by the news that his little daughter has been frightened by a +yellow monkey, and will be comforted only by him. The act ends with +the announcement that the ashoka-tree has blossomed.</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b>ACT V</b>.—It now appears that Queen Dharini has relented and is willing +to unite Malavika with the king; for she invites him to meet her under +the ashoka-tree, and includes Malavika among her attendants. Word is +brought that the army despatched against the king of Vidarbha has been +completely successful, and that in the spoil are included two maids +with remarkable powers of song. These maids are brought before the +company gathered at the tree, where they surprise every one by falling +on their faces before Malavika with the exclamation, "Our princess!" +Here the Buddhist nun takes up the tale. She tells how her brother, +the counsellor of the captive prince, had rescued her and Malavika +from the king of Vidarbha, and had started for Agnimitra's court.</p> +<p> +On the way they had been overpowered by robbers, her brother killed, +and she herself separated from Malavika. She had thereupon become a +nun and made her way to Agnimitra's court, and had there found +Malavika, who had been taken from the robbers by Agnimitra's general +and sent as a present to Queen Dharini. She had not divulged the +matter sooner, because of a prophecy that Malavika should be a servant +for just one year before becoming a king's bride. This recital removes +any possible objection to a union of Malavika and Agnimitra. To +complete the king's happiness, there comes a letter announcing that +his son by Dharini has won a victory over a force of Greek cavalry, +and inviting the court to be present at the sacrifice which was to +follow the victory. Thus every one is made happy except the jealous +young Queen Iravati, now to be supplanted by Malavika; yet even she +consents, though somewhat ungraciously, to the arrangements made.</p> +<p> +Criticism of the large outlines of this plot would be quite unjust, +for it is completely conventional. In dozens of plays we have the same +story: the king who falls in love with a maid-servant, the jealousy of +his harem, the eventual discovery that the maid is of royal birth, and +the addition of another wife to a number already sufficiently large. +In writing a play of this kind, the poet frankly accepts the +conventions; his ingenuity is shown in the minor incidents, in stanzas +of poetical description, and in giving abundant opportunity for +graceful music and dancing. When the play is approached in this way, +it is easy to see the <i>griffe du lion</i> in this, the earliest work of +the greatest poet who ever sang repeatedly of love between man and +woman, troubled for a time but eventually happy. For though there is +in Agnimitra, as in all heroes of his type, something contemptible, +there is in Malavika a sweetness, a delicacy, a purity, that make her +no unworthy precursor of Sita, of Indumati, of the Yaksha's bride, and +of Shakuntala.</p> +<p><br /> +<br /></p> + +<p><b><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a>II.—"URVASHI"</b></p> +<p><br /> +<br /></p> +<p>The second of the two inferior dramas may be conveniently called +<i>Urvashi</i>, though the full title is <i>The Tale of Urvashi won by +Valour</i>. When and where the play was first produced we do not know, +for the prologue is silent as to these matters. It has been thought +that it was the last work of Kalidasa, even that it was never produced +in his lifetime. Some support is lent to this theory by the fact that +the play is filled with reminiscences of Shakuntala, in small matters +as well as in great; as if the poet's imagination had grown weary, and +he were willing to repeat himself. Yet <i>Urvashi</i> is a much more +ambitious effort than <i>Malavika</i>, and invites a fuller criticism, +after an outline of the plot has been given.</p> +<p> +In addition to the stage-director and his assistant, who appear in the +prologue, the characters of the play are these:</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p class="center">DRAMATIS PERSONÆ</p> +<table summary="Dramatis Personæ" width="60%"> +<tr><td>PURURAVAS,</td><td><i>king in Pratishthana on the +Ganges</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>AYUS,</td><td><i>his son</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>MANAVAKA,</td><td><i>a clown, his friend</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>URVASHI,</td><td><i>a heavenly nymph</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>CHITRALEKHA,</td><td><i>another nymph, her friend</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>AUSHINARI,</td><td><i>queen of Pururavas</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td>NIPUNIKA,</td><td><i>her maid</i>.</td></tr> </table> +<p><br /> <br /></p> +<p> +<i>A charioteer, a chamberlain, a hermit-woman, various nymphs and other +divine beings, and attendants</i>.</p> +<p> +The scene shifts as indicated in the following analysis. The time of +the first four acts is a few days. Between acts four and five several +years elapse.</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b>ACT I</b>.—The prologue only tells us that we may expect a new play of +Kalidasa. A company of heavenly nymphs then appear upon Mount +Gold-peak wailing and calling for help. Their cries are answered by +King Pururavas, who rides in a chariot that flies through the air. In +response to his inquiries, the nymphs inform him that two of their +number, Urvashi and Chitralekha, have been carried into captivity by +a demon. The king darts in pursuit, and presently returns, +victorious, with the two nymphs. As soon as Urvashi recovers +consciousness, and has rejoined her joyful friends, it is made plain +that she and the king have been deeply impressed with each other's +attractions. The king is compelled to decline an invitation to visit +Paradise, but he and Urvashi exchange loving glances before they part.</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b>ACT II</b>.—The act opens with a comic scene in the king's palace. The +clown appears, bursting with the secret of the king's love for +Urvashi, which has been confided to him. He is joined by the maid +Nipunika, commissioned by the queen to discover what it is that +occupies the king's mind. She discovers the secret ingeniously, but +without much difficulty, and gleefully departs.</p> +<p> +The king and the clown then appear in the garden, and the king +expresses at some length the depth and seeming hopelessness of his +passion. The latter part of his lament is overheard by Urvashi +herself, who, impelled by love for the king, has come down to earth +with her friend Chitralekha, and now stands near, listening but +invisible. When she has heard enough to satisfy her of the king's +passion, she writes a love-stanza on a birch-leaf, and lets it fall +before him. His reception of this token is such that Urvashi throws +aside the magic veil that renders her invisible, but as soon as she +has greeted the king, she and her friend are called away to take their +parts in a play that is being presented in Paradise.</p> +<p> +The king and the clown hunt for Urvashi's love-letter, which has been +neglected during the past few minutes. But the leaf has blown away, +only to be picked up and read by Nipunika, who at that moment enters +with the queen. The queen can hardly be deceived by the lame excuses +which the king makes, and after offering her ironical congratulations, +jealously leaves him.</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b>ACT III</b>.—The act opens with a conversation between two minor +personages in Paradise. It appears that Urvashi had taken the +heroine's part in the drama just presented there, and when asked, "On +whom is your heart set?" had absentmindedly replied, "On Pururavas." +Heaven's stage-director had thereupon cursed her to fall from +Paradise, but this curse had been thus modified: that she was to live +on earth with Pururavas until he should see a child born of her, and +was then to return.</p> +<p> +The scene shifts to Pururavas' palace. In the early evening, the +chamberlain brings the king a message, inviting him to meet the queen +on a balcony bathed in the light of the rising moon. The king betakes +himself thither with his friend, the clown. In the midst of a dialogue +concerning moonlight and love, Urvashi and Chitralekha enter from +Paradise, wearing as before veils of invisibility. Presently the queen +appears and with humble dignity asks pardon of the king for her +rudeness, adding that she will welcome any new queen whom he genuinely +loves and who genuinely returns his love. When the queen departs, +Urvashi creeps up behind the king and puts her hands over his eyes. +Chitralekha departs after begging the king to make her friend forget +Paradise.</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b>ACT IV</b>.—From a short dialogue in Paradise between Chitralekha and +another nymph, we learn that a misfortune has befallen Pururavas and +Urvashi. During their honeymoon in a delightful Himalayan forest, +Urvashi, in a fit of jealousy, had left her husband, and had +inadvertently entered a grove forbidden by an austere god to women. +She was straightway transformed into a vine, while Pururavas is +wandering through the forest in desolate anguish.</p> +<p> +The scene of what follows is laid in the Himalayan forest. Pururavas +enters, and in a long poetical soliloquy bewails his loss and seeks +for traces of Urvashi. He vainly asks help of the creatures whom he +meets: a peacock, a cuckoo, a swan, a ruddy goose, a bee, an elephant, +a mountain-echo, a river, and an antelope. At last he finds a +brilliant ruby in a cleft of the rocks, and when about to throw it +away, is told by a hermit to preserve it: for this is the gem of +reunion, and one who possesses it will soon be reunited with his love. +With the gem in his hand, Pururavas comes to a vine which mysteriously +reminds him of Urvashi, and when he embraces it, he finds his beloved +in his arms. After she has explained to him the reason of her +transformation, they determine to return to the king's capital.</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b>ACT V</b>.—The scene of the concluding act is the king's palace. Several +years have passed in happy love, and Pururavas has only one +sorrow—that he is childless.</p> +<p> +One day a vulture snatches from a maid's hand the treasured gem of +reunion, which he takes to be a bit of bloody meat, and flies off with +it, escaping before he can be killed. While the king and his +companions lament the gem's loss, the chamberlain enters, bringing the +gem and an arrow with which the bird had been shot. On the arrow is +written a verse declaring it to be the property of Ayus, son of +Pururavas and Urvashi. A hermit-woman is then ushered in, who brings a +lad with her. She explains that the lad had been entrusted to her as +soon as born by Urvashi, and that it was he who had just shot the bird +and recovered the gem. When Urvashi is summoned to explain why she had +concealed her child, she reminds the king of heaven's decree that she +should return as soon as Pururavas should see the child to be born to +them. She had therefore sacrificed maternal love to conjugal +affection. Upon this, the king's new-found joy gives way to gloom. He +determines to give up his kingdom and spend the remainder of his life +as a hermit in the forest. But the situation is saved by a messenger +from Paradise, bearing heaven's decree that Urvashi shall live with +the king until his death. A troop of nymphs then enter and assist in +the solemn consecration of Ayus as crown prince.</p> +<p> +The tale of Pururavas and Urvashi, which Kalidasa has treated +dramatically, is first made known to us in the Rigveda. It is thus one +of the few tales that so caught the Hindu imagination as to survive +the profound change which came over Indian thinking in the passage +from Vedic to classical times. As might be expected from its history, +it is told in many widely differing forms, of which the oldest and +best may be summarised thus.</p> +<p> +Pururavas, a mortal, sees and loves the nymph Urvashi. She consents to +live with him on earth so long as he shall not break certain trivial +conditions. Some time after the birth of a son, these conditions are +broken, through no fault of the man, and she leaves him. He wanders +disconsolate, finds her, and pleads with her, by her duty as a wife, +by her love for her child, even by a threat of suicide. She rejects +his entreaties, declaring that there can be no lasting love between +mortal and immortal, even adding: "There are no friendships with +women. Their hearts are the hearts of hyenas." Though at last she +comforts him with vague hopes of a future happiness, the story +remains, as indeed it must remain, a tragedy—the tragedy of love +between human and divine.</p> +<p> +This splendid tragic story Kalidasa has ruined. He has made of it an +ordinary tale of domestic intrigue, has changed the nymph of heaven +into a member of an earthly harem. The more important changes made by +Kalidasa in the traditional story, all have the tendency to remove the +massive, godlike, austere features of the tale, and to substitute +something graceful or even pretty. These principal changes are: the +introduction of the queen, the clown, and the whole human +paraphernalia of a court; the curse pronounced on Urvashi for her +carelessness in the heavenly drama, and its modification; the +invention of the gem of reunion; and the final removal of the curse, +even as modified. It is true that the Indian theatre permits no +tragedy, and we may well believe that no successor of Kalidasa could +hope to present a tragedy on the stage. But might not Kalidasa, far +overtopping his predecessors, have put on the stage a drama the story +of which was already familiar to his audience as a tragic story? +Perhaps not. If not, one can but wish that he had chosen another +subject.</p> +<p> +This violent twisting of an essentially tragic story has had a further +ill consequence in weakening the individual characters. Pururavas is a +mere conventional hero, in no way different from fifty others, in +spite of his divine lineage and his successful wooing of a goddess. +Urvashi is too much of a nymph to be a woman, and too much of a woman +to be a nymph. The other characters are mere types.</p> +<p> +Yet, in spite of these obvious objections, Hindu critical opinion has +always rated the <i>Urvashi</i> very high, and I have long hesitated to +make adverse comments upon it, for it is surely true that every nation +is the best judge of its own literature. And indeed, if one could but +forget plot and characters, he would find in <i>Urvashi</i> much to attract +and charm. There is no lack of humour in the clever maid who worms the +clown's secret out of him. There is no lack of a certain shrewdness in +the clown, as when he observes:</p> +<p> +"Who wants heaven? It is nothing to eat or drink. It is just a place +where they never shut their eyes—like fishes!"</p> +<p> +Again, the play offers an opportunity for charming scenic display. The +terrified nymphs gathered on the mountain, the palace balcony bathed +in moonlight, the forest through which the king wanders in search of +his lost darling, the concluding solemn consecration of the crown +prince by heavenly beings—these scenes show that Kalidasa was no +closet dramatist. And finally, there is here and there such poetry as +only Kalidasa could write. The fourth act particularly, undramatic as +it is, is full of a delicate beauty that defies transcription. It was +a new and daring thought—to present on the stage a long lyrical +monologue addressed to the creatures of the forest and inspired by +despairing passion. Nor must it be forgotten that this play, like all +Indian plays, is an opera. The music and the dancing are lost. We +judge it perforce unfairly, for we judge it by the text alone. If, in +spite of all, the <i>Urvashi</i> is a failure, it is a failure possible +only to a serene and mighty poet.</p> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> +<h4><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h4> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE DYNASTY OF RAGHU</h2> + +<p> +<i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> is an epic poem in nineteen cantos. It consists +of 1564 stanzas, or something over six thousand lines of verse. The +subject is that great line of kings who traced their origin to the +sun, the famous "solar line" of Indian story. The bright particular +star of the solar line is Rama, the knight without fear and without +reproach, the Indian ideal of a gentleman. His story had been told +long before Kalidasa's time in the <i>Ramayana</i>, an epic which does not +need to shun comparison with the foremost epic poems of Europe. In +<i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i>, too, Rama is the central figure; yet in +Kalidasa's poem there is much detail concerning other princes of the +line. The poem thus naturally falls into three great parts: first, the +four immediate ancestors of Rama (cantos 1-9); second, Rama (cantos +10-15); third, certain descendants of Rama (cantos 16-19). A somewhat +detailed account of the matter of the poem may well precede criticism +and comment.</p> + +<p> +<i>First canto. The journey to the hermitage</i>.—The poem begins with the +customary brief prayer for Shiva's favour:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">God Shiva and his mountain bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like word and meaning unified,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world's great parents, I beseech<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To join fit meaning to my speech.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Then follow nine stanzas in which Kalidasa speaks more directly of +himself than elsewhere in his works:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">How great is Raghu's solar line!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How feebly small are powers of mine!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if upon the ocean's swell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I launched a puny cockle-shell.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<p><a name="ftnote_123" id="ftnote_123"></a></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">The fool who seeks a poet's fame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must look for ridicule and blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like tiptoe dwarf who fain would try<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To pluck the fruit for giants high.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Yet I may enter through the door<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That mightier poets pierced of yore;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thread may pierce a jewel, but<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must follow where the diamond cut.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Of kings who lived as saints from birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who ruled to ocean-shore on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who toiled until success was given,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose chariots stormed the gates of heaven,<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Whose pious offerings were blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who gave his wish to every guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose punishments were as the crimes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who woke to guard the world betimes,<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Who sought, that they might lavish, pelf,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose measured speech was truth itself,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who fought victorious wars for fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who loved in wives the mother's name,<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Who studied all good arts as boys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who loved, in manhood, manhood's joys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose age was free from worldly care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who breathed their lives away in prayer,<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Of these I sing, of Raghu's line,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though weak mine art, and wisdom mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forgive these idle stammerings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And think: For virtue's sake he sings.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The good who hear me will be glad<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To pluck the good from out the bad;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When ore is proved by fire, the loss<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is not of purest gold, but dross.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +After the briefest glance at the origin of the solar line, the poet +tells of Rama's great-great-grandfather, King Dilipa. The detailed +description of Dilipa's virtues has interest as showing Kalidasa's +ideal of an aristocrat; a brief sample must suffice here:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">He practised virtue, though in health;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Won riches, with no greed for wealth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Guarded his life, though not from fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Prized joys of earth, but not too dear.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">His virtuous foes he could esteem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like bitter drugs that healing seem;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The friends who sinned he could forsake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like fingers bitten by a snake.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Yet King Dilipa has one deep-seated grief: he has no son. He therefore +journeys with his queen to the hermitage of the sage Vasishtha, in +order to learn what they must do to propitiate an offended fate. Their +chariot rolls over country roads past fragrant lotus-ponds and +screaming peacocks and trustful deer, under archways formed without +supporting pillars by the cranes, through villages where they receive +the blessings of the people. At sunset they reach the peaceful forest +hermitage, and are welcomed by the sage. In response to Vasishtha's +benevolent inquiries, the king declares that all goes well in the +kingdom, and yet:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Until from this dear wife there springs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A son as great as former kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The seven islands of the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all their gems, are nothing worth.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The final debt, most holy one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which still I owe to life—a son—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Galls me as galls the cutting chain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An elephant housed in dirt and pain.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Vasishtha tells the king that on a former occasion he had offended the +divine cow Fragrant, and had been cursed by the cow to lack children +until he had propitiated her own offspring. While the sage is +speaking, Fragrant's daughter approaches, and is entrusted to the +care of the king and queen.</p> +<p> + +<i>Second canto. The holy cow's gift</i>.—During twenty-one days the king +accompanies the cow during her wanderings in the forest, and each +night the queen welcomes their return to the hermitage. On the +twenty-second day the cow is attacked by a lion, and when the king +hastens to draw an arrow, his arm is magically numbed, so that he +stands helpless. To increase his horror, the lion speaks with a human +voice, saying that he is a servant of the god Shiva, set on guard +there and eating as his appointed food any animals that may appear. +Dilipa perceives that a struggle with earthly weapons is useless, and +begs the lion to accept his own body as the price of the cow's +release. The lion tries sophistry, using the old, hollow arguments:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Great beauty and fresh youth are yours; on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As sole, unrivalled emperor you rule;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should you redeem a thing of little worth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">At such a price, you would appear a fool.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">If pity moves you, think that one mere cow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Would be the gainer, should you choose to die;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Live rather for the world! Remember how<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The father-king can bid all dangers fly.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">And if the fiery sage's wrath, aglow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">At loss of one sole cow, should make you shudder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Appease his anger; for you can bestow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Cows by the million, each with pot-like udder.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Save life and youth; for to the dead are given<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No long, unbroken years of joyous mirth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But riches and imperial power are heaven—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The gods have nothing that you lack on earth.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The lion spoke and ceased; but echo rolled<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Forth from the caves wherein the sound was pent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if the hills applauded manifold,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Repeating once again the argument.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> + +Dilipa has no trouble in piercing this sophistical argument, and again +offers his own life, begging the lion to spare the body of his fame +rather than the body of his flesh. The lion consents, but when the +king resolutely presents himself to be eaten, the illusion vanishes, +and the holy cow grants the king his desire. The king returns to his +capital with the queen, who shortly becomes pregnant.</p> +<p> + +<i>Third canto. Raghu's consecration</i>.—The queen gives birth to a +glorious boy, whom the joyful father names Raghu. There follows a +description of the happy family, of which a few stanzas are given +here:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">The king drank pleasure from him late and soon<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With eyes that stared like windless lotus-flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Unselfish joy expanded all his powers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As swells the sea responsive to the moon.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The rooted love that filled each parent's soul<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For the other, deep as bird's love for the mate,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Was now divided with the boy; and straight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The remaining half proved greater than the whole.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He learned the reverence that befits a boy;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Following the nurse's words, began to talk;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And clinging to her finger, learned to walk:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These childish lessons stretched his father's joy,<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Who clasped the baby to his breast, and thrilled<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To feel the nectar-touch upon his skin,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Half closed his eyes, the father's bliss to win<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which, more for long delay, his being filled.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The baby hair must needs be clipped; yet he<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Retained two dangling locks, his cheeks to fret;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And down the river of the alphabet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He swam, with other boys, to learning's sea.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Religion's rites, and what good learning suits<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A prince, he had from teachers old and wise;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Not theirs the pain of barren enterprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For effort spent on good material, fruits.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +<a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a> +This happy childhood is followed by a youth equally happy. Raghu is +married and made crown prince. He is entrusted with the care of the +horse of sacrifice,<a name="FNanchor_1_7" id="FNanchor_1_7"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_1_7" class="fnanchor">1</a> +and when Indra, king of the gods, steals the +horse, Raghu fights him. He cannot overcome the king of heaven, yet he +acquits himself so creditably that he wins Indra's friendship. In +consequence of this proof of his manhood, the empire is bestowed upon +Raghu by his father, who retires with his queen to the forest, to +spend his last days and prepare for death.</p> +<p> + +<i>Fourth canto. Raghu conquers the world</i>.—The canto opens with +several stanzas descriptive of the glory of youthful King Raghu.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">He manifested royal worth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By even justice toward the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beloved as is the southern breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too cool to burn, too warm to freeze.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The people loved his father, yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For greater virtues could forget;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The beauty of the blossoms fair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is lost when mango-fruits are there.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +But the vassal kings are restless</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">For when they knew the king was gone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And power was wielded by his son,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wrath of subject kings awoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which had been damped in sullen smoke.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Raghu therefore determines to make a warlike progress through all +India. He marches eastward with his army from his capital Ayodhya (the +name is preserved in the modern Oudh) to the Bay of Bengal, then +south along the eastern shore of India to Cape Comorin, then north +along the western shore until he comes to the region drained by the +Indus, finally east through the tremendous Himalaya range into Assam, +and thence home. The various nations whom he encounters, Hindus, +Persians, Greeks, and White Huns, all submit either with or without +fighting. On his safe return, Raghu offers a great sacrifice and gives +away all his wealth.<a name="FNanchor_2_8" id="FNanchor_2_8" /> +<a href="#Footnote_2_8" class="fnanchor">2</a> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth canto. Aja goes wooing</i>.—While King Raghu is penniless, a +young sage comes to him, desiring a huge sum of money to give to the teacher +with whom he has just finished his education. The king, unwilling that any +suppliant should go away unsatisfied, prepares to assail the god of wealth in +his Himalayan stronghold, and the god, rather than risk the combat, sends a +rain of gold into the king's treasury. This gold King Raghu bestows upon the +sage, who gratefully uses his spiritual power to cause a son to be born to his +benefactor. In course of time, the son is born and the name Aja is given to +him. We are here introduced to Prince Aja, who is a kind of secondary hero in +the poem, inferior only to his mighty grandson, Rama. To Aja are devoted the +remainder of this fifth canto and the following three cantos; and these +Aja-cantos are among the loveliest in the epic. When the prince has grown into +young manhood, he journeys to a neighbouring court to participate in the +marriage reception of Princess +Indumati.<a name="FNanchor_3_9" id="FNanchor_3_9"></a> <a href="#Footnote_3_9" class="fnanchor">3</a> +One evening he camps by a river, from which a wild elephant issues and attacks +his party. When wounded by Aja, the elephant strangely changes his form, +becoming a demigod, gives the prince a magic weapon, and departs to heaven. Aja +proceeds without further adventure to the country and the palace of Princess +Indumati, where he is made welcome and luxuriously lodged for the night. In the +morning, he is awakened by the song of the court poets outside his chamber. He +rises and betakes himself to the hall where the suitors are gathering. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sixth canto. The princess chooses</i>.—The princely suitors assemble in +the hall; then, to the sound of music, the princess enters in a +litter, robed as a bride, and creates a profound sensation.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">For when they saw God's masterpiece, the maid<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who smote their eyes to other objects blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their glances, wishes, hearts, in homage paid,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Flew forth to her; mere flesh remained behind.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The princes could not but betray their yearning<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By sending messengers, their love to bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In many a quick, involuntary turning,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As flowering twigs of trees announce the spring.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Then a maid-servant conducts the princess from one suitor to another, +and explains the claim which each has upon her affection. First is +presented the King of Magadha, recommended in four stanzas, one of +which runs:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Though other kings by thousands numbered be,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He seems the one, sole governor of earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stars, constellations, planets, fade and flee<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When to the moon the night has given birth.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +But the princess is not attracted.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">The slender maiden glanced at him; she glanced<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And uttered not a word, nor heeded how<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The grass-twined blossoms of her garland danced<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When she dismissed him with a formal bow.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +They pass to the next candidate, the king of the Anga country, in +whose behalf this, and more, is said:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Learning and wealth by nature are at strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet dwell at peace in him; and for the two<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You would be fit companion as his wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like wealth enticing, and like learning true.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Him too the princess rejects, "not that he was unworthy of love, or +she lacking in discernment, but tastes differ." She is then conducted +to the King of Avanti:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">And if this youthful prince your fancy pleases,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bewitching maiden, you and he may play<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In those unmeasured gardens that the breezes<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From Sipra's billows ruffle, cool with spray.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +The inducement is insufficient, and a new candidate is presented, the +King of Anupa,</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">A prince whose fathers' glories cannot fade,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By whom the love of learned men is wooed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who proves that Fortune is no fickle jade<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When he she chooses is not fickly good.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +But alas!</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">She saw that he was brave to look upon,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet could not feel his love would make her gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full moons of autumn nights, when clouds are gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tempt not the lotus-flowers that bloom by day.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +The King of Shurasena has no better fortune, in spite of his virtues +and his wealth. As a river hurrying to the sea passes by a mountain +that would detain her, so the princess passes him by. She is next +introduced to the king of the Kalinga country;</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">His palace overlooks the ocean dark<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With windows gazing on the unresting deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose gentle thunders drown the drums that mark<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The hours of night, and wake him from his sleep.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +But the maiden can no more feel at home with him than the goddess of +fortune can with a good but unlucky man. She therefore turns her +attention to the king of the Pandya country in far southern India. But +she is unmoved by hearing of the magic charm of the south, and rejects +him too.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">And every prince rejected while she sought<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A husband, darkly frowned, as turrets, bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One moment with the flame from torches caught,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Frown gloomily again and sink in night.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +The princess then approaches Aja, who trembles lest she pass him by, +as she has passed by the other suitors. The maid who accompanies +Indumati sees that Aja awakens a deeper feeling, and she therefore +gives a longer account of his kingly line, ending with the +recommendation:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">High lineage is his, fresh beauty, youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And virtue shaped in kingly breeding's mould;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Choose him, for he is worth your love; in truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A gem is ever fitly set in gold.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +The princess looks lovingly at the handsome youth, but cannot speak +for modesty. She is made to understand her own feelings when the maid +invites her to pass on to the next candidate. Then the wreath is +placed round Aja's neck, the people of the city shout their approval, +and the disappointed suitors feel like night-blooming lotuses at +daybreak.</p> +<p> + +<i>Seventh canto. Aja's marriage</i>.—While the suitors retire to the +camps where they have left their retainers, Aja conducts Indumati into +the decorated and festive city. The windows are filled with the faces +of eager and excited women, who admire the beauty of the young prince +and the wisdom of the princess's choice. When the marriage ceremony +has been happily celebrated, the disappointed suitors say farewell +with pleasant faces and jealous hearts, like peaceful pools concealing +crocodiles. They lie in ambush on the road which he must take, and +when he passes with his young bride, they fall upon him. Aja provides +for the safety of Indumati, marshals his attendants, and greatly +distinguishes himself in the battle which follows. Finally he uses the +magic weapon, given him by the demigod, to benumb his adversaries, +and leaving them in this helpless condition, returns home. He and his +young bride are joyfully welcomed by King Raghu, who resigns the +kingdom in favour of Aja.</p> +<p> + +<i>Eighth canto. Aja's lament</i>.—As soon as King Aja is firmly +established on his throne, Raghu retires to a hermitage to prepare for +the death of his mortal part. After some years of religious meditation +he is released, attaining union with the eternal spirit which is +beyond all darkness. His obsequies are performed by his dutiful son. +Indumati gives birth to a splendid boy, who is named Dasharatha. One +day, as the queen is playing with her husband in the garden, a wreath +of magic flowers falls upon her from heaven, and she dies. The +stricken king clasps the body of his dead beloved, and laments over +her.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">If flowers that hardly touch the body, slay it,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The simplest instruments of fate may bring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Destruction, and we have no power to stay it;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then must we live in fear of everything?<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">No! Death was right. He spared the sterner anguish;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Through gentle flowers your gentle life was lost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As I have seen the lotus fade and languish<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When smitten by the slow and silent frost.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Yet God is hard. With unforgiving rigour<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He forged a bolt to crush this heart of mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He left the sturdy tree its living vigour,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But stripped away and slew the clinging vine.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Through all the years, dear, you would not reprove me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Though I offended. Can you go away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sudden, without a word? I know you love me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I have not offended you to-day.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">You surely thought me faithless, to be banished<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As light-of-love and gambler, from your life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because without a farewell word, you vanished<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And never will return, sweet-smiling wife.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The warmth and blush that followed after kisses<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is still upon her face, to madden me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For life is gone, 'tis only life she misses.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A curse upon such life's uncertainty!<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">I never wronged you with a thought unspoken,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Still less with actions. Whither are you flown?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though king in name, I am a man heartbroken,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For power and love took root in you alone.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Your bee-black hair from which the flowers are peeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dear, wavy hair that I have loved so well,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stirs in the wind until I think you sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Soon to return and make my glad heart swell.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Awake, my love! Let only life be given,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And choking griefs that stifle now, will flee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As darkness from the mountain-cave is driven<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By magic herbs that glitter brilliantly.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The silent face, round which the curls are keeping<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their scattered watch, is sad to look upon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As in the night some lonely lily, sleeping<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When musically humming bees are gone.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The girdle that from girlhood has befriended<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You, in love-secrets wise, discreet, and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No longer tinkles, now your dance is ended,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Faithful in life, in dying faithful too.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Your low, sweet voice to nightingales was given;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Your idly graceful movement to the swans;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your grace to fluttering vines, dear wife in heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Your trustful, wide-eyed glances to the fawns:<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">You left your charms on earth, that I, reminded<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By them, might be consoled though you depart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But vainly! Far from you, by sorrow blinded,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I find no prop of comfort for my heart.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Remember how you planned to make a wedding,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Giving the vine-bride to her mango-tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before that happy day, dear, you are treading<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The path with no return. It should not be.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">And this ashoka-tree that you have tended<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With eager longing for the blossoms red—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How can I twine the flowers that should have blended<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With living curls, in garlands for the dead?<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The tree remembers how the anklets, tinkling<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On graceful feet, delighted other years;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sad now he droops, your form with sorrow sprinkling,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And sheds his blossoms in a rain of tears.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Joy's sun is down, all love is fallen and perished,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The song of life is sung, the spring is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone is the use of gems that once you cherished,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And empty, ever empty, is my bed.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">You were my comrade gay, my home, my treasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You were my bosom's friend, in all things true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My best-loved pupil in the arts of pleasure:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Stern death took all I had in taking you.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Still am I king, and rich in kingly fashion,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet lacking you, am poor the long years through;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I cannot now be won to any passion,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For all my passions centred, dear, in you.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Aja commits the body of his beloved queen to the flames. A holy hermit +comes to tell the king that his wife had been a nymph of heaven in a +former existence, and that she has now returned to her home. But Aja +cannot be comforted. He lives eight weary years for the sake of his +young son, then is reunited with his queen in Paradise.</p> +<p> + +<i>Ninth canto. The hunt</i>.—This canto introduces us to King Dasharatha, +father of the heroic Rama. It begins with an elaborate description of +his glory, justice, prowess, and piety; then tells of the three +princesses who became his wives: Kausalya, Kaikeyi, and Sumitra. In +the beautiful springtime he takes an extended hunting-trip in the +forest, during which an accident happens, big with fate.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">He left his soldiers far behind one day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the wood, and following where deer-tracks lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came with his weary horse adrip with foam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To river-tenks where hermits made their home.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">And in the stream he heard the water fill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A jar; he heard it ripple clear and shrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shot an arrow, thinking he had found<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A trumpeting elephant, toward the gurgling sound.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Such actions are forbidden to a king,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet Dasharatha sinned and did this thing;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For even the wise and learned man is minded<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To go astray, by selfish passion blinded.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He heard the startling cry, "My father!" rise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Among the reeds; rode up; before his eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He saw the jar, the wounded hermit boy:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remorse transfixed his heart and killed his joy.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He left his horse, this monarch famous far,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Asked him who drooped upon the water-jar<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His name, and from the stumbling accents knew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A hermit youth, of lowly birth but true.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The arrow still undrawn, the monarch bore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Him to his parents who, afflicted sore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With blindness, could not see their only son<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dying, and told them what his hand had done.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The murderer then obeyed their sad behest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And drew the fixèd arrow from his breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The boy lay dead; the father cursed the king,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With tear-stained hands, to equal suffering.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">"In sorrow for your son you too shall die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An old, old man," he said, "as sad as I."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poor, trodden snake! He used his venomous sting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then heard the answer of the guilty king:<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">"Your curse is half a blessing if I see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The longed-for son who shall be born to me:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The scorching fire that sweeps the well-ploughed field,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May burn indeed, but stimulates the yield.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The deed is done; what kindly act can I<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perform who, pitiless, deserve to die?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Bring wood," he begged, "and build a funeral pyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That we may seek our son through death by fire."<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The king fulfilled their wish; and while they burned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In mute, sin-stricken sorrow he returned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hiding death's seed within him, as the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hides magic fire that burns eternally.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Thus is foreshadowed in the birth of Rama, his banishment, and the +death of his father.</p> +<p> +Cantos ten to fifteen form the kernel of the epic, for they tell the +story of Rama, the mighty hero of Raghu's line. In these cantos +Kalidasa attempts to present anew, with all the literary devices of a +more sophisticated age, the famous old epic story sung in masterly +fashion by the author of the <i>Ramayana</i>. As the poet is treading +ground familiar to all who hear him, the action of these cantos is +very compressed.</p> +<p> + +<i>Tenth canto. The incarnation of Rama</i>.—While Dasharatha, desiring a +son, is childless, the gods, oppressed by a giant adversary, betake +themselves to Vishnu, seeking aid. They sing a hymn of praise, a part +of which is given here.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">O thou who didst create this All,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who dost preserve it, lest it fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who wilt destroy it and its ways—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To thee, O triune Lord, be praise.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">As into heaven's water run<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tastes of earth—yet it is one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So thou art all the things that range<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The universe, yet dost not change.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Far, far removed, yet ever near;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Untouched by passion, yet austere;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sinless, yet pitiful of heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ancient, yet free from age—Thou art.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Though uncreate, thou seekest birth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dreaming, thou watchest heaven and earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Passionless, smitest low thy foes;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who knows thy nature, Lord? Who knows?<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Though many different paths, O Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May lead us to some great reward,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They gather and are merged in thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like floods of Ganges in the sea.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The saints who give thee every thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose every act for thee is wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yearn for thine everlasting peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For bliss with thee, that cannot cease.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Like pearls that grow in ocean's night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like sunbeams radiantly bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy strange and wonder-working ways<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Defeat extravagance of praise.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">If songs that to thy glory tend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should weary grow or take an end,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our impotence must bear the blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not thine unexhausted name.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Vishnu is gratified by the praise of the gods, and asks their desire. +They inform him that they are distressed by Ravana, the giant king of +Lanka (Ceylon), whom they cannot conquer. Vishnu promises to aid them +by descending to earth in a new avatar, as son of Dasharatha. Shortly +afterwards, an angel appears before King Dasharatha, bringing in a +golden bowl a substance which contains the essence of Vishnu. The king +gives it to his three wives, who thereupon conceive and dream +wonderful dreams. Then Queen Kausalya gives birth to Rama; Queen +Kaikeyi to Bharata; Queen Sumitra to twins, Lakshmana and Shatrughna. +Heaven and earth rejoice. The four princes grow up in mutual +friendship, yet Rama and Lakshmana are peculiarly drawn to each +other, as are Bharata and Shatrughna. So beautiful and so modest are +the four boys that they seem like incarnations of the four things +worth living for—virtue, money, love, and salvation.</p> +<p> + +<i>Eleventh canto. The victory over Rama-with-the-axe</i>.—At the request +of the holy hermit Vishvamitra, the two youths Rama and Lakshmana +visit his hermitage, to protect it from evil spirits. The two lads +little suspect, on their maiden journey, how much of their lives will +be spent in wandering together in the forest. On the way they are +attacked by a giantess, whom Rama kills; the first of many giants who +are to fall at his hand. He is given magic weapons by the hermit, with +which he and his brother kill other giants, freeing the hermitage from +all annoyance. The two brothers then travel with the hermit to the +city of Mithila, attracted thither by hearing of its king, his +wonderful daughter, and his wonderful bow. The bow was given him by +the god Shiva; no man has been able to bend it; and the beautiful +princess's hand is the prize of any man who can perform the feat. On +the way thither, Rama brings to life Ahalya, a woman who in a former +age had been changed to stone for unfaithfulness to her austere +husband, and had been condemned to remain a stone until trodden by +Rama's foot. Without further adventure, they reach Mithila, where the +hermit presents Rama as a candidate for the bending of the bow.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">The king beheld the boy, with beauty blest<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And famous lineage; he sadly thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How hard it was to bend the bow, distressed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Because his child must be so dearly bought.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He said: "O holy one, a mighty deed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That full-grown elephants with greatest pain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could hardly be successful in, we need<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Not ask of elephant-cubs. It would be vain.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">For many splendid kings of valorous name,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bearing the scars of many a hard-fought day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have tried and failed; then, covered with their shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Have shrugged their shoulders, cursed, and strode away."<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> + +Yet when the bow is given to the youthful Rama, he not only bends, but +breaks it. He is immediately rewarded with the hand of the Princess +Sita, while Lakshmana marries her sister. On their journey home with +their young brides, dreadful portents appear, followed by their cause, +a strange being called Rama-with-the-axe, who is carefully to be +distinguished from Prince Rama. This Rama-with-the-axe is a Brahman +who has sworn to exterminate the entire warrior caste, and who +naturally attacks the valorous prince. He makes light of Rama's +achievement in breaking Shiva's bow, and challenges him to bend the +mightier bow which he carries. This the prince succeeds in doing, and +Rama-with-the-axe disappears, shamed and defeated. The marriage party +then continues its journey to Ayodhya.</p> +<p> + +<i>Twelfth canto. The killing of Ravana</i>.—King Dasharatha prepares to +anoint Rama crown prince, when Queen Kaikeyi interposes. On an earlier +occasion she had rendered the king a service and received his promise +that he would grant her two boons, whatever she desired. She now +demands her two boons: the banishment of Rama for fourteen years, and +the anointing of her own son Bharata as crown prince. Rama thereupon +sets out for the Dandaka forest in Southern India, accompanied by his +faithful wife Sita and his devoted brother Lakshmana. The stricken +father dies of grief, thus fulfilling the hermit's curse. Now Prince +Bharata proves himself more generous than his mother; he refuses the +kingdom, and is with great difficulty persuaded by Rama himself to act +as regent during the fourteen years. Even so, he refuses to enter the +capital city, dwelling in a village outside the walls, and preserving +Rama's slippers as a symbol of the rightful king. Meanwhile Rama's +little party penetrates the wild forests of the south, fighting as +need arises with the giants there. Unfortunately, a giantess falls in +love with Rama, and</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">In Sita's very presence told<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her birth—love made her overbold:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For mighty passion, as a rule,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will change a woman to a fool.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> + +Scorned by Rama, laughed at by Sita, she becomes furious and +threatening.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Laugh on! Your laughter's fruit shall be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Commended to you. Gaze on me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I am a tigress, you shall know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Insulted by a feeble doe.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Lakshmana thereupon cuts off her nose and ears, rendering her +redundantly hideous. She departs, to return presently at the head of +an army of giants, whom Rama defeats single-handed, while his brother +guards Sita. The giantess then betakes herself to her brother, the +terrible ten-headed Ravana, king of Ceylon. He succeeds in capturing +Sita by a trick, and carries her off to his fortress in Ceylon. It is +plainly necessary for Rama to seek allies before attempting to cross +the straits and attack the stronghold. He therefore renders an +important service to the monkey king Sugriva, who gratefully leads an +army of monkeys to his assistance. The most valiant of these, Hanumat, +succeeds in entering Ravana's capital, where he finds Sita, gives her +a token from Rama, and receives a token for Rama. The army thereupon +sets out and comes to the seashore, where it is reinforced by the +giant Vibhishana, who has deserted his wicked brother Ravana. The +monkeys hurl great boulders into the strait, thus forming a bridge +over which they cross into Ceylon and besiege Ravana's capital. There +ensue many battles between the giants and the monkeys, culminating in +a tremendous duel between the champions, Rama and Ravana. In this duel +Ravana is finally slain. Rama recovers his wife, and the principal +personages of the army enter the flying chariot which had belonged to +Ravana, to return to Ayodhya; for the fourteen years of exile are now +over.</p> +<p> + +<i>Thirteenth canto. The return from the forest</i>.—This canto describes +the long journey through the air from Ceylon over the whole length of +India to Ayodhya. As the celestial car makes its journey, Rama points +out the objects of interest or of memory to Sita. Thus, as they fly +over the sea:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">The form of ocean, infinitely changing,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Clasping the world and all its gorgeous state,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unfathomed by the intellect's wide ranging,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is awful like the form of God, and great.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He gives his billowy lips to many a river<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That into his embrace with passion slips,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lover of many wives, a generous giver<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of kisses, yet demanding eager lips.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Look back, my darling, with your fawn-like glances<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon the path that from your prison leads;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See how the sight of land again entrances,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">How fair the forest, as the sea recedes.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Then, as they pass over the spot where Rama searched for his stolen +wife:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">There is the spot where, sorrowfully searching,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I found an anklet on the ground one day;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It could not tinkle, for it was not perching<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On your dear foot, but sad and silent lay.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">I learned where you were carried by the giant<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From vines that showed themselves compassionate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They could not utter words, yet with their pliant<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Branches they pointed where you passed of late.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The deer were kind; for while the juicy grasses<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fell quite unheeded from each careless mouth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They turned wide eyes that said, "'Tis there she passes<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The hours as weary captive" toward the south.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">There is the mountain where the peacocks' screaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And branches smitten fragrant by the rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And madder-flowers that woke at last from dreaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Made unendurable my lonely pain;<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">And mountain-caves where I could scarce dissemble<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The woe I felt when thunder crashed anew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For I remembered how you used to tremble<br /></span> +<span class="i4">At thunder, seeking arms that longed for you.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> + Rama then points out the spots in Southern India where he and Sita +had dwelt in exile, and the pious hermitages which they had visited; +later, the holy spot where the Jumna River joins the Ganges; finally, +their distant home, unseen for fourteen years, and the well-known +river, from which spray-laden breezes come to them like cool, +welcoming hands. When they draw near, Prince Bharata comes forth to +welcome them, and the happy procession approaches the capital city.</p> +<p> + +<i>Fourteenth canto. Sita is put away</i>.—The exiles are welcomed by +Queen Kausalya and Queen Sumitra with a joy tinged with deep +melancholy. After the long-deferred anointing of Rama as king, comes +the triumphal entry into the ancestral capital, where Rama begins his +virtuous reign with his beloved queen most happily; for the very +hardships endured in the forest turn into pleasures when remembered in +the palace. To crown the king's joy, Sita becomes pregnant, and +expresses a wish to visit the forest again. At this point, where an +ordinary story would end, comes the great tragedy, the tremendous test +of Rama's character. The people begin to murmur about the queen, +believing that she could not have preserved her purity in the giant's +palace. Rama knows that she is innocent, but he also knows that he +cannot be a good king while the people feel as they do; and after a +pitiful struggle, he decides to put away his beloved wife. He bids his +brother Lakshmana take her to the forest, in accordance with her +request, but to leave her there at the hermitage of the sage Valmiki. +When this is done, and Sita hears the terrible future from Lakshmana, +she cries:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Take reverent greeting to the queens, my mothers,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And say to each with honour due her worth:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"My child is your son's child, and not another's;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oh, pray for him, before he comes to birth."<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">And tell the king from me: "You saw the matter,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">How I was guiltless proved in fire divine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will you desert me for mere idle chatter?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are such things done in Raghu's royal line?<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Ah no! I cannot think you fickle-minded,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For you were always very kind to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fate's thunderclap by which my eyes are blinded<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rewards my old, forgotten sins, I see.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Oh, I could curse my life and quickly end it,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For it is useless, lived from you apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But that I bear within, and must defend it,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Your life, your child and mine, beneath my heart.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">When he is born, I'll scorn my queenly station,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Gaze on the sun, and live a hell on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I may know no pain of separation<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From you, my husband, in another birth.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">My king! Eternal duty bids you never<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Forget a hermit who for sorrow faints;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though I am exiled from your bed for ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I claim the care you owe to all the saints."<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +So she accepts her fate with meek courage. But</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">When Rama's brother left her there to languish<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And bore to them she loved her final word,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She loosed her throat in an excess of anguish<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And screamed as madly as a frightened bird.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Trees shed their flowers, the peacock-dances ended,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The grasses dropped from mouths of feeding deer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if the universal forest blended<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Its tears with hers, and shared her woeful fear.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +While she laments thus piteously, she is discovered by the poet-sage +Valmiki, who consoles her with tender and beautiful words, and +conducts her to his hermitage, where she awaits the time of her +confinement. Meanwhile Rama leads a dreary life, finding duty but a +cold comforter. He makes a golden statue of his wife, and will not +look at other women.</p> +<p> + +<i>Fifteenth canto. Rama goes to heaven</i>.—The canto opens with a rather +long description of a fight between Rama's youngest brother and a +giant. On the journey to meet the giant, Shatrughna spends a night +in Valmiki's hermitage, and that very night Sita gives birth to twin +sons. Valmiki gives them the names Kusha and Lava, and when they grow +out of childhood he teaches them his own composition, the <i>Ramayana</i>, +"the sweet story of Rama," "the first path shown to poets." At this +time the young son of a Brahman dies in the capital, and the father +laments at the king's gate, for he believes that the king is unworthy, +else heaven would not send death prematurely. Rama is roused to stamp +out evil-doing in the kingdom, whereupon the dead boy comes to life. +The king then feels that his task on earth is nearly done, and +prepares to celebrate the great horse-sacrifice.<a name="FNanchor_4_10" id="FNanchor_4_10" /> +<a href="#Footnote_4_10" class="fnanchor">4</a> +At this sacrifice +appear the two youths Kusha and Lava, who sing the epic of Rama's +deeds in the presence of Rama himself. The father perceives their +likeness to himself, then learns that they are indeed his children, +whom he has never seen. Thereupon Sita is brought forward by the +poet-sage Valmiki and in the presence of her husband and her +detractors establishes her constant purity in a terrible fashion.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">"If I am faithful to my lord<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In thought, in action, and in word,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I pray that Earth who bears us all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May bid me in her bosom fall."<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The faithful wife no sooner spoke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than earth divided, and there broke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From deep within a flashing light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That flamed like lightning, blinding-bright.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">And, seated on a splendid throne<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upheld by serpents' hoods alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The goddess Earth rose visibly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And she was girded with the sea.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Sita was clasped in her embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While still she gazed on Rama's face:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He cried aloud in wild despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She sank, and left him standing there.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Rama then establishes his brothers, sons, and nephews in different +cities of the kingdom, buries the three queens of his father, and +awaits death. He has not long to wait; Death comes, wearing a hermit's +garb, asks for a private interview, and threatens any who shall +disturb their conference. Lakshmana disturbs them, and so dies before +Rama. Then Rama is translated.</p> +<p> +Cantos sixteen to nineteen form the third division of the epic, and +treat of Rama's descendants. The interest wanes, for the great hero is +gone.</p> +<p> + +<i>Sixteenth canto. Kumudvati's wedding</i>.—As Kusha lies awake one +night, a female figure appears in his chamber; and in answer to his +question, declares that she is the presiding goddess of the ancient +capital Ayodhya, which has been deserted since Rama's departure to +heaven. She pictures the sad state of the city thus:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">I have no king; my towers and terraces<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Crumble and fall; my walls are overthrown;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when the ugly winds of evening seize<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The rack of clouds in helpless darkness blown.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">In streets where maidens gaily passed at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where once was known the tinkle and the shine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of anklets, jackals slink, and by the light<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of flashing fangs, seek carrion, snarl, and whine.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The water of the pools that used to splash<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With drumlike music, under maidens' hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Groans now when bisons from the jungle lash<br /></span> +<span class="i4">It with their clumsy horns, and roil its sands.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The peacock-pets are wild that once were tame;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They roost on trees, not perches; lose desire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For dancing to the drums; and feel no shame<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For fans singed close by sparks of forest-fire.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">On stairways where the women once were glad<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To leave their pink and graceful footprints, here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unwelcome, blood-stained paws of tigers pad,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fresh-smeared from slaughter of the forest deer.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Wall-painted elephants in lotus-brooks,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Receiving each a lily from his mate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are torn and gashed, as if by cruel hooks,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By claws of lions, showing furious hate.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">I see my pillared caryatides<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Neglected, weathered, stained by passing time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wearing in place of garments that should please,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The skins of sloughing cobras, foul with slime.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The balconies grow black with long neglect,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And grass-blades sprout through floors no longer tight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They still receive but cannot now reflect<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The old, familiar moonbeams, pearly white.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The vines that blossomed in my garden bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That used to show their graceful beauty, when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Girls gently bent their twigs and plucked their flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are broken by wild apes and wilder men.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The windows are not lit by lamps at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor by fair faces shining in the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But webs of spiders dim the delicate, light<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Smoke-tracery with one mere daub of grey.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The river is deserted; on the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No gaily bathing men and maidens leave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Food for the swans; its reedy bowers no more<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are vocal: seeing this, I can but grieve.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +The goddess therefore begs Kusha to return with his court to the old +capital, and when he assents, she smiles and vanishes. The next +morning Kusha announces the vision of the night, and immediately sets +out for Ayodhya with his whole army. Arrived there, King Kusha quickly +restores the city to its former splendour. Then when the hot summer +comes, the king goes down to the river to bathe with the ladies of the +court. While in the water he loses a great gem which his father had +given him. The divers are unable to find it, and declare their belief +that it has been stolen by the serpent Kumuda who lives in the river. +The king threatens to shoot an arrow into the river, whereupon the +waters divide, and the serpent appears with the gem. He is accompanied +by a beautiful maiden, whom he introduces as his sister Kumudvati, and +whom he offers in marriage to Kusha. The offer is accepted, and the +wedding celebrated with great pomp.</p> +<p> + +<i>Seventeenth canto. King Atithi</i>.—To the king and queen is born a +son, who is named Atithi. When he has grown into manhood, his father +Kusha engages in a struggle with a demon, in which the king is killed +in the act of killing his adversary. He goes to heaven, followed by +his faithful queen, and Atithi is anointed king. The remainder of the +canto describes King Atithi's glorious reign.</p> +<p> + +<i>Eighteenth canto. The later princes</i>.—This canto gives a brief, +impressionistic sketch of the twenty-one kings who in their order +succeeded Atithi.</p> +<p> + +<i>Nineteenth canto. The loves of Agnivarna</i>.—After the twenty-one +kings just mentioned, there succeeds a king named Agnivarna, who gives +himself to dissipation. He shuts himself up in the palace; even when +duty requires him to appear before his subjects, he does so merely by +hanging one foot out of a window. He trains dancing-girls himself, and +has so many mistresses that he cannot always call them by their right +names. It is not wonderful that this kind of life leads before long to +a consuming disease; and as Agnivarna is even then unable to resist +the pleasures of the senses, he dies. His queen is pregnant, and she +mounts the throne as regent in behalf of her unborn son. With this +strange scene, half tragic, half vulgar, the epic, in the form in +which it has come down to us, abruptly ends.</p> +<p> +If we now endeavour to form some critical estimate of the poem, we are +met at the outset by this strangely unnatural termination. We cannot +avoid wondering whether the poem as we have it is complete. And we +shall find that there are good reasons for believing that Kalidasa did +not let the glorious solar line end in the person of the voluptuous +Agnivarna and his unborn child. In the first place, there is a +constant tradition which affirms that <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> +originally consisted of twenty-five cantos. A similar tradition +concerning Kalidasa's second epic has justified itself; for some time +only seven cantos were known; then more were discovered, and we now +have seventeen. Again, there is a rhetorical rule, almost never +disregarded, which requires a literary work to end with an epilogue in +the form of a little prayer for the welfare of readers or auditors. +Kalidasa himself complies with this rule, certainly in five of his +other six books. Once again, Kalidasa has nothing of the tragedian in +his soul; his works, without exception, end happily. In the drama +<i>Urvashi</i> he seriously injures a splendid old tragic story for the +sake of a happy ending. These facts all point to the probability that +the conclusion of the epic has been lost. We may even assign a +natural, though conjectural, reason for this. <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> +has been used for centuries as a text-book in India, so that +manuscripts abound, and commentaries are very numerous. Now if the +concluding cantos were unfitted for use as a text-book, they might +very easily be lost during the centuries before the introduction of +printing-presses into India. Indeed, this very unfitness for use as a +school text seems to be the explanation of the temporary loss of +several cantos of Kalidasa's second epic.</p> +<p> +On the other hand, we are met by the fact that numerous commentators, +living in different parts of India, know the text of only nineteen +cantos. Furthermore, it is unlikely that Kalidasa left the poem +incomplete at his death; for it was, without serious question, one of +his earlier works. Apart from evidences of style, there is the +subject-matter of the introductory stanzas, in which the poet presents +himself as an aspirant for literary fame. No writer of established +reputation would be likely to say:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">The fool who seeks a poet's fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must look for ridicule and blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like tiptoe dwarf who fain would try<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To pluck the fruit for giants high.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +In only one other of his writings, in the drama which was undoubtedly +written earlier than the other two dramas, does the poet thus present +his feeling of diffidence to his auditors.</p> +<p> +It is of course possible that Kalidasa wrote the first nineteen cantos +when a young man, intending to add more, then turned to other matters, +and never afterwards cared to take up the rather thankless task of +ending a youthful work.</p> +<p> +The question does not admit of final solution. Yet whoever reads and +re-reads <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i>, and the other works of its author, +finds the conviction growing ever stronger that our poem in nineteen +cantos is mutilated. We are thus enabled to clear the author of the +charge of a lame and impotent conclusion.</p> +<p> +Another adverse criticism cannot so readily be disposed of; that of a +lack of unity in the plot. As the poem treats of a kingly dynasty, we +frequently meet the cry: The king is dead. Long live the king! The +story of Rama himself occupies only six cantos; he is not born until +the tenth canto, he is in heaven after the fifteenth. There are in +truth six heroes, each of whom has to die to make room for his +successor. One may go farther and say that it is not possible to give +a brief and accurate title to the poem. It is not a <i>Ramayana</i>, or +epic of Rama's deeds, for Rama is on the stage during only a third of +the poem. It is not properly an epic of Raghu's line, for many kings +of this line are unmentioned. Not merely kings who escape notice by +their obscurity, but also several who fill a large place in Indian +story, whose deeds and adventures are splendidly worthy of epic +treatment. <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> is rather an epic poem in which Rama +is the central figure, giving it such unity as it possesses, but which +provides Rama with a most generous background in the shape of selected +episodes concerning his ancestors and his descendants.</p> +<p> +Rama is the central figure. Take him away and the poem falls to pieces +like a pearl necklace with a broken string. Yet it may well be doubted +whether the cantos dealing with Rama are the most successful. They are +too compressed, too briefly allusive. Kalidasa attempts to tell the +story in about one-thirtieth of the space given to it by his great +predecessor Valmiki. The result is much loss by omission and much loss +by compression. Many of the best episodes of the <i>Ramayana</i> are quite +omitted by Kalidasa: for example, the story of the jealous humpback +who eggs on Queen Kaikeyi to demand her two boons; the beautiful scene +in which Sita insists on following Rama into the forest; the account +of the somnolent giant Pot-ear, a character quite as good as +Polyphemus. Other fine episodes are so briefly alluded to as to lose +all their charm: for example, the story of the golden deer that +attracts the attention of Rama while Ravana is stealing his wife; the +journey of the monkey Hanumat to Ravana's fortress and his interview +with Sita.</p> +<p> +The Rama-story, as told by Valmiki, is one of the great epic stories +of the world. It has been for two thousand years and more the story +<i>par excellence</i> of the Hindus; and the Hindus may fairly claim to be +the best story-tellers of the world. There is therefore real matter +for regret in the fact that so great a poet as Kalidasa should have +treated it in a way not quite worthy of it and of himself. The reason +is not far to seek, nor can there be any reasonable doubt as to its +truth. Kalidasa did not care to put himself into direct competition +with Valmiki. The younger poet's admiration of his mighty predecessor +is clearly expressed. It is with especial reference to Valmiki that he +says in his introduction:</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Yet I may enter through the door<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That mightier poets pierced of yore;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thread may pierce a jewel, but<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must follow where the diamond cut.<br /></span> +</p></div> +</blockquote> +<p> +He introduces Valmiki into his own epic, making him compose the +<i>Ramayana</i> in Rama's lifetime. Kalidasa speaks of Valmiki as "the +poet," and the great epic he calls "the sweet story of Rama," "the +first path shown to poets," which, when sung by the two boys, was +heard with motionless delight by the deer, and, when sung before a +gathering of learned men, made them heedless of the tears that rolled +down their cheeks.</p> +<p> +Bearing these matters in mind, we can see the course of Kalidasa's +thoughts almost as clearly as if he had expressed them directly. He +was irresistibly driven to write the wonderful story of Rama, as any +poet would be who became familiar with it. At the same time, his +modesty prevented him from challenging the old epic directly. He +therefore writes a poem which shall appeal to the hallowed +association that cluster round the great name of Rama, but devotes +two-thirds of it to themes that permit him greater freedom. The result +is a formless plot.</p> +<p> +This is a real weakness, yet not a fatal weakness. In general, +literary critics lay far too much emphasis on plot. Of the elements +that make a great book, two, style and presentation of character, +hardly permit critical analysis. The third, plot, does permit such +analysis. Therefore the analyst overrates its importance. It is fatal +to all claim of greatness in a narrative if it is shown to have a bad +style or to be without interesting characters. It is not fatal if it +is shown that the plot is rambling. In recent literature it is easy to +find truly great narratives in which the plot leaves much to be +desired. We may cite the <i>Pickwick Papers, Les Misérables, War +and Peace</i>.</p> +<p> +We must then regard <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> as a poem in which single +episodes take a stronger hold upon the reader than does the unfolding +of an ingenious plot. In some degree, this is true of all long poems. +The <i>Æneid</i> itself, the most perfect long poem ever written, has +dull passages. And when this allowance is made, what wonderful +passages we have in Kalidasa's poem! One hardly knows which of them +makes the strongest appeal, so many are they and so varied. There is +the description of the small boy Raghu in the third canto, the choice +of the princess in the sixth, the lament of King Aja in the eighth, +the story of Dasharatha and the hermit youth in the ninth, the account +of the ruined city in the sixteenth. Besides these, the Rama cantos, +ten to fifteen, make an epic within an epic. And if Kalidasa is not +seen at his very best here, yet his second best is of a higher quality +than the best of others. Also, the Rama story is so moving that a mere +allusion to it stirs like a sentimental memory of childhood. It has +the usual qualities of a good epic story: abundance of travel and +fighting and adventure and magic interweaving of human with +superhuman, but it has more than this. In both hero and heroine there +is real development of character. Odysseus and Æneas do not +grow; they go through adventures. But King Rama, torn between love for +his wife and duty to his subjects, is almost a different person from +the handsome, light-hearted prince who won his bride by breaking +Shiva's bow. Sita, faithful to the husband who rejects her, has made +a long, character-forming journey since the day when she left her +father's palace, a youthful bride. Herein lies the unique beauty of +the tale of Rama, that it unites romantic love and moral conflict with +a splendid story of wild adventure. No wonder that the Hindus, +connoisseurs of story-telling, have loved the tale of Rama's deeds +better than any other story.</p> +<p> +If we compare <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> with Kalidasa's other books, we +find it inferior to <i>The Birth of the War-god</i> in unity of plot, +inferior to <i>Shakuntala</i> in sustained interest, inferior to <i>The +Cloud-Messenger</i> in perfection of every detail. Yet passages in it are +as high and sweet as anything in these works. And over it is shed the +magic charm of Kalidasa's style. Of that it is vain to speak. It can +be had only at first hand. The final proof that <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> +is a very great poem, is this: no one who once reads it can leave it +alone thereafter.</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p>FOOTNOTES:</p> +<br /> +<br /> + +<p><a name="Footnote_1_7" id="Footnote_1_7"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_1_7"><span class="label">[1]</span></a></p> +<p>If a king aspired to the title of emperor, or king of +kings, he was at liberty to celebrate the horse-sacrifice. A horse was +set free to wander at will for a year, and was escorted by a band of +noble youths who were not permitted to interfere with his movements. +If the horse wandered into the territory of another king, such king +must either submit to be the vassal of the horse's owner, or must +fight him. If the owner of the horse received the submission, with or +without fighting, of all the kings into whose territories the horse +wandered during the year of freedom, he offered the horse in sacrifice +and assumed the imperial title.</p> +<p><a name="Footnote_2_8" id="Footnote_2_8"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_2_8"><span class="label">[2]</span></a></p> +<p>This is not the place to discuss the many interesting +questions of geography and ethnology suggested by the fourth canto. +But it is important to notice that Kalidasa had at least superficial +knowledge of the entire Indian peninsula and of certain outlying +regions.</p> +<p><a name="Footnote_3_9" id="Footnote_3_9"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_3_9"><span class="label">[3]</span></a></p> +<p>A girl of the warrior caste had the privilege of choosing +her husband. The procedure was this. All the eligible youths of the +neighbourhood were invited to her house, and were lavishly +entertained. On the appointed day, they assembled in a hall of the +palace, and the maiden entered with a garland in her hand. The suitors +were presented to her with some account of their claims upon her +attention, after which she threw the garland around the neck of him +whom she preferred.</p> +<p><a name="Footnote_4_10" id="Footnote_4_10"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_4_10"><span class="label">[4]</span></a></p> +<p>See footnote, p. <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.</p> +</div> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> +<h4><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h4> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE BIRTH OF THE WAR-GOD</h2> + +<p> +<i>The Birth of the War-god</i> is an epic poem in seventeen cantos. It +consists of 1096 stanzas, or about 4400 lines of verse. The subject is +the marriage of the god Shiva, the birth of his son, and the victory +of this son over a powerful demon. The story was not invented by +Kalidasa, but taken from old mythology. Yet it had never been told in +so masterly a fashion as had been the story of Rama's deeds by +Valmiki. Kalidasa is therefore under less constraint in writing this +epic than in writing <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i>. I give first a somewhat +detailed analysis of the matter of the poem.</p> +<p> +<i>First canto. The birth of Parvati</i>.—The poem begins with a +description of the great Himalaya mountain-range.</p> + + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">God of the distant north, the Snowy Range<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er other mountains towers imperially;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Earth's measuring-rod, being great and free from change,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sinks to the eastern and the western sea.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Whose countless wealth of natural gems is not<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Too deeply blemished by the cruel snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One fault for many virtues is forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The moon's one stain for beams that endless flow.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Where demigods enjoy the shade of clouds<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Girding his lower crests, but often seek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When startled by the sudden rain that shrouds<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His waist, some loftier, ever sunlit peak.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Where bark of birch-trees makes, when torn in strips<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And streaked with mountain minerals that blend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To written words 'neath dainty finger-tips,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Such dear love-letters as the fairies send.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Whose organ-pipes are stems of bamboo, which<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are filled from cavern-winds that know no rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if the mountain strove to set the pitch<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For songs that angels sing upon his crest.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Where magic herbs that glitter in the night<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are lamps that need no oil within them, when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They fill cave-dwellings with their shimmering light<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And shine upon the loves of mountain men.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Who offers roof and refuge in his caves<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To timid darkness shrinking from the day;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lofty soul is generous; he saves<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Such honest cowards as for protection pray,<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Who brings to birth the plants of sacrifice;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who steadies earth, so strong is he and broad.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The great Creator, for this service' price,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Made him the king of mountains, and a god.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Himalaya marries a wife, to whom in course of time a daughter is born, +as wealth is born when ambition pairs with character. The child is +named Parvati, that is, daughter of the mountain. Her father takes +infinite delight in her, as well he may; for</p> + + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">She brought him purity and beauty too,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As white flames to the lamp that burns at night;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or Ganges to the path whereby the true<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Reach heaven; or judgment to the erudite.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +She passes through a happy childhood of sand-piles, balls, dolls, and +little girl friends, when all at once young womanhood comes upon her.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">As pictures waken to the painter's brush,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or lilies open to the morning sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her perfect beauty answered to the flush<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of womanhood when childish days were done.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Suppose a blossom on a leafy spray;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Suppose a pearl on spotless coral laid:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such was the smile, pure, radiantly gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That round her red, red lips for ever played.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And when she spoke, the music of her tale<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Was sweet, the music of her voice to suit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till listeners felt as if the nightingale<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Had grown discordant like a jangled lute.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +It is predicted by a heavenly being that she will one day become the +wife of the god Shiva. This prediction awakens her father's pride, and +also his impatience, since Shiva makes no advances. For the destined +bridegroom is at this time leading a life of stern austerity and +self-denial upon a mountain peak. Himalaya therefore bids his daughter +wait upon Shiva. She does so, but without being able to divert him +from his austerities.</p> +<p> + +<i>Second canto. Brahma's self-revelation</i>.—At this time, the gods +betake themselves to Brahma, the Creator, and sing a hymn of praise, a +part of which is given here.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Before creation, thou art one;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Three, when creation's work is done:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All praise and honour unto thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In this thy mystic trinity.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Three various forms and functions three<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Proclaim thy living majesty;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou dost create, and then maintain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And last, destroyest all again.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Thy slow recurrent day and night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bring death to all, or living light.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We live beneath thy waking eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou sleepest, and thy creatures die.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Solid and fluid, great and small,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And light and heavy—Thou art all;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Matter and form are both in thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy powers are past discovery.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Thou art the objects that unroll<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their drama for the passive soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou art the soul that views the play<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Indifferently, day by day.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Thou art the knower and the known;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eater and food art thou alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The priest and his oblation fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The prayerful suppliant and the prayer.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Brahma receives their worship graciously, and asks the reason of their +coming. The spokesman of the gods explains to Brahma how a great demon +named Taraka is troubling the world, and how helpless they are in +opposing him. They have tried the most extravagant propitiation, and +found it useless.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The sun in heaven dare not glow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With undiminished heat, but so<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As that the lilies may awake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which blossom in his pleasure-lake.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The wind blows gently as it can<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To serve him as a soothing fan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dare not manifest its power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lest it should steal a garden flower.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The seasons have forgotten how<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To follow one another now;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They simultaneously bring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Him flowers of autumn, summer, spring.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Such adoration makes him worse;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He troubles all the universe:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kindness inflames a rascal's mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He should be recompensed in kind.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And all the means that we have tried<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against the rogue, are brushed aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As potent herbs have no avail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When bodily powers begin to fail.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">We seek a leader, O our Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bring him to his just reward—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As saints seek evermore to win<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Virtue, to end life's woe and sin—<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">That he may guide the heavenly host,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And guard us to the uttermost,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And from our foe lead captive back<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The victory which still we lack.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Brahma answers that the demon's power comes from him, and he does not +feel at liberty to proceed against it; "for it is not fitting to cut +down even a poison-tree that one's own hand has planted." But he +promises that a son shall be born to Shiva and Parvati, who shall lead +the gods to victory. With this answer the gods are perforce content, +and their king, Indra, waits upon the god of love, to secure his +necessary co-operation.</p> +<p> + +<i>Third canto. The burning of Love</i>.—Indra waits upon Love, who asks +for his commands. Indra explains the matter, and asks Love to inflame +Shiva with passion for Parvati. Love thereupon sets out, accompanied +by his wife Charm and his friend Spring. When they reach the mountain +where Shiva dwells, Spring shows his power. The snow disappears; the +trees put forth blossoms; bees, deer, and birds waken to new life. The +only living being that is not influenced by the sudden change of +season is Shiva, who continues his meditation, unmoved. Love himself +is discouraged, until he sees the beauty of Parvati, when he takes +heart again. At this moment, Shiva chances to relax his meditation, +and Parvati approaches to do him homage. Love seizes the lucky moment, +and prepares to shoot his bewildering arrow at Shiva. But the great +god sees him, and before the arrow is discharged, darts fire from his +eye, whereby Love is consumed. Charm falls in a swoon, Shiva vanishes, +and the wretched Parvati is carried away by her father.</p> +<p> + +<i>Fourth canto. The lament of Charm</i>.—This canto is given entire.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The wife of Love lay helpless in a swoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Till wakened by a fate whose deadliest sting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was preparation of herself full soon<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To taste the youthful widow's sorrowing.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Her opening eyes were fixed with anxious thought<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On every spot where he might be, in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were gladdened nowhere by the sight she sought,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The lover she should never see again.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">She rose and cried aloud: "Dost thou yet live,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lord of my life?" And at the last she found<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Him whom the wrathful god could not forgive,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her Love, a trace of ashes on the ground.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">With breaking heart, with lovely bosom stained<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By cold embrace of earth, with flying hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She wept and to the forest world complained,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As if the forest in her grief might share.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">"Thy beauty slew the pride that maidens cherish;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Perfect its loveliness in every part;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I saw that beauty fade away and perish,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet did not die. How hard is woman's heart!<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Where art thou gone? Thy love a moment only<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Endured, and I for ever need its power;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gone like the stream that leaves the lily lonely,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When the dam breaks, to mourn her dying flower.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Thou never didst a thing to cause me anguish;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I never did a thing to work thee harm;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why should I thus in vain affliction languish?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why not return to bless thy grieving Charm?<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Of playful chastisements art thou reminded,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy flirtings punished by my girdle-strands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine eyes by flying dust of blossoms blinded,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Held for thy meet correction in these hands?<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">I loved to hear the name thou gav'st me often<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Heart of my heart,' Alas! It was not true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But lulling phrase, my coming grief to soften:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Else in thy death, my life had ended, too.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Think not that on the journey thou hast taken<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So newly, I should fail to find thy track;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah, but the world! The world is quite forsaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For life is love; no life, when thee they lack.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Thou gone, my love, what power can guide the maiden<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Through veils of midnight darkness in the town<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the eager heart with loving fancies laden,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And fortify against the storm-cloud's frown?<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The wine that teaches eyes their gladdest dances,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That bids the love-word trippingly to glide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is now deception; for if flashing glances<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lead not to love, they lead to naught beside.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And when he knows thy life is a remembrance,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy friend the moon will feel his shining vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will cease to show the world a circle's semblance,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And even in his waxing time, will wane.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Slowly the mango-blossoms are unfolding<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On twigs where pink is struggling with the green,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Greeted by koïl-birds sweet concert holding—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thou dead, who makes of flowers an arrow keen?<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Or weaves a string of bees with deft invention,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To speed the missile when the bow is bent?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They buzz about me now with kind intention,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And mortify the grief which they lament.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Arise! Assume again thy radiant beauty!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rebuke the koïl-bird, whom nature taught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such sweet persuasion; she forgets her duty<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As messenger to bosoms passion-fraught.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Well I remember, Love, thy suppliant motion,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy trembling, quick embrace, the moments blest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By fervent, self-surrendering devotion—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And memories like these deny me rest.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Well didst thou know thy wife; the springtime garland,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wrought by thy hands, O charmer of thy Charm!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remains to bid me grieve, while in a far land<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy body seeks repose from earthly harm.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Thy service by the cruel gods demanded,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Meant service to thy wife left incomplete,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My bare feet with coquettish streakings banded—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Return to end the adorning of my feet.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">No, straight to thee I fly, my body given,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A headlong moth, to quick-consuming fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or e'er my cunning rivals, nymphs in heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Awake in thee an answering desire.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Yet, dearest, even this short delay is fated<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For evermore a deep reproach to prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A stain that may not be obliterated,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">If Charm has lived one moment far from Love.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And how can I perform the last adorning<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of thy poor body, as befits a wife?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So strangely on the path that leaves me mourning<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy body followed still the spirit's life.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">I see thee straighten out thy blossom-arrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The bow slung careless on thy breast the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine eyes in mirthful, sidelong glance grow narrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy conference with friendly Spring, thy smile.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">But where is Spring? Dear friend, whose art could fashion<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The flowery arrow for thee? Has the wrath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of dreadful Shiva, in excess of passion,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bade him, too, follow on that fatal path?"<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Heart-smitten by the accents of her grief<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like poisoned darts, soothing her fond alarm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Incarnate Spring appeared, to bring relief<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As friendship can, to sore-lamenting Charm.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And at the sight of him, she wept the more,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And often clutched her throat, and beat her breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For lamentation finds an open door<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the presence of the friends we love the best.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Stifling, she cried: "Behold the mournful matter!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In place of him thou seekest, what is found?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A something that the winds of heaven scatter,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A trace of dove-grey ashes on the ground.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Arise, O Love! For Spring knows no estranging,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy friend in lucky hap and evil lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Man's love for wife is ever doubtful, changing;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Man's love for man abides and changes not.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">With such a friend, thy dart, on dainty pinion<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of blossoms, shot from lotus-fibre string,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reduced men, giants, gods to thy dominion—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The triple world has felt that arrow sting.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">But Love is gone, far gone beyond returning,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A candle snuffed by wandering breezes vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And see! I am his wick, with Love once burning,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Now blackened by the smoke of nameless pain.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">In slaying Love, fate wrought but half a slaughter,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For I am left. And yet the clinging vine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must fall, when falls the sturdy tree that taught her<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Round him in loving tenderness to twine.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">So then, fulfil for me the final mission<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of him who undertakes a kinsman's part;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Commit me to the flames (my last petition)<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And speed the widow to her husband's heart.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The moonlight wanders not, the moon forsaking;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where sails the cloud, the lightning is not far;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wife follows mate, is law of nature's making,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yes, even among such things as lifeless are.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">My breast is stained; I lay among the ashes<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of him I loved with all a woman's powers;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now let me lie where death-fire flames and flashes,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As glad as on a bed of budding flowers.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Sweet Spring, thou camest oft where we lay sleeping<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On blossoms, I and he whose life is sped;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto the end thy friendly office keeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Prepare for me the last, the fiery bed.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And fan the flame to which I am committed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With southern winds; I would no longer stay;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou knowest well how slow the moments flitted<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For Love, my love, when I was far away.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And sprinkle some few drops of water, given<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In friendship, on his ashes and on me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Love and I may quench our thirst in heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As once on earth, in heavenly unity.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And sometimes seek the grave where Love is lying;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pause there a moment, gentle Spring, and shower<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet mango-clusters to the winds replying;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For he thou lovedst, loved the mango-flower."<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">As Charm prepared to end her mortal pain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In fire, she heard a voice from heaven cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That showed her mercy, as the early rain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shows mercy to the fish, when lakes go dry:<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">"O wife of Love! Thy lover is not lost<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For evermore. This voice shall tell thee why<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He perished like the moth, when he had crossed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The dreadful god, in fire from Shiva's eye.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">When darts of Love set Brahma in a flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To shame his daughter with impure desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He checked the horrid sin without a name,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And cursed the god of love to die by fire.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">But Virtue interceded in behalf<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of Love, and won a softening of the doom:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Upon the day when Shiva's heart shall laugh<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In wedding joy, for mercy finding room,<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">He shall unite Love's body with the soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A marriage-present to his mountain bride.'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As clouds hold fire and water in control,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Gods are the fount of wrath, and grace beside.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">So, gentle Charm, preserve thy body sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For dear reunion after present pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stream that dwindles in the summer heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is reunited with the autumn rain."<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Invisibly and thus mysteriously<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The thoughts of Charm were turned away from death;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Spring, believing where he might not see,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Comforted her with words of sweetest breath.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The wife of Love awaited thus the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Though racked by grief, when fate should show its power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the waning moon laments her darkened ray<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And waits impatient for the twilight hour.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> + +<i>Fifth canto. The reward of self-denial</i>.—Parvati reproaches her own +beauty, for "loveliness is fruitless if it does not bind a lover." She +therefore resolves to lead a life of religious self-denial, hoping +that the merit thus acquired will procure her Shiva's love. Her mother +tries in vain to dissuade her; her father directs her to a fit +mountain peak, and she retires to her devotions. She lays aside all +ornaments, lets her hair hang unkempt, and assumes the hermit's dress +of bark. While she is spending her days in self-denial, she is visited +by a Brahman youth, who compliments her highly upon her rigid +devotion, and declares that her conduct proves the truth of the +proverb: Beauty can do no wrong. Yet he confesses himself bewildered, +for she seems to have everything that heart can desire. He therefore +asks her purpose in performing these austerities, and is told how her +desires are fixed upon the highest of all objects, upon the god Shiva +himself, and how, since Love is dead, she sees no way to win him +except by ascetic religion. The youth tries to dissuade Parvati by +recounting all the dreadful legends that are current about Shiva: how +he wears a coiling snake on his wrist, a bloody elephant-hide upon his +back, how he dwells in a graveyard, how he rides upon an undignified +bull, how poor he is and of unknown birth. Parvati's anger is awakened +by this recital. She frowns and her lip quivers as she defends herself +and the object of her love.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Shiva, she said, is far beyond the thought<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of such as you: then speak no more to me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dull crawlers hate the splendid wonders wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By lofty souls untouched by rivalry.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">They search for wealth, whom dreaded evil nears,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or they who fain would rise a little higher;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world's sole refuge neither hopes nor fears<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor seeks the objects of a small desire.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Yes, he is poor, yet he is riches' source;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">This graveyard-haunter rules the world alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dreadful is he, yet all beneficent force:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Think you his inmost nature can be known?<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">All forms are his; and he may take or leave<br /></span> +<span class="i4">At will, the snake, or gem with lustre white;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bloody skin, or silk of softest weave;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dead skulls, or moonbeams radiantly bright.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">For poverty he rides upon a bull,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While Indra, king of heaven, elephant-borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bows low to strew his feet with beautiful,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Unfading blossoms in his chaplet worn.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Yet in the slander spoken in pure hate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">One thing you uttered worthy of his worth:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How could the author of the uncreate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Be born? How could we understand his birth?<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Enough of this! Though every word that you<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Have said, be faithful, yet would Shiva please<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My eager heart all made of passion true<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For him alone. Love sees no blemishes.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p> +In response to this eloquence, the youth throws off his disguise, +appearing as the god Shiva himself, and declares his love for her. +Parvati immediately discontinues her religious asceticism; for +"successful effort regenerates."</p> +<p> + +<i>Sixth canto. Parvati is given in marriage</i>.—While Parvati departs to +inform her father of what has happened, Shiva summons the seven sages, +who are to make the formal proposal of marriage to the bride's +parents. The seven sages appear, flying through the air, and with them +Arundhati, the heavenly model of wifely faith and devotion. On seeing +her, Shiva feels his eagerness for marriage increase, realising that</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">All actions of a holy life<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are rooted in a virtuous wife.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Shiva then explains his purpose, and sends the seven sages to make the +formal request for Parvati's hand. The seven sages fly to the +brilliant city of Himalaya, where they are received by the mountain +god. After a rather portentous interchange of compliments, the seven +sages announce their errand, requesting Parvati's hand in behalf of +Shiva. The father joyfully assents, and it is agreed that the marriage +shall be celebrated after three days. These three days are spent by +Shiva in impatient longing.</p> +<p> + +<i>Seventh canto. Parvati's wedding</i>.—The three days are spent in +preparations for the wedding. So great is Parvati's unadorned beauty +that the waiting-women can hardly take their eyes from her to inspect +the wedding-dress. But the preparations are complete at last; and the +bride is beautiful indeed.</p> + + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">As when the flowers are budding on a vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or white swans rest upon a river's shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or when at night the stars in heaven shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her lovely beauty grew with gems she wore.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">When wide-eyed glances gave her back the same<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bright beauty—and the mirror never lies—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She waited with impatience till he came:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For women dress to please their lovers' eyes.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Meanwhile Shiva finishes his preparations, and sets out on his wedding +journey, accompanied by Brahma, Vishnu, and lesser gods. At his +journey's end, he is received by his bride's father, and led through +streets ankle-deep in flowers, where the windows are filled with the +faces of eager and excited women, who gossip together thus:</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">For his sake it was well that Parvati<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Should mortify her body delicate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrice happy might his serving-woman be,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And infinitely blest his bosom's mate.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Shiva and his retinue then enter the palace, where he is received with +bashful love by Parvati, and the wedding is celebrated with due pomp. +The nymphs of heaven entertain the company with a play, and Shiva +restores the body of Love.</p> +<p> + +<i>Eighth canto. The honeymoon</i>.—The first month of marital bliss is +spent in Himalaya's palace. After this the happy pair wander for a +time among the famous mountain-peaks. One of these they reach at +sunset, and Shiva describes the evening glow to his bride. A few +stanzas are given here.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">See, my belovèd, how the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With beams that o'er the water shake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From western skies has now begun<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A bridge of gold across the lake.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Upon the very tree-tops sway<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The peacocks; even yet they hold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And drink the dying light of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Until their fans are molten gold.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The water-lily closes, but<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With wonderful reluctancy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if it troubled her to shut<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her door of welcome to the bee.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The steeds that draw the sun's bright car,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With bended neck and falling plume<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And drooping mane, are seen afar<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To bury day in ocean's gloom.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The sun is down, and heaven sleeps:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thus every path of glory ends;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As high as are the scaled steeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The downward way as low descends.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Shiva then retires for meditation. On his return, he finds that his +bride is peevish at being left alone even for a little time, and to +soothe her, he describes the night which is now advancing. A few +stanzas of this description run as follows.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The twilight glow is fading far<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And stains the west with blood-red light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when a reeking scimitar<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Slants upward on a field of fight.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And vision fails above, below,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Around, before us, at our back;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The womb of night envelops slow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The world with darkness vast and black.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Mute while the world is dazed with light,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The smiling moon begins to rise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, being teased by eager night,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Betrays the secrets of the skies.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Moon-fingers move the black, black hair<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of night into its proper place,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who shuts her eyes, the lilies fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As he sets kisses on her face.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> + +Shiva and Parvati then drink wine brought them by the guardian goddess +of the grove, and in this lovely spot they dwell happily for many +years.</p> +<p> + +<i>Ninth canto. The journey to Mount Kailasa</i>.—One day the god of fire +appears as a messenger from the gods before Shiva, to remonstrate with +him for not begetting the son upon whom heaven's welfare depends. +Shiva deposits his seed in Fire, who departs, bent low with the +burden. Shortly afterwards the gods wait upon Shiva and Parvati, who +journey with them to Mount Kailasa, the splendid dwelling-place of the +god of wealth. Here also Shiva and Parvati spend happy days.</p> +<p> + +<i>Tenth canto. The birth of Kumara</i>.—To Indra, king of the gods, Fire +betakes himself, tells his story, and begs to be relieved of his +burden. Indra advises him to deposit it in the Ganges. Fire therefore +travels to the Ganges, leaves Shiva's seed in the river, and departs +much relieved. But now it is the turn of Ganges to be distressed, +until at dawn the six Pleiades come to bathe in the river. They find +Shiva's seed and lay it in a nest of reeds, where it becomes a child, +Kumara, the future god of war.</p> +<p> + +<i>Eleventh canto. The birth of Kumara, continued</i>.—Ganges suckles the +beautiful infant. But there arises a dispute for the possession of the +child between Fire, Ganges, and the Pleiades. At this point Shiva and +Parvati arrive, and Parvati, wondering at the beauty of the infant and +at the strange quarrel, asks Shiva to whom the child belongs. When +Shiva tells her that Kumara is their own child, her joy is unbounded.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Because her eyes with happy tears were dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Twas but by snatches that she saw the boy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet, with her blossom-hand caressing him,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She felt a strange, an unimagined joy.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The vision of the infant made her seem<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A flower unfolding in mysterious bliss;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or, billowy with her joyful tears, a stream;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or pure affection, perfect in a kiss.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Shiva conducts Parvati and the boy back to Mount Kailasa, where gods +and fairies welcome them with music and dancing. Here the divine child +spends the days of a happy infancy, not very different from human +infancy; for he learns to walk, gets dirty in the courtyard, laughs a +good deal, pulls the scanty hair of an old servant, and learns to +count: "One, nine, two, ten, five, seven." These evidences of healthy +development cause Shiva and Parvati the most exquisite joy.</p> +<p> +<i>Twelfth canto. Kumara is made general</i>.—Indra, with the other gods, +waits upon Shiva, to ask that Kumara, now a youth, may be lent to them +as their leader in the campaign against Taraka. The gods are +graciously received by Shiva, who asks their errand. Indra prefers +their request, whereupon Shiva bids his son assume command of the +gods, and slay Taraka. Great is the joy of Kumara himself, of his +mother Parvati, and of Indra.</p> +<p> +<i>Thirteenth canto. Kumara is consecrated general</i>.—Kumara takes an +affectionate farewell of his parents, and sets out with the gods. When +they come to Indra's paradise, the gods are afraid to enter, lest they +find their enemy there. There is an amusing scene in which each +courteously invites the others to precede him, until Kumara ends their +embarrassment by leading the way. Here for the first time Kumara sees +with deep respect the heavenly Ganges, Indra's garden and palace, and +the heavenly city. But he becomes red-eyed with anger on beholding the +devastation wrought by Taraka.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">He saw departed glory, saw the state<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Neglected, ruined, sad, of Indra's city,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As of a woman with a cowardly mate:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And all his inmost heart dissolved in pity.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">He saw how crystal floors were gashed and torn<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By wanton tusks of elephants, were strewed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With skins that sloughing cobras once had worn:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And sadness overcame him as he viewed.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">He saw beside the bathing-pools the bowers<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Defiled by elephants grown overbold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strewn with uprooted golden lotus-flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No longer bright with plumage of pure gold,<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Rough with great, jewelled columns overthrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rank with invasion of the untrimmed grass:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shame strove with sorrow at the ruin shown,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For heaven's foe had brought these things to pass.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Amid these sorrowful surroundings the gods gather and anoint Kumara, +thus consecrating him as their general.</p> +<p> + +<i>Fourteenth canto. The march</i>.—Kumara prepares for battle, and +marshals his army. He is followed by Indra riding on an elephant, Agni +on a ram, Yama on a buffalo, a giant on a ghost, Varuna on a dolphin, +and many other lesser gods. When all is ready, the army sets out on +its dusty march.</p> +<p> + +<i>Fifteenth canto. The two armies clash</i>.—The demon Taraka is informed +that the hostile army is approaching, but scorns the often-conquered +Indra and the boy Kumara. Nevertheless, he prepares for battle, +marshals his army, and sets forth to meet the gods. But he is beset by +dreadful omens of evil.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">For foul birds came, a horrid flock to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Above the army of the foes of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dimmed the sun, awaiting ravenously<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The feast of demon corpses to be given.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And monstrous snakes, as black as powdered soot,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Spitting hot poison high into the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brought terror to the army underfoot,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And crept and coiled and crawled before them there.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The sun a sickly halo round him had;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Coiling within it frightened eyes could see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Great, writhing serpents, enviously glad<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Because the demon's death so soon should be.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And in the very circle of the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Were phantom jackals, snarling to be fed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with impatient haste they seemed to run<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To drink the demon's blood in battle shed.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">There fell, with darting flame and blinding flash<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lighting the farthest heavens, from on high<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thunderbolt whose agonising crash<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Brought fear and shuddering from a cloudless sky.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">There came a pelting rain of blazing coals<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With blood and bones of dead men mingled in;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Smoke and weird flashes horrified their souls;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The sky was dusty grey like asses' skin.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The elephants stumbled and the horses fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The footmen jostled, leaving each his post,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ground beneath them trembled at the swell<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of ocean, when an earthquake shook the host.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And dogs before them lifted muzzles foul<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To see the sun that lit that awful day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And pierced the ears of listeners with a howl<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dreadful yet pitiful, then slunk away.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Taraka's counsellors endeavour to persuade him to turn back, but he +refuses; for timidity is not numbered among his faults. As he advances +even worse portents appear, and finally warning voices from heaven +call upon him to desist from his undertaking. The voices assure him of +Kumara's prowess and inevitable victory; they advise him to make his +peace while there is yet time. But Taraka's only answer is a defiance.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">"You mighty gods that flit about in heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And take my foeman's part, what would you say?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have you forgot so soon the torture given<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By shafts of mine that never miss their way?<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Why should I fear before a six-days child?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why should you prowl in heaven and gibber shrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like dogs that in an autumn night run wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like deer that sneak through forests, trembling still?<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The boy whom you have chosen as your chief<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In vain upon his hermit-sire shall cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The upright die, if taken with a thief:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">First you shall perish, then he too shall die."<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +And as Taraka emphasises his meaning by brandishing his great sword, +the warning spirits flee, their knees knocking together. Taraka laughs +horribly, then mounts his chariot, and advances against the army of +the gods. On the other side the gods advance, and the two armies +clash.</p> +<p> + +<i>Sixteenth canto. The battle between gods and demons</i>.—This canto is +entirely taken up with the struggle between the two armies. A few +stanzas are given here.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">As pairs of champions stood forth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To test each other's fighting worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bards who knew the family fame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Proclaimed aloud each mighty name.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">As ruthless weapons cut their way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through quilted armour in the fray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">White tufts of cotton flew on high<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like hoary hairs upon the sky.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Blood-dripping swords reflected bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sunbeams in that awful fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fire-darting like the lightning-flash,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They showed how mighty heroes clash.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The archers' arrows flew so fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As through a hostile breast they passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That they were buried in the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No stain of blood upon them found.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The swords that sheaths no longer clasped,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That hands of heroes firmly grasped,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flashed out in glory through the fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if they laughed in mad delight.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">And many a warrior's eager lance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shone radiant in the eerie dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A curling, lapping tongue of death<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To lick away the soldier's breath.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Some, panting with a bloody thirst,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fought toward the victim chosen first,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But had a reeking path to hew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before they had him full in view.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Great elephants, their drivers gone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And pierced with arrows, struggled on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But sank at every step in mud<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made liquid by the streams of blood.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The warriors falling in the fray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose heads the sword had lopped away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were able still to fetch a blow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That slew the loud-exulting foe.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The footmen thrown to Paradise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By elephants of monstrous size,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were seized upon by nymphs above,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Exchanging battle-scenes for love.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The lancer, charging at his foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would pierce him through and bring him low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And would not heed the hostile dart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That found a lodgment in his heart.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">The war-horse, though unguided, stopped<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The moment that his rider dropped,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wept above the lifeless head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still faithful to his master dead.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Two lancers fell with mortal wound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still they struggled on the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With bristling hair, with brandished knife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each strove to end the other's life.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Two slew each other in the fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Paradise they took their flight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There with a nymph they fell in love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still they fought in heaven above.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Two souls there were that reached the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From heights of heaven they could spy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Two writhing corpses on the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And knew their headless forms again.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +As the struggle comes to no decisive issue, Taraka seeks out the chief +gods, and charges upon them.</p> +<p> +<i>Seventeenth canto. Taraka is slain</i>.—Taraka engages the principal +gods and defeats them with magic weapons. When they are relieved by +Kumara, the demon turns to the youthful god of war, and advises him to +retire from the battle.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Stripling, you are the only son<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of Shiva and of Parvati.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Go safe and live! Why should you run<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On certain death? Why fight with me?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Withdraw! Let sire and mother blest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clasp living son to joyful breast.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="i2">Flee, son of Shiva, flee the host<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of Indra drowning in the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That soon shall close upon his boast<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In choking waves of misery.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Indra is a ship of stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Withdraw, and let him sink alone.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +Kumara answers with modest firmness.</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The words you utter in your pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O demon-prince, are only fit;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet I am minded to abide<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The fight, and see the end of it.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tight-strung bow and brandished sword<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Decide, and not the spoken word.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p> +And with this the duel begins. When Taraka finds his arrows parried by +Kumara, he employs the magic weapon of the god of wind. When this too +is parried, he uses the magic weapon of the god of fire, which Kumara +neutralises with the weapon of the god of water. As they fight on, +Kumara finds an opening, and slays Taraka with his lance, to the +unbounded delight of the universe.</p> +<p> +Here the poem ends, in the form in which it has come down to us. It +has been sometimes thought that we have less than Kalidasa wrote, +partly because of a vague tradition that there were once twenty-three +cantos, partly because the customary prayer is lacking at the end. +These arguments are not very cogent. Though the concluding prayer is +not given in form, yet the stanzas which describe the joy of the +universe fairly fill its place. And one does not see with what matter +further cantos would be concerned. The action promised in the earlier +part is completed in the seventeenth canto.</p> +<p> +It has been somewhat more formidably argued that the concluding cantos +are spurious, that Kalidasa wrote only the first seven or perhaps the +first eight cantos. Yet, after all, what do these arguments amount to? +Hardly more than this, that the first eight cantos are better poetry +than the last nine. As if a poet were always at his best, even when +writing on a kind of subject not calculated to call out his best. +Fighting is not Kalidasa's <i>forte</i>; love is. Even so, there is great +vigour in the journey of Taraka, the battle, and the duel. It may not +be the highest kind of poetry, but it is wonderfully vigorous poetry +of its kind. And if we reject the last nine cantos, we fall into a +very much greater difficulty. The poem would be glaringly incomplete, +its early promise obviously disregarded. We should have a <i>Birth of +the War-god</i> in which the poet stopped before the war-god was born.</p> +<p> +There seems then no good reason to doubt that we have the epic +substantially as Kalidasa wrote it. Plainly, it has a unity which is +lacking in Kalidasa's other epic, <i>The Dynasty</i> <i>of Raghu</i>, though +in this epic, too, the interest shifts. Parvati's love-affair is the +matter of the first half, Kumara's fight with the demon the matter of +the second half. Further, it must be admitted that the interest runs a +little thin. Even in India, where the world of gods runs insensibly +into the world of men, human beings take more interest in the +adventures of men than of gods. The gods, indeed, can hardly have +adventures; they must be victorious. <i>The Birth of the War-god</i> pays +for its greater unity by a poverty of adventure.</p> +<p> +It would be interesting if we could know whether this epic was written +before or after <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i>. But we have no data for +deciding the question, hardly any for even arguing it. The +introduction to <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> seems, indeed, to have been +written by a poet who yet had his spurs to win. But this is all.</p> +<p> +As to the comparative excellence of the two epics, opinions differ. My +own preference is for <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i>, yet there are passages +in <i>The Birth of the War-god</i> of a piercing beauty which the world can +never let die.</p> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> +<h4><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h4> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE CLOUD-MESSENGER</h2> + +<p>In <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i> Kalidasa created a new <i>genre</i> in Sanskrit +literature. Hindu critics class the poem with <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> +and <i>The Birth of the War-god</i> as a <i>kavya</i>, or learned epic. This it +obviously is not. It is fair enough to call it an elegiac poem, though +a precisian might object to the term.</p> +<p>We have already seen, in speaking of <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i>, what +admiration Kalidasa felt for his great predecessor Valmiki, the author +of the <i>Ramayana</i>; and it is quite possible that an episode of the +early epic suggested to him the idea which he has exquisitely treated +in <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i>. In the <i>Ramayana</i>, after the defeat and +death of Ravana, Rama returns with his wife and certain heroes of the +struggle from Ceylon to his home in Northern India. The journey, made +in an aërial car, gives the author an opportunity to describe the +country over which the car must pass in travelling from one end of +India to the other. The hint thus given him was taken by Kalidasa; a +whole canto of <i>The Dynasty of Raghu</i> (the thirteenth) is concerned +with the aërial journey. Now if, as seems not improbable, <i>The Dynasty +of Raghu</i> was the earliest of Kalidasa's more ambitious works, it is +perhaps legitimate to imagine him, as he wrote this canto, suddenly +inspired with the plan of <i>The Cloud-Messenger</i>.</p> +<p>This plan is slight and fanciful. A demigod, in consequence of some +transgression against his master, the god of wealth, is condemned to +leave his home in the Himalayas, and spend a year of exile on a peak +in the Vindhya Mountains, which divide the Deccan from the Ganges +basin. He wishes to comfort and encourage his wife, but has no +messenger to send her. In his despair, he begs a passing cloud to +carry his words. He finds it necessary to describe the long journey +which the cloud must take, and, as the two termini are skilfully +chosen, the journey involves a visit to many of the spots famous in +Indian story. The description of these spots fills the first half of +the poem. The second half is filled with a more minute description of +the heavenly city, of the home and bride of the demigod, and with the +message proper. The proportions of the poem may appear unfortunate to +the Western reader, in whom the proper names of the first half will +wake scanty associations. Indeed, it is no longer possible to identify +all the places mentioned, though the general route followed by the +cloud can be easily traced. The peak from which he starts is probably +one near the modern Nagpore. From this peak he flies a little west of +north to the Nerbudda River, and the city of Ujjain; thence pretty +straight north to the upper Ganges and the Himalaya. The geography of +the magic city of Alaka is quite mythical.</p> +<p><i>The Cloud-Messenger</i> contains one hundred and fifteen four-line +stanzas, in a majestic metre called the "slow-stepper." The English +stanza which has been chosen for the translation gives perhaps as fair +a representation of the original movement as may be, where direct +imitation is out of the question. Though the stanza of the translation +has five lines to four for the slow-stepper, it contains fewer +syllables; a constant check on the temptation to padding.</p> +<p>The analysis which accompanies the poem, and which is inserted in +Italics at the beginning of each stanza, has more than one object. It +saves footnotes; it is intended as a real help to comprehension; and +it is an eminently Hindu device. Indeed, it was my first intention to +translate literally portions of Mallinatha's famous commentary; and +though this did not prove everywhere feasible, there is nothing in the +analysis except matter suggested by the commentary.</p> +<p>One minor point calls for notice. The word Himálaya has been accented +on the second syllable wherever it occurs. This accent is historically +correct, and has some foothold in English usage; besides, it is more +euphonious and better adapted to the needs of the metre.</p> +<p><br /> +<br /></p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<h5>FORMER CLOUD</h5> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /><b>I</b><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>A Yaksha, or divine attendant on Kubera, god of wealth, is exiled + for a year from his home in the Himalayas. As he dwells on a peak in + the Vindhya range, half India separates him from his young bride</i>. + +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">On Rama's shady peak where hermits roam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mid streams by Sita's bathing sanctified,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An erring Yaksha made his hapless home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doomed by his master humbly to abide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And spend a long, long year of absence from his bride.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>II</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>After eight months of growing emaciation, the first cloud warns him + of the approach of the rainy season, when neglected brides are wont + to pine and die</i>. +</p> + +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Some months were gone; the lonely lover's pain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had loosed his golden bracelet day by day<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ere he beheld the harbinger of rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A cloud that charged the peak in mimic fray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As an elephant attacks a bank of earth in play.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>III</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">fore this cause of lovers' hopes and fears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long time Kubera's bondman sadly bowed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In meditation, choking down his tears—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even happy hearts thrill strangely to the cloud;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To him, poor wretch, the loved embrace was disallowed.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>IV</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Unable to send tidings otherwise of his health and unchanging love, + he resolves to make the cloud his messenger</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Longing to save his darling's life, unblest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With joyous tidings, through the rainy days,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He plucked fresh blossoms for his cloudy guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such homage as a welcoming comrade pays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bravely spoke brave words of greeting and of praise.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>V</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i2">Nor did it pass the lovelorn Yaksha's mind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How all unfitly might his message mate<br /></span> +<span class="i4"> With a cloud, mere fire and water, smoke and wind—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ne'er yet was lover could discriminate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twixt life and lifeless things, in his love-blinded state.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>VI</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>He prefers his request</i>, +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">I know, he said, thy far-famed princely line,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy state, in heaven's imperial council chief,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy changing forms; to thee, such fate is mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I come a suppliant in my widowed grief—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Better thy lordly "no" than meaner souls' relief.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>VII</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">O cloud, the parching spirit stirs thy pity;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My bride is far, through royal wrath and might;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bring her my message to the Yaksha city,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rich-gardened Alaka, where radiance bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From Shiva's crescent bathes the palaces in light.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>VIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>hinting at the same time that the' cloud will find his kindly labour + rewarded by pleasures on the road</i>, +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">When thou art risen to airy paths of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through lifted curls the wanderer's love shall peep<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And bless the sight of thee for comfort given;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who leaves his bride through cloudy days to weep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Except he be like me, whom chains of bondage keep?<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>IX</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>and by happy omens</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">While favouring breezes waft thee gently forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And while upon thy left the plover sings<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His proud, sweet song, the cranes who know thy worth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will meet thee in the sky on joyful wings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And for delights anticipated join their rings.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>X</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>He assures the cloud that his bride is neither dead nor faithless</i>; +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Yet hasten, O my brother, till thou see—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Counting the days that bring the lonely smart—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The faithful wife who only lives for me:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A drooping flower is woman's loving heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upheld by the stem of hope when two true lovers part.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XI</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>further, that there will be no lack of travelling companions</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">And when they hear thy welcome thunders break,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When mushrooms sprout to greet thy fertile weeks,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The swans who long for the Himalayan lake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will be thy comrades to Kailasa's peaks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With juicy bits of lotus-fibre in their beaks.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XII</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">One last embrace upon this mount bestow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose flanks were pressed by Rama's holy feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who yearly strives his love for thee to show,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Warmly his well-beloved friend to greet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the tear of welcome shed when two long-parted meet.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>He then describes the long journey</i>, +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Learn first, O cloud, the road that thou must go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then hear my message ere thou speed away;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Before thee mountains rise and rivers flow:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When thou art weary, on the mountains stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when exhausted, drink the rivers' driven spray.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XIV</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>beginning with the departure from Rama's peak, where dwells a + company of Siddhas, divine beings of extraordinary sanctity</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Elude the heavenly elephants' clumsy spite;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fly from this peak in richest jungle drest;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And Siddha maids who view thy northward flight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will upward gaze in simple terror, lest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wind be carrying quite away the mountain crest.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XV</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Bright as a heap of flashing gems, there shines<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before thee on the ant-hill, Indra's bow;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Matched with that dazzling rainbow's glittering lines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy sombre form shall find its beauties grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like the dark herdsman Vishnu, with peacock-plumes aglow.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XVI</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The Mala plateau</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">The farmers' wives on Mala's lofty lea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though innocent of all coquettish art,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will give thee loving glances; for on thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Depends the fragrant furrow's fruitful part;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thence, barely westering, with lightened burden start.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XVII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The Mango Peak</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">The Mango Peak whose forest fires were laid<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By streams of thine, will soothe thy weariness;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In memory of a former service paid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even meaner souls spurn not in time of stress<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A suppliant friend; a soul so lofty, much the less.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XVIII</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">With ripened mango-fruits his margins teem;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thou, like wetted braids, art blackness quite;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When resting on the mountain, thou wilt seem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like the dark nipple on Earth's bosom white,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For mating gods and goddesses a thrilling sight.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XIX</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The Reva, or Nerbudda River, foaming against the mountain side</i>, +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">His bowers are sweet to forest maidens ever;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do thou upon his crest a moment bide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Then fly, rain-quickened, to the Reva river<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which gaily breaks on Vindhya's rocky side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like painted streaks upon an elephant's dingy hide.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XX</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>and flavoured with the ichor which exudes from the temples of + elephants during the mating season</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Where thick rose-apples make the current slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Refresh thyself from thine exhausted state<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With ichor-pungent drops that fragrant flow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou shalt not then to every wind vibrate—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Empty means ever light, and full means added weight.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXI</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Spying the madder on the banks, half brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half green with shoots that struggle to the birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nibbling where early plantain-buds hang down,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scenting the sweet, sweet smell of forest earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The deer will trace thy misty track that ends the dearth.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXII</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Though thou be pledged to ease my darling's pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet I foresee delay on every hill<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where jasmines blow, and where the peacock-train<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cries forth with joyful tears a welcome shrill;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy sacrifice is great, but haste thy journey still.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The Dasharna country</i>, +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">At thine approach, Dasharna land is blest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With hedgerows where gay buds are all aglow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With village trees alive with many a nest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Abuilding by the old familiar crow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With lingering swans, with ripe rose-apples' darker show.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXIV</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>and its capital Vidisha, on the banks of Reed River</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">There shalt thou see the royal city, known<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Afar, and win the lover's fee complete,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">If thou subdue thy thunders to a tone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of murmurous gentleness, and taste the sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love-rippling features of the river at thy feet.<a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a><br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXV</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">A moment rest on Nichais' mountain then,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where madder-bushes don their blossom coat<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As thrilling to thy touch; where city men<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er youth's unbridled pleasures fondly gloat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In caverns whence the perfumes of gay women float.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXVI</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Fly on refreshed; and sprinkle buds that fade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On jasmine-vines in gardens wild and rare<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By forest rivers; and with loving shade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Caress the flower-girls' heated faces fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whereon the lotuses droop withering from their hair.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXVII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The famous old city of Ujjain, the home of the poet, and dearly + beloved by him</i>; +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Swerve from thy northern path; for westward rise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The palace balconies thou mayst not slight<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In fair Ujjain; and if bewitching eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That flutter at thy gleams, should not delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine amorous bosom, useless were thy gift of sight.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXVIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>and the river, personified as a loving woman, whom the cloud will + meet just before he reaches the city</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">The neighbouring mountain stream that gliding grants<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A glimpse of charms in whirling eddies pursed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While noisy swans accompany her dance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a tinkling zone, will slake thy loving thirst—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A woman always tells her love in gestures first.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXIX</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Thou only, happy lover! canst repair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The desolation that thine absence made:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her shrinking current seems the careless hair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That brides deserted wear in single braid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dead leaves falling give her face a paler shade.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXX</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The city of Ujjain is fully described</i>, +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Oh, fine Ujjain! Gem to Avanti given,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where village ancients tell their tales of mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And old romance! Oh, radiant bit of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Home of a blest celestial band whose worth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sufficed, though fallen from heaven, to bring down heaven on earth!<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXXI</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where the river-breeze at dawn, with fragrant gain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From friendly lotus-blossoms, lengthens out<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The clear, sweet passion-warbling of the crane,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To cure the women's languishing, and flout<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a lover's coaxing all their hesitating doubt.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXXII</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Enriched with odours through the windows drifting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From perfumed hair, and greeted as a friend<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By peacock pets their wings in dances lifting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On flower-sweet balconies thy labour end,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where prints of dear pink feet an added glory lend.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXXIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>especially its famous shrine to Shiva, called Mahakala</i>; +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Black as the neck of Shiva, very God,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dear therefore to his hosts, thou mayest go<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To his dread shrine, round which the gardens nod<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When breezes rich with lotus-pollen blow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ointments that the gaily bathing maidens know.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXXIV</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Reaching that temple at another time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wait till the sun is lost to human eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For if thou mayest play the part sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Shiva's drum at evening sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then hast thou in thy thunders grave a priceless prize.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXXV</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">The women there, whose girdles long have tinkled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In answer to the dance, whose hands yet seize<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And wave their fans with lustrous gems besprinkled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will feel thine early drops that soothe and please,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And recompense thee from black eyes like clustering bees.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXXVI</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>and the black cloud, painted with twilight red, is bidden to serve + as a robe for the god, instead of the bloody elephant hide which he + commonly wears in his wild dance</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Clothing thyself in twilight's rose-red glory,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Embrace the dancing Shiva's tree-like arm;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He will prefer thee to his mantle gory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And spare his grateful goddess-bride's alarm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose eager gaze will manifest no fear of harm.<br /></span> +</p> +<p><br /><b>XXXVII</b><br /></p> +</div> +</blockquote> + + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>After one night of repose in the city</i> +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Where women steal to rendezvous by night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through darkness that a needle might divide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Show them the road with lightning-flashes bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As golden streaks upon the touchstone's side—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But rain and thunder not, lest they be terrified.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXXVIII</b><br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">On some rich balcony where sleep the doves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the dark night with thy beloved stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The lightning weary with the sport she loves;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But with the sunrise journey on thy way—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For they that labour for a friend do not delay.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXXIX</b><br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">The gallant dries his mistress' tears that stream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When he returns at dawn to her embrace—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Prevent thou not the sun's bright-fingered beam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That wipes the tear-dew from the lotus' face;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His anger else were great, and great were thy disgrace.<br /></span> +</p> +<p><br /><b>XL</b><br /></p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>the cloud is besought to travel to Deep River</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Thy winsome shadow-soul will surely find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An entrance in Deep River's current bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As thoughts find entrance in a placid mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then let no rudeness of thine own affright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The darting fish that seem her glances lotus-white.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLI</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">But steal her sombre veil of mist away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Although her reeds seem hands that clutch the dress<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To hide her charms; thou hast no time to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet who that once has known a dear caress<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could bear to leave a woman's unveiled loveliness?<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Thence to Holy Peak</i>, +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">The breeze 'neath which the breathing acre grants<br /></span> +<span class="i2">New odours, and the forest figs hang sleek,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With pleasant whistlings drunk by elephants<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through long and hollow trunks, will gently seek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To waft thee onward fragrantly to Holy Peak.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>the dwelling-place of Skanda, god of war, the child of Shiva and + Gauri, concerning whose birth more than one quaint tale is told</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">There change thy form; become a cloud of flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With heavenly moisture wet, and pay the meed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of praise to Skanda with thy blossom showers;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sun-outshining god is Shiva's seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fire-born to save the heavenly hosts in direst need.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLIV</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">God Skanda's peacock—he whose eyeballs shine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By Shiva's moon, whose flashing fallen plume<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The god's fond mother wears, a gleaming line<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over her ear beside the lotus bloom—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will dance to thunders echoing in the caverns' room.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLV</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Thence to Skin River, so called because it flowed forth from a + mountain of cattle carcasses, offered in sacrifice by the pious + emperor Rantideva</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Adore the reed-born god and speed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While Siddhas flee, lest rain should put to shame<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The lutes which they devoutly love to play;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But pause to glorify the stream whose name<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Recalls the sacrificing emperor's blessed fame.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLVI</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Narrow the river seems from heaven's blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gods above, who see her dainty line<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Matched, when thou drinkest, with thy darker hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will think they see a pearly necklace twine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Round Earth, with one great sapphire in its midst ashine.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLVII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The province of the Ten Cities</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Beyond, the province of Ten Cities lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose women, charming with their glances rash,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will view thine image with bright, eager eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dark eyes that dance beneath the lifted lash,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when black bees round nodding jasmine-blossoms flash.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLVIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The Hallowed Land, where were fought the awful battles of the + ancient epic time</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Then veil the Hallowed Land in cloudy shade;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Visit the field where to this very hour<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lie bones that sank beneath the soldier's blade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Arjuna discharged his arrowy shower<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On men, as thou thy rain-jets on the lotus-flower.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLIX</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>In these battles, the hero Balarama, whose weapon was a + plough-share, would take no part, because kinsmen of his were + fighting in each army. He preferred to spend the time in drinking + from the holy river Sarasvati, though little accustomed to any other + drink than wine</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Sweet friend, drink where those holy waters shine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which the plough-bearing hero—loath to fight<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His kinsmen—rather drank than sweetest wine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a loving bride's reflected eyes alight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then, though thy form be black, thine inner soul is bright.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>L</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The Ganges River, which originates in heaven. Its fall is broken by + the head of Shiva, who stands on the Himalaya Mountains; otherwise + the shock would be too great for the earth. But Shiva's goddess-bride + is displeased</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Fly then where Ganges o'er the king of mountains<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Falls like a flight of stairs from heaven let down<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For the sons of men; she hurls her billowy fountains<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like hands to grasp the moon on Shiva's crown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And laughs her foamy laugh at Gauri's jealous frown.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>LI</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The dark cloud is permitted to mingle with the clear stream of + Ganges, as the muddy Jumna River does near the city now called + Allahabad</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">If thou, like some great elephant of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shouldst wish from heaven's eminence to bend<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And taste the crystal stream, her beauties high—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As thy dark shadows with her whiteness blend—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would be what Jumna's waters at Prayaga lend.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>LII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The magnificent Himalaya range</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Her birth-place is Himalaya's rocky crest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whereon the scent of musk is never lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For deer rest ever there where thou wilt rest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sombre against the peak with whiteness glossed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like dark earth by the snow-white bull of Shiva tossed.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>LIII</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">If, born from friction of the deodars,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A scudding fire should prove the mountain's bane,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Singeing the tails of yaks with fiery stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Quench thou the flame with countless streams of rain—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The great have power that they may soothe distress and pain.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>LIV</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">If mountain monsters should assail thy path<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With angry leaps that of their object fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Only to hurt themselves in helpless wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scatter the creatures with thy pelting hail—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For who is not despised that strives without avail?<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>LV</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Bend lowly down and move in reverent state<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Round Shiva's foot-print on the rocky plate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With offerings laden by the saintly great;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sight means heaven as their eternal fate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When death and sin are past, for them that faithful wait.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>LVI</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">The breeze is piping on the bamboo-tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And choirs of heaven sing in union sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er demon foe of Shiva's victory;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If thunders in the caverns drumlike beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then surely Shiva's symphony will be complete.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>LVII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The mountain pass called the Swan-gate</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Pass by the wonders of the snowy slope;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the Swan-gate, through mountain masses rent<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To make his fame a path by Bhrigu's hope<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In long, dark beauty fly, still northward bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like Vishnu's foot, when he sought the demon's chastisement.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>LVIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>And at Mount Kailasa, the long journey is ended</i>; +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Seek then Kailasa's hospitable care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With peaks by magic arms asunder riven,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To whom, as mirror, goddesses repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So lotus-bright his summits cloud the heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like form and substance to God's daily laughter given.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>LIX</b><br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Like powder black and soft I seem to see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine outline on the mountain slope as bright<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As new-sawn tusks of stainless ivory;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No eye could wink before as fair a sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As dark-blue robes upon the Ploughman's shoulder white.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>LX</b><br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Should Shiva throw his serpent-ring aside<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And give Gauri his hand, go thou before<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upon the mount of joy to be their guide;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Conceal within thee all thy watery store<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And seem a terraced stairway to the jewelled floor.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>LXI</b><br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">I doubt not that celestial maidens sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With pointed bracelet gems will prick thee there<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To make of thee a shower-bath in the heat;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Frighten the playful girls if they should dare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To keep thee longer, friend, with thunder's harshest blare.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>LXII</b><br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Drink where the golden lotus dots the lake;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Serve Indra's elephant as a veil to hide<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His drinking; then the tree of wishing shake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose branches like silk garments flutter wide:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sports like these, O cloud, enjoy the mountain side<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>LXIII</b><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>for on this mountain is the city of the Yakshas</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Then, in familiar Alaka find rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down whom the Ganges' silken river swirls,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whose towers cling to her mountain lover's breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While clouds adorn her face like glossy curls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And streams of rain like strings of close-inwoven pearls.<br /></span> +</p></div> +<p><br /> +<br /></p> +<p><b>LATTER CLOUD</b></p> +<p><br /> +<br /><b>I</b><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The splendid heavenly city Alaka</i>, +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where palaces in much may rival thee—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their ladies gay, thy lightning's dazzling powers—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Symphonic drums, thy thunder's melody—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their bright mosaic floors, thy silver showers—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy rainbow, paintings, and thy height, cloud-licking towers.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>II</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>where the flowers which on earth blossom at different seasons, are + all found in bloom the year round</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where the autumn lotus in dear fingers shines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lodh-flowers' April dust on faces rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Spring amaranth with winter jasmine twines<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In women's braids, and summer siris fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rainy madder in the parting of their hair.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>III</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here grows the magic tree which yields whatever is desired</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where men with maids whose charm no blemish mars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Climb to the open crystal balcony<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Inlaid with flower-like sparkling of the stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And drink the love-wine from the wishing-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And listen to the drums' deep-thundering dignity.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>IV</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where maidens whom the gods would gladly wed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are fanned by breezes cool with Ganges' spray<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In shadows that the trees of heaven spread;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In golden sands at hunt-the-pearl they play,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bury their little fists, and draw them void away.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>V</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where lovers' passion-trembling fingers cling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To silken robes whose sashes flutter wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The knots undone; and red-lipped women fling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Silly with shame, their rouge from side to side.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hoping in vain the flash of jewelled lamps to hide.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>VI</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where, brought to balconies' palatial tops<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By ever-blowing guides, were clouds before<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like thee who spotted paintings with their drops;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then, touched with guilty fear, were seen no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But scattered smoke-like through the lattice' grated door.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>VII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here are the stones from which drops of water ooze when the moon + shines on them</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where from the moonstones hung in nets of thread<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Great drops of water trickle in the night—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When the moon shines clear and thou, O cloud, art fled—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To ease the languors of the women's plight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who lie relaxed and tired in love's embraces tight.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>VIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here are the magic gardens of heaven</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where lovers, rich with hidden wealth untold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wander each day with nymphs for ever young,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Enjoy the wonders that the gardens hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Shining Gardens, where the praise is sung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the god of wealth by choirs with love-impassioned tongue.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>IX</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where sweet nocturnal journeys are betrayed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At sunrise by the fallen flowers from curls<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That fluttered as they stole along afraid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By leaves, by golden lotuses, by pearls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By broken necklaces that slipped from winsome girls.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>X</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here the god of love is not seen, because of the presence of his + great enemy, Shiva. Yet his absence is not severely felt</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where the god of love neglects his bee-strung bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since Shiva's friendship decks Kubera's reign;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His task is done by clever maids, for lo!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their frowning missile glances, darting plain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At lover-targets, never pass the mark in vain.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XI</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here the goddesses have all needful ornaments. For the Mine of + Sentiment declares: "Women everywhere have four kinds of + ornaments—hair-ornaments, jewels, clothes, cosmetics; anything else + is local</i>." +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Where the wishing-tree yields all that might enhance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The loveliness of maidens young and sweet:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bright garments, wine that teaches eyes to dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And flowering twigs, and rarest gems discrete,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lac-dye fit to stain their pretty lotus-feet.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>And here is the home of the unhappy Yaksha</i>, +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">There, northward from the master's palace, see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our home, whose rainbow-gateway shines afar;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And near it grows a little coral-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bending 'neath many a blossom's clustered star,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loved by my bride as children of adoption are.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>with its artificial pool</i>; +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">A pool is near, to which an emerald stair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leads down, with blooming lotuses of gold<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whose stalks are polished beryl; resting there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wistful swans are glad when they behold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine image, and forget the lake they loved of old.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XIV</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>its hill of sport, girdled by bright hedges, like the dark cloud + girdled by the lightening</i>; +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">And on the bank, a sapphire-crested hill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Round which the golden plantain-hedges fit;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She loves the spot; and while I marvel still<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At thee, my friend, as flashing lightnings flit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">About thine edge, with restless rapture I remember it.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XV</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>its two favourite trees, which will not blossom while their mistress + is grieving</i>; +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">The ashoka-tree, with sweetly dancing lines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The favourite bakul-tree, are near the bower<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of amaranth-engirdled jasmine-vines;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like me, they wait to feel the winning power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of her persuasion, ere they blossom into flower.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XVI</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>its tame peacock</i>; +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">A golden pole is set between the pair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With crystal perch above its emerald bands<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As green as young bamboo; at sunset there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy friend, the blue-necked peacock, rises, stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dances when she claps her bracelet-tinkling hands.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XVII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>and its painted emblems of the god of wealth</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">These are the signs—recall them o'er and o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My clever friend—by which the house is known,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the Conch and Lotus painted by the door:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! when I am far, the charm is gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lotus' loveliness is lost with set of sun.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XVIII</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Small as the elephant cub thou must become<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For easy entrance; rest where gems enhance<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The glory of the hill beside my home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And peep into the house with lightning-glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But make its brightness dim as fireflies' twinkling dance.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XIX</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The Yaksha's bride</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">The supremest woman from God's workshop gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Young, slender; little teeth and red, red lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Slight waist and gentle eyes of timid fawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An idly graceful movement, generous hips,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fair bosom into which the sloping shoulder slips—<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XX</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Like a bird that mourns her absent mate anew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Passing these heavy days in longings keen,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My girlish wife whose words are sweet and few,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My second life, shall there of thee be seen—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But changed like winter-blighted lotus-blooms, I ween.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXI</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Her eyes are swol'n with tears that stream unchidden;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her lips turn pale with sorrow's burning sighs;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The face that rests upon her hand is hidden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By hanging curls, as when the glory dies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the suffering moon pursued by thee through nightly skies.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The passion of love passes through ten stages, eight of which are + suggested in this stanza and the stanzas which follow. The first + stage is not indicated; it is called Exchange of Glances</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Thou first wilt see her when she seeks relief<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In worship; or, half fancying, half recalling,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She draws mine image worn by absent grief;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or asks the caged, sweetly-singing starling:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Do you remember, dear, our lord? You were his darling."<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>In this stanza and the preceding one is suggested the second stage: + Wistfulness</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Or holds a lute on her neglected skirt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tries to sing of me, and tries in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For she dries the tear-wet string with hands inert,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And e'er begins, and e'er forgets again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though she herself composed it once, the loving strain.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXIV</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here is suggested the third stage: Desire</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Or counts the months of absence yet remaining<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With flowers laid near the threshold on the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or tastes the bliss of hours when love was gaining<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The memories recollected o'er and o'er—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">woman's comforts when her lonely heart is sore.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXV</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here is suggested the fourth stage: Wakefulness</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Such daytime labours doubtless ease the ache<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which doubly hurts her in the helpless dark;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With news from me a keener joy to wake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stand by her window in the night, and mark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My sleepless darling on her pallet hard and stark.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXVI</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here is suggested the fifth stage: Emaciation</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Resting one side upon that widowed bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like the slender moon upon the Eastern height,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So slender she, now worn with anguish dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Passing with stifling tears the long, sad night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which, spent in love with me, seemed but a moment's flight.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXVII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here is suggested the sixth stage: Loss of Interest in Ordinary + Pleasures</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">On the cool, sweet moon that through the lattice flashes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She looks with the old delight, then turns away<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And veils her eyes with water-weighted lashes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sad as the flower that blooms in sunlight gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But cannot wake nor slumber on a cloudy day.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXVIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here is suggested the seventh stage: Loss of Youthful Bashfulness</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">One unanointed curl still frets her cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When tossed by sighs that burn her blossom-lip;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And still she yearns, and still her yearnings seek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That we might be united though in sleep—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! Happy dreams come not to brides that ever weep.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXIX</b><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here is suggested the eighth stage: Absent-mindedness. For if she + were not absent-minded, she would arrange the braid so as not to be + annoyed by it</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Her single tight-bound braid she pushes oft—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a hand uncared for in her lonely madness—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So rough it seems, from the cheek that is so soft:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That braid ungarlanded since the first day's sadness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which I shall loose again when troubles end in gladness.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXX</b><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Here is suggested the ninth stage: Prostration. The tenth stage, + Death, is not suggested</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">The delicate body, weak and suffering,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Quite unadorned and tossing to and fro<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In oft-renewing wretchedness, will wring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even from thee a raindrop-tear, I know—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soft breasts like thine are pitiful to others' woe.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXXI</b><br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">I know her bosom full of love for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And therefore fancy how her soul doth grieve<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In this our first divorce; it cannot be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Self-flattery that idle boastings weave—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soon shalt thou see it all, and seeing, shalt believe.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXXII</b><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Quivering of the eyelids</i> +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Her hanging hair prevents the twinkling shine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of fawn-eyes that forget their glances sly,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lost to the friendly aid of rouge and wine—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet the eyelids quiver when thou drawest nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As water-lilies do when fish go scurrying by.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXXIII</b><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>and trembling of the limbs are omens of speedy union with the + beloved</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">And limbs that thrill to thee thy welcome prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Limbs fair as stems in some rich plantain-bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No longer showing marks of my rough love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Robbed of their cooling pearls by fatal power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The limbs which I was wont to soothe in passion's hour.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXXIV</b><br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">But if she should be lost in happy sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wait, bear with her, grant her but three hours' grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And thunder not, O cloud, but let her keep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dreaming vision of her lover's face—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loose not too soon the imagined knot of that embrace.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXXV</b><br /></p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">As thou wouldst wake the jasmine's budding wonder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wake her with breezes blowing mistily;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Conceal thy lightnings, and with words of thunder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Speak boldly, though she answer haughtily<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With eyes that fasten on the lattice and on thee.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXXVI</b><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The cloud is instructed how to announce himself</i> +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">"Thou art no widow; for thy husband's friend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is come to tell thee what himself did say—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A cloud with low, sweet thunder-tones that send<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All weary wanderers hastening on their way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eager to loose the braids of wives that lonely stay."<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>XXXVII</b><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>in such a way as to win the favour of his auditor</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Say this, and she will welcome thee indeed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet friend, with a yearning heart's tumultuous beating<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And joy-uplifted eyes; and she will heed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The after message: such a friendly greeting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is hardly less to woman's heart than lovers' meeting.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXXVIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The message itself</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Thus too, my king, I pray of thee to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remembering kindness is its own reward;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Thy lover lives, and from the holy peak<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Asks if these absent days good health afford—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those born to pain must ever use this opening word.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XXXIX</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">With body worn as thine, with pain as deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With tears and ceaseless longings answering thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With sighs more burning than the sighs that keep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy lips ascorch—doomed far from thee to pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He too doth weave the fancies that thy soul entwine.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XL</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">He used to love, when women friends were near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To whisper things he might have said aloud<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That he might touch thy face and kiss thine ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unheard and even unseen, no longer proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He now must send this yearning message by a cloud.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLI</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>According to the treatise called "Virtues Banner," a lover has four + solaces in separation: first, looking at objects that remind him of + her he loves</i>; +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">'I see thy limbs in graceful-creeping vines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy glances in the eyes of gentle deer,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thine eyebrows in the ripple's dancing lines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy locks in plumes, thy face in moonlight clear—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah, jealous! But the whole sweet image is not here.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>second, painting a picture of her</i>; +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">And when I paint that loving jealousy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With chalk upon the rock, and my caress<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As at thy feet I lie, I cannot see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through tears that to mine eyes unbidden press—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So stern a fate denies a painted happiness.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>third, dreaming of her</i>; +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">And when I toss mine arms to clasp thee tight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mine own though but in visions of a dream—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They who behold the oft-repeated sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The kind divinities of wood and stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let fall great pearly tears that on the blossoms gleam.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLIV</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>fourth, touching something which she has touched</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Himalaya's breeze blows gently from the north,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unsheathing twigs upon the deodar<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And sweet with sap that it entices forth—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I embrace it lovingly; it came so far,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perhaps it touched thee first, my life's unchanging star!<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLV</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Oh, might the long, long night seem short to me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, might the day his hourly tortures hide!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Such longings for the things that cannot be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Consume my helpless heart, sweet-glancing bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In burning agonies of absence from thy side.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLVI</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The bride is besought not to lose heart at hearing of her lover's + wretchedness</i>, +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">Yet much reflection, dearest, makes me strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strong with an inner strength; nor shouldst thou feel<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Despair at what has come to us of wrong;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who has unending woe or lasting weal?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our fates move up and down upon a circling wheel.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLVII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>and to remember that the curse has its appointed end, when the rainy + season is over and the year of exile fulfilled. Vishnu spends the + rainy months in sleep upon the back of the cosmic serpent Shesha</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">When Vishnu rises from his serpent bed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The curse is ended; close thine eyelids tight<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And wait till only four months more are sped;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then we shall taste each long-desired delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through nights that the full autumn moon illumines bright.<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLVIII</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>Then is added a secret which, as it could not possibly be known to a + third person, assures her that the cloud is a true messenger</i>. +</p> +</div> +<blockquote class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">And one thing more: thou layest once asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clasping my neck, then wakening with a scream;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And when I wondered why, thou couldst but weep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A while, and then a smile began to beam:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Rogue! Rogue! I saw thee with another girl in dream."<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>XLIX</b><br /></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p> + +<span class="i4">This memory shows me cheerful, gentle wife;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then let no gossip thy suspicions move:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They say the affections strangely forfeit life<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In separation, but in truth they prove<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Toward the absent dear, a growing bulk of tenderest love.'"<br /></span> + +</p> +</div> + +<p><br /><b>L</b><br /></p> + +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>The Yaksha then begs the cloud to return with a message of comfort</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><p> +<span class="i4">Console her patient heart, to breaking full<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In our first separation; having spoken,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fly from the mountain ploughed by Shiva's bull;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Make strong with message and with tender token<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My life, so easily, like morning jasmines, broken.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>LI</b><br /></p> +<div class="stanza"><p> +<span class="i4">I hope, sweet friend, thou grantest all my suit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor read refusal in thy solemn air;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When thirsty birds complain, thou givest mute<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rain from heaven: such simple hearts are rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose only answer is fulfilment of the prayer.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<p><br /><b>LII</b><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p> + <i>and dismisses him, with a prayer for his welfare</i>. +</p> +</div> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i4">Thus, though I pray unworthy, answer me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For friendship's sake, or pity's, magnified<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By the sight of my distress; then wander free<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In rainy loveliness, and ne'er abide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One moment's separation from thy lightning bride.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> +<h4><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a><a href="#CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h4> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE SEASONS</h2> + +<p> +<i>The Seasons</i> is an unpretentious poem, describing in six short cantos +the six seasons into which the Hindus divide the year. The title is +perhaps a little misleading, as the description is not objective, but +deals with the feelings awakened by each season in a pair of young +lovers. Indeed, the poem might be called a Lover's Calendar. +Kalidasa's authorship has been doubted, without very cogent argument. +The question is not of much interest, as <i>The Seasons</i> would neither +add greatly to his reputation nor subtract from it.</p> +<p> +The whole poem contains one hundred and forty-four stanzas, or +something less than six hundred lines of verse. There follow a few +stanzas selected from each canto.</p> + +<p><br /><b>SUMMER</b><br /></p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Pitiless heat from heaven pours<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By day, but nights are cool;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Continual bathing gently lowers<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The water in the pool;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The evening brings a charming peace:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For summer-time is here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When love that never knows surcease,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is less imperious, dear.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Yet love can never fall asleep;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For he is waked to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By songs that all their sweetness keep<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lutes that softly play,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By fans with sandal-water wet<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That bring us drowsy rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By strings of pearls that gently fret<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Full many a lovely breast.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The sunbeams like the fires are hot<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That on the altar wake;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The enmity is quite forgot<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of peacock and of snake;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The peacock spares his ancient foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For pluck and hunger fail;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He hides his burning head below<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The shadow of his tail.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Beneath the garland of the rays<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That leave no corner cool,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The water vanishes in haze<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And leaves a muddy pool;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cobra does not hunt for food<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor heed the frog at all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who finds beneath the serpent's hood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A sheltering parasol.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Dear maiden of the graceful song,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To you may summer's power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bring moonbeams clear and garlands long<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And breath of trumpet-flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bring lakes that countless lilies dot,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Refreshing water-sprays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet friends at evening, and a spot<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Cool after burning days.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p><br /><b>THE RAINS</b><br /></p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The rain advances like a king<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In awful majesty;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hear, dearest, how his thunders ring<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like royal drums, and see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His lightning-banners wave; a cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For elephant he rides,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And finds his welcome from the crowd<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of lovers and of brides.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The clouds, a mighty army, march<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With drumlike thundering<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And stretch upon the rainbow's arch<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The lightning's flashing string;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cruel arrows of the rain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Smite them who love, apart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From whom they love, with stinging pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And pierce them to the heart.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The forest seems to show its glee<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In flowering nipa plants;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In waving twigs of many a tree<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wind-swept, it seems to dance;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its ketak-blossom's opening sheath<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is like a smile put on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To greet the rain's reviving breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Now pain and heat are gone.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">To you, dear, may the cloudy time<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bring all that you desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bring every pleasure, perfect, prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To set a bride on fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May rain whereby life wakes and shines<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where there is power of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The unchanging friend of clinging vines,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shower blessings on my wife.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p><br /><b>AUTUMN</b><br /></p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The autumn comes, a maiden fair<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In slenderness and grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With nodding rice-stems in her hair<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lilies in her face.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In flowers of grasses she is clad;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And as she moves along,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Birds greet her with their cooing glad<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like bracelets' tinkling song.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">A diadem adorns the night<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of multitudinous stars;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her silken robe is white moonlight,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Set free from cloudy bars;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on her face (the radiant moon)<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bewitching smiles are shown:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She seems a slender maid, who soon<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will be a woman grown.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Over the rice-fields, laden plants<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are shivering to the breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While in his brisk caresses dance<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The blossom-burdened trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He ruffles every lily-pond<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where blossoms kiss and part,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And stirs with lover's fancies fond<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The young man's eager heart.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p><br /><b>WINTER</b><br /></p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The bloom of tenderer flowers is past<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lilies droop forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For winter-time is come at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rich with its ripened corn;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet for the wealth of blossoms lost<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Some hardier flowers appear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That bid defiance to the frost<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of sterner days, my dear.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The vines, remembering summer, shiver<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In frosty winds, and gain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A fuller life from mere endeavour<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To live through all that pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet in the struggle and acquist<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They turn as pale and wan<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As lonely women who have missed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Known love, now lost and gone.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Then may these winter days show forth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To you each known delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bring all that women count as worth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pure happiness and bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While villages, with bustling cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bring home the ripened corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And herons wheel through wintry sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Forget sad thoughts forlorn.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p><br /><b>EARLY SPRING</b><br /></p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Now, dearest, lend a heedful ear<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And listen while I sing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Delights to every maiden dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The charms of early spring:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When earth is dotted with the heaps<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of corn, when heron-scream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is rare but sweet, when passion leaps<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And paints a livelier dream.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">When all must cheerfully applaud<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A blazing open fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or if they needs must go abroad,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The sun is their desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When everybody hopes to find<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The frosty chill allayed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By garments warm, a window-blind<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shut, and a sweet young maid.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Then may the days of early spring<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For you be rich and full<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With love's proud, soft philandering<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And many a candy-pull,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sweetest rice and sugar-cane:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And may you float above<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The absent grieving and the pain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of separated love.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> + +<p><br /><b>SPRING</b><br /></p> + +<blockquote class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">A stalwart soldier comes, the spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who bears the bow of Love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on that bow, the lustrous string<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is made of bees, that move<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With malice as they speed the shaft<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of blossoming mango-flower<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At us, dear, who have never laughed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">At love, nor scorned his power.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">Their blossom-burden weights the trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The winds in fragrance move;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lakes are bright with lotuses,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The women bright with love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The days are soft, the evenings clear<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And charming; everything<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That moves and lives and blossoms, dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is sweeter in the spring.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> +<span class="i2">The groves are beautifully bright<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For many and many a mile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With jasmine-flowers that are as white<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As loving woman's smile:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The resolution of a saint<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Might well be tried by this;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far more, young hearts that fancies paint<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With dreams of loving bliss.<br /></span> +</p> +</div> +</blockquote> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /></p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/image03.jpg" width="376" height="49" alt="[Temple press]" /> +</div> + +<h6>MADE AT THE TEMPLE<br /> +PRESS LETCHWORTH IN GREAT BRITAIN</h6> +<p><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> <br /></p> + +<h2>EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY</h2> +<h2>By Ernest Rhys</h2> + +<p> +Victor Hugo said a Library was "an act of faith," and some unknown +essayist spoke of one so beautiful, so perfect, so harmonious in all +its parts, that he who made it was smitten with a passion. In that +faith the promoters of Everyman's Library planned it out originally on +a large scale; and their idea in so doing was to make it conform as +far as possible to a perfect scheme. However, perfection is a thing to +be aimed at and not to be achieved in this difficult world; and since +the first volumes appeared, now several years ago, there have been +many interruptions. A great war has come and gone; and even the City +of Books has felt something like a world commotion. Only in recent +years is the series getting back into its old stride and looking +forward to complete its original scheme of a Thousand Volumes. One of +the practical expedients in that original plan was to divide the +volumes into sections, as Biography, Fiction, History, Belles Lettres, +Poetry, Romance, and so forth; with a compartment for young people, +and last, and not least, one of Reference Books. Beside the +dictionaries and encyclopædias to be expected in that section, there +was a special set of literary and historical atlases. One of these +atlases dealing with Europe, we may recall, was directly affected by +the disturbance of frontiers during the war; and the maps had to be +completely revised in consequence, so as to chart the New Europe which +we hope will now preserve its peace under the auspices of the League +of Nations set up at Geneva. That is only one small item, however, in +a library list which runs already to the final centuries of the +Thousand. The largest slice of this huge provision is, as a matter of +course, given to the tyrannous demands of fiction. But in carrying out +the scheme, publishers and editors contrived to keep in mind that +books, like men and women, have their elective affinities. The present +volume, for instance, will be found to have its companion books, both +in the same section and even more significantly in other sections. +With that idea too, novels like Walter Scott's <i>Ivanhoe</i> and <i> Fortunes +of Nigel</i>, Lytton's <i>Harold</i> and Dickens's <i>Tale of Two Cities</i>, have +been used as pioneers of history and treated as a sort of holiday +history books. For in our day history is tending to grow more +documentary and less literary; and "the historian who is a stylist," +as one of our contributors, the late Thomas Seccombe, said, "will soon +be regarded as a kind of Phoenix." But in this special department of +Everyman's Library we have been eclectic enough to choose our history +men from every school in turn. We have Grote, Gibbon, Finlay, +Macaulay, Motley, Frescott. We have among earlier books the Venerable +Bede and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, have completed a Livy in an +admirable new translation by Canon Roberts, while Cæsar, Tacitus, +Thucydides and Herodotus are not forgotten. "You only, O Books," said +Richard de Bury, "are liberal and independent; you give to all who +ask." The delightful variety, the wisdom and the wit which are at the +disposal of Everyman in his own library may well, at times, seem to +him a little embarrassing. He may turn to Dick Steele in <i>The +Spectator</i> and learn how Cleomira dances, when the elegance of her +motion is unimaginable and "her eyes are chastised with the simplicity +and innocence of her thoughts." He may turn to Plato's Phædrus and +read how every soul is divided into three parts (like Cæsar's Gaul). +He may turn to the finest critic of Victorian times, Matthew Arnold, +and find in his essay on Maurice de Guerin the perfect key to what is +there called the "magical power of poetry." It is Shakespeare, with +his</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i8">"daffodils</span><br /> + +<span class="i2">That come before the swallow dares, and take</span><br /> + +<span class="i2">The winds of March with beauty;"<br /></span></p> +</blockquote> +<p>it is Wordsworth, with his</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i6">"voice ... heard</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Breaking the silence of the seas</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Among the farthest Hebrides;"</span><br /> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p>or Keats, with his</p> +<blockquote class="poem"> +<p> +<span class="i2">".... moving waters at their priest-like task</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of cold ablution round Earth's human shores."<br /></span></p> +</blockquote> +<p><br /> <br /></p> +<p>William Hazlitt's "Table Talk," among the volumes of + Essays, may help to show the relationship of one author to + another, which is another form of the Friendship of Books. His + incomparable essay in that volume, "On Going a Journey," forms a capital + prelude to Coleridge's "Biographia Literaria" and to his and + Wordsworth's poems. In the same way one may turn to the review of + Moore's Life of Byron in Macaulay's <i>Essays</i> as a prelude to the three + volumes of Byron's own poems, remembering that the poet whom Europe + loved more than England did was as Macaulay said: "the beginning, the + middle and the end of all his own poetry." This brings us to the + provoking reflection that it is the obvious authors and the books most + easy to reprint which have been the signal successes out of the many + hundreds in the series, for Everyman is distinctly proverbial in + his tastes. He likes best of all an old author who has worn well or a + comparatively new author who has gained something like newspaper + notoriety. In attempting to lead him on from the good books that are + known to those that are less known, the publishers may have at times + been too adventurous. The late <i>Chief</i> himself was much more than an + ordinary book-producer in this critical enterprise. He threw himself + into it with the zeal of a book-lover and indeed of one who, like + Milton, thought that books might be as alive and productive as dragons' + teeth, which, being "sown up and down the land, might chance to spring + up armed men." Mr. Pepys in his <i>Diary</i> writes about some of his books, + "which are come home gilt on the backs, very handsome to the eye." The + pleasure he took in them is that which Everyman may take in the gilt + backs of his favourite books in his own Library, which after all he has + helped to make good and lasting.</p> +<p><br /> <br /> <br /> <br /></p> +<div class="bbox"> +<h2>EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY</h2> +<h5>Edited by EARNEST RHYS</h5> +<h3>A LIST OF THE 806 VOLUMES</h3> +<p class="smcap">ARRANGED UNDER AUTHORS</p> + <h5>LONDON</h5> <p class="smcap">J.M. DENT AND SONS LTD.</p> + <h5>NEW YORK</h5> <p class="smcap">E.P. DUTTON AND CO.</p> +</div> +<p> + Abbott's Rollo at Work, etc., 275</p> +<p> + Addison's Spectator, 164-167</p> +<p> + Æschylus' Lyrical Dramas, 62</p> +<p> + Æsop's and Other Fables, 657</p> +<p> + Aimard's The Indian Scout, 428</p> +<p> + Ainsworth's Tower of London, 400<br /> + " Old St. Paul's, 522<br /> + " Windsor Castle, 709<br /> + " The Admirable Crichton, 804</p> +<p> + A'Kempis' Imitation of Christ, 484</p> +<p> + Alcott's Little Women, and Good Wives, 248<br /> + " Little Men, 512</p> +<p> + Alpine Club. Peaks, Passes and Glaciers, 778</p> +<p> + Andersen's Fairy Tales, 4</p> +<p> + Anglo-Saxon Poetry, 794</p> +<p> + Anson's Voyages, 510</p> +<p> + Aristophanes' The Acharnians, etc., 344<br /> + " The Frogs, etc., 516</p> +<p> + Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, 547<br /> + " Politics, 605</p> +<p> + Arnold's (Matthew) Essays, 115<br /> + " Poems, 334<br /> + " Study of Celtic Literature, etc., 458</p> +<p> + Augustine's (Saint) Confessions, 200</p> +<p> + Aurelius' (Marcus) Golden Book, 9</p> +<p> + Austen's (Jane) Sense and Sensibility, 21<br /> + " Pride and Prejudice, 22<br /> + " Mansfield Park, 23<br /> + " Emma, 24<br /> + " Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion, 25</p> +<p> + Bacon's Essays, 10<br /> + " Advancement of Learning, 719</p> +<p> + Bagehot's Literary Studies, 520, 521</p> +<p> + Baker's (Sir S.W.) Cast up by the Sea, 539</p> +<p> + Ballantyne's Coral Island, 245<br /> + " Martin Rattler, 246<br /> + " Ungava, 276</p> +<p> + Balzac's Wild Ass's Skin, 26<br /> + " Eugénie Grandet, 169<br /> + " Old Goriot, 170<br /> + " Atheist's Mass, etc., 229<br /> + " Christ in Flanders, etc., 284<br /> + " The Chouans, 285<br /> + " Quest of the Absolute, 286<br /> + " Cat and Racket, etc., 349<br /> + " Catherine de Medici, 419<br /> + " Cousin Pons, 463<br /> + " The Country Doctor, 530<br /> + " Rise and Fall of César Birotteau, 596<br /> + " Lost Illusions, 656<br /> + " The Country Parson, 686<br /> + " Ursule Mirouët, 733</p> +<p> + Barbusse's Under Fire, 798</p> +<p> + Barca's (Mme. C. de la) Life in Mexico, 664</p> +<p> + Bates' Naturalist on the Amazons, 446</p> +<p> + Beaumont and Fletcher's Select Plays, 506</p> +<p> + Beaumont's (Mary) Joan Seaton, 597</p> +<p> + Bede's Ecclesiastical History, etc., 479</p> +<p> + Belt's The Naturalist in Nicaragua, 561</p> +<p> + Berkeley's (Bishop) Principles of Human Knowledge, New Theory of<br /> + Vision, etc., 483</p> +<p> + Berlioz (Hector), Life of, 602</p> +<p> + Binns' Life of Abraham Lincoln, 783</p> +<p> + Björnson's Plays, 625, 696</p> +<p> + Blackmore's Lorna Doone, 304<br /> + " Springhaven, 350</p> +<p> + Blackwell's Pioneer Work for Women, 667</p> +<p> + Blake's Poems and Prophecies, 792</p> +<p> + Boehme's The Signature of All Things, etc., 569</p> +<p> + Bonaventura's The Little Flowers,<br /> + The Life of St. Francis, etc., 485</p> +<p> + Borrow's Wild Wales, 49<br /> + " Lavengro, 119<br /> + " Romany Rye, 120<br /> + " Bible in Spain, 151<br /> + " Gypsies in Spain, 697</p> +<p> + Boswell's Life of Johnson, 1, 2<br /> + " Tour in the Hebrides, etc., 387</p> +<p> + Boult's Asgard and Norse Heroes, 689</p> +<p> + Boyle's The Sceptical Chymist, 559</p> +<p> + Bright's (John) Speeches, 252</p> +<p> + Brontë's (A.) The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, 685</p> +<p> + Brontë's (C.) Jane Eyre, 287<br /> + " Shirley, 288<br /> + " Villette, 351<br /> + " The Professor, 417</p> +<p> + Brontë's (E.) Wuthering Heights, 243</p> +<p> + Brooke's (Stopford A.) Theology in the English Poets, 493</p> +<p> + Brown's (Dr. John) Rab and His Friends, etc., 116</p> +<p> + Browne's (Frances) Grannie's Wonderful Chair, 112</p> +<p> + Browne's (Sir Thos.) Religio Medici, etc., 92</p> +<p> + Browning's Poems, 1833-1844, 41<br /> + " " 1844-1864, 42<br /> + " The Ring and the Book, 502</p> +<p> + Buchanan's Life and Adventures of Audubon, 601</p> +<p> + Bulfinch's The Age of Fable, 472<br /> + " Legends of Charlemagne, 556</p> +<p> + Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, 204</p> +<p> + Burke's American Speeches and Letters, 340<br /> + " Reflections on the French Revolution, etc., 460</p> +<p> + Burnet's History of His Own Times, 85</p> +<p> + Burney's Evelina, 352</p> +<p> + Burns' Poems and Songs, 94</p> +<p> + Burrell's Volume of Heroic Verse, 574</p> +<p> + Burton's East Africa, 500</p> +<p> + Butler's Analogy of Religion, 90</p> +<p> + Buxton's Memoirs, 773</p> +<p> + Byron's Complete Poetical and Dramatic Works, 486-488</p> +<p> + Cæsar's Gallic War, etc., 702</p> +<p> + Canton's Child's Book of Saints, 61<br /> + " Invisible Playmate, etc., 566</p> +<p> + Carlyle's French Revolution, 31, 32<br /> + " Letters, etc., of Cromwell, 266-268<br /> + " Sartor Resartus, 278<br /> + " Past and Present, 608<br /> + " Essays, 703, 704</p> +<p> + Cellini's Autobiography, 51</p> +<p> + Cervantes' Don Quixote, 385, 386</p> +<p> + Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, 307</p> +<p> + Chrétien de Troyes' Eric and Enid, 698</p> +<p> + Cibber's Apology for his Life, 668</p> +<p> + Cicero's Select Letters and Orations, 345</p> +<p> + Clarke's Tales from Chaucer, 537<br /> + " Shakespeare's Heroines, 109-111</p> +<p> + Cobbett's Rural Rides, 638, 639</p> +<p> + Coleridge's Biographia, 11<br /> + " Golden Book, 43<br /> + " Lectures on Shakespeare, 162</p> +<p> + Collins' Woman in White, 464</p> +<p> + Collodi's Pinocchio, 538</p> +<p> + Converse's Long Will, 328</p> +<p> + Cook's Voyages, 99</p> +<p> + Cooper's The Deerslayer, 77<br /> + " The Pathfinder, 78<br /> + " Last of the Mohicans, 79<br /> + " The Pioneer, 171<br /> + " The Prairie, 172</p> +<p> + Cousin's Biographical Dictionary of English Literature, 449</p> +<p> + Cowper's Letters, 774</p> +<p> + Cox's Tales of Ancient Greece, 721</p> +<p> + Craik's Manual of English Literature, 346</p> +<p> + Craik (Mrs.). <i>See</i> Mulock.</p> +<p> + Creasy's Fifteen Decisive Battles, 300</p> +<p> + Crèvecoeur's Letters from an American Farmer, 640</p> +<p> + Curtis's Prue and I, and Lotus, 418</p> +<p> + Dana's Two Years Before the Mast, 588</p> +<p> + Dante's Divine Comedy, 308</p> +<p> + Darwin's Voyage of the Beagle, 104</p> +<p> + Dasent's The Story of Burnt Njal, 558</p> +<p> + Daudet's Tartarin of Tarascon, 423</p> +<p> + Defoe's Robinson Crusoe, 59<br /> + " Captain Singleton, 74<br /> + " Memoirs of a Cavalier, 283<br /> + " Journal of Plague, 289</p> +<p> + De Joinville's Memoirs of the Crusades, 333</p> +<p> + Demosthenes' Select Orations, 546</p> +<p> + Dennis' Cities and Cemeteries of Etruria, 183, 184</p> +<p> + De Quincey's Lake Poets, 163<br /> + " Opium-Eater, 223<br /> + " English Mail Coach, etc., 609</p> +<p> + De Retz (Cardinal), Memoirs of, 735, 736</p> +<p> + Descartes' Discourse on Method, 570</p> +<p> + Dickens' Barnaby Rudge, 76<br /> + " Tale of Two Cities, 102<br /> + " Old Curiosity Shop, 173<br /> + " Oliver Twist, 233<br /> + " Great Expectations, 234<br /> + " Pickwick Papers, 235<br /> + " Bleak House, 236<br /> + " Sketches by Boz, 237<br /> + " Nicholas Nickleby, 238<br /> + " Christmas Books, 239<br /> + " Dombey & Son, 240<br /> + " Martin Chuzzlewit, 241<br /> + " David Copperfield, 242<br /> + " American Notes, 290<br /> + " Child's History of England, 291<br /> + " Hard Times, 292<br /> + " Little Dorrit, 293<br /> + " Our Mutual Friend, 294<br /> + " Christmas Stories, 414<br /> + " Uncommercial Traveller, 536<br /> + " Edwin Drood, 725<br /> + " Reprinted Pieces, 744</p> +<p> + Disraeli's Coningsby, 635</p> +<p> + Dixon's Fairy Tales from Arabian Nights, 249</p> +<p> + Dodge's Hans Brinker, or the Silver Skates, 620</p> +<p> + Dostoieffsky's Crime and Punishment, 501<br /> + " The House of the Dead, or Prison Life in Siberia, 533<br /> + " Letters from the Underworld, etc., 654<br /> + " The Idiot, 682<br /> + " Poor Folk, and The Gambler, 711<br /> + " The Brothers Karamazov, 802, 803</p> +<p> + Dowden's Life of R. Browning, 701</p> +<p> + Dryden's Dramatic Essays, 568</p> +<p> + Dufferin's Letters from High Latitudes, 499</p> +<p> + Dumas' The Three Musketeers, 81<br /> + " The Black Tulip, 174</p> +<p> + Dumas' Twenty Years After, 175<br /> + " Marguerite de Valois, 326<br /> + " The Count of Monte Cristo, 393, 394<br /> + " The Forty-Five, 420<br /> + " Chicot the Jester, 421</p> +<p> + " Vicomte de Bragelonne, 593-595<br /> + " Le Chevalier de Maison Rouge, 614</p> +<p> + Duruy's History of France, 737, 738</p> +<p> + Edgar's Cressy and Poictiers, 17<br /> + " Runnymede and Lincoln Fair, 320<br /> + " Heroes of England, 471</p> +<p> + Edgeworth's Castle Rackrent, etc., 410</p> +<p> + Edwardes' Dictionary of Non-Classical Mythology, 632</p> +<p> + Eliot's Adam Bede, 27<br /> + " Silas Marner, 121<br /> + " Romola, 231<br /> + " Mill on the Floss, 325<br /> + " Felix Holt, 353<br /> + " Scenes of Clerical Life, 468</p> +<p> + Elyot's Governour, 227</p> +<p> + Emerson's Essays, 12<br /> + " Representative Men, 279<br /> + " Nature, Conduct of Life, etc., 322<br /> + " Society and Solitude, etc., 567<br /> + " Poems, 715</p> +<p> + Epictetus' Moral Discourses, etc., 404</p> +<p> + Erckmann—Chatrian's The Conscript and Waterloo, 354<br /> + " Story of a Peasant, 706, 707</p> +<p> + Euripides' Plays, 63, 271</p> +<p> + Evelyn's Diary, 220, 221</p> +<p> + Ewing's (Mrs.) Mrs. Overtheway's Remembrances, and other Stories, 730<br /> + " Jackanapes, Daddy Darwin's Dovecot, and The Story of a Short Life,<br /> + 731</p> +<p> + Faraday's Experimental Researches in Electricity, 576</p> +<p> + Fielding's Tom Jones, 355, 356<br /> + " Joseph Andrews, 467</p> +<p> + Finlay's Byzantine Empire, 33<br /> + " Greece under the Romans, 185</p> +<p> + Fletcher's (Beaumont and) Select Plays, 506</p> +<p> + Ford's Gatherings from Spain, 152</p> +<p> + Forster's Life of Dickens, 781, 782</p> +<p> + Fox's Journal, 754</p> +<p> + Fox's Selected Speeches, 759</p> +<p> + Franklin's Journey to Polar Sea, 447</p> +<p> + Freeman's Old English History for Children, 540</p> +<p> + Froissart's Chronicles, 57</p> +<p> + Fronde's Short Studies, 13, 705<br /> + " Henry VIII., 372-374<br /> + " Edward VI., 375<br /> + " Mary Tudor, 477<br /> + " History of Queen Elizabeth's Reign, 583-587<br /> + " Life of Benjamin Disraeli, Lord Beaconsfield, 666</p> +<p> + Gait's Annals of the Parish, 427</p> +<p> + Galton's Inquiries into Human Faculty, 263</p> +<p> + Gaskell's Cranford, 83<br /> + " Charlotte Brontë, 318<br /> + " Sylvia's Lovers, 524<br /> + " Mary Barton, 598<br /> + " Cousin Phillis, etc., 615<br /> + " North and South, 680</p> +<p> + Gatty's Parables from Nature, 158</p> +<p> + Geoffrey of Monmouth's Histories of the Kings of Britain, 577</p> +<p> + George's Progress and Poverty, 560</p> +<p> + Gibbon's Roman Empire, 434-436, 474-476<br /> + " Autobiography, 511</p> +<p> + Gilfillian's Literary Portraits, 348</p> +<p> + Giraldus Cambrensis, 272</p> +<p> + Gleig's Life of Wellington, 341<br /> + " The Subaltern, 708</p> +<p> + Goethe's Faust (Parts I. and II.), 335<br /> + " Wilhelm Meister, 599, 600</p> +<p> + Gogol's Dead Souls, 726<br /> + " Taras Bulba, 740</p> +<p> + Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield, 295<br /> + " Poems and Plays, 415</p> +<p> + Gorki's Through Russia, 741</p> +<p> + Gosse's Restoration Plays, 604</p> +<p> + Gotthelf's Ulric the Farm Servant, 228</p> +<p> + Gray's Poems and Letters, 628</p> +<p> + Green's Short History of the English People, 727, 728 The cloth<br /> + edition is in 2 vols. or 1 vol. All other editions are in 1 vol.</p> +<p> + Grimms' Fairy Tales, 56</p> +<p> + Grote's History of Greece, 186-197</p> +<p> + Guest's (Lady) Mabinogion, 97</p> +<p> + Hahnemann's The Organon of the Rational Art of Healing, 663</p> +<p> + Hakluyt's Voyages, 264, 265, 313, 314, 338, 339, 388, 389</p> +<p> + Hallam's Constitutional History, 621-623</p> +<p> + Hamilton's The Federalist, 519</p> +<p> + Harte's Luck of Roaring Camp, 681</p> +<p> + Harvey's Circulation of Blood, 262</p> +<p> + Hawthorne's Wonder Book, 5<br /> + " The Scarlet Letter, 122<br /> + " House of Seven Gables, 176<br /> + " The Marble Faun, 424<br /> + " Twice Told Tales, 531<br /> + " Blithedale Romance, 592</p> +<p> + Hazlitt's Shakespeare's Characters, 65<br /> + " Table Talk, 321<br /><br /> + " Lectures, 411<br /> + " Spirit of the Age and Lectures on English Poets, 459</p> +<p> + Hebbel's Plays, 694</p> +<p> + Helps' (Sir Arthur) Life of Columbus, 332</p> +<p> + Herbert's Temple, 309</p> +<p> + Herodotus (Rawlinson's), 405, 406</p> +<p> + Herrick's Hesperides, 310</p> +<p> + Hobbes' Leviathan, 691</p> +<p> + Holinshed's Chronicle, 800</p> +<p> + Holmes' Life of Mozart, 564</p> +<p> + Holmes' (O.W.) Autocrat, 66<br /> + " Professor, 67<br /> + " Poet, 68</p> +<p> + Homer's Iliad, 453 " Odyssey, 454</p> +<p> + Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, 201, 202</p> +<p> + Horace's Complete Poetical Works, 515</p> +<p> + Houghton's Life and Letters of Keats, 801</p> +<p> + Hughes' Tom Brown's Schooldays, 58</p> +<p> + Hugo's (Victor) Les Misérables, 363, 364<br /> + " Notre Dame, 422<br /> + " Toilers of the Sea, 509</p> +<p> + Hume's Treatise of Human Nature, etc., 548, 549</p> +<p> + Hutchinson's (Col.) Memoirs, 317</p> +<p> + Hutchinson's (W.M.L.) Muses' Pageant, 581, 606, 671</p> +<p> + Huxley's Man's Place in Nature, 47<br /> + " Select Lectures and Lay Sermons, 498</p> +<p> + Ibsen's The Doll's House, etc., 494<br /> + " Ghosts, etc., 552<br /> + " Pretenders, Pillars of Society, etc., 659<br /> + " Brand, 716 " Lady Inger, etc., 729<br /> + " Peer Gynt, 747</p> +<p> + Ingelow's Mopsa the Fairy, 619</p> +<p> + Ingram's Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 624</p> +<p> + Irving's Sketch Book, 117<br /> + " Conquest of Granada, 478<br /> + " Life of Mahomet, 513</p> +<p> + James' (G.P.R.) Richelieu, 357</p> +<p> + James (Wm.), Selections from, 739</p> +<p> + Johnson's (Dr.) Lives of the Poets, 770-771</p> +<p> + Johnson's (R.B.) Book of English Ballads, 572</p> +<p> + Jonson's (Ben) Plays, 489, 490</p> +<p> + Josephus' Wars of the Jews, 712</p> +<p> + Kalidasa's Shakuntala, 629</p> +<p> + Keats' Poems, 101</p> +<p> + Keble's Christian Year, 690</p> +<p> + King's Life of Mazzini, 562</p> +<p> + Kinglake's Eothen, 337</p> +<p> + Kingsley's (Chas.) Westward Ho! 20<br /> + " Heroes, 113 " Hypatia, 230<br /> + " Water Babies and Glaucus, 277<br /> + " Hereward the Wake, 296<br /> + " Alton Locke, 462<br /> + " Yeast, 611<br /> + " Madam How and Lady Why, 777<br /> + " Poems, 793</p> +<p> + Kingsley's (Henry) Ravenshoe, 28<br /> + " Geoffrey Hamlyn, 416</p> +<p> + Kingston's Peter the Whaler, 6<br /> + " Three Midshipmen, 7</p> +<p> + Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare, 8<br /> + " Essays of Elia, 14<br /> + " Letters, 342, 343</p> +<p> + Lane's Modern Egyptians, 315</p> +<p> + Langland's Piers Plowman, 571</p> +<p> + Latimer's Sermons, 40</p> +<p> + Law's Serious Call, 91</p> +<p> + Layamon's (Wace and) Arthurian Chronicles, 578</p> +<p> + Lear (and others), A Book of Nonsense, 806</p> +<p> + Le Sage's Gil Blas, 437, 438</p> +<p> + Leslie's Memoirs of John Constable, 563</p> +<p> + Lever's Harry Lorrequer, 177</p> +<p> + Lewes' Life of Goethe, 269</p> +<p> + Lincoln's Speeches, etc., 206</p> +<p> + Livy's History of Rome, 603, 669, 670, 749, 755, 756</p> +<p> + Locke's Civil Government, 751</p> +<p> + Lockhart's Life of Napoleon, 3<br /> + " Life of Scott, 55 " Burns, 156</p> +<p> + Longfellow's Poems, 382</p> +<p> + Lönnrott's Kalevala, 259, 260</p> +<p> + Lover's Handy Andy, 178</p> +<p> + Lowell's Among My Books, 607</p> +<p> + Lucretius: Of the Nature of Things, 750</p> +<p> + Lützow's History of Bohemia, 432</p> +<p> + Lyell's Antiquity of Man, 700</p> +<p> + Lytton's Harold, 15<br /> + " Last of the Barons, 18<br /> + " Last Days of Pompeii, 80<br /> + " Pilgrims of the Rhine, 390<br /> + " Rienzi, 532</p> +<p> + Macaulay's England, 34-36<br /> + " Essays, 225, 226<br /> + " Speeches on Politics, etc., 399<br /> + " Miscellaneous Essays, 439</p> +<p> + MacDonald's Sir Gibbie, 678<br /> + " Phantastes, 732</p> +<p> + Machiavelli's Prince, 280 " Florence, 376</p> +<p> + Maine's Ancient Law, 734</p> +<p> + Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur, 45, 46</p> +<p> + Malthus on the Principles of Population, 692, 693</p> +<p> + Manning's Sir Thomas More, 19<br /> + " Mary Powell, and Deborah's Diary, 324</p> +<p> + Marcus Aurelius' Golden Book, 9</p> +<p> + Marlowe's Plays and Poems, 383</p> +<p> + Marryat's Mr. Midshipman Easy, 82<br /> + " Little Savage, 159<br /> + " Masterman Ready, 160<br /> + " Peter Simple, 232<br /> + " Children of New Forest, 247<br /> + " Percival Keene, 358<br /> + " Settlers in Canada, 370<br /> + " King's Own, 580<br /> + " Jacob Faithful, 618</p> +<p> + Martineau's Feats on the Fjords, 429</p> +<p> + Martinengo-Cesaresco's Folk-Lore and Other Essays, 673</p> +<p> + Maurice's Kingdom of Christ, 146, 147</p> +<p> + Mazzini's Duties of Man, etc., 224</p> +<p> + Melville's Moby Dick, 179<br /> + " Typee, 180<br /> + " Omoo, 297</p> +<p> + Merivale's History of Rome, 433</p> +<p> + Mignet's French Revolution, 713</p> +<p> + Mill's Utilitarianism, Liberty, Representative Government, 482</p> +<p> + Miller's Old Red Sandstone, 103</p> +<p> + Milman's History of the Jews, 377, 378</p> +<p> + Milton's Areopagitica and other Prose Works, 795</p> +<p> + Milton's Poems, 384</p> +<p> + Mommsen's History of Rome, 542-545</p> +<p> + Montagu's (Lady) Letters, 69</p> +<p> + Montaigne, Florio's, 440-442</p> +<p> + More's Utopia, and Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation, 461</p> +<p> + Morier's Hajji Baba, 679</p> +<p> + Morris' (Wm.) Early Romances, 261 " Life and Death of Jason, 575</p> +<p> + Motley's Dutch Republic, 86-88</p> +<p> + Mulock's John Halifax, 123</p> +<p> + Neale's Fall of Constantinople, 655</p> +<p> + Newcastle's (Margaret, Duchess of) Life of the First Duke of<br /> + Newcastle, etc., 722</p> +<p> + Newman's Apologia Pro Vita Sua, 636<br /> + " On the Scope and Nature of University Education, and<br /> + a Paper on Christianity and Scientific Investigation, 723</p> +<p> + Oliphant's Salem Chapel, 244</p> +<p> + Osborne (Dorothy), Letters of, 674</p> +<p> + Owen's A New View of Society, etc., 799</p> +<p> + Paine's Rights of Man, 718</p> +<p> + Palgrave's Golden Treasury, 96</p> +<p> + Paltock's Peter Wilkins, 676</p> +<p> + Park (Mungo), Travels of, 205</p> +<p> + Parkman's Conspiracy of Pontiac, 302, 303</p> +<p> + Parry's Letters of Dorothy Osborne, 674</p> +<p> + Paston's Letters, 752, 753</p> +<p> + Paton's Two Morte D'Arthur Romances, 634</p> +<p> + Peacock's Headlong Hall, 327</p> +<p> + Penn's The Peace of Europe, Some Fruits of Solitude, etc., 724</p> +<p> + Pepys' Diary, 53, 54</p> +<p> + Percy's Reliques, 148, 149</p> +<p> + Pitt's Orations, 145</p> +<p> + Plato's Republic, 64 " Dialogues, 456, 457</p> +<p> + Plutarch's Lives, 407-409<br /> + " Moralia, 565</p> +<p> + Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination, 336<br /> + " Poems and Essays, 791</p> +<p> + Polo's (Marco) Travels, 306</p> +<p> + Pope's Complete Poetical Works, 760</p> +<p> + Prelude to Poetry, 789</p> +<p> + Prescott's Conquest of Peru, 301<br /> + Conquest of Mexico, 397, 398</p> +<p> + Procter's Legends and Lyrics, 150</p> +<p> + Rawlinson's Herodotus, 405, 406</p> +<p> + Reade's The Cloister and the Hearth, 29<br /> + " Peg Woffington, 299</p> +<p> + Reid's (Mayne) Boy Hunters of the Mississippi, 582</p> +<p> + Reid's (Mayne) The Boy Slaves, 797</p> +<p> + Renan's Life of Jesus, 805</p> +<p> + Reynolds' Discourses, 118</p> +<p> + Rhys' Fairy Gold, 157<br /> + " New Golden Treasury, 695<br /> + " Anthology of + British Hitstorical Speeches and Orations, 714<br /> + " Political Liberty, 745<br /> + " Golden Treasury of Longer Poems, 746</p> +<p> + Ricardo's Principles of Political Economy and Taxation, 590</p> +<p> + Richardson's Pamela, 683, 684</p> +<p> + Roberts' (Morley) Western Avernus, 762</p> +<p> + Robertson's Religion and Life, 37<br /> + " Christian Doctrine, 38<br /> + " Bible Subjects, 39</p> +<p> + Robinson's (Wade) Sermons, 637</p> +<p> + Roget's Thesaurus, 630, 631</p> +<p> + Rossetti's (D.G.) Poems, 627</p> +<p> + Rousseau's Emile, on Education, 518<br /> + " Social Contract and Other Essays, 660</p> +<p> + Ruskin's Seven Lamps of Architecture, 207<br /> + " Modern Painters, 208-212<br /> + " Stones of Venice, 213-215<br /> + " Unto this Last, etc., 216<br /> + " Elements of Drawing, etc., 217<br /> + " Pre-Raphaelitism, etc., 218<br /> + " Sesame and Lilies, 219</p> +<p> + Ruskin's Ethics of the Dust, 282<br /> + " Crown of Wild Olive, and Cestus of Aglaia, 323<br /> + " Time and Tide, with other Essays, 450<br /> + " The Two Boyhoods, 688</p> +<p> + Russell's Life of Gladstone, 661</p> +<p> + Russian Short Stories, 758</p> +<p> + Sand's (George) The Devil's Pool, and François the Waif, 534</p> +<p> + Scheffel's Ekkehard: A Tale of the 10th Century, 529</p> +<p> + Scott's (M.) Tom Cringle's Log, 710</p> +<p> + Scott's (Sir W.) Ivanhoe, 16<br /> + " Fortunes of Nigel, 71<br /> + " Woodstock, 72<br /> + " Waverley, 75<br /> + " The Abbot, 124<br /> + " Anne of Geierstein, 125<br /> + " The Antiquary, 126<br /> + " Highland Widow, and Betrothed, 127<br /> + " Black Dwarf, Legend of Montrose, 123<br /> + " Bride of Lammermoor, 129<br /> + " Castle Dangerous, Surgeon's Daughter, 130<br /> + " Robert of Paris, 131<br /> + " Fair Maid of Perth, 132<br /> + " Guy Mannering, 133<br /> + " Heart of Midlothian, 134<br /> + " Kenilworth, 135<br /> + " The Monastery, 136<br /> + " Old Mortality, 137<br /> + " Peveril of the Peak, 138<br /> + " The Pirate, 139<br /> + " Quentin Durward, 140<br /> + " Redgauntlet, 141<br /> + " Rob Roy, 142<br /> + " St. Ronan's Well, 143<br /> + " The Talisman, 144<br /> + " Lives of the Novelists, 331<br /> + " Poems and Plays, 550, 551</p> +<p> + Seebohm's Oxford Reformers, 665</p> +<p> + Seeley's Ecce Homo, 305</p> +<p> + Sewell's (Anna) Black Beauty, 748</p> +<p> + Shakespeare's Comedies, 153<br /> + " Histories, etc., 154<br /> + " Tragedies, 155</p> +<p> + Shelley's Poetical Works, 257, 258</p> +<p> + Shelley's (Mrs.) Frankenstein, 616</p> +<p> + Sheppard's Charles Auchester, 505</p> +<p> + Sheridan's Plays, 95</p> +<p> + Sismondi's Italian Republics, 250</p> +<p> + Smeaton's Life of Shakespeare, 514</p> +<p> + Smith's A Dictionary of Dates, 554</p> +<p> + Smith's Wealth of Nations, 412, 413</p> +<p> + Smith's (George) Life of Wm. Carey, 395</p> +<p> + Smith's (Sir Wm.) Smaller Classical Dictionary, 495</p> +<p> + Smollett's Roderick Random, 790</p> +<p> + Sophocles, Young's, 114</p> +<p> + Southey's Life of Nelson, 52</p> +<p> + Speke's Source of the Nile, 50</p> +<p> + Spence's Dictionary of Non-Classical Mythology, 632</p> +<p> + Spencer's (Herbert) Essays on Education, 504</p> +<p> + Spenser's Faerie Queene, 443, 444</p> +<p> + Spinoza's Ethics, etc., 481</p> +<p> + Spyri's Heidi, 431</p> +<p> + Stanley's Memorials of Canterbury, 89<br /> + " Eastern Church, 251</p> +<p> + Steele's The Spectator, 164-167</p> +<p> + Sterne's Tristram Shandy, 617<br /> + " Sentimental Journey and Journal to Eliza, 796</p> +<p> + Stevenson's Treasure Island and Kidnapped, 763<br /> + " Master of Ballantrae and the Black Arrow, 764<br /> + " Virginibus Puerisque and Familiar Studies of Men and Books, 765<br /> + " An Inland Voyage, Travels with a Donkey, and Silverado Squatters, 766<br /> + " Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Merry Men, etc., 767<br /> + " Poems, 768<br /> + " In the South Seas and Island Nights'<br /> + Entertainments, 769</p> +<p> + St. Francis, The Little Flowers of, etc., 485</p> +<p> + Stopford Brooke's Theology in the English Poets, 493</p> +<p> + Stow's Survey of London, 589</p> +<p> + Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin, 371</p> +<p> + Strickland's Queen Elizabeth, 100</p> +<p> + Swedenborg's Heaven and Hell, 379<br /> + " Divine Love and Wisdom, 635<br /> + " Divine Providence, 658</p> +<p> + Swift's Gulliver's Travels, 60<br /> + " Journal to Stella, 757<br /> + " Tale of a Tub, etc., 347</p> +<p> + Tacitus' Annals, 273<br /> + " Agricola and Germania, 274</p> +<p> + Taylor's Words and Places, 517</p> +<p> + Tennyson's Poems, 44, 626</p> +<p> + Thackeray's Esmond, 73<br /> + " Vanity Fair, 298<br /> + " Christmas Books, 359<br /> + " Pendennis, 425, 426<br /> + " Newcomes, 465, 466<br /> + " The Virginians, 507, 508<br /> + " English Humorists, and The Four Georges, 610<br /> + " Roundabout Papers, 687</p> +<p> + Thierry's Norman Conquest, 198, 199</p> +<p> + Thoreau's Walden, 281</p> +<p> + Thucydides' Peloponnesian War, 455</p> +<p> + Tolstoy's Master and Man, and Other Parables and Tales, 469<br /> + " War and Peace, 525-527<br /> + " Childhood, Boyhood and Youth, 591<br /> + " Anna Karenina, 612, 613</p> +<p> + Trench's On the Study of Words and English Past and Present, 788</p> +<p> + Trollope's Barchester Towers, 30<br /> + " Framley Parsonage, 181<br /> + " Golden Lion of Granpere, 761<br /> + " The Warden, 182<br /> + " Dr. Thorne, 360<br /> + " Small House at Allington, 361<br /> + " Last Chronicles of Barset, 391, 392</p> +<p> + Trotter's The Bayard of India, 396<br /> + " Hodson, of Hodson's Horse, 401<br /> + " Warren Hastings, 452</p> +<p> + Turgeniev's Virgin Soil, 528<br /> + " Liza, 677<br /> + " Fathers and Sons, 742</p> +<p> + Tyndall's Glaciers of the Alps, 98</p> +<p> + Tytler's Principles of Translation, 168</p> +<p> + Vasari's Lives of the Painters, 784-7</p> +<p> + Verne's (Jules) Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea, 319<br /> + " Dropped from the Clouds, 367<br /> + " Abandoned, 368<br /> + " The Secret of the Island, 369<br /> + " Five Weeks in a Balloon and Around the World in Eighty Days, 779</p> +<p> + Virgil's Aeneid, 161<br /> + " Eclogues and Georgics, 222</p> +<p> + Voltaire's Life of Charles XII., 270<br /> + " Age of Louis XIV., 780</p> +<p> + Wace and Layamon's Arthurian Chronicles, 578</p> +<p> + Walpole's Letters, 775</p> +<p> + Walton's Compleat Angler, 70</p> +<p> + Waterton's Wanderings in South America, 772</p> +<p> + Wesley's Journal, 105-108</p> +<p> + White's Selborne, 48</p> +<p> + Whitman's Leaves of Grass (I.) and Democratic Vistas, etc., 573</p> +<p> + Whyte-Melville's Gladiators, 523</p> +<p> + Wood's (Mrs. Henry) The Channings, 84</p> +<p> + Woolman's Journal, etc., 402</p> +<p> + Wordsworth's Shorter Poems, 203<br /> + " Longer Poems, 311</p> +<p> + Wright's An Encyclopædia of Gardening, 555</p> +<p> + Xenophon's Cyropaedia, 672</p> +<p> + Yonge's The Dove in the Eagle's Nest, 329<br /> + " The Book of Golden Deeds, 330<br /> + " The Heir of Redclyffe, 362<br /> + " The Little Duke, 470<br /> +" The Lances of Lynwood, 579</p> +<p> + Young's (Arthur) Travels in France and Italy, 720</p> +<p> + Young's (Sir George) Sophocles, 114</p> +<p> + The New Testament, 93.</p> +<p> + Ancient Hebrew Literature, 4 vols., 253-256.</p> +<p> + English Short Stories. An Anthology, 143.</p> +<p> + Everyman's English Dictionary, 776</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center">NOTE.—The following numbers are at present out of print:<br /> + +110, 111, 118, 146, 244, 331, 390, 418, 505, 597, 641-52</p> + + +<h3>PUBLISHED BY J.M. 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