PRIYAMVADÁ.--Alas! alas! I fear a terrible misfortune has occurred.

Śakoontalá, from absence of mind, must have offended some guest whom she

was bound to treat with respect. [_Looking behind the scenes_.] Ah! yes;

I see, and no less a person than the great sage Durvasas, who is known

to be most irascible. He it is that has just cursed her, and is now

retiring with hasty strides, trembling with passion, and looking as if

nothing could turn him. His wrath is like a consuming fire.

ANASÚYÁ.--Go quickly, dear Priyamvadá, throw yourself at his feet, and

persuade him to come back, while I prepare a propitiatory offering for

him, with water and refreshments.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--I will. [_Exit._

ANASÚYÁ [_advancing hastily a few steps and stumbling_].--Alas! alas!

this comes of being in a hurry. My foot has slipped and my basket of

flowers has fallen from my hand.

[_Stays to gather them up_.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_reëntering_].--Well, dear Anasúyá, I have done my best; but

what living being could succeed in pacifying such a cross-grained,

ill-tempered old fellow? However, I managed to mollify him a little.

ANASÚYÁ [_smiling_].--Even a little was much for him. Say on.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--When he refused to turn back, I implored his forgiveness in

these words: "Most venerable sage, pardon, I beseech you, this first

offence of a young and inexperienced girl, who was ignorant of the

respect due to your saintly character and exalted rank."

ANASÚYÁ.--And what did he reply?

PRIYAMVADÁ.--"My word must not be falsified; but at the sight of the

ring of recognition the spell shall cease." So saying, he disappeared.

ANASÚYÁ.--Oh! then we may breathe again; for now I think of it, the King

himself, at his departure, fastened on Śakoontalá's finger, as a token

of remembrance, a ring on which his own name was engraved. She has,

therefore, a remedy for her misfortune at her own command.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Come, dear Anasúyá, let us proceed with our religious

duties. [_They walk away_.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking off the stage_].--See, Anasúyá, there sits our dear

friend, motionless as a statue, resting her face on her left hand, her

whole mind absorbed in thinking of her absent husband. She can pay no

attention to herself, much less to a stranger.

ANASÚYÁ.--Priyamvadá, let this affair never pass our lips. We must spare

our dear friend's feelings. Her constitution is too delicate to bear

much emotion.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--I agree with you. Who would think of watering a tender

jasmine with hot water?

ACT FOURTH

Scene.--The Neighborhood of the Hermitage

_Enter one of Kanwa's pupils, just arisen from his couch at the dawn of

day_.

PUPIL.--My master, the venerable Kanwa, who is but lately returned from

his pilgrimage, has ordered me to ascertain how the time goes. I have

therefore come into the open air to see if it be still dark. [_Walking

and looking about_.] Oh! the dawn has already broken.

Lo! in one quarter of the sky, the Moon,

Lord of the herbs and night-expanding flowers,

Sinks towards his bed behind the western hills;

While in the east, preceded by the Dawn,

His blushing charioteer, the glorious Sun

Begins his course, and far into the gloom

Casts the first radiance of his orient beams,

Hail! co-eternal orbs, that rise to set,

And set to rise again; symbols divine

Of man's reverses, life's vicissitudes.

And now,

While the round Moon withdraws his looming disc

Beneath the western sky, the full-blown flower

Of the night-loving lotus sheds her leaves

In sorrow for his loss, bequeathing nought

But the sweet memory of her loveliness

To my bereavèd sight: e'en as the bride

Disconsolately mourns her absent lord,

And yields her heart a prey to anxious grief.

ANASÚYÁ [_entering abruptly_].--Little as I know of the ways of the

world, I cannot help thinking that King Dushyanta is treating Śakoontalá

very improperly.

PUPIL.--Well, I must let my revered preceptor know that it is time to

offer the burnt oblation. [_Exit._

ANASÚYÁ.--I am broad awake, but what shall I do? I have no energy to go

about my usual occupations. My hands and feet seem to have lost their

power. Well, Love has gained his object; and Love only is to blame for

having induced our dear friend, in the innocence of her heart, to

confide in such a perfidious man. Possibly, however, the imprecation of

Durvasas may be already taking effect. Indeed, I cannot otherwise

account for the King's strange conduct, in allowing so long a time to

elapse without even a letter; and that, too, after so many promises and

protestations. I cannot think what to do, unless we send him the ring

which was to be the token of recognition. But which of these austere

hermits could we ask to be the bearer of it? Then, again, Father Kanwa

has just returned from his pilgrimage: and how am I to inform him of

Śakoontalá's marriage to King Dushyanta, and her expectation of being

soon a mother? I never could bring myself to tell him, even if I felt

that Śakoontalá had been in fault, which she certainly has not. What is

to be done?

PRIYAMVADÁ [_entering; joyfully_].--Quick! quick! Anasúyá! come and

assist in the joyful preparations for Śakoontalá's departure to her

husband's palace.

ANASÚYÁ.--My dear girl, what can you mean?

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Listen, now, and I will tell you all about it. I went just

now to Śakoontalá, to inquire whether she had slept comfortably--

ANASÚYÁ.--Well, well; go on.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--She was sitting with her face bowed down to the very ground

with shame, when Father Kanwa entered and, embracing her, of his own

accord offered her his congratulations. "I give thee joy, my child," he

said, "we have had an auspicious omen. The priest who offered the

oblation dropped it into the very centre of the sacred fire, though

thick smoke obstructed his vision. Henceforth thou wilt cease to be an

object of compassion. This very day I purpose sending thee, under the

charge of certain trusty hermits, to the King's palace; and shall

deliver thee into the hands of thy husband, as I would commit knowledge

to the keeping of a wise and faithful student."

ANASÚYÁ.--Who, then, informed the holy Father of what passed in his

absence?

PRIYAMVADÁ.--As he was entering the sanctuary of the consecrated fire,

an invisible being chanted a verse in celestial strains.

ANASÚYÁ [_with astonishment_].--Indeed! pray repeat it.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_repeats the verse_].--

Glows in thy daughter King Dushyanta's glory,

As in the sacred tree the mystic fire.

Let worlds rejoice to hear the welcome story;

And may the son immortalize the sire.

ANASÚYÁ [_embracing Priyamvadá_].--Oh, my dear Priyamvadá, what

delightful news! I am pleased beyond measure; yet when I think that we

are to lose our dear Śakoontalá this very day, a feeling of melancholy

mingles with my joy.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--We shall find means of consoling ourselves after her

departure. Let the dear creature only be made happy, at any cost.

ANASÚYÁ.--Yes, yes, Priyamvadá, it shall be so; and now to prepare our

bridal array. I have always looked forward to this occasion, and some

time since, I deposited a beautiful garland of Keśara flowers in a

cocoa-nut box, and suspended it on a bough of yonder mango-tree. Be good

enough to stretch out your hand and take it down, while I compound

unguents and perfumes with this consecrated paste and these blades of

sacred grass.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Very well.

[_Exit Anasúyá. Priyamvadá takes down the flowers._

A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Gautamí, bid Śárngarava and the others

hold themselves in readiness to escort Śakoontalá.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_listening_].--Quick, quick, Anasúyá! They are calling the

hermits who are to go with Śakoontalá to Hastinápur.

ANASÚYÁ [_reëntering, with the perfumed unguents in her hand_].--Come

along then, Priyamvadá; I am ready to go with you. [_They walk away_.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking_].--See! there sits Śakoontalá, her locks arranged

even at this early hour of the morning. The holy women of the hermitage

are congratulating her, and invoking blessings on her head, while they

present her with wedding-gifts and offerings of consecrated wild-rice.

Let us join them. [_They approach_.

_Śakoontalá is seen seated, with women surrounding her, occupied in the

manner described_.

FIRST WOMAN [_to Śakoontalá_].--My child, may'st thou receive the title

of "Chief-queen," and may thy husband delight to honor thee above all

others!

SECOND WOMAN.--My child, may'st thou be the mother of a hero!

THIRD WOMAN.--My child, may'st thou be highly honored by thy lord!

[_Exeunt all the women, excepting Gautamí, after blessing Śakoontalá._

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_approaching_].--Dear Śakoontalá, we are come to

assist you at your toilet, and may a blessing attend it!

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Welcome, dear friends, welcome. Sit down here.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_taking the baskets containing the bridal

decorations, and sitting down_].--Now, then, dearest, prepare to let us

dress you. We must first rub your limbs with these perfumed unguents.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--I ought indeed to be grateful for your kind offices, now

that I am so soon to be deprived of them. Dear, dear friends, perhaps I

shall never be dressed by you again. [_Bursts into tears_.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Weep not, dearest, tears are out of season on

such a happy occasion.

[_They wipe away her tears and begin to dress her_.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Alas! these simple flowers and rude ornaments which our

hermitage offers in abundance, do not set off your beauty as it

deserves.

_Enter two young Hermits, bearing costly presents_.

BOTH HERMITS.--Here are ornaments suitable for a queen.

[_The women look at them in astonishment_.

GAUTAMÍ.--Why, Nárada, my son, whence came these?

FIRST HERMIT.--You owe them to the devotion of Father Kanwa.

GAUTAMÍ.--Did he create them by the power of his own mind?

SECOND HERMIT.--Certainly not; but you shall hear. The venerable sage

ordered us to collect flowers for Śakoontalá from the forest-trees; and

we went to the wood for that purpose, when

Straightway depending from a neighboring tree

Appeared a robe of linen tissue, pure

And spotless as a moon-beam--mystic pledge

Of bridal happiness; another tree

Distilled a roseate dye wherewith to stain

The lady's feet; and other branches near

Glistened with rare and costly ornaments.

While, 'midst the leaves, the hands of forest-nymphs,

Vying in beauty with the opening buds,

Presented us with sylvan offerings.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking at Śakoontalá_].--The wood-nymphs have done you

honor, indeed. This favor doubtless signifies that you are soon to be

received as a happy wife into your husband's house, and are from this

forward to become the partner of his royal fortunes.

[_Śakoontalá appears confused_.

FIRST HERMIT.--Come, Gautama; Father Kanwa has finished his ablutions.

Let us go and inform him of the favor we have received from the deities

who preside over our trees.

SECOND HERMIT.--By all means. [_Exeunt._

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Alas! what are we to do? We are unused to such

splendid decorations, and are at a loss how to arrange them. Our

knowledge of painting must be our guide. We will dispose the ornaments

as we have seen them in pictures.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Whatever pleases you, dear girls, will please me. I have

perfect confidence in your taste. [_They commence dressing her_.

_Enter Kanwa, having just finished his ablutions_.

KANWA.--This day my loved one leaves me, and my heart

Is heavy with its grief: the streams of sorrow

Choked at the source, repress my faltering voice.

I have no words to speak; mine eyes are dimmed

By the dark shadows of the thoughts that rise

Within my soul. If such the force of grief

In an old hermit parted from his nursling,

What anguish must the stricken parent feel--

Bereft forever of an only daughter?

[_Advances towards Śakoontalá_

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Now, dearest Śakoontalá, we have finished

decorating you. You have only to put on the two linen mantles.

[_Śakoontalá rises and puts them on_.

GAUTAMÍ.--Daughter, see, here comes thy foster-father; he is eager to

fold thee in his arms; his eyes swim with tears of joy. Hasten to do him

reverence.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_reverently_].--My father, I salute you.

KANWA.--My daughter,

May'st thou be highly honored by thy lord,

E'en as Yayáti Śarmishthá adored!

And, as she bore him Puru; so may'st thou

Bring forth a son to whom the world shall bow!

GAUTAMÍ.--Most venerable father, she accepts your benediction as if she

already possessed the boon it confers.

KANWA.--Now come this way, my child, and walk reverently round these

sacrificial fires. [_They all walk round_.

KANWA [_repeats a prayer in the metre of the Rig-veda_].--

Holy flames, that gleam around

Every altar's hallowed ground;

Holy flames, whose frequent food

Is the consecrated wood,

And for whose encircling bed,

Sacred Kuśa-grass is spread;

Holy flames, that waft to heaven

Sweet oblations daily given,

Mortal guilt to purge away;--

Hear, oh hear me, when I pray--

Purify my child this day!

Now then, my daughter, set out on thy journey. [_Looking on one side_.]

Where are thy attendants, Śárngarava and the others?

YOUNG HERMIT [_entering_].--Here we are, most venerable father.

KANWA.--Lead the way for thy sister.

SÁRNGARAVA.--Come, Śakoontalá, let us proceed.

[_All move away_.

KANWA.--Hear me, ye trees that surround our hermitage!

Śakoontalá ne'er moistened in the stream

Her own parched lips, till she had fondly poured

Its purest water on your thirsty roots;

And oft, when she would fain have decked her hair

With your thick-clustering blossoms, in her love

She robbed you not e'en of a single flower.

Her highest joy was ever to behold

The early glory of your opening buds:

Oh, then, dismiss her with a kind farewell!

This very day she quits her father's home,

To seek the palace of her wedded lord.

[_The note of a Köil is heard_.

Hark! heard'st thou not the answer of the trees,

Our sylvan sisters, warbled in the note

Of the melodious Köil? they dismiss

Their dear Śakoontalá with loving wishes.

VOICES [_in the air_].--

Fare thee well, journey pleasantly on amid streams

Where the lotuses bloom, and the sun's glowing beams

Never pierce the deep shade of the wide-spreading trees,

While gently around thee shall sport the cool breeze;

Then light be thy footsteps and easy thy tread,

Beneath thee shall carpets of lilies be spread.

Journey on to thy lord, let thy spirit be gay,

For the smiles of all Nature shall gladden thy way.

[_All listen with astonishment_.

GAUTAMÍ.--Daughter! the nymphs of the wood, who love thee with the

affection of a sister, dismiss thee with kind wishes for thy happiness.

Take thou leave of them reverentially.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_bowing respectfully and walking on. Aside to her

friend_].--Eager as I am, dear Priyamvadá, to see my husband once more,

yet my feet refuse to move, now that I am quitting forever the home of

my girlhood.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--You are not the only one, dearest, to feel the bitterness

of parting. As the time of separation approaches, the whole grove seems

to share your anguish.

In sorrow for thy loss, the herd of deer

Forget to browse; the peacock on the lawn

Ceases its dance; the very trees around us

Shed their pale leaves, like tears, upon the ground.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_recollecting herself_].--My father, let me, before I go,

bid adieu to my pet jasmine, the Moonlight of the Grove. I love the

plant almost as a sister.

KANWA.--Yes, yes, my child, I remember thy sisterly affection for the

creeper. Here it is on the right.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_approaching the jasmine_],--My beloved jasmine, most

brilliant of climbing plants, how sweet it is to see thee cling thus

fondly to thy husband, the mango-tree; yet, prithee, turn thy twining

arms for a moment in this direction to embrace thy sister; she is going

far away, and may never see thee again.

KANWA.--Daughter, the cherished purpose of my heart

Has ever been to wed thee to a spouse

That should be worthy of thee; such a spouse

Hast thou thyself, by thine own merits, won.

To him thou goest, and about his neck

Soon shalt thou cling confidingly, as now

Thy favorite jasmine twines its loving arms

Around the sturdy mango. Leave thou it

To its protector--e'en as I consign

Thee to thy lord, and henceforth from my mind

Banish all anxious thought on thy behalf.

Proceed on thy journey, my child.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_to Priyamvadá and Anasúyá_].--To you, my sweet companions,

I leave it as a keepsake. Take charge of it when I am gone.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_bursting into tears_].--And to whose charge do

you leave us, dearest? Who will care for us when you are gone?

KANWA.--For shame, Anasúyá! dry your tears. Is this the way to cheer

your friend at a time when she needs your support and consolation?

[_All move on_.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My father, see you there my pet deer, grazing close to the

hermitage? She expects soon to fawn, and even now the weight of the

little one she carries hinders her movements. Do not forget to send me

word when she becomes a mother.

KANWA.--I will not forget it.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_feeling herself drawn back_].--What can this be, fastened

to my dress? [_Turns round_.

KANWA.--My daughter,

It is the little fawn, thy foster-child.

Poor helpless orphan! it remembers well

How with a mother's tenderness and love

Thou didst protect it, and with grains of rice

From thine own hand didst daily nourish it;

And, ever and anon, when some sharp thorn

Had pierced its mouth, how gently thou didst tend

The bleeding wound, and pour in healing balm.

The grateful nursling clings to its protectress,

Mutely imploring leave to follow her.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My poor little fawn, dost thou ask to follow an unhappy

woman who hesitates not to desert her companions? When thy mother died,

soon after thy birth, I supplied her place, and reared thee with my own

hand; and now that thy second mother is about to leave thee, who will

care for thee? My father, be thou a mother to her. My child, go back,

and be a daughter to my father. [_Moves on, weeping_.

KANWA.--Weep not, my daughter, check the gathering tear

That lurks beneath thine eyelid, ere it flow

And weaken thy resolve; be firm and true--

True to thyself and me; the path of life

Will lead o'er hill and plain, o'er rough and smooth,

And all must feel the steepness of the way;

Though rugged be thy course, press boldly on.

SÁRNGARAVA.--Venerable sire! the sacred precept is--"Accompany thy

friend as far as the margin of the first stream." Here then, we are

arrived at the border of a lake. It is time for you to give us your

final instructions and return.

KANWA.--Be it so; let us tarry for a moment under the shade of this

fig-tree. [_They do so_.

KANWA [_aside_].--I must think of some appropriate message to send to

his majesty King Dushyanta. [_Reflects._

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside to Anasúyá_].--See, see, dear Anasúyá, the poor

female Chakraváka-bird, whom cruel fate dooms to nightly separation

from her mate, calls to him in mournful notes from the other side of the

stream, though he is only hidden from her view by the spreading leaves

of the water-lily. Her cry is so piteous that I could almost fancy she

was lamenting her hard lot in intelligible words.

ANASÚYÁ.--Say not so, dearest.

Fond bird! though sorrow lengthen out her night

Of widowhood, yet with a cry of joy

She hails the morning light that brings her mate

Back to her side. The agony of parting

Would wound us like a sword, but that its edge

Is blunted by the hope of future meeting.

KANWA.--Śárngarava, when you have introduced Śakoontalá into the

presence of the King, you must give him this message from me.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Let me hear it, venerable father.

KANWA.--This is it--

Most puissant prince! we here present before thee

One thou art bound to cherish and receive

As thine own wife; yea, even to enthrone

As thine own queen--worthy of equal love

With thine imperial consorts. So much, Sire,

We claim of thee as justice due to us,

In virtue of our holy character--

In virtue of thine honorable rank--

In virtue of the pure spontaneous love

That secretly grew up 'twixt thee and her,

Without consent or privity of us.

We ask no more--the rest we freely leave

To thy just feeling and to destiny.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--A most suitable message. I will take care to deliver it

correctly.

KANWA.--And now, my child, a few words of advice for thee. We hermits,

though we live secluded from the world, are not ignorant of worldly

matters.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--No, indeed. Wise men are conversant with all subjects.

KANWA.--Listen, then, my daughter. When thou reachest thy husband's

palace, and art admitted into his family,

Honor thy betters; ever be respectful

To those above thee; and, should others share

Thy husband's love, ne'er yield thyself a prey

To jealousy; but ever be a friend,

A loving friend, to those who rival thee

In his affections. Should thy wedded lord

Treat thee with harshness, thou must never be

Harsh in return, but patient and submissive.

Be to thy menials courteous, and to all

Placed under thee, considerate and kind:

Be never self-indulgent, but avoid

Excess in pleasure; and, when fortune smiles,

Be not puffed up. Thus to thy husband's house

Wilt thou a blessing prove, and not a curse.

What thinks Gautamí of this advice?

GAUTAMÍ.--An excellent compendium, truly, of every wife's duties! Lay it

well to heart, my daughter.

KANWA.--Come, my beloved child, one parting embrace for me and for thy

companions, and then we leave thee.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My father, must Priyamvadá and Anasúyá really return with

you? They are very dear to me.

KANWA.--Yes, my child; they, too, in good time, will be given in

marriage to suitable husbands. It would not be proper for them to

accompany thee to such a public place. But Gautamí shall be thy

companion.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_embracing him_].--Removed from thy bosom, my beloved

father, like a young tendril of the sandal-tree torn from its home in

the western mountains,[40] how shall I be able to support life in a

foreign soil?

KANWA.--Daughter, thy fears are groundless:--

Soon shall thy lord prefer thee to the rank

Of his own consort; and unnumbered cares

Befitting his imperial dignity

Shall constantly engross thee. Then the bliss

Of bearing him a son--a noble boy,

Bright as the day-star--shall transport thy soul

With new delights, and little shalt thou reck

Of the light sorrow that afflicts thee now

At parting from thy father and thy friends.

[_Śakoontalá throws herself at her foster-father's feet_.

KANWA.--Blessings on thee, my child! May all my hopes of thee be

realized!

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_approaching her friends_].--Come, my two loved companions,

embrace me--both of you together.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_embracing her_].--Dear Śakoontalá, remember, if

the King should by any chance be slow in recognizing you, you have only

to show him this ring, on which his own name is engraved.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--The bare thought of it puts me in a tremor.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--There is no real cause for fear, dearest.

Excessive affection is too apt to suspect evil where none exists.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Come, lady, we must hasten on. The sun is rising in the

heavens.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_looking towards the hermitage_].--Dear father, when shall I

ever see this hallowed grove again?

KANWA.--I will tell thee; listen--

When thou hast passed a long and blissful life

As King Dushyanta's queen, and jointly shared

With all the earth his ever-watchful care;

And hast beheld thine own heroic son,

Matchless in arms, united to a spouse

In happy wedlock; when his aged sire,

Thy faithful husband, hath to him resigned

The helm of state; then, weary of the world,

Together with Dushyanta thou shalt seek

The calm seclusion of thy former home:--

There amid holy scenes to be at peace,

Till thy pure spirit gain its last release.

GAUTAMÍ.--Come, my child, the favorable time for our journey is fast

passing. Let thy father return. Venerable Sire, be thou the first to

move homewards, or these last words will never end.

KANWA.--Daughter, detain me no longer. My religious duties must not be

interrupted.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_again embracing her foster-father_].--Beloved father, thy

frame is much enfeebled by penitential exercises. Do not, oh! do not,

allow thyself to sorrow too much on my account.

KANWA [_sighing_].--How, O my child, shall my bereavèd heart

Forget its bitterness, when, day by day,

Full in my sight shall grow the tender plants

Reared by thy care, or sprung from hallowed grain

Which thy loved hands have strewn around the door--

A frequent offering to our household gods?

Go, my daughter, and may thy journey be prosperous.

[_Exit Śakoontalá with her escort_.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_gazing after Śakoontalá_].--Alas! alas! she is

gone, and now the trees hide our darling from our view.

KANWA [_sighing_].--Well, Anasúyá, your sister has departed. Moderate

your grief, both of you, and follow me. I go back to the hermitage.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Holy father, the sacred grove will be a desert

without Śakoontalá. How can we ever return to it?

KANWA.--It is natural enough that your affection should make you view it

in this light. [_Walking pensively on_.] As for me, I am quite surprised

at myself. Now that I have fairly dismissed her to her husband's house,

my mind is easy: for indeed,

A daughter is a loan--a precious jewel

Lent to a parent till her husband claim her.

And now that to her rightful lord and master

I have delivered her, my burdened soul

Is lightened, and I seem to breathe more freely.

[_Exeunt._

[40] The sandal-tree is a large kind of myrtle, with pointed leaves. The

wood affords many highly esteemed perfumes and is celebrated for its

delicious scent. It is chiefly found on the slopes of the Malay

mountains or Western Ghants, on the Malabar coast.

ACT FIFTH

Scene.--A Room in the Palace

_The King Dushyanta and the Jester Máthavya are discovered seated_.

MÁTHAVYA [_listening_].--Hark! my dear friend, listen a minute, and you

will hear sweet sounds proceeding from the music-room. Someone is

singing a charming air. Who can it be? Oh! I know. The queen Hansapadiká

is practising her notes, that she may greet you with a new song.

KING.--Hush! Let me listen.

A VOICE [_sings behind the scenes_].--

How often hither didst thou rove,

Sweet bee, to kiss the mango's cheek;

Oh! leave not, then, thy early love,

The lily's honeyed lip to seek.

KING.--A most impassioned strain, truly!

MÁTHAVYA.--Do you understand the meaning of the words?

KING [_smiling_].--She means to reprove me, because I once paid her

great attention, and have lately deserted her for the queen Vasumatí.

Go, my dear fellow, and tell Hansapadiká from me that I take her

delicate reproof as it is intended.

MÁTHAVYA.--Very well. [_Rising from his seat_.] But stay--I don't much

relish being sent to bear the brunt of her jealousy. The chances are

that she will have me seized by the hair of the head and beaten to a

jelly. I would as soon expose myself, after a vow of celibacy, to the

seductions of a lovely nymph, as encounter the fury of a jealous woman.

KING.--Go, go; you can disarm her wrath by a civil speech; but give her

my message.

MÁTHAVYA.--What must be must be, I suppose. [_Exit._

KING [_aside_].--Strange! that song has filled me with a most peculiar

sensation. A melancholy feeling has come over me, and I seem to yearn

after some long-forgotten object of affection. Singular, indeed! but,

Not seldom in our happy hours of ease,

When thought is still, the sight of some fair form,

Or mournful fall of music breathing low,

Will stir strange fancies, thrilling all the soul

With a mysterious sadness, and a sense

Of vague yet earnest longing. Can it be

That the dim memory of events long past,

Or friendships formed in other states of being,

Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit?

[_Remains pensive and sad_.

_Enter the Chamberlain_.

CHAMBERLAIN.--Alas! to what an advanced period of life have I attained!

Even this wand betrays the lapse of years;

In youthful days 'twas but a useless badge

And symbol of my office; now it serves

As a support to prop my tottering steps.

Ah me! I feel very unwilling to announce to the King that a deputation

of young hermits from the sage Kanwa has arrived, and craves an

immediate audience. Certainly, his majesty ought not to neglect a matter

of sacred duty, yet I hardly like to trouble him when he has just risen

from the judgment-seat. Well, well; a monarch's business is to sustain

the world, and he must not expect much repose; because--

Onward, forever onward, in his car

The unwearied Sun pursues his daily course,

Nor tarries to unyoke his glittering steeds.

And ever moving speeds the rushing Wind

Through boundless space, filling the universe

With his life-giving breezes. Day and night,

The King of Serpents on his thousand heads

Upholds the incumbent earth; and even so,

Unceasing toil is aye the lot of kings,

Who, in return, draw nurture from their subjects.

I will therefore deliver my message. [_Walking on and looking about_.]

Ah! here comes the King:--

His subjects are his children; through the day,

Like a fond father, to supply their wants,

Incessantly he labors; wearied now,

The monarch seeks seclusion and repose--

E'en as the prince of elephants defies

The sun's fierce heat, and leads the fainting herd

To verdant pastures, ere his wayworn limbs

He yields to rest beneath the cooling shade.

[_Approaching_.] Victory to the King! So please your majesty, some

hermits who live in a forest near the Snowy Mountains have arrived here,

bringing certain women with them. They have a message to deliver from

the sage Kanwa, and desire an audience. I await your Majesty's commands.

KING [_respectfully_].--A message from the sage Kanwa, did you say?

CHAMBERLAIN.--Even so, my liege.

KING.--Tell my domestic priest, Somaráta, to receive the hermits with

due honor, according to the prescribed form. He may then himself

introduce them into my presence. I will await them in a place suitable

for the reception of such holy guests.

CHAMBERLAIN.--Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. [_Exit._

KING [_rising and addressing the Warder_].--Vetravatí, lead the way to

the chamber of the consecrated fire.

WARDER.--This way, Sire.

KING [_walking on, with the air of one oppressed by the cares of

government_].--People are generally contented and happy when they have

gained their desires; but kings have no sooner attained the object of

their aspirations than all their troubles begin.

'Tis a fond thought that to attain the end

And object of ambition is to rest;

Success doth only mitigate the fever

Of anxious expectation; soon the fear

Of losing what we have, the constant care

Of guarding it doth weary. Ceaseless toil

Must be the lot of him who with his hands

Supports the canopy that shields his subjects.

Two HERALDS [_behind the scenes_].--May the King be victorious!

FIRST HERALD.--Honor to him who labors day by day

For the world's weal, forgetful of his own.

Like some tall tree that with its stately head

Endures the solar beam, while underneath

It yields refreshing shelter to the weary.

SECOND HERALD.--Let but the monarch wield his threatening rod

And e'en the guilty tremble; at his voice

The rebel spirit cowers; his grateful subjects

Acknowledge him their guardian; rich and poor

Hail him a faithful friend, a loving kinsman.

KING.--Weary as I was before, this complimentary address has refreshed

me. [_Walks on_.

WARDER.--Here is the terrace of the hallowed fire-chamber, and yonder

stands the cow that yields the milk for the oblations. The sacred

enclosure has been recently purified, and looks clean and beautiful.

Ascend, Sire.

KING [_leans on the shoulders of his attendants, and ascends_].

Vetravatí, what can possibly be the message that the venerable Kanwa has

sent me by these hermits?--

Perchance their sacred rites have been disturbed

By demons, or some evil has befallen

The innocent herds, their favorites, that graze

Within the precincts of the hermitage;

Or haply, through my sins, some withering blight

Has nipped the creeping plants that spread their arms

Around the hallowed grove. Such troubled thoughts

Crowd through my mind, and fill me with misgiving.

WARDER.--If you ask my opinion, Sire, I think the hermits merely wish to

take an opportunity of testifying their loyalty, and are therefore come

to offer homage to your Majesty.

_Enter the Hermits, leading Śakoontalá, attended by Gautamí; and, in

advance of them, the Chamberlain and the domestic Priest._

CHAMBERLAIN.--This way, reverend sirs, this way.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--O Śáradwata,

'Tis true the monarch lacks no royal grace,

Nor ever swerves from justice; true, his people,

Yea such as in life's humblest walks are found,

Refrain from evil courses; still to me,

A lonely hermit reared in solitude,

This throng appears bewildering, and methinks

I look upon a burning house, whose inmates

Are running to and fro in wild dismay.

SÁRADWATA.--It is natural that the first sight of the King's capital

should affect you in this manner; my own sensations are very similar.

As one just bathed beholds the man polluted;

As one late purified, the yet impure:--

As one awake looks on the yet unwakened;

Or as the freeman gazes on the thrall,

So I regard this crowd of pleasure-seekers.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid, and

suspecting a bad omen_],--Alas! what means this throbbing of my right

eyelid?

GAUTAMÍ.--Heaven avert the evil omen, my child! May the guardian deities

of thy husband's family convert it into a sign of good fortune! [_Walks

on_.

PRIEST [_pointing to the King_].--Most reverend sirs, there stands the

protector of the four classes of the people; the guardian of the four

orders of the priesthood. He has just left the judgment-seat, and is

waiting for you. Behold him!

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Great Bráhman, we are happy in thinking that the King's

power is exerted for the protection of all classes of his subjects. We

have not come as petitioners--we have the fullest confidence in the

generosity of his nature.

The loftiest trees bend humbly to the ground

Beneath the teeming burden of their fruit;

High in the vernal sky the pregnant clouds

Suspend their stately course, and hanging low,

Scatter their sparkling treasures o'er the earth:--

And such is true benevolence; the good

Are never rendered arrogant by riches.

WARDER.--So please your Majesty, I judge from the placid countenance of

the hermits that they have no alarming message to deliver.

KING [_looking at Śakoontalá_].--But the lady there--

Who can she be, whose form of matchless grace

Is half concealed beneath her flowing veil?

Among the sombre hermits she appears

Like a fresh bud 'mid sear and yellow leaves.

WARDER.--So please your Majesty, my curiosity is also roused, but no

conjecture occurs to my mind. This at least is certain, that she

deserves to be looked at more closely.

KING.--True; but it is not right to gaze at another man's wife.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_placing her hand on her bosom. Aside_].--O my heart, why

this throbbing? Remember thy lord's affection, and take courage.

PRIEST [_advancing_].--These holy men have been received with all due

honor. One of them has now a message to deliver from his spiritual

superior. Will your Majesty deign to hear it?

KING.--I am all attention.

HERMITS [_extending their hands_].--Victory to the King!

KING.--Accept my respectful greeting.

HERMITS.--May the desires of your soul be accomplished!

KING.--I trust no one is molesting you in the prosecution of your

religious rites.

HERMITS.--Who dares disturb our penitential rites

When thou art our protector? Can the night

Prevail to cast her shadows o'er the earth

While the sun's beams irradiate the sky?

KING.--Such, indeed, is the very meaning of my title--"Defender of the

Just." I trust the venerable Kanwa is in good health. The world is

interested in his well-being.

HERMITS.--Holy men have health and prosperity in their own power. He

bade us greet your Majesty, and, after kind inquiries, deliver this

message.

KING.--Let me hear his commands.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--He bade us say that he feels happy in giving his sanction

to the marriage which your Majesty contracted with this lady, his

daughter, privately and by mutual agreement. Because

By us thou art esteemed the most illustrious

Of noble husbands; and Śakoontalá

Virtue herself in human form revealed.

Great Brahmá hath in equal yoke united

A bride unto a husband worthy of her:--

Henceforth let none make blasphemous complaint

That he is pleased with ill-assorted unions.

Since, therefore, she expects soon to be the mother of thy child,

receive her into thy palace, that she may perform, in conjunction with

thee, the ceremonies prescribed by religion on such an occasion.

GAUTAMÍ.--So please your Majesty, I would add a few words: but why

should I intrude my sentiments when an opportunity of speaking my mind

has never been allowed me?

She took no counsel with her kindred; thou

Didst not confer with thine, but all alone

Didst solemnize thy nuptials with thy wife.

Together, then, hold converse; let us leave you.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Ah! how I tremble for my lord's reply.

KING.--What strange proposal is this?

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--His words are fire to me.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--What do I hear? Dost thou, then, hesitate? Monarch, thou

art well acquainted with the ways of the world, and knowest that

A wife, however virtuous and discreet,

If she live separate from her wedded lord,

Though under shelter of her parent's roof,

Is mark for vile suspicion. Let her dwell

Beside her husband, though he hold her not

In his affection. So her kinsmen will it.

KING.--Do you really mean to assert that I ever married this lady?

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_despondingly. Aside_].--O my heart, thy worst misgivings

are confirmed.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Is it becoming in a monarch to depart from the rules of

justice, because he repents of his engagements?

KING.--I cannot answer a question which is based on a mere fabrication.

SÁRNGARAVA.--Such inconstancy is fortunately not common, excepting in

men intoxicated by power.

KING.--Is that remark aimed at me?

GAUTAMÍ.--Be not ashamed, my daughter. Let me remove thy veil for a

little space. Thy husband will then recognize thee. [_Removes her veil_.

KING [_gazing at Śakoontalá. Aside_].--What charms are here revealed

before mine eyes!

Truly no blemish mars the symmetry

Of that fair form; yet can I ne'er believe

She is my wedded wife; and like a bee

That circles round the flower whose nectared cup

Teems with the dew of morning, I must pause

Ere eagerly I taste the proffered sweetness.

[_Remains wrapped in-thought._

WARDER.--How admirably does our royal master's behavior prove his regard

for justice! Who else would hesitate for a moment when good fortune

offered for his acceptance a form of such rare beauty?

SÁRNGARAVA.--Great King, why art thou silent?

KING.--Holy men, I have revolved the matter in my mind; but the more I

think of it, the less able am I to recollect that I ever contracted an

alliance with this lady. What answer, then, can I possibly give you when

I do not believe myself to be her husband, and I plainly see that she is

soon to become a mother?

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Woe! woe! Is our very marriage to be called in

question by my own husband? Ah me! is this to be the end of all my

bright visions of wedded happiness?

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Beware!

Beware how thou insult the holy Sage!

Remember how he generously allowed

Thy secret union with his foster-child;

And how, when thou didst rob him of his treasure,

He sought to furnish thee excuse, when rather

He should have cursed thee for a ravisher.

ŚÁRADWATA.--Śárngarava, speak to him no more. Śakoontalá, our part is

performed; we have said all we had to say, and the King has replied in

the manner thou hast heard. It is now thy turn to give him convincing

evidence of thy marriage.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Since his feeling towards me has undergone a

complete revolution, what will it avail to revive old recollections? One

thing is clear--I shall soon have to mourn my own widowhood. [_Aloud_.]

My revered husband--[_Stops short_.] But no--I dare not address thee by

this title, since thou hast refused to acknowledge our union. Noble

descendant of Puru! It is not worthy of thee to betray an

innocent-minded girl, and disown her in such terms, after having so

lately and so solemnly plighted thy vows to her in the hermitage.

KING [_stopping his ears_].--I will hear no more. Be such a crime far

from my thoughts!

What evil spirit can possess thee, lady,

That thou dost seek to sully my good name

By base aspersions? like a swollen torrent,

That, leaping from its narrow bed, overthrows

The tree upon its bank, and strives to blend

Its turbid waters with the crystal stream?

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--If, then, thou really believest me to be the wife of

another, and thy present conduct proceeds from some cloud that obscures

thy recollection, I will easily convince thee by this token.

KING.--An excellent idea!

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_feeling for the ring_].--Alas! alas! woe is me! There is no

ring on my finger!

[_Looks with anguish at Gautamí_.

GAUTAMÍ.--The ring must have slipped off when thou wast in the act of

offering homage to the holy water of Śachí's sacred pool, near

Śakrávatára.

KING [_smiling_].--People may well talk of the readiness of woman's

invention! Here is an instance of it.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Say, rather, of the omnipotence of fate. I will mention

another circumstance, which may yet convince thee.

KING.--By all means let me hear it at once.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--One day, while we were seated in a jasmine bower, thou

didst pour into the hollow of thine hand some water, sprinkled by a

recent shower in the cup of a lotus blossom--

KING.--I am listening; proceed.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--At that instant, my adopted child, the little fawn, with

soft, long eyes, came running towards us. Upon which, before tasting the

water thyself, thou didst kindly offer some to the little creature,

saying fondly--"Drink first, gentle fawn." But she could not be induced

to drink from the hand of a stranger; though immediately afterwards,

when I took the water in my own hand, she drank with perfect confidence.

Then, with a smile, thou didst say--"Every creature confides naturally

in its own kind. You are both inhabitants of the same forest, and have

learnt to trust each other."

KING.--Voluptuaries may allow themselves to be seduced from the path of

duty by falsehoods such as these, expressed in honeyed words.

GAUTAMÍ.--Speak not thus, illustrious Prince. This lady was brought up

in a hermitage, and has never learnt deceit.

KING.--Holy matron,

E'en in untutored brutes, the female sex

Is marked by inborn subtlety--much more

In beings gifted with intelligence.

The wily Köil, ere towards the sky

She wings her sportive flight, commits her eggs

To other nests, and artfully consigns

The rearing of her little ones to strangers.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_angrily_].--Dishonorable man, thou judgest of others by

thine own evil heart. Thou, at least, art unrivalled in perfidy, and

standest alone--a base deceiver in the garb of virtue and religion--like

a deep pit whose yawning mouth is concealed by smiling flowers.

KING [_aside_].--Her anger, at any rate, appears genuine, and makes me

almost doubt whether I am in the right. For, indeed,

When I had vainly searched my memory,

And so with stern severity denied

The fabled story of our secret loves,

Her brows, that met before in graceful curves,

Like the arched weapon of the god of love,

Seemed by her frown dissevered; while the fire

Of sudden anger kindled in her eyes.

[_Aloud_.] My good lady, Dushyanta's character is well-known to all. I

comprehend not your meaning.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Well do I deserve to be thought a harlot for having, in the

innocence of my heart, and out of the confidence I reposed in a Prince

of Puru's race, intrusted my honor to a man whose mouth distils honey,

while his heart is full of poison.

[_Covers her face with her mantle, and bursts into tears_.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Thus is it that burning remorse must ever follow rash

actions which might have been avoided, and for which one has only one's

self to blame.

Not hastily should marriage be contracted,

And specially in secret. Many a time,

In hearts that know not each the other's fancies,

Fond love is changed into most bitter hate.

KING.--How now! Do you give credence to this woman rather than to me,

that you heap such accusations on me?

ŚÁRNGARAVA [_sarcastically_].--That would be too absurd, certainly. You

have heard the proverb--

Hold in contempt the innocent words of those

Who from their infancy have known no guile:--

But trust the treacherous counsels of the man

Who makes a very science of deceit.

KING.--Most veracious Bráhman, grant that you are in the right, what end

would be gained by betraying this lady?

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Ruin.

KING.--No one will believe that a Prince of Puru's race would seek to

ruin others or himself.

ŚÁRADWATA.--This altercation is idle, Śárngarava. We have executed the

commission of our preceptor; come, let us return. [_To the King_.

Śakoontalá is certainly thy bride;

Receive her or reject her, she is thine.

Do with her, King, according to thy pleasure--

The husband o'er the wife is absolute.

Go on before us, Gautamí. [_They move away_.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--What! is it not enough to have been betrayed by this

perfidious man? Must you also forsake me, regardless of my tears and

lamentations?

[_Attempts to follow them_.

GAUTAMÍ [_stopping_].--My son Śárngarava, see, Śakoontalá is following

us, and with tears implores us not to leave her. Alas! poor child, what

will she do here with a cruel husband who casts her from him?

ŚÁRNGARAVA [_turning angrily towards her_].--Wilful woman, dost thou

seek to be independent of thy lord?

[_Śakoontalá trembles with fear_.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Śakoontalá!

If thou art really what the King proclaims thee,

How can thy father e'er receive thee back

Into his house and home? but, if thy conscience

Be witness to thy purity of soul,

E'en should thy husband to a handmaid's lot

Condemn thee, thou may'st cheerfully endure it,

When ranked among the number of his household.

Thy duty, therefore, is to stay. As for us, we must return immediately.

KING.--Deceive not the lady, my good hermit, by any such expectations.

The moon expands the lotus of the night,

The rising sun awakes the lily; each

Is with his own contented. Even so

The virtuous man is master of his passions,

And from another's wife averts his gaze.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Since thy union with another woman has rendered thee

oblivious of thy marriage with Śakoontalá, whence this fear of losing

thy character for constancy and virtue?

KING [_to the Priest_],--You must counsel me, revered sir, as to my

course of action. Which of the two evils involves the greater or less

sin?

Whether by some dark veil my mind be clouded,

Or this designing woman speak untruly,

I know not. Tell me, must I rather be

The base disowner of my wedded wife,

Or the defiling and defiled adulterer?

PRIEST [_after deliberation_].--You must take an intermediate course.

KING.--What course, revered sir? Tell me at once.

PRIEST.--I will provide an asylum for the lady in my own house until the

birth of her child; and my reason, if you ask me, is this. Soothsayers

have predicted that your first-born will have universal dominion. Now,

if the hermit's daughter bring forth a son with the discus or mark of

empire in the lines of his hand, you must admit her immediately into

your royal apartments with great rejoicings; if not, then determine to

send her back as soon as possible to her father.

KING.--I bow to the decision of my spiritual adviser.

PRIEST.--Daughter, follow me.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--O divine earth, open and receive me into thy bosom!

[_Exit Śakoontalá weeping, with the Priest and the Hermits. The King

remains absorbed in thinking of her, though the curse still clouds his

recollection_.

A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--A miracle! a miracle!

KING [_listening_].--What has happened now?

PRIEST [_entering with an air of astonishment_].--Great Prince, a

stupendous prodigy has just occurred!

KING.--What is it?

PRIEST.--May it please your Majesty, so soon as Kanwa's pupils had

departed,

Śakoontalá, her eyes all bathed in tears,

With outstretched arms bewailed her cruel fate--

KING.--Well, well, what happened then?

PRIEST.--When suddenly a shining apparition, In female shape, descended

from the skies, Near the nymphs' pool, and bore her up to heaven.

[_All remain motionless with astonishment_.

KING.--My good priest, from the very first I declined having anything to

do with this matter. It is now all over, and we can never, by our

conjectures, unravel the mystery; let it rest; go, seek repose.

PRIEST [_looking at the King_].--Be it so. Victory to the King! [_Exit._

KING.--Vetravatí, I am tired out; lead the way to the bed-chamber.

WARDER.--This way, Sire. [_They move away_.

KING.--Do what I will, I cannot call to mind

That I did e'er espouse the sage's daughter--

Therefore I have disowned her; yet 'tis strange

How painfully my agitated heart

Bears witness to the truth of her assertion,

And makes me credit her against my judgment.

[_Exeunt._

PRELUDE TO ACT SIXTH

Scene.--A Street

_Enter the King's brother-in-law as Superintendent of the city police;

and with him two Constables, dragging a poor fisherman, who has his

hands tied behind his back_.

BOTH THE CONSTABLES [_striking the prisoner_].--Take that for a rascally

thief that you are; and now tell us, sirrah, where you found this

ring--aye, the King's own signet-ring. See, here is the royal name

engraved on the setting of the jewel.

FISHERMAN [_with a gesture of alarm_].--Mercy! kind sirs, mercy! I did

not steal it; indeed I did not.

FIRST CONSTABLE.--Oh! then I suppose the King took you for some fine

Bráhman, and made you a present of it?

FISHERMAN.--Only hear me. I am but a poor fisherman, living at

Śakrávatára------

SECOND CONSTABLE.--Scoundrel, who ever asked you, pray, for a history of

your birth and parentage?

SUPERINTENDENT [_to one of the Constables_].--Súchaka, let the fellow

tell his own story from the beginning. Don't interrupt him.

BOTH CONSTABLES.--As you please, master. Go on, then, sirrah, and say

what you've got to say.

FISHERMAN.--You see in me a poor man, who supports his family by

catching fish with nets, hooks, and the like.

SUPERINTENDENT [_laughing_].--A most refined occupation, certainly!

FISHERMAN.--Blame me not for it, master.

The father's occupation, though despised

By others, casts no shame upon the son,

And he should not forsake it. Is the priest

Who kills the animal for sacrifice

Therefore deemed cruel? Sure a lowborn man

May, though a fisherman, be tender-hearted.

SUPERINTENDENT.--Well, well; go on with your story.

FISHERMAN.--One day I was cutting open a large carp I had just hooked,

when the sparkle of a jewel caught my eye, and what should I find in the

fish's maw but that ring! Soon afterwards, when I was offering it for

sale, I was seized by your honors. Now you know everything. Whether you

kill me, or whether you let me go, this is the true account of how the

ring came into my possession.

SUPERINTENDENT [_to one of the Constables_].--Well, Jánuka, the rascal

emits such a fishy odor that I have no doubt of his being a fisherman;

but we must inquire a little more closely into this queer story about

the finding of the ring. Come, we'll take him before the King's

household.

BOTH CONSTABLES.--Very good, master. Get on with you, you cutpurse.

[_All move on_.

SUPERINTENDENT.--Now attend, Súchaka; keep you guard here at the gate;

and hark ye, sirrahs, take good care your prisoner does not escape,

while I go in and lay the whole story of the discovery of this ring

before the King in person. I will soon return and let you know his

commands.

CONSTABLE.--Go in, master, by all means; and may you find favor in the

King's sight!

[_Exit Superintendent_.

FIRST CONSTABLE [_after an interval_].--I say, Jánuka, the

Superintendent is a long time away.

SECOND CONSTABLE.--Aye, aye; kings are not to be got at so easily. Folks

must bide the proper opportunity.

FIRST CONSTABLE.--Jánuka, my fingers itch to strike the first blow at

this royal victim here. We must kill him with all the honors, you know.

I long to begin binding the flowers round his head.

[_Pretends to strike a blow at the fisherman_.

FISHERMAN.--Your honor surely will not put an innocent man to a cruel

death.

SECOND CONSTABLE [_looking_].--There's our Superintendent at last, I

declare. See, he is coming towards us with a paper in his hand. We shall

soon know the King's command; so prepare, my fine fellow, either to

become food for the vultures, or to make acquaintance with some hungry

cur.

SUPERINTENDENT [_entering_].--Ho, there, Súchaka! set the fisherman at

liberty, I tell you. His story about the ring is all correct.

SÚCHAKA.--Oh! very good, sir; as you please.

SECOND CONSTABLE.--The fellow had one foot in hell, and now here he is

in the land of the living. [_Releases him_.

FISHERMAN [_bowing to the Superintendent_].--Now, master, what think you

of my way of getting a livelihood?

SUPERINTENDENT.--Here, my good man, the King desired me to present you

with this purse. It contains a sum of money equal to the full value of

the ring.

[_Gives him the money_.

FISHERMAN [_taking it and bowing_].--His Majesty does me too great

honor.

SÚCHAKA.--You may well say so. He might as well have taken you from the

gallows to seat you on his state elephant.

JÁNUKA.--Master, the King must value the ring very highly, or he would

never have sent such a sum of money to this ragamuffin.

SUPERINTENDENT.--I don't think he prizes it as a costly jewel so much as

a memorial of some person he tenderly loves. The moment it was shown to

him he became much agitated, though in general he conceals his feelings.

SÚCHAKA.--Then you must have done a great service------

JÁNUKA.--Yes, to this husband of a fish-wife.

[_Looks enviously at the fisherman_.

FISHERMAN.--Here's half the money for you, my masters. It will serve to

purchase the flowers you spoke of, if not to buy me your good-will.

JÁNUKA.--Well, now, that's just as it should be.

SUPERINTENDENT.--My good fisherman, you are an excellent fellow, and I

begin to feel quite a regard for you. Let us seal our first friendship

over a glass of good liquor. Come along to the next wine-shop and we'll

drink your health.

ALL.--By all means.

[_Exeunt._

ACT SIXTH

Scene.--The Garden of the Palace

_The nymph Sánumatí is seen descending in a celestial car_.

SÁNUMATÍ.--Behold me just arrived from attending in my proper turn at

the nymphs' pool, where I have left the other nymphs to perform their

ablutions, whilst I seek to ascertain, with my own eyes, how it fares

with King Dushyanta. My connection with the nymph Menaká has made her

daughter Śakoontalá dearer to me than my own flesh and blood; and Menaká

it was who charged me with this errand on her daughter's behalf.

[_Looking round in all directions_.] How is it that I see no

preparations in the King's household for celebrating the great vernal

festival? I could easily discover the reason by my divine faculty of

meditation; but respect must be shown to the wishes of my friend. How

then shall I arrive at the truth? I know what I will do. I will become

invisible, and place myself near those two maidens who are tending the

plants in the garden. [_Descends and takes her station_.

_Enter a Maiden, who stops in front of a mango-tree and gazes at the

blossom. Another Maiden is seen behind her_.

FIRST MAIDEN.--Hail to thee, lovely harbinger of spring! The varied

radiance of thy opening flowers Is welcome to my sight. I bid thee hail,

Sweet mango, soul of this enchanting season.

SECOND MAIDEN.--Parabaitiká, what are you saying there to yourself?

FIRST MAIDEN.--Dear Madhukariká, am I not named after the Köil?[41] and

does not the Köil sing for joy at the first appearance of the

mango-blossom?

SECOND MAIDEN [_approaching hastily, with transport_].--What! is spring

really come?

FIRST MAIDEN.--Yes, indeed, Madhukariká, and with it the season of joy,

love, and song.

SECOND MAIDEN.--Let me lean upon you, dear, while I stand on tip-toe and

pluck a blossom of the mango, that I may present it as an offering to

the god of love.

FIRST MAIDEN.--Provided you let me have half the reward which the god

will bestow in return.

SECOND MAIDEN.--To be sure you shall, and that without asking. Are we

not one in heart and soul, though divided in body? [_Leans on her friend

and plucks a mango-blossom._] Ah! here is a bud just bursting into

flower. It diffuses a delicious perfume, though not yet quite expanded.

[_Joining her hands reverentially_.

God of the bow, who with spring's choicest flowers

Dost point thy five unerring shafts; to thee

I dedicate this blossom; let it serve

To barb thy truest arrow; be its mark

Some youthful heart that pines to be beloved.

[_Throws down a mango-blossom._

CHAMBERLAIN [_entering in a hurried manner, angrily_].--Hold there,

thoughtless woman. What are you about breaking off those mango-blossoms,

when the King has forbidden the celebration of the spring festival?

BOTH MAIDENS [_alarmed_].--Pardon us, kind sir, we have heard nothing of

it.

CHAMBERLAIN.--You have heard nothing of it? Why, all the vernal plants

and shrubs, and the very birds that lodge in their branches, show more

respect to the King's order than you do.

Yon mango-blossoms, though long since expanded,

Gather no down upon their tender crests;

The flower still lingers in the amaranth,

Imprisoned in its bud; the tuneful Köil,

Though winter's chilly dews be overpast,

Suspends the liquid volume of his song

Scarce uttered in his throat; e'en Love, dismayed,

Restores the half-drawn arrow to his quiver.

BOTH MAIDENS.--The mighty power of King Dushyanta is not to be disputed.

FIRST MAIDEN.--It is but a few days since Mitrávasu, the king's

brother-in-law, sent us to wait upon his Majesty; and, during the whole

of our sojourn here, we have been intrusted with the charge of the royal

pleasure-grounds. We are therefore strangers in this place, and heard

nothing of the order until you informed us of it.

CHAMBERLAIN.--Well then, now you know it, take care you don't continue

your preparations.

BOTH MAIDENS.--But tell us, kind sir, why has the King prohibited the

usual festivities? We are curious to hear, if we may.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Men are naturally fond of festive entertainments.

There must be some good reason for the prohibition.

CHAMBERLAIN.--The whole affair is now public; why should I not speak of

it! Has not the gossip about the King's rejection of Śakoontalá reached

your ears yet?

BOTH MAIDENS.--Oh yes, we heard the story from the King's

brother-in-law, as far, at least, as the discovery of the ring.

CHAMBERLAIN.--Then there is little more to tell you. As soon as the

King's memory was restored by the sight of his own ring, he exclaimed,

"Yes, it is all true. I remember now my secret marriage with Śakoontalá.

When I repudiated her, I had lost my recollection." Ever since that

moment, he has yielded himself a prey to the bitterest remorse.

He loathes his former pleasures; he rejects

The daily homage of his ministers.

On his lone couch he tosses to and fro,

Courting repose in vain. Whene'er he meets

The ladies of his palace, and would fain

Address them with politeness, he confounds

Their names; or, calling them "Śakoontalá,"

Is straightway silent and abashed with shame.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--To me this account is delightful.

CHAMBERLAIN.--In short, the King is so completely out of his mind that

the festival has been prohibited.

BOTH MAIDENS.--Perfectly right.

A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--The King! the King! This way, Sire, this

way.

CHAMBERLAIN [_listening_].--Oh! here comes his majesty in this

direction. Pass on, maidens; attend to your duties.

BOTH MAIDENS.--We will, sir. [_Exeunt._

_Enter King Dushyanta, dressed in deep mourning, attended by his Jester,

Máthavya, and preceded by Vetravatí._

CHAMBERLAIN [_gazing at the King_].--Well, noble forms are certainly

pleasing, under all varieties of outward circumstances. The King's

person is as charming as ever, notwithstanding his sorrow of mind.

Though but a single golden bracelet spans

His wasted arm; though costly ornaments

Have given place to penitential weeds;

Though oft-repeated sighs have blanched his lips,

And robbed them of their bloom; though sleepless care

And carking thought have dimmed his beaming eye;

Yet does his form, by its inherent lustre,

Dazzle the gaze; and, like a priceless gem

Committed to some cunning polisher,

Grow more effulgent by the loss of substance.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside. Looking at the King_].--Now that I have seen him, I

can well understand why Śakoontalá should pine after such a man, in

spite of his disdainful rejection of her.

KING [_walking slowly up and down, in deep thought_].--

When fatal lethargy overwhelmed my soul,

My loved one strove to rouse me, but in vain:--

And now when I would fain in slumber deep

Forget myself, full soon remorse doth wake me.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--My poor Śakoontalá's sufferings are very similar.

MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--He is taken with another attack of this odious

Śakoontalá fever. How shall we ever cure him?

CHAMBERLAIN [_approaching_].--Victory to the King! Great Prince, the

royal pleasure-grounds have been put in order. Your Majesty can resort

to them for exercise and amusement whenever you think proper.

KING.--Vetravatí, tell the worthy Piśuna, my prime minister, from me,

that I am so exhausted by want of sleep that I cannot sit on the

judgment-seat to-day. If any case of importance be brought before the

tribunal he must give it his best attention, and inform me of the

circumstances by letter.

VETRAVATÍ.--Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. [_Exit._

KING [_to the Chamberlain_].--And you, Vátáyana, may go about your own

affairs.

CHAMBERLAIN.--I will, Sire. [_Exit._

MÁTHAVYA.--Now that you have rid yourself of these troublesome fellows,

you can enjoy the delightful coolness of your pleasure-grounds without

interruption.

KING.--Ah! my dear friend, there is an old adage--"When affliction has a

mind to enter, she will find a crevice somewhere"--and it is verified in

me.

Scarce is my soul delivered from the cloud

That darkened its remembrance of the past,

When lo! the heart-born deity of love

With yonder blossom of the mango barbs

His keenest shaft, and aims it at my breast.

MÁTHAVYA.--Well, then, wait a moment; I will soon demolish Master Káma's

arrow with a cut of my cane.

[_Raises his stick and strikes off the mango-blossom._

KING [_smiling_].--That will do. I see very well the god of Love is not

a match for a Bráhman. And now, my dear friend, where shall I sit down,

that I may enchant my sight by gazing on the twining plants, which seem

to remind me of the graceful shape of my beloved?

MÁTHAVYA.--Do you not remember? you told Chaturiká you should pass the

heat of the day in the jasmine bower; and commanded her to bring the

likeness of your queen Śakoontalá, sketched with your own hand.

KING.--True. The sight of her picture will refresh my soul. Lead the way

to the arbor.

MÁTHAVYA.--This way, Sire.

[_Both move on, followed by Sánumatí._

MÁTHAVYA.--Here we are at the jasmine bower. Look, it has a marble seat,

and seems to bid us welcome with its offerings of delicious flowers. You

have only to enter and sit down. [_Both enter and seat themselves._

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--I will lean against these young jasmines. I can

easily, from behind them, glance at my friend's picture, and will then

hasten to inform her of her husband's ardent affection. [_Stands leaning

against the creepers_.

KING.--Oh! my dear friend, how vividly all the circumstances of my union

with Śakoontalá present themselves to my recollection at this moment!

But tell me now how it was that, between the time of my leaving her in

the hermitage and my subsequent rejection of her, you never breathed her

name to me! True, you were not by my side when I disowned her; but I had

confided to you the story of my love and you were acquainted with every

particular. Did it pass out of your mind as it did out of mine?

MÁTHAVYA.--No, no; trust me for that. But, if you remember, when you had

finished telling me about it, you added that I was not to take the story

in earnest, for that you were not really in love with a country girl,

but were only jesting; and I was dull and thick-headed enough to believe

you. But so fate decreed, and there is no help for it.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Exactly.

KING [_after deep thought_].--My dear friend, suggest some relief for my

misery.

MÁTHAVYA.--Come, come, cheer up; why do you give way? Such weakness is

unworthy of you. Great men never surrender themselves to uncontrolled

grief. Do not mountains remain unshaken even in a gale of wind?

KING.--How can I be otherwise than inconsolable, when I call to mind the

agonized demeanor of the dear one on the occasion of my disowning her?

When cruelly I spurned her from my presence,

She fain had left me; but the young recluse,

Stern as the Sage, and with authority

As from his saintly master, in a voice

That brooked not contradiction, bade her stay.

Then through her pleading eyes, bedimmed with tears,

She cast on me one long reproachful look,

Which like a poisoned shaft torments me still.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Alas! such is the force of self-reproach following

a rash action. But his anguish only rejoices me.

MÁTHAVYA.--An idea has just struck me. I should not wonder if some

celestial being had carried her off to heaven.

KING.--Very likely. Who else would have dared to lay a

finger on a wife, the idol of her husband? It is said that Menaká, the

nymph of heaven, gave her birth. The suspicion has certainly crossed my

mind that some of her celestial companions may have taken her to their

own abode.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--His present recollection of every circumstance of

her history does not surprise me so much as his former forgetfulness.

MÁTHAVYA.--If that's the case, you will be certain to meet her before

long.

KING.--Why?

MÁTHAVYA.--No father and mother can endure to see a daughter suffering

the pain of separation from her husband.

KING.--Oh! my dear Máthavya,

Was it a dream? or did some magic dire,

Dulling my senses with a strange delusion,

Overcome my spirit? or did destiny,

Jealous of my good actions, mar their fruit,

And rob me of their guerdon? It is past,

Whatever the spell that bound me. Once again

Am I awake, but only to behold

The precipice o'er which my hopes have fallen.

MÁTHAVYA.--Do not despair in this manner. Is not this very ring a proof

that what has been lost may be unexpectedly found?

KING [_gazing at the ring_].--Ah! this ring, too, has fallen from a

station which it will not easily regain, and deserves all my sympathy.

O gem, deserved the punishment we suffer,

And equal is the merit of our works,

When such our common doom. Thou didst enjoy

The thrilling contact of those slender fingers,

Bright as the dawn; and now how changed thy lot!

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Had it found its way to the hand of any other

person, then indeed its fate would have been deplorable.

MÁTHAVYA.--Pray, how did the ring ever come upon her hand at all?

SÁNUMATÍ.--I myself am curious to know.

KING.--You shall hear. When I was leaving my beloved Śakoontalá that I

might return to my own capital, she said to me, with tears in her eyes,

"How long will it be ere my lord send for me to his palace and make me

his queen?"

MÁTHAVYA.--Well, what was your reply?

KING.--Then I placed the ring on her finger, and thus addressed her--

Repeat each day one letter of the name

Engraven on this gem; ere thou hast reckoned

The tale of syllables, my minister

Shall come to lead thee to thy husband's palace.

But, hard-hearted man that I was, I forgot to fulfil my promise, owing

to the infatuation that took possession of me.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--A pleasant arrangement! Fate, however, ordained

that the appointment should not be kept.

MÁTHAVYA.--But how did the ring contrive to pass into the stomach of

that carp which the fisherman caught and was cutting up?

KING.--It must have slipped from my Śakoontalá's hand, and fallen into

the stream of the Ganges, while she was offering homage to the water of

Sachí's holy pool.

MÁTHAVYA.--Very likely.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Hence it happened, I suppose, that the King, always

fearful of committing the least injustice, came to doubt his marriage

with my poor Śakoontalá. But why should affection so strong as his stand

in need of any token of recognition?

KING.--Let me now address a few words of reproof to this ring.

MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--He is going stark mad, I verily believe.

KING.--Hear me, thou dull and undiscerning bauble!

For so it argues thee, that thou couldst leave

The slender fingers of her hand, to sink

Beneath the waters. Yet what marvel is it

That thou shouldst lack discernment? let me rather

Heap curses on myself, who, though endowed

With reason, yet rejected her I loved.

MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--And so, I suppose, I must stand here to be devoured

by hunger, whilst he goes on in this sentimental strain.

KING.--O forsaken one, unjustly banished from my presence, take pity on

thy slave, whose heart is consumed by the fire of remorse, and return to

my sight.

_Enter Chaturiká hurriedly, with a picture in her hand_.

CHATURIKÁ.--Here is the Queen's portrait. [_Shows the picture_.

MÁTHAVYA.--Excellent, my dear friend, excellent! The imitation of nature

is perfect, and the attitude of the figures is really charming. They

stand out in such bold relief that the eye is quite deceived.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--A most artistic performance! I admire the King's

skill, and could almost believe that Śakoontalá herself was before me.

KING.--I own 'tis not amiss, though it portrays

But feebly her angelic loveliness.

Aught less than perfect is depicted falsely,

And fancy must supply the imperfection.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--A very just remark from a modest man, whose

affection is exaggerated by the keenness of his remorse.

MÁTHAVYA.--Tell me--I see three female figures drawn on the canvas, and

all of them beautiful; which of the three is her Majesty, Śakoontalá?

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--If he cannot distinguish her from the others, the

simpleton might as well have no eyes in his head.

KING.--Which should you imagine to be intended for her?

MÁTHAVYA.--She who is leaning, apparently a little tired, against the

stem of that mango-tree, the tender leaves of which glitter with the

water she has poured upon them. Her arms are gracefully extended; her

face is somewhat flushed with the heat; and a few flowers have escaped

from her hair, which has become unfastened, and hangs in loose tresses

about her neck. That must be the queen Śakoontalá, and the others, I

presume, are her two attendants.

KING.--I congratulate you on your discernment. Behold the proof of my

passion;

My finger, burning with the glow of love,

Has left its impress on the painted tablet;

While here and there, alas! a scalding tear

Has fallen on the cheek and dimmed its brightness.

Chaturiká, the garden in the background of the picture is

only half-painted. Go, fetch the brush that I may finish it.

CHATURIKÁ.--Worthy Máthavya, have the kindness to hold the picture until

I return.

KING.--Nay, I will hold it myself.

[_Takes the picture. Exit Chaturiká_.

KING.--My loved one came but lately to my presence

And offered me herself, but in my folly

I spurned the gift, and now I fondly cling

To her mere image; even as a madman

Would pass the waters of the gushing stream,

And thirst for airy vapors of the desert.

MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--He has been fool enough to forego the reality for

the semblance, the substance for the shadow. [_Aloud._] Tell us, I pray,

what else remains to be painted.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--He longs, no doubt, to delineate some favorite spot

where my dear Śakoontalá delighted to ramble.

KING.--You shall hear------

I wish to see the Máliní portrayed,

Its tranquil course by banks of sand impeded--

Upon the brink a pair of swans: beyond,

The hills adjacent to Himálaya,

Studded with deer; and, near the spreading shade

Of some large tree, where 'mid the branches hang

The hermits' vests of bark, a tender doe,

Rubbing its downy forehead on the horn

Of a black antelope, should be depicted.

MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--Pooh! if I were he, I would fill up the vacant

spaces with a lot of grizzly-bearded old hermits.

KING.--My dear Máthavya, there is still a part of Śakoontalá's dress

which I purposed to draw, but find I have omitted.

MÁTHAVYA.--What is that?

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Something suitable, I suppose, to the simple attire

of a young and beautiful girl dwelling in a forest.

KING.--A sweet Śirísha blossom should be twined

Behind her ear, its perfumed crest depending

Towards her cheek; and, resting on her bosom,

A lotus-fibre necklace, soft and bright

As an autumnal moon-beam, should be traced.

MÁTHAVYA.--Pray, why does the Queen cover her lips with the tips of her

fingers, bright as the blossom of a lily, as if she were afraid of

something? [_Looking more closely_.] Oh! I see; a vagabond bee, intent

on thieving the honey of flowers, has mistaken her mouth for a rose-bud,

and is trying to settle upon it.

KING.--A bee! drive off the impudent insect, will you?

MÁTHAVYA.--That's your business. Your royal prerogative gives you power

over all offenders.

KING.--Very true. Listen to me, thou favorite guest of flowering plants;

why give thyself the trouble of hovering here? See where thy partner

sits on yonder flower, And waits for thee ere she will sip its dew.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--A most polite way of warning him off!

MÁTHAVYA.--You'll find the obstinate creature is not to be sent about

his business so easily as you think.

KING.--Dost thou presume to disobey? Now hear me--

An thou but touch the lips of my beloved,

Sweet as the opening blossom, whence I quaffed

In happier days love's nectar, I will place thee

Within the hollow of yon lotus cup,

And there imprison thee for thy presumption.

MÁTHAVYA.--He must be bold indeed not to show any fear when you threaten

him with such an awful punishment. [_Smiling, aside_.] He is stark mad,

that's clear; and I believe, by keeping him company, I am beginning to

talk almost as wildly. [_Aloud_.] Look, it is only a painted bee.

KING.--Painted? impossible!

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Even I did not perceive it; how much less should

he?

KING.--Oh! my dear friend, why were you so ill-natured as to tell me the

truth?

While, all entranced, I gazed upon her picture,

My loved one seemed to live before my eyes,

Till every fibre of my being thrilled

With rapturous emotion. Oh! 'twas cruel

To dissipate the day-dream, and transform

The blissful vision to a lifeless image.

[_Sheds tears_.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Separated lovers are very difficult to please; but

he seems more difficult than usual.

KING.--Alas! my dear Máthavya, why am I doomed to be the victim of

perpetual disappointment?

Vain is the hope of meeting her in dreams,

For slumber night by night forsakes my couch:

And now that I would fain assuage my grief

By gazing on her portrait here before me,

Tears of despairing love obscure my sight.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_],--You have made ample amends for the wrong you did

Śakoontalá in disowning her.

CHATURIKÁ [_entering_].--Victory to the King! I was coming along with

the box of colors in my hand------

KING.--What now?

CHATURIKÁ.--When I met the Queen Vasumatí, attended by Taraliká. She

insisted on taking it from me, and declared she would herself deliver it

into your Majesty's hands.

MÁTHAVYA.--By what luck did you contrive to escape her?

CHATURIKÁ.--While her maid was disengaging her mantle, which had caught

in the branch of a shrub, I ran away.

KING.--Here, my good friend, take the picture and conceal it. My

attentions to the Queen have made her presumptuous. She will be here in

a minute.

MÁTHAVYA.--Conceal the picture! conceal myself, you mean. [_Getting up

and taking the picture_.] The Queen has a bitter draught in store for

you, which you will have to swallow as Siva did the poison at the

Deluge. When you are well quit of her, you may send and call me from the

Palace of Clouds,[42] where I shall take refuge.

[_Exit, running_.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Although the King's affections are transferred to

another object, yet he respects his previous attachments. I fear his

love must be somewhat fickle.

VETRAVATÍ [_entering with a despatch in her hand_].--Victory to the

King!

KING.---Vetravatí, did you observe the Queen Vasumatí coming in this

direction?

VETRAVATÍ.--I did; but when she saw that I had a despatch in my hand for

your Majesty, she turned back.

KING.--The Queen has too much regard for propriety to interrupt me when

I am engaged with state-affairs.

VETRAVATÍ.--So please your Majesty, your Prime Minister begs

respectfully to inform you that he has devoted much time to the

settlement of financial calculations, and only one case of importance

has been submitted by the citizens for his consideration. He has made a

written report of the facts, and requests your Majesty to cast your eyes

over it.

KING.--Hand me the paper.

[_Vetravatí delivers it_.

KING [_reading_].--What have we here? "A merchant named Dhanamitra,

trading by sea, was lost in a late shipwreck. Though a wealthy trader,

he was childless; and the whole of his immense property becomes by law

forfeited to the King." So writes the minister. Alas! alas! for his

childlessness. But surely, if he was wealthy, he must have had many

wives. Let an inquiry be made whether any one of them is expecting to

give birth to a child.

VETRAVATÍ.--They say that his wife, the daughter of the foreman of a

guild belonging to Ayodhyá, has just completed the ceremonies usual upon

such expectations.

KING.--The unborn child has a title to his father's property. Such is my

decree. Go, bid my minister proclaim it so.

VETRAVATÍ.--I will, my liege. [_Going_.

KING.--Stay a moment.

VETRAVATÍ.--I am at your Majesty's service.

KING.--Let there be no question whether he may or may not have left

offspring;

Rather be it proclaimed that whosoe'er

Of King Dushyanta's subjects be bereaved

Of any loved relation, an it be not

That his estates are forfeited for crimes,

Dushyanta will himself to them supply

That kinsman's place in tenderest affection.

VETRAVATÍ.--It shall be so proclaimed.

[_Exit Vetravatí, and reënter after an interval_.

VETRAVATÍ.--Your Majesty's proclamation was received with acclamations

of joy, like grateful rain at the right season.

KING [_drawing a deep sigh_].--So then, the property of rich men, who

have no lineal descendants, passes over to a stranger at their decease.

And such, alas! must be the fate of the fortunes of the race of Puru at

my death; even as when fertile soil is sown with seed at the wrong

season.

VETRAVATÍ.--Heaven forbid!

KING.--Fool that I was to reject such happiness when it offered itself

for my acceptance!

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--He may well blame his own folly when he calls to

mind his treatment of my beloved Śakoontalá.

KING.--Ah! woe is me? when I forsook my wife--

My lawful wife--concealed within her breast

There lay my second self, a child unborn,

Hope of my race, e'en as the choicest fruit

Lies hidden in the bosom of the earth.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--There is no fear of your race being cut off for

want of a son.

CHATURIKÁ [_aside to Vetravatí_].--The affair of the merchant's death

has quite upset our royal master, and caused him sad distress. Had you

not better fetch the worthy Máthavya from the Palace of Clouds to

comfort him?

VETRAVATÍ.--A very good idea. [_Exit_.

KING.--Alas! the shades of my forefathers are even now beginning to be

alarmed, lest at my death they may be deprived of their funeral

libations.

No son remains in King Dushyanta's place

To offer sacred homage to the dead

Of Puru's noble line: my ancestors

Must drink these glistening tears, the last libation

A childless man can ever hope to make them.

[_Falls down in an agony of grief_.

CHATURIKÁ [_looking at him in consternation_].--Great King, compose

yourself.

SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Alas! alas! though a bright light is shining near

him, he is involved in the blackest darkness, by reason of the veil that

obscures his sight. I will now reveal all, and put an end to his misery.

But no; I heard the mother of the great Indra, when she was consoling

Śakoontalá, say, that the gods will soon bring about a joyful union

between husband and wife, being eager for the sacrifice which will be

celebrated in their honor on the occasion. I must not anticipate the

happy moment, but will return at once to my dear friend and cheer her

with an account of what I have seen and heard.

[_Rises aloft and disappears_.

A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Help! help! to the rescue!

KING [_recovering himself. Listening_].--Ha! I heard a cry of distress,

and in Máthavya's voice. What ho there!

VETRAVATÍ [_entering_].--Your friend is in danger; save him, great King.

KING.--Who dares insult the worthy Máthavya?

VETRAVATÍ.--Some evil demon, invisible to human eyes, has seized him,

and carried him to one of the turrets of the Palace of Clouds.

KING [_rising_].--Impossible! Have evil spirits power over my subjects,

even in my private apartments? Well, well--

Daily I seem less able to avert

Misfortune from myself, and o'er my actions

Less competent to exercise control;

How can I then direct my subjects' ways,

Or shelter them from tyranny and wrong?

A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Halloo there! my dear friend; help!

help!

KING [_advancing with rapid strides_].--Fear nothing--

THE SAME VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Fear nothing, indeed! How can I

help fearing when some monster is twisting back my neck, and is about to

snap it as he would a sugarcane?

KING [_looking round_].--What ho there! my bow.

SLAVE [_entering with a bow_].--Behold your bow, Sire, and your

arm-guard.

[_The king snatches up the bow and arrows_.

ANOTHER VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Here, thirsting for thy

life-blood, will I slay thee, As a fierce tiger rends his struggling

prey. Call now thy friend Dushyanta to thy aid; His bow is mighty to

defend the weak; Yet all its vaunted power shall be as nought.

KING [_with fury_].--What! dares he defy me to my face? Hold there,

monster! Prepare to die, for your time is come. [_Stringing his bow_.]

Vetravatí, lead the way to the terrace.

VETRAVATÍ.--This way, Sire. [_They advance in haste_.

KING [_looking on every side_].--How's this? there is nothing to be

seen.

A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Help! Save me! I can see you, though you

cannot see me. I am like a mouse in the claws of a cat; my life is not

worth a moment's purchase.

KING.--Avaunt, monster! You may pride yourself on the magic that renders

you invisible, but my arrow shall find you out. Thus do I fix a shaft

That shall discern between an impious demon

And a good Bráhman; bearing death to thee,

To him deliverance--even as the swan

Distinguishes the milk from worthless water.

[_Takes aim_.

_Enter Mátali, holding Máthavya, whom he releases_.

MÁTALI.--Turn thou thy deadly arrows on the demons;

Such is the will of Indra; let thy bow

Be drawn against the enemies of the gods;

But on thy friends cast only looks of favor.

KING [_putting back his arrow_].--What, Mátali! Welcome, most noble

charioteer of the mighty Indra.

MÁTHAVYA.--So, here is a monster who thought as little about

slaughtering me as if I had been a bullock for sacrifice, and you must

e'en greet him with a welcome.

MÁTALI [_smiling_].--Great Prince, hear on what errand Indra sent me

into your presence.

KING.--I am all attention.

MÁTALI.--There is a race of giants, the descendants of Kálanemi, whom

the gods find difficult to subdue.

KING.--So I have already heard from Nárada.

MÁTALI.--Heaven's mighty lord, who deigns to call thee "friend,"

Appoints thee to the post of highest honor,

As leader of his armies; and commits

The subjugation of this giant brood

To thy resistless arms, e'en as the sun

Leaves the pale moon to dissipate the darkness.

Let your Majesty, therefore, ascend at once the celestial car of Indra;

and, grasping your arms, advance to victory.

KING.--The mighty Indra honors me too highly by such a mark of

distinction. But tell me, what made you act thus towards my poor friend

Máthavya?

MÁTALI.--I will tell you. Perceiving that your Majesty's spirit was

completely broken by some distress of mind under which you were

laboring, I determined to rouse your energies by moving you to anger.

Because

To light a flame, we need but stir the embers;

The cobra, when incensed, extends his head

And springs upon his foe; the bravest men

Display their courage only when provoked.

KING [_aside to Máthavya_].--My dear Máthavya, the commands of the great

Indra must not be left unfulfilled. Go you and acquaint my minister,

Piśuna, with what has happened, and say to him from me, Dushyanta to thy

care confides his realm--

Protect with all the vigor of thy mind

The interests of my people; while my bow

Is braced against the enemies of heaven.

MÁTHAVYA.--I obey. [_Exit._

MÁTALI.--Ascend, illustrious Prince.

[_The King ascends the car. Exeunt_.

[41] The Köil is the Indian cuckoo. It is sometimes called Parabhrita

(nourished by another) because the female is known to leave her eggs in

the nest of the crow to be hatched. The bird is a great favorite with

the Indian poets, as the nightingale with Europeans.

[42] Palace of King Dushyanta, so-called because it was as lofty as the

clouds.

ACT SEVENTH

Scene.--The Sky

_Enter King Dushyanta and Mátali in the car of Indra, moving in the

air_.

KING.--My good Mátali, it appears to me incredible that I can merit such

a mark of distinction for having simply fulfilled the behests of the

great Indra.

MÁTALI [_smiling_].--Great Prince, it seems to me that neither of you is

satisfied with himself--

You underrate the service you have rendered,

And think too highly of the god's reward:

He deems it scarce sufficient recompense

For your heroic deeds on his behalf.

KING.--Nay, Mátali, say not so. My most ambitious expectations were more

than realized by the honor conferred on me at the moment when I took my

leave. For,

Tinged with celestial sandal, from the breast

Of the great Indra, where before it hung,

A garland of the ever-blooming tree

Of Nandana was cast about my neck

By his own hand: while, in the very presence

Of the assembled gods, I was enthroned

Beside their mighty lord, who smiled to see

His son Jayanta envious of the honor.

MÁTALI.--There is no mark of distinction which your Majesty does not

deserve at the hands of the immortals. See,

Heaven's hosts acknowledge thee their second saviour;

For now thy bow's unerring shafts (as erst

The lion-man's terrific claws) have purged

The empyreal sphere from taint of demons foul.

KING.--The praise of my victory must be ascribed to the majesty of

Indra.

When mighty gods make men their delegates

In martial enterprise, to them belongs

The palm of victory; and not to mortals.

Could the pale Dawn dispel the shades of night,

Did not the god of day, whose diadem

Is jewelled with a thousand beams of light,

Place him in front of his effulgent car?

MÁTALI.--A very just comparison. [_Driving on._] Great King, behold! the

glory of thy fame has reached even to the vault of heaven.

Hark! yonder inmates of the starry sphere

Sing anthems worthy of thy martial deeds,

While with celestial colors they depict

The story of thy victories on scrolls

Formed of the leaves of heaven's immortal trees.

KING.--My good Mátali, yesterday, when I ascended the sky, I was so

eager to do battle with the demons, that the road by which we were

travelling towards Indra's heaven escaped my observation. Tell me, in

which path of the seven winds are we now moving?

MÁTALI.--We journey in the path of Parivaha;

The wind that bears along the triple Ganges,

And causes Ursa's seven stars to roll

In their appointed orbits, scattering

Their several rays with equal distribution.

'Tis the same path that once was sanctified

By the divine impression of the foot

Of Vishnu, when, to conquer haughty Bali,

He spanned the heavens in his second stride.

KING.--This is the reason, I suppose, that a sensation of calm repose

pervades all my senses. [_Looking down at the wheels._] Ah! Mátali, we

are descending towards the earth's atmosphere.

MÁTALI.--What makes you think so?

KING.--The car itself instructs me; we are moving

O'er pregnant clouds, surcharged with rain; below us

I see the moisture-loving Chátakas

In sportive flight dart through the spokes; the steeds

Of Indra glisten with the lightning's flash;

And a thick mist bedews the circling wheels.

MÁTALI.--You are right; in a little while the chariot will touch the

ground, and you will be in your own dominions.

KING [_looking down_],--How wonderful is the appearance of the earth as

we rapidly descend!

Stupendous prospect! yonder lofty hills

Do suddenly uprear their towering heads

Amid the plain, while from beneath their crests

The ground receding sinks; the trees, whose stems

Seemed lately hid within their leafy tresses,

Rise into elevation, and display

Their branching shoulders; yonder streams, whose waters,

Like silver threads, but now were scarcely seen,

Grow into mighty rivers; lo! the earth

Seems upward hurled by some gigantic power.