{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16659/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16659","id":"gutenberg_16659","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16659","summary":null,"tags":["Best Books Ever Listings","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Category: Poetry","Sanskrit drama -- Translations into English","Sanskrit poetry -- Translations into English"],"text":"EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY\n  EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS\n\n\n\n\n  POETRY AND THE DRAMA\n\n\n\n\n  KALIDASA\n  Translations of Shakuntala & Other Works\n\n\n  BY ARTHUR W. RYDER\n\n\n\n\n  THIS IS NO. 629 OF _EVERYMAN'S\n  LIBRARY_. THE PUBLISHERS WILL\n  BE PLEASED TO SEND FREELY TO ALL\n  APPLICANTS A LIST OF THE PUBLISHED\n  AND PROJECTED VOLUMES ARRANGED\n  UNDER THE FOLLOWING SECTIONS:\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  TRAVEL \u00b7 SCIENCE \u00b7 FICTION\n  THEOLOGY & PHILOSOPHY\n  HISTORY \u00b7 CLASSICAL\n  FOR YOUNG PEOPLE\n  ESSAYS \u00b7 ORATORY\n  POETRY & DRAMA\n  BIOGRAPHY\n  REFERENCE\n  ROMANCE\n\n\n  THE ORDINARY EDITION IS BOUND\n  IN CLOTH WITH GILT DESIGN AND\n  COLOURED TOP. THERE IS ALSO A\n  LIBRARY EDITION IN REINFORCED CLOTH\n\n  LONDON: J.M. DENT & SONS LTD.\n  NEW YORK: E.P. DUTTON & CO.\n\n\n\n  [Illustration:\n  KALIDASA\n  TRANSLATIONS\n  _of_ SHAKUNTALA\n  AND OTHER\n  WORKS, BY\n  ARTHUR. W.\n  RYDER.\n  UNIVERSITY\n  _of_ CALIFORNIA\n\n  LONDON & TORONTO\n  PUBLISHED BY J.M. DENT\n  &. SONS LTD & IN NEW YORK\n  BY E.P. DUTTON &. CO]\n\n\n [Illustration: #Poets are the trumpets which sing to battle\n  poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world# Shelley]\n\n\n  FIRST ISSUE OF THIS EDITION 1912\n  REPRINTED 1920, 1928\n\n  PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nKALIDASA--HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS\n\n\nI\n\nKalidasa probably lived in the fifth century of the Christian era.\nThis date, approximate as it is, must yet be given with considerable\nhesitation, and is by no means certain. No truly biographical data are\npreserved about the author, who nevertheless enjoyed a great\npopularity during his life, and whom the Hindus have ever regarded as\nthe greatest of Sanskrit poets. We are thus confronted with one of the\nremarkable problems of literary history. For our ignorance is not due\nto neglect of Kalidasa's writings on the part of his countrymen, but\nto their strange blindness in regard to the interest and importance of\nhistoric fact. No European nation can compare with India in critical\ndevotion to its own literature. During a period to be reckoned not by\ncenturies but by millenniums, there has been in India an unbroken line\nof savants unselfishly dedicated to the perpetuation and exegesis of\nthe native masterpieces. Editions, recensions, commentaries abound;\npoets have sought the exact phrase of appreciation for their\npredecessors: yet when we seek to reconstruct the life of their\ngreatest poet, we have no materials except certain tantalising\nlegends, and such data as we can gather from the writings of a man who\nhardly mentions himself.\n\nOne of these legends deserves to be recounted for its intrinsic\ninterest, although it contains, so far as we can see, no grain of\nhistoric truth, and although it places Kalidasa in Benares, five\nhundred miles distant from the only city in which we certainly know\nthat he spent a part of his life. According to this account, Kalidasa\nwas a Brahman's child. At the age of six months he was left an orphan\nand was adopted by an ox-driver. He grew to manhood without formal\neducation, yet with remarkable beauty and grace of manner. Now it\nhappened that the Princess of Benares was a blue-stocking, who\nrejected one suitor after another, among them her father's counsellor,\nbecause they failed to reach her standard as scholars and poets. The\nrejected counsellor planned a cruel revenge. He took the handsome\nox-driver from the street, gave him the garments of a savant and a\nretinue of learned doctors, then introduced him to the princess, after\nwarning him that he was under no circumstances to open his lips. The\nprincess was struck with his beauty and smitten to the depths of her\npedantic soul by his obstinate silence, which seemed to her, as indeed\nit was, an evidence of profound wisdom. She desired to marry Kalidasa,\nand together they went to the temple. But no sooner was the ceremony\nperformed than Kalidasa perceived an image of a bull. His early\ntraining was too much for him; the secret came out, and the bride was\nfurious. But she relented in response to Kalidasa's entreaties, and\nadvised him to pray for learning and poetry to the goddess Kali. The\nprayer was granted; education and poetical power descended\nmiraculously to dwell with the young ox-driver, who in gratitude\nassumed the name Kalidasa, servant of Kali. Feeling that he owed this\nhappy change in his very nature to his princess, he swore that he\nwould ever treat her as his teacher, with profound respect but without\nfamiliarity. This was more than the lady had bargained for; her anger\nburst forth anew, and she cursed Kalidasa to meet his death at the\nhands of a woman. At a later date, the story continues, this curse was\nfulfilled. A certain king had written a half-stanza of verse, and had\noffered a large reward to any poet who could worthily complete it.\nKalidasa completed the stanza without difficulty; but a woman whom he\nloved discovered his lines, and greedy of the reward herself, killed\nhim.\n\nAnother legend represents Kalidasa as engaging in a pilgrimage to a\nshrine of Vishnu in Southern India, in company with two other famous\nwriters, Bhavabhuti and Dandin. Yet another pictures Bhavabhuti as a\ncontemporary of Kalidasa, and jealous of the less austere poet's\nreputation. These stories must be untrue, for it is certain that the\nthree authors were not contemporary, yet they show a true instinct in\nthe belief that genius seeks genius, and is rarely isolated.\n\nThis instinctive belief has been at work with the stories which\nconnect Kalidasa with King Vikramaditya and the literary figures of\nhis court. It has doubtless enlarged, perhaps partly falsified the\nfacts; yet we cannot doubt that there is truth in this tradition, late\nthough it be, and impossible though it may ever be to separate the\nactual from the fanciful. Here then we are on firmer ground.\n\nKing Vikramaditya ruled in the city of Ujjain, in West-central India.\nHe was mighty both in war and in peace, winning especial glory by a\ndecisive victory over the barbarians who pressed into India through\nthe northern passes. Though it has not proved possible to identify\nthis monarch with any of the known rulers, there can be no doubt that\nhe existed and had the character attributed to him. The name\nVikramaditya--Sun of Valour--is probably not a proper name, but a\ntitle like Pharaoh or Tsar. No doubt Kalidasa intended to pay a\ntribute to his patron, the Sun of Valour, in the very title of his\nplay, _Urvashi won by Valour_.\n\nKing Vikramaditya was a great patron of learning and of poetry. Ujjain\nduring his reign was the most brilliant capital in the world, nor has\nit to this day lost all the lustre shed upon it by that splendid\ncourt. Among the eminent men gathered there, nine were particularly\ndistinguished, and these nine are known as the \"nine gems.\" Some of\nthe nine gems were poets, others represented science--astronomy,\nmedicine, lexicography. It is quite true that the details of this late\ntradition concerning the nine gems are open to suspicion, yet the\ncentral fact is not doubtful: that there was at this time and place a\ngreat quickening of the human mind, an artistic impulse creating works\nthat cannot perish. Ujjain in the days of Vikramaditya stands worthily\nbeside Athens, Rome, Florence, and London in their great centuries.\nHere is the substantial fact behind Max M\u00fcller's often ridiculed\ntheory of the renaissance of Sanskrit literature. It is quite false to\nsuppose, as some appear to do, that this theory has been invalidated\nby the discovery of certain literary products which antedate\nKalidasa. It might even be said that those rare and happy centuries\nthat see a man as great as Homer or Vergil or Kalidasa or Shakespeare\npartake in that one man of a renaissance.\n\nIt is interesting to observe that the centuries of intellectual\ndarkness in Europe have sometimes coincided with centuries of light in\nIndia. The Vedas were composed for the most part before Homer;\nKalidasa and his contemporaries lived while Rome was tottering under\nbarbarian assault.\n\nTo the scanty and uncertain data of late traditions may be added some\ninformation about Kalidasa's life gathered from his own writings. He\nmentions his own name only in the prologues to his three plays, and\nhere with a modesty that is charming indeed, yet tantalising. One\nwishes for a portion of the communicativeness that characterises some\nof the Indian poets. He speaks in the first person only once, in the\nverses introductory to his epic poem _The Dynasty of Raghu_[1].\nHere also we feel his modesty, and here once more we are balked of\ndetails as to his life.\n\nWe know from Kalidasa's writings that he spent at least a part of his\nlife in the city of Ujjain. He refers to Ujjain more than once, and in\na manner hardly possible to one who did not know and love the city.\nEspecially in his poem _The Cloud-Messenger_ does he dwell upon the\ncity's charms, and even bids the cloud make a d\u00e9tour in his long\njourney lest he should miss making its acquaintance.[2]\n\nWe learn further that Kalidasa travelled widely in India. The fourth\ncanto of _The Dynasty of Raghu_ describes a tour about the whole of\nIndia and even into regions which are beyond the borders of a narrowly\nmeasured India. It is hard to believe that Kalidasa had not himself\nmade such a \"grand tour\"; so much of truth there may be in the\ntradition which sends him on a pilgrimage to Southern India. The\nthirteenth canto of the same epic and _The Cloud-Messenger_ also\ndescribe long journeys over India, for the most part through regions\nfar from Ujjain. It is the mountains which impress him most deeply.\nHis works are full of the Himalayas. Apart from his earliest drama\nand the slight poem called _The Seasons_, there is not one of them\nwhich is not fairly redolent of mountains. One, _The Birth of the\nWar-god_, might be said to be all mountains. Nor was it only Himalayan\ngrandeur and sublimity which attracted him; for, as a Hindu critic has\nacutely observed, he is the only Sanskrit poet who has described a\ncertain flower that grows in Kashmir. The sea interested him less. To\nhim, as to most Hindus, the ocean was a beautiful, terrible barrier,\nnot a highway to adventure. The \"sea-belted earth\" of which Kalidasa\nspeaks means to him the mainland of India.\n\nAnother conclusion that may be certainly drawn from Kalidasa's writing\nis this, that he was a man of sound and rather extensive education. He\nwas not indeed a prodigy of learning, like Bhavabhuti in his own\ncountry or Milton in England, yet no man could write as he did without\nhard and intelligent study. To begin with, he had a minutely accurate\nknowledge of the Sanskrit language, at a time when Sanskrit was to\nsome extent an artificial tongue. Somewhat too much stress is often\nlaid upon this point, as if the writers of the classical period in\nIndia were composing in a foreign language. Every writer, especially\nevery poet, composing in any language, writes in what may be called a\nstrange idiom; that is, he does not write as he talks. Yet it is true\nthat the gap between written language and vernacular was wider in\nKalidasa's day than it has often been. The Hindus themselves regard\ntwelve years' study as requisite for the mastery of the \"chief of all\nsciences, the science of grammar.\" That Kalidasa had mastered this\nscience his works bear abundant witness.\n\nHe likewise mastered the works on rhetoric and dramatic\ntheory--subjects which Hindu savants have treated with great, if\nsometimes hair-splitting, ingenuity. The profound and subtle systems\nof philosophy were also possessed by Kalidasa, and he had some\nknowledge of astronomy and law.\n\nBut it was not only in written books that Kalidasa was deeply read.\nRarely has a man walked our earth who observed the phenomena of living\nnature as accurately as he, though his accuracy was of course that of\nthe poet, not that of the scientist. Much is lost to us who grow up\namong other animals and plants; yet we can appreciate his \"bee-black\nhair,\" his ashoka-tree that \"sheds his blossoms in a rain of tears,\"\nhis river wearing a sombre veil of mist:\n\n  Although her reeds seem hands that clutch the dress\n  To hide her charms;\n\nhis picture of the day-blooming water-lily at sunset:\n\n  The water-lily closes, but\n    With wonderful reluctancy;\n  As if it troubled her to shut\n    Her door of welcome to the bee.\n\nThe religion of any great poet is always a matter of interest,\nespecially the religion of a Hindu poet; for the Hindus have ever been\na deeply and creatively religious people. So far as we can judge,\nKalidasa moved among the jarring sects with sympathy for all,\nfanaticism for none. The dedicatory prayers that introduce his dramas\nare addressed to Shiva. This is hardly more than a convention, for\nShiva is the patron of literature. If one of his epics, _The Birth of\nthe War-god_, is distinctively Shivaistic, the other, _The Dynasty of\nRaghu_, is no less Vishnuite in tendency. If the hymn to Vishnu in\n_The Dynasty of Raghu_ is an expression of Vedantic monism, the hymn\nto Brahma in _The Birth of the War-god_ gives equally clear expression\nto the rival dualism of the Sankhya system. Nor are the Yoga doctrine\nand Buddhism left without sympathetic mention. We are therefore\njustified in concluding that Kalidasa was, in matters of religion,\nwhat William James would call \"healthy-minded,\" emphatically not a\n\"sick soul.\"\n\nThere are certain other impressions of Kalidasa's life and personality\nwhich gradually become convictions in the mind of one who reads and\nre-reads his poetry, though they are less easily susceptible of exact\nproof. One feels certain that he was physically handsome, and the\nhandsome Hindu is a wonderfully fine type of manhood. One knows that\nhe possessed a fascination for women, as they in turn fascinated him.\nOne knows that children loved him. One becomes convinced that he never\nsuffered any morbid, soul-shaking experience such as besetting\nreligious doubt brings with it, or the pangs of despised love; that\non the contrary he moved among men and women with a serene and godlike\ntread, neither self-indulgent nor ascetic, with mind and senses ever\nalert to every form of beauty. We know that his poetry was popular\nwhile he lived, and we cannot doubt that his personality was equally\nattractive, though it is probable that no contemporary knew the full\nmeasure of his greatness. For his nature was one of singular balance,\nequally at home in a splendid court and on a lonely mountain, with men\nof high and of low degree. Such men are never fully appreciated during\nlife. They continue to grow after they are dead.\n\n\nII\n\nKalidasa left seven works which have come down to us: three dramas,\ntwo epics, one elegiac poem, and one descriptive poem. Many other\nworks, including even an astronomical treatise, have been attributed\nto him; they are certainly not his. Perhaps there was more than one\nauthor who bore the name Kalidasa; perhaps certain later writers were\nmore concerned for their work than for personal fame. On the other\nhand, there is no reason to doubt that the seven recognised works are\nin truth from Kalidasa's hand. The only one concerning which there is\nreasonable room for suspicion is the short poem descriptive of the\nseasons, and this is fortunately the least important of the seven. Nor\nis there evidence to show that any considerable poem has been lost,\nunless it be true that the concluding cantos of one of the epics have\nperished. We are thus in a fortunate position in reading Kalidasa: we\nhave substantially all that he wrote, and run no risk of ascribing to\nhim any considerable work from another hand.\n\nOf these seven works, four are poetry throughout; the three dramas,\nlike all Sanskrit dramas, are written in prose, with a generous\nmingling of lyric and descriptive stanzas. The poetry, even in the\nepics, is stanzaic; no part of it can fairly be compared to English\nblank verse. Classical Sanskrit verse, so far as structure is\nconcerned, has much in common with familiar Greek and Latin forms:\nit makes no systematic use of rhyme; it depends for its rhythm not\nupon accent, but upon quantity. The natural medium of translation into\nEnglish seems to me to be the rhymed stanza;[3] in the present work\nthe rhymed stanza has been used, with a consistency perhaps too rigid,\nwherever the original is in verse.\n\nKalidasa's three dramas bear the names: _Malavika and Agnimitra,\nUrvashi_, and _Shakuntala_. The two epics are _The Dynasty of Raghu_\nand _The Birth of the War-god_. The elegiac poem is called _The\nCloud-Messenger_, and the descriptive poem is entitled _The Seasons_.\nIt may be well to state briefly the more salient features of the\nSanskrit _genres_ to which these works belong.\n\nThe drama proved in India, as in other countries, a congenial form to\nmany of the most eminent poets. The Indian drama has a marked\nindividuality, but stands nearer to the modern European theatre than\nto that of ancient Greece; for the plays, with a very few exceptions,\nhave no religious significance, and deal with love between man and\nwoman. Although tragic elements may be present, a tragic ending is\nforbidden. Indeed, nothing regarded as disagreeable, such as fighting\nor even kissing, is permitted on the stage; here Europe may perhaps\nlearn a lesson in taste. Stage properties were few and simple, while\nparticular care was lavished on the music. The female parts were\nplayed by women. The plays very rarely have long monologues, even the\ninevitable prologue being divided between two speakers, but a Hindu\naudience was tolerant of lyrical digression.\n\nIt may be said, though the statement needs qualification in both\ndirections, that the Indian dramas have less action and less\nindividuality in the characters, but more poetical charm than the\ndramas of modern Europe.\n\nOn the whole, Kalidasa was remarkably faithful to the ingenious but\nsomewhat over-elaborate conventions of Indian dramaturgy. His first\nplay, the _Malavika and Agnimitra_, is entirely conventional in plot.\nThe _Shakuntala_ is transfigured by the character of the heroine. The\n_Urvashi_, in spite of detail beauty, marks a distinct decline.\n\n_The Dynasty of Raghu_ and _The Birth of the War-god_ belong to a\nspecies of composition which it is not easy to name accurately. The\nHindu name _kavya_ has been rendered by artificial epic, _\u00e9pop\u00e9e\nsavante, Kunstgedicht_. It is best perhaps to use the term epic, and\nto qualify the term by explanation.\n\nThe _kavyas_ differ widely from the _Mahabharata_ and the _Ramayana_,\nepics which resemble the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ less in outward form\nthan in their character as truly national poems. The _kavya_ is a\nnarrative poem written in a sophisticated age by a learned poet, who\npossesses all the resources of an elaborate rhetoric and metric. The\nsubject is drawn from time-honoured mythology. The poem is divided\ninto cantos, written not in blank verse but in stanzas. Several\nstanza-forms are commonly employed in the same poem, though not in the\nsame canto, except that the concluding verses of a canto are not\ninfrequently written in a metre of more compass than the remainder.\n\nI have called _The Cloud-Messenger_ an elegiac poem, though it would\nnot perhaps meet the test of a rigid definition. The Hindus class it\nwith _The Dynasty of Raghu_ and _The Birth of the War-god_ as a\n_kavya_, but this classification simply evidences their embarrassment.\nIn fact, Kalidasa created in _The Cloud-Messenger_ a new _genre_. No\nfurther explanation is needed here, as the entire poem is translated\nbelow.\n\nThe short descriptive poem called _The Seasons_ has abundant analogues\nin other literatures, and requires no comment.\n\nIt is not possible to fix the chronology of Kalidasa's writings, yet\nwe are not wholly in the dark. _Malavika and Agnimitra_ was certainly\nhis first drama, almost certainly his first work. It is a reasonable\nconjecture, though nothing more, that Urvashi was written late, when\nthe poet's powers were waning. The introductory stanzas of _The\nDynasty of Raghu_ suggest that this epic was written before _The Birth\nof the War-god_, though the inference is far from certain. Again, it\nis reasonable to assume that the great works on which Kalidasa's fame\nchiefly rests--_Shakuntala_, _The Cloud-Messenger_, _The Dynasty of\nRaghu_, the first eight cantos of _The Birth of the War-god_--were\ncomposed when he was in the prime of manhood. But as to the succession\nof these four works we can do little but guess.\n\nKalidasa's glory depends primarily upon the quality of his work, yet\nwould be much diminished if he had failed in bulk and variety. In\nIndia, more than would be the case in Europe, the extent of his\nwriting is an indication of originality and power; for the poets of\nthe classical period underwent an education that encouraged an\nexaggerated fastidiousness, and they wrote for a public meticulously\ncritical. Thus the great Bhavabhuti spent his life in constructing\nthree dramas; mighty spirit though he was, he yet suffers from the\nvery scrupulosity of his labour. In this matter, as in others,\nKalidasa preserves his intellectual balance and his spiritual\ninitiative: what greatness of soul is required for this, every one\nknows who has ever had the misfortune to differ in opinion from an\nintellectual clique.\n\n\nIII\n\nLe nom de K\u00e2lid\u00e2sa domine la po\u00e9sie indienne et la r\u00e9sume brillamment.\nLe drame, l'\u00e9pop\u00e9e savante, l'\u00e9l\u00e9gie attestent aujourd'hui encore la\npuissance et la souplesse de ce magnifique g\u00e9nie; seul entre les\ndisciples de Sarasvat\u00ee [the goddess of eloquence], il a eu le bonheur\nde produire un chef-d'oeuvre vraiment classique, o\u00f9 l'Inde s'admire et\no\u00f9 l'humanit\u00e9 se reconna\u00eet. Les applaudissements qui salu\u00e8rent la\nnaissance de \u00c7akuntal\u00e2 \u00e0 Ujjayin\u00ee ont apr\u00e8s de longs si\u00e8cles \u00e9clat\u00e9\nd'un bout du monde \u00e0 l'autre, quand William Jones l'eut r\u00e9v\u00e9l\u00e9e \u00e0\nl'Occident. K\u00e2lid\u00e2sa a marqu\u00e9 sa place dans cette pl\u00e9iade \u00e9tincelante\no\u00f9 chaque nom r\u00e9sume une p\u00e9riode de l'esprit humain. La s\u00e9rie de ces\nnoms forme l'histoire, ou plut\u00f4t elle est l'histoire m\u00eame.[4]\n\nIt is hardly possible to say anything true about Kalidasa's\nachievement which is not already contained in this appreciation. Yet\none loves to expand the praise, even though realising that the critic\nis by his very nature a fool. Here there shall at any rate be none\nof that cold-blooded criticism which imagines itself set above a\nworld-author to appraise and judge, but a generous tribute of\naffectionate admiration.\n\nThe best proof of a poet's greatness is the inability of men to live\nwithout him; in other words, his power to win and hold through\ncenturies the love and admiration of his own people, especially when\nthat people has shown itself capable of high intellectual and\nspiritual achievement.\n\nFor something like fifteen hundred years, Kalidasa has been more\nwidely read in India than any other author who wrote in Sanskrit.\nThere have also been many attempts to express in words the secret of\nhis abiding power: such attempts can never be wholly successful, yet\nthey are not without considerable interest. Thus Bana, a celebrated\nnovelist of the seventh century, has the following lines in some\nstanzas of poetical criticism which he prefixes to a historical\nromance:\n\n  Where find a soul that does not thrill\n    In Kalidasa's verse to meet\n  The smooth, inevitable lines\n    Like blossom-clusters, honey-sweet?\n\nA later writer, speaking of Kalidasa and another poet, is more laconic\nin this alliterative line: _Bhaso hasah, Kalidaso vilasah_--Bhasa is\nmirth, Kalidasa is grace.\n\nThese two critics see Kalidasa's grace, his sweetness, his delicate\ntaste, without doing justice to the massive quality without which his\npoetry could not have survived.\n\nThough Kalidasa has not been as widely appreciated in Europe as he\ndeserves, he is the only Sanskrit poet who can properly be said to\nhave been appreciated at all. Here he must struggle with the truly\nHimalayan barrier of language. Since there will never be many\nEuropeans, even among the cultivated, who will find it possible to\nstudy the intricate Sanskrit language, there remains only one means of\npresentation. None knows the cruel inadequacy of poetical translation\nlike the translator. He understands better than others can, the\nsignificance of the position which Kalidasa has won in Europe. When\nSir William Jones first translated the _Shakuntala_ in 1789, his work\nwas enthusiastically received in Europe, and most warmly, as was\nfitting, by the greatest living poet of Europe. Since that day, as\nis testified by new translations and by reprints of the old, there\nhave been many thousands who have read at least one of Kalidasa's\nworks; other thousands have seen it on the stage in Europe and\nAmerica.\n\nHow explain a reputation that maintains itself indefinitely and that\nconquers a new continent after a lapse of thirteen hundred years? None\ncan explain it, yet certain contributory causes can be named.\n\nNo other poet in any land has sung of happy love between man and woman\nas Kalidasa sang. Every one of his works is a love-poem, however much\nmore it may be. Yet the theme is so infinitely varied that the reader\nnever wearies. If one were to doubt from a study of European\nliterature, comparing the ancient classics with modern works, whether\nromantic love be the expression of a natural instinct, be not rather a\nmorbid survival of decaying chivalry, he has only to turn to India's\nindependently growing literature to find the question settled.\nKalidasa's love-poetry rings as true in our ears as it did in his\ncountrymen's ears fifteen hundred years ago.\n\nIt is of love eventually happy, though often struggling for a time\nagainst external obstacles, that Kalidasa writes. There is nowhere in\nhis works a trace of that not quite healthy feeling that sometimes\nassumes the name \"modern love.\" If it were not so, his poetry could\nhardly have survived; for happy love, blessed with children, is surely\nthe more fundamental thing. In his drama _Urvashi_ he is ready to\nchange and greatly injure a tragic story, given him by long tradition,\nin order that a loving pair may not be permanently separated. One\napparent exception there is--the story of Rama and Sita in _The\nDynasty of Raghu_. In this case it must be remembered that Rama is an\nincarnation of Vishnu, and the story of a mighty god incarnate is not\nto be lightly tampered with.\n\nIt is perhaps an inevitable consequence of Kalidasa's subject that his\nwomen appeal more strongly to a modern reader than his men. The man is\nthe more variable phenomenon, and though manly virtues are the same in\nall countries and centuries, the emphasis has been variously laid. But\nthe true woman seems timeless, universal. I know of no poet, unless it\nbe Shakespeare, who has given the world a group of heroines so\nindividual yet so universal; heroines as true, as tender, as brave as\nare Indumati, Sita, Parvati, the Yaksha's bride, and Shakuntala.\n\nKalidasa could not understand women without understanding children. It\nwould be difficult to find anywhere lovelier pictures of childhood\nthan those in which our poet presents the little Bharata, Ayus, Raghu,\nKumara. It is a fact worth noticing that Kalidasa's children are all\nboys. Beautiful as his women are, he never does more than glance at a\nlittle girl.\n\nAnother pervading note of Kalidasa's writing is his love of external\nnature. No doubt it is easier for a Hindu, with his almost instinctive\nbelief in reincarnation, to feel that all life, from plant to god, is\ntruly one; yet none, even among the Hindus, has expressed this feeling\nwith such convincing beauty as has Kalidasa. It is hardly true to say\nthat he personifies rivers and mountains and trees; to him they have a\nconscious individuality as truly and as certainly as animals or men or\ngods. Fully to appreciate Kalidasa's poetry one must have spent some\nweeks at least among wild mountains and forests untouched by man;\nthere the conviction grows that trees and flowers are indeed\nindividuals, fully conscious of a personal life and happy in that\nlife. The return to urban surroundings makes the vision fade; yet the\nmemory remains, like a great love or a glimpse of mystic insight, as\nan intuitive conviction of a higher truth.\n\nKalidasa's knowledge of nature is not only sympathetic, it is also\nminutely accurate. Not only are the snows and windy music of the\nHimalayas, the mighty current of the sacred Ganges, his possession;\nhis too are smaller streams and trees and every littlest flower. It is\ndelightful to imagine a meeting between Kalidasa and Darwin. They\nwould have understood each other perfectly; for in each the same kind\nof imagination worked with the same wealth of observed fact.\n\nI have already hinted at the wonderful balance in Kalidasa's\ncharacter, by virtue of which he found himself equally at home in a\npalace and in a wilderness. I know not with whom to compare him in\nthis; even Shakespeare, for all his magical insight into natural\nbeauty, is primarily a poet of the human heart. That can hardly be\nsaid of Kalidasa, nor can it be said that he is primarily a poet of\nnatural beauty. The two characters unite in him, it might almost be\nsaid, chemically. The matter which I am clumsily endeavouring to make\nplain is beautifully epitomised in _The Cloud-Messenger_. The former\nhalf is a description of external nature, yet interwoven with human\nfeeling; the latter half is a picture of a human heart, yet the\npicture is framed in natural beauty. So exquisitely is the thing done\nthat none can say which half is superior. Of those who read this\nperfect poem in the original text, some are more moved by the one,\nsome by the other. Kalidasa understood in the fifth century what\nEurope did not learn until the nineteenth, and even now comprehends\nonly imperfectly: that the world was not made for man, that man\nreaches his full stature only as he realises the dignity and worth of\nlife that is not human.\n\nThat Kalidasa seized this truth is a magnificent tribute to his\nintellectual power, a quality quite as necessary to great poetry as\nperfection of form. Poetical fluency is not rare; intellectual grasp\nis not very uncommon: but the combination has not been found perhaps\nmore than a dozen times since the world began. Because he possessed\nthis harmonious combination, Kalidasa ranks not with Anacreon and\nHorace and Shelley, but with Sophocles, Vergil, Milton.\n\nHe would doubtless have been somewhat bewildered by Wordsworth's\ngospel of nature. \"The world is too much with us,\" we can fancy him\nrepeating. \"How can the world, the beautiful human world, be too much\nwith us? How can sympathy with one form of life do other than vivify\nour sympathy with other forms of life?\"\n\nIt remains to say what can be said in a foreign language of Kalidasa's\nstyle. We have seen that he had a formal and systematic education; in\nthis respect he is rather to be compared with Milton and Tennyson than\nwith Shakespeare or Burns. He was completely master of his learning.\nIn an age and a country which reprobated carelessness but were\ntolerant of pedantry, he held the scales with a wonderfully even hand,\nnever heedless and never indulging in the elaborate trifling with\nSanskrit diction which repels the reader from much of Indian\nliterature. It is true that some western critics have spoken of his\ndisfiguring conceits and puerile plays on words. One can only wonder\nwhether these critics have ever read Elizabethan literature; for\nKalidasa's style is far less obnoxious to such condemnation than\nShakespeare's. That he had a rich and glowing imagination, \"excelling\nin metaphor,\" as the Hindus themselves affirm, is indeed true; that he\nmay, both in youth and age, have written lines which would not have\npassed his scrutiny in the vigour of manhood, it is not worth while to\ndeny: yet the total effect left by his poetry is one of extraordinary\nsureness and delicacy of taste. This is scarcely a matter for\nargument; a reader can do no more than state his own subjective\nimpression, though he is glad to find that impression confirmed by the\nunanimous authority of fifty generations of Hindus, surely the most\ncompetent judges on such a point.\n\nAnalysis of Kalidasa's writings might easily be continued, but\nanalysis can never explain life. The only real criticism is\nsubjective. We know that Kalidasa is a very great poet, because the\nworld has not been able to leave him alone.\n\nARTHUR W. RYDER.\n\n\n\n\nSELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY\n\n\nOn Kalidasa's life and writings may be consulted A.A. Macdonell's\n_History of Sanskrit Literature_ (1900); the same author's article\n\"Kalidasa\" in the eleventh edition of the _Encyclop\u00e6dia Britannica_\n(1910); and Sylvain L\u00e9vi's _Le Th\u00e9\u00e2tre Indien_ (1890).\n\nThe more important translations in English are the following: of the\n_Shakuntala_, by Sir William Jones (1789) and Monier Williams (fifth\nedition, 1887); of the _Urvashi_, by H.H. Wilson (in his _Select\nSpecimens of the Theatre of the Hindus_, third edition, 1871); of _The\nDynasty of Raghu_, by P. de Lacy Johnstone (1902); of _The Birth of\nThe War-god_ (cantos one to seven), by Ralph T.H. Griffith (second\nedition, 1879); of _The Cloud-Messenger_, by H.H. Wilson (1813).\n\nThere is an inexpensive reprint of Jones's _Shakuntala_ and Wilson's\n_Cloud-Messenger_ in one volume in the Camelot Series.\n\n\nKALIDASA\n\n  An ancient heathen poet, loving more\n  God's creatures, and His women, and His flowers\n  Than we who boast of consecrated powers;\n  Still lavishing his unexhausted store\n\n  Of love's deep, simple wisdom, healing o'er\n  The world's old sorrows, India's griefs and ours;\n  That healing love he found in palace towers,\n  On mountain, plain, and dark, sea-belted shore,\n\n  In songs of holy Raghu's kingly line\n  Or sweet Shakuntala in pious grove,\n  In hearts that met where starry jasmines twine\n\n  Or hearts that from long, lovelorn absence strove\n  Together. Still his words of wisdom shine:\n  All's well with man, when man and woman love.\n\n  Willst du die Bl\u00fcte des fr\u00fchen, die\n    Fr\u00fcchte des sp\u00e4teren Jahres,\n  Willst du, was reizt und entz\u00fcckt,\n    Willst du, was s\u00e4ttigt und n\u00e4hrt,\n  Willst du den Hummel, die erde mit\n    Einem Namen begreifen,\n  Nenn' ich, Sakuntala, dich, und\n    dann ist alles gesagt.\n\nGOETHE.\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: These verses are translated on pp. 123, 124.]\n\n[Footnote 2: The passage will be found on pp. 190-192.]\n\n[Footnote 3: This matter is more fully discussed in the introduction to my\ntranslation of _The Little Clay Cart_ (1905).]\n\n[Footnote 4: L\u00e9vi, _Le Th\u00e9\u00e2tre Indien_, p. 163.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION: KALIDASA--HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS\n\nSHAKUNTALA\n\nTHE STORY OF SHAKUNTALA\n\nTHE TWO MINOR DRAMAS--\n  I. Malavika and Agnimitra\n  II. Urvashi\n\nTHE DYNASTY OF RAGHU\n\nTHE BIRTH OF THE WAR-GOD\n\nTHE CLOUD-MESSENGER\n\nTHE SEASONS\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nSHAKUNTALA\nA PLAY IN SEVEN ACTS\n\n\n\nDRAMATIS PERSON\u00c6\n\n\n  KING DUSHYANTA.\n\n  BHARATA, _nicknamed_ All-tamer, _his son_.\n\n  MADHAVYA, _a clown, his companion_.\n\n  His charioteer.\n\n  RAIVATAKA, _a door-keeper_.\n\n  BHADRASENA, _a general_.\n\n  KARABHAKA, _a servant_.\n\n  PARVATAYANA, _a chamberlain_.\n\n  SOMARATA, _a chaplain_.\n\n  KANVA, _hermit-father_.\n\n\n  SHARNGARAVA   }\n\n  SHARADVATA    } _his pupils_.\n\n  HARITA        }\n\n\n  DURVASAS, _an irascible sage_.\n\n  The chief of police.\n\n\n  SUCHAKA     }\n              } _policemen_.\n  JANUKA      }\n\n\n  A fisherman.\n\n  SHAKUNTALA, _foster-child of Kanva_.\n\n\n  ANUSUVA       }\n                } _her friends_.\n  PRIYAMVADA    }\n\n\n  GAUTAMI, _hermit-mother_.\n\n  KASHYAPA, _father of the gods_.\n\n  ADITI, _mother of the gods_.\n\n  MATALI, _charioteer of heaven's king_.\n\n  GALAVA, _a pupil in heaven_.\n\n  MISHRAKESHI, _a heavenly nymph_.\n\n_Stage-director and actress (in the prologue), hermits and\nhermit-women, two court poets, palace attendants, invisible fairies_.\n\nThe first four acts pass in Kanva's forest hermitage; acts five and\nsix in the king's palace; act seven on a heavenly mountain. The time\nis perhaps seven years.\n\n\n\nSHAKUNTALA\n\nPROLOGUE\n\nBENEDICTION UPON THE AUDIENCE\n\n  Eight forms has Shiva, lord of all and king:\n  And these are water, first created thing;\n  And fire, which speeds the sacrifice begun;\n  The priest; and time's dividers, moon and sun;\n  The all-embracing ether, path of sound;\n  The earth, wherein all seeds of life are found;\n  And air, the breath of life: may he draw near,\n  Revealed in these, and bless those gathered here.\n\n_The stage-director_. Enough of this! (_Turning toward the\ndressing-room_.) Madam, if you are ready, pray come here. (_Enter an\nactress_.)\n\n_Actress_. Here I am, sir. What am I to do?\n\n_Director_. Our audience is very discriminating, and we are to offer\nthem a new play, called _Shakuntala and the ring of recognition_,\nwritten by the famous Kalidasa. Every member of the cast must be on\nhis mettle.\n\n_Actress_. Your arrangements are perfect. Nothing will go wrong.\n\n_Director_ (_smiling_). To tell the truth, madam,\n\n  Until the wise are satisfied,\n    I cannot feel that skill is shown;\n  The best-trained mind requires support,\n    And does not trust itself alone.\n\n_Actress_. True. What shall we do first?\n\n_Director_. First, you must sing something to please the ears of the\naudience.\n\n_Actress_. What season of the year shall I sing about? _Director_.\nWhy, sing about the pleasant summer which has just begun. For at this\ntime of year\n\n  A mid-day plunge will temper heat;\n    The breeze is rich with forest flowers;\n  To slumber in the shade is sweet;\n    And charming are the twilight hours.\n\n_Actress_ (_sings_).\n\n  The siris-blossoms fair,\n    With pollen laden,\n  Are plucked to deck her hair\n    By many a maiden,\n  But gently; flowers like these\n  Are kissed by eager bees.\n\n_Director_. Well done! The whole theatre is captivated by your song,\nand sits as if painted. What play shall we give them to keep their\ngood-will?\n\n_Actress_. Why, you just told me we were to give a new play called\n_Shakuntala and the ring_.\n\n_Director_. Thank you for reminding me. For the moment I had quite\nforgotten.\n\n  Your charming song had carried me away\n  As the deer enticed the hero of our play.\n\n(_Exeunt ambo_.)\n\n\nACT I\n\n\nTHE HUNT\n\n(_Enter, in a chariot, pursuing a deer_, KING DUSHYANTA, _bow and\narrow in hand; and a charioteer_.)\n\n_Charioteer_ (_Looking at the king and the deer_). Your Majesty,\n\n  I see you hunt the spotted deer\n    With shafts to end his race,\n  As though God Shiva should appear\n    In his immortal chase.\n\n_King_. Charioteer, the deer has led us a long chase. And even now\n\n  His neck in beauty bends\n  As backward looks he sends\n  At my pursuing car\n  That threatens death from far.\n  Fear shrinks to half the body small;\n  See how he fears the arrow's fall!\n\n  The path he takes is strewed\n  With blades of grass half-chewed\n  From jaws wide with the stress\n  Of fevered weariness.\n  He leaps so often and so high,\n  He does not seem to run, but fly.\n\n(_In surprise_.) Pursue as I may, I can hardly keep him in sight.\n\n_Charioteer_. Your Majesty, I have been holding the horses back\nbecause the ground was rough. This checked us and gave the deer a\nlead. Now we are on level ground, and you will easily overtake him.\n\n_King_. Then let the reins hang loose.\n\n_Charioteer_. Yes, your Majesty. (_He counterfeits rapid motion_.)\nLook, your Majesty!\n\n  The lines hang loose; the steeds unreined\n    Dart forward with a will.\n  Their ears are pricked; their necks are strained;\n    Their plumes lie straight and still.\n  They leave the rising dust behind;\n  They seem to float upon the wind.\n\n_King_ (_joyfully_). See! The horses are gaining on the deer.\n\n  As onward and onward the chariot flies,\n  The small flashes large to my dizzy eyes.\n  What is cleft in twain, seems to blur and mate;\n  What is crooked in nature, seems to be straight.\n  Things at my side in an instant appear\n  Distant, and things in the distance, near.\n\n_A voice behind the scenes_. O King, this deer belongs to the\nhermitage, and must not be killed.\n\n_Charioteer_ (_listening and looking_). Your Majesty, here are two\nhermits, come to save the deer at the moment when your arrow was about\nto fall.\n\n_King_ (_hastily_). Stop the chariot.\n\n_Charioteer_. Yes, your Majesty. (_He does so. Enter a hermit with his\npupil_.)\n\n_Hermit_ (_lifting his hand_). O King, this deer belongs to the\nhermitage.\n\n  Why should his tender form expire,\n  As blossoms perish in the fire?\n  How could that gentle life endure\n  The deadly arrow, sharp and sure?\n\n  Restore your arrow to the quiver;\n    To you were weapons lent\n  The broken-hearted to deliver,\n    Not strike the innocent.\n\n_King_ (_bowing low_). It is done. (_He does so_.)\n\n_Hermit_ (_joyfully_). A deed worthy of you, scion of Puru's race, and\nshining example of kings. May you beget a son to rule earth and\nheaven.\n\n_King_ (_bowing low_). I am thankful for a Brahman's blessing.\n\n_The two hermits_. O King, we are on our way to gather firewood. Here,\nalong the bank of the Malini, you may see the hermitage of Father\nKanva, over which Shakuntala presides, so to speak, as guardian deity.\nUnless other deities prevent, pray enter here and receive a welcome.\nBesides,\n\n  Beholding pious hermit-rites\n    Preserved from fearful harm,\n  Perceive the profit of the scars\n    On your protecting arm.\n\n_King_. Is the hermit father there?\n\n_The two hermits_. No, he has left his daughter to welcome guests, and\nhas just gone to Somatirtha, to avert an evil fate that threatens her.\n\n_King_. Well, I will see her. She shall feel my devotion, and report\nit to the sage.\n\n_The two hermits_. Then we will go on our way. (_Exit hermit with\npupil_.)\n\n_King_. Charioteer, drive on. A sight of the pious hermitage will\npurify us.\n\n_Charioteer_. Yes, your Majesty. (_He counterfeits motion again_.)\n\n_King_ (_looking about_). One would know, without being told, that\nthis is the precinct of a pious grove.\n\n_Charioteer_. How so? _King_. Do you not see? Why, here\n\n  Are rice-grains, dropped from bills of parrot chicks\n  Beneath the trees; and pounding-stones where sticks\n  A little almond-oil; and trustful deer\n  That do not run away as we draw near;\n  And river-paths that are besprinkled yet\n  From trickling hermit-garments, clean and wet.\n\nBesides,\n\n  The roots of trees are washed by many a stream\n  That breezes ruffle; and the flowers' red gleam\n  Is dimmed by pious smoke; and fearless fawns\n  Move softly on the close-cropped forest lawns.\n\n_Charioteer_. It is all true.\n\n_King_ (_after a little_). We must not disturb the hermitage. Stop\nhere while I dismount.\n\n_Charioteer_. I am holding the reins. Dismount, your Majesty.\n\n_King_ (_dismounts and looks at himself_). One should wear modest\ngarments on entering a hermitage. Take these jewels and the bow. (_He\ngives them to the charioteer_.) Before I return from my visit to the\nhermits, have the horses' backs wet down.\n\n_Charioteer_. Yes, your Majesty. (_Exit_.)\n\n_King_ (_walking and looking about_). The hermitage! Well, I will\nenter. (_As he does so, he feels a throbbing in his arm_.)\n\n  A tranquil spot! Why should I thrill?\n    Love cannot enter there--\n  Yet to inevitable things\n    Doors open everywhere.\n\n_A voice behind the scenes_. This way, girls!\n\n_King_ (_listening_). I think I hear some one to the right of the\ngrove. I must find out. (_He walks and looks about_.) Ah, here are\nhermit-girls, with watering-pots just big enough for them to handle.\nThey are coming in this direction to water the young trees. They are\ncharming!\n\n  The city maids, for all their pains,\n    Seem not so sweet and good;\n  Our garden blossoms yield to these\n    Flower-children of the wood.\n\nI will draw back into the shade and wait for them. (_He stands, gazing\ntoward them. Enter_ SHAKUNTALA, _as described, and her two friends_.)\n\n_First friend_. It seems to me, dear, that Father Kanva cares more for\nthe hermitage trees than he does for you. You are delicate as a\njasmine blossom, yet he tells you to fill the trenches about the\ntrees.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Oh, it isn't Father's bidding so much. I feel like a\nreal sister to them. (_She waters the trees_.)\n\n_Priyamvada_. Shakuntala, we have watered the trees that blossom in\nthe summer-time. Now let's sprinkle those whose flowering-time is\npast. That will be a better deed, because we shall not be working for\na reward.\n\n_Shakuntala_. What a pretty idea! (_She does so_.)\n\n_King_ (_to himself_). And this is Kanva's daughter, Shakuntala. (_In\nsurprise_.) The good Father does wrong to make her wear the hermit's\ndress of bark.\n\n  The sage who yokes her artless charm\n    With pious pain and grief,\n  Would try to cut the toughest vine\n    With a soft, blue lotus-leaf.\n\n Well, I will step behind a tree and see how she acts with her\nfriends. (_He conceals himself_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. Oh, Anusuya! Priyamvada has fastened this bark dress so\ntight that it hurts. Please loosen it. (ANUSUYA _does so_.)\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_laughing_). You had better blame your own budding\ncharms for that.\n\n_King_. She is quite right.\n\n  Beneath the barken dress\n    Upon the shoulder tied,\n  In maiden loveliness\n    Her young breast seems to hide,\n\n  As when a flower amid\n    The leaves by autumn tossed--\n  Pale, withered leaves--lies hid,\n    And half its grace is lost.\n\nYet in truth the bark dress is not an enemy to her beauty. It serves\nas an added ornament. For\n\n  The meanest vesture glows\n    On beauty that enchants:\n  The lotus lovelier shows\n    Amid dull water-plants;\n\n  The moon in added splendour\n    Shines for its spot of dark;\n  Yet more the maiden slender\n    Charms in her dress of bark.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_looking ahead_). Oh, girls, that mango-tree is trying\nto tell me something with his branches that move in the wind like\nfingers. I must go and see him. (_She does so_.)\n\n_Priyamvada_. There, Shakuntala, stand right where you are a minute.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Why?\n\n_Priyamvada_. When I see you there, it looks as if a vine were\nclinging to the mango-tree.\n\n_Shakuntala_. I see why they call you the flatterer.\n\n_King_. But the flattery is true.\n\n  Her arms are tender shoots; her lips\n    Are blossoms red and warm;\n  Bewitching youth begins to flower\n    In beauty on her form.\n\n_Anusuya_. Oh, Shakuntala! Here is the jasmine-vine that you named\nLight of the Grove. She has chosen the mango-tree as her husband.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_approaches and looks at it, joyfully_). What a pretty\npair they make. The jasmine shows her youth in her fresh flowers, and\nthe mango-tree shows his strength in his ripening fruit. (_She stands\ngazing at them_.)\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_smiling_). Anusuya, do you know why Shakuntala looks so\nhard at the Light of the Grove?\n\n_Anusuya_. No. Why?\n\n_Priyamvada_. She is thinking how the Light of the Grove has found a\ngood tree, and hoping that she will meet a fine lover.\n\n_Shakuntala_. That's what you want for yourself. (_She tips her\nwatering-pot_.)\n\n_Anusuya_. Look, Shakuntala! Here is the spring-creeper that Father\nKanva tended with his own hands--just as he did you. You are\nforgetting her.\n\n_Shakuntala_. I'd forget myself sooner. (_She goes to the creeper and\nlooks at it, joyfully_.) Wonderful! Wonderful! Priyamvada, I have\nsomething pleasant to tell you.\n\n_Priyamvada_. What is it, dear?\n\n_Shakuntala_. It is out of season, but the spring-creeper is covered\nwith buds down to the very root.\n\n_The two friends_ (_running up_). Really?\n\n_Shakuntala_. Of course. Can't you see?\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_looking at it joyfully_). And I have something pleasant\nto tell _you_. You are to be married soon.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_snappishly_). You know that's just what you want for\nyourself.\n\n_Priyamvada_. I'm not teasing. I really heard Father Kanva say that\nthis flowering vine was to be a symbol of your coming happiness.\n\n_Anusuya_. Priyamvada, that is why Shakuntala waters the\nspring-creeper so lovingly.\n\n_Shakuntala_. She is my sister. Why shouldn't I give her water? (_She\ntips her watering-pot_.)\n\n_King_. May I hope that she is the hermit's daughter by a mother of a\ndifferent caste? But it _must_ be so.\n\n  Surely, she may become a warrior's bride;\n    Else, why these longings in an honest mind?\n  The motions of a blameless heart decide\n    Of right and wrong, when reason leaves us blind.\n\nYet I will learn the whole truth.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_excitedly_). Oh, oh! A bee has left the jasmine-vine\nand is flying into my face. (_She shows herself annoyed by the bee_.)\n\n_King_ (_ardently_).\n\n  As the bee about her flies,\n  Swiftly her bewitching eyes\n    Turn to watch his flight.\n  She is practising to-day\n  Coquetry and glances' play\n    Not from love, but fright.\n\n(_Jealously_.)\n\n  Eager bee, you lightly skim\n  O'er the eyelid's trembling rim\n    Toward the cheek aquiver.\n  Gently buzzing round her cheek,\n  Whispering in her ear, you seek\n    Secrets to deliver.\n\n  While her hands that way and this\n  Strike at you, you steal a kiss,\n    Love's all, honeymaker.\n  I know nothing but her name,\n  Not her caste, nor whence she came--\n    You, my rival, take her.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Oh, girls! Save me from this dreadful bee!\n\n_The two friends_ (_smiling_). Who are we, that we should save you?\nCall upon Dushyanta. For pious groves are in the protection of the\nking.\n\n_King_. A good opportunity to present myself. Have no--(_He checks\nhimself. Aside_.) No, they would see that I am the king. I prefer to\nappear as a guest.\n\n_Shakuntala_. He doesn't leave me alone! I am going to run away.\n(_She takes a step and looks about_.) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! He is\nfollowing me. Please save me.\n\n_King_ (_hastening forward_). Ah!\n\n  A king of Puru's mighty line\n    Chastises shameless churls;\n  What insolent is he who baits\n    These artless hermit-girls?\n\n(_The girls are a little flurried on seeing the king_.)\n\n_Anusuya_. It is nothing very dreadful, sir. But our friend\n(_indicating_ SHAKUNTALA) was teased and frightened by a bee.\n\n_King_ (_to_ SHAKUNTALA). I hope these pious days are happy ones.\n\n(SHAKUNTALA's _eyes drop in embarrassment_.)\n\n_Anusuya_. Yes, now that we receive such a distinguished guest.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Welcome, sir. Go to the cottage, Shakuntala, and bring\nfruit. This water will do to wash the feet.\n\n_King_. Your courteous words are enough to make me feel at home.\n\n_Anusuya_. Then, sir, pray sit down and rest on this shady bench.\n\n_King_. You, too, are surely wearied by your pious task. Pray be\nseated a moment.\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_aside to_ SHAKUNTALA). My dear, we must be polite to\nour guest. Shall we sit down? (_The three girls sit_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). Oh, why do I have such feelings when I\nsee this man? They seem wrong in a hermitage.\n\n_King_ (_looking at the girls_). It is delightful to see your\nfriendship. For you are all young and beautiful.\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_aside to_ ANUSUYA). Who is he, dear? With his mystery,\nand his dignity, and his courtesy? He acts like a king and a\ngentleman.\n\n_Anusuya_. I am curious too. I am going to ask him. (_Aloud_.) Sir,\nyou are so very courteous that I make bold to ask you something. What\nroyal family do you adorn, sir? What country is grieving at your\nabsence? Why does a gentleman so delicately bred submit to the weary\njourney into our pious grove?\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_aside_). Be brave, my heart. Anusuya speaks your very\nthoughts.\n\n_King_ (_aside_). Shall I tell at once who I am, or conceal it? (_He\nreflects_.) This will do. (_Aloud_.) I am a student of Scripture.\nIt is my duty to see justice done in the cities of the king.\nAnd I have come to this hermitage on a tour of inspection.\n\n_Anusuya_. Then we of the hermitage have some one to take care of us.\n\n(SHAKUNTALA _shows embarrassment_.)\n\n_The two friends_ (_observing the demeanour of the pair. Aside to_\nSHAKUNTALA). Oh, Shakuntala! If only Father were here to-day.\n\n_Shakuntala_. What would he do?\n\n_The two friends_. He would make our distinguished guest happy, if it\ntook his most precious treasure.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_feigning anger_). Go away! You mean something. I'll not\nlisten to you.\n\n_King_. I too would like to ask a question about your friend.\n\n_The two friends_. Sir, your request is a favour to us.\n\n_King_. Father Kanva lives a lifelong hermit. Yet you say that your\nfriend is his daughter. How can that be?\n\n_Anusuya_. Listen, sir. There is a majestic royal sage named\nKaushika----\n\n_King_. Ah, yes. The famous Kaushika.\n\n_Anusuya_. Know, then, that he is the source of our friend's being.\nBut Father Kanva is her real father, because he took care of her when\nshe was abandoned.\n\n_King_. You waken my curiosity with the word \"abandoned.\" May I hear\nthe whole story?\n\n_Anusuya_. Listen, sir. Many years ago, that royal sage was leading a\nlife of stern austerities, and the gods, becoming strangely jealous,\nsent the nymph Menaka to disturb his devotions.\n\n_King_. Yes, the gods feel this jealousy toward the austerities of\nothers. And then--\n\n_Anusuya_. Then in the lovely spring-time he saw her intoxicating\nbeauty--(_She stops in embarrassment_.)\n\n_King_. The rest is plain. Surely, she is the daughter of the nymph.\n\n_Anusuya_. Yes.\n\n_King_. It is as it should be.\n\n  To beauty such as this\n    No woman could give birth;\n  The quivering lightning flash\n    Is not a child of earth.\n\n(SHAKUNTALA _hangs her head in confusion_.) _King_ (_to himself_).\nAh, my wishes become hopes.\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_looking with a smile at_ SHAKUNTALA). Sir, it seems as\nif you had more to say. (SHAKUNTALA _threatens her friend with her\nfinger_.)\n\n_King_. You are right. Your pious life interests me, and I have\nanother question.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Do not hesitate. We hermit people stand ready to answer\nall demands.\n\n_King_. My question is this:\n\n  Does she, till marriage only, keep her vow\n    As hermit-maid, that shames the ways of love?\n  Or must her soft eyes ever see, as now,\n    Soft eyes of friendly deer in peaceful grove?\n\n_Priyamvada_. Sir, we are under bonds to lead a life of virtue. But it\nis her father's wish to give her to a suitable lover.\n\n_King_ (_joyfully to himself_).\n\n  O heart, your wish is won!\n  All doubt at last is done;\n  The thing you feared as fire,\n  Is the jewel of your desire.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_pettishly_). Anusuya, I'm going.\n\n_Anusuya_. What for?\n\n_Shakuntala_. I am going to tell Mother Gautami that Priyamvada is\ntalking nonsense. (_She rises_.)\n\n_Anusuya_. My dear, we hermit people cannot neglect to entertain a\ndistinguished guest, and go wandering about.\n\n(SHAKUNTALA _starts to walk away without answering_.)\n\n_King_ (_aside_). She is going! (_He starts up as if to detain her,\nthen checks his desires_.) A thought is as vivid as an act, to a\nlover.\n\n  Though nurture, conquering nature, holds\n    Me back, it seems\n  As had I started and returned\n    In waking dreams.\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_approaching_ SHAKUNTALA). You dear, peevish girl! You\nmustn't go.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_turns with a frown_). Why not?\n\n_Priyamvada_. You owe me the watering of two trees. You can go when\nyou have paid your debt. (_She forces her to come back_.)\n\n_King_. It is plain that she is already wearied by watering the trees.\nSee!\n\n  Her shoulders droop; her palms are reddened yet;\n    Quick breaths are struggling in her bosom fair;\n  The blossom o'er her ear hangs limply wet;\n    One hand restrains the loose, dishevelled hair.\n\nI therefore remit her debt. (_He gives the two friends a ring. They\ntake it, read the name engraved on it, and look at each other_.)\n\n_King_. Make no mistake. This is a present--from the king.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Then, sir, you ought not to part with it. Your word is\nenough to remit the debt.\n\n_Anusuya_. Well, Shakuntala, you are set free by this kind\ngentleman--or rather, by the king himself. Where are you going now?\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). I would never leave him if I could help\nmyself.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Why don't you go now?\n\n_Shakuntala_. I am not _your_ servant any longer. I will go when I\nlike.\n\n_King_ (_looking at_ SHAKUNTALA. _To himself_). Does she feel toward\nme as I do toward her? At least, there is ground for hope.\n\n  Although she does not speak to me,\n    She listens while I speak;\n  Her eyes turn not to see my face,\n    But nothing else they seek.\n\n_A voice behind the scenes_. Hermits! Hermits! Prepare to defend the\ncreatures in our pious grove. King Dushyanta is hunting in the\nneighbourhood.\n\n  The dust his horses' hoofs have raised,\n    Red as the evening sky,\n  Falls like a locust-swarm on boughs\n    Where hanging garments dry.\n\n_King_ (_aside_). Alas! My soldiers are disturbing the pious grove in\ntheir search for me.\n\n_The voice behind the scenes_. Hermits! Hermits! Here is an elephant\nwho is terrifying old men, women, and children.\n\n  One tusk is splintered by a cruel blow\n  Against a blocking tree; his gait is slow,\n  For countless fettering vines impede and cling;\n  He puts the deer to flight; some evil thing\n  He seems, that comes our peaceful life to mar,\n  Fleeing in terror from the royal car.\n\n(_The girls listen and rise anxiously_.)\n\n_King_. I have offended sadly against the hermits. I must go back.\n\n_The two friends_. Your Honour, we are frightened by this alarm of the\nelephant. Permit us to return to the cottage.\n\n_Anusuya_ (_to_ SHAKUNTALA). Shakuntala dear, Mother Gautami will be\nanxious. We must hurry and find her.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_feigning lameness_). Oh, oh! I can hardly walk.\n\n_King_. You must go very slowly. And I will take pains that the\nhermitage is not disturbed.\n\n_The two friends_. Your honour, we feel as if we knew you very well.\nPray pardon our shortcomings as hostesses. May we ask you to seek\nbetter entertainment from us another time?\n\n_King_. You are too modest. I feel honoured by the mere sight of you.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Anusuya, my foot is cut on a sharp blade of grass, and\nmy dress is caught on an amaranth twig. Wait for me while I loosen it.\n\n(_She casts a lingering glance at the king, and goes out with her two\nfriends_.)\n\n_King_ (_sighing_). They are gone. And I must go. The sight of\nShakuntala has made me dread the return to the city. I will make my\nmen camp at a distance from the pious grove. But I cannot turn my own\nthoughts from Shakuntala.\n\n  It is my body leaves my love, not I;\n    My body moves away, but not my mind;\n  For back to her my struggling fancies fly\n    Like silken banners borne against the wind. (_Exit_.)\n\n\nACT II\n\n\nTHE SECRET\n\n(_Enter the clown_.)\n\n_Clown_ (_sighing_). Damn! Damn! Damn! I'm tired of being friends with\nthis sporting king. \"There's a deer!\" he shouts, \"There's a boar!\" And\noff he chases on a summer noon through woods where shade is few and\nfar between. We drink hot, stinking water from the mountain streams,\nflavoured with leaves--nasty! At odd times we get a little tepid meat\nto eat. And the horses and the elephants make such a noise that I\ncan't even be comfortable at night. Then the hunters and the\nbird-chasers--damn 'em--wake me up bright and early. They do make an\near-splitting rumpus when they start for the woods. But even that\nisn't the whole misery. There's a new pimple growing on the old boil.\nHe left us behind and went hunting a deer. And there in a hermitage\nthey say he found--oh, dear! oh, dear! he found a hermit-girl named\nShakuntala. Since then he hasn't a thought of going back to town. I\nlay awake all night, thinking about it. What can I do? Well, I'll see\nmy friend when he is dressed and beautified. (_He walks and looks\nabout_.) Hello! Here he comes, with his bow in his hand, and his girl\nin his heart. He is wearing a wreath of wild flowers! I'll pretend to\nbe all knocked up. Perhaps I can get a rest that way. (_He stands,\nleaning on his staff. Enter the king, as described_.)\n\n_King_ (_to himself_).\n\n  Although my darling is not lightly won,\n    She seemed to love me, and my hopes are bright;\n  Though love be balked ere joy be well begun,\n    A common longing is itself delight.\n\n(_Smiling_.) Thus does a lover deceive himself. He judges his love's\nfeelings by his own desires.\n\n  Her glance was loving--but 'twas not for me;\n  Her step was slow--'twas grace, not coquetry;\n  Her speech was short--to her detaining friend.\n  In things like these love reads a selfish end!\n\n_Clown_ (_standing as before_). Well, king, I can't move my hand. I\ncan only greet you with my voice.\n\n_King_ (_looking and smiling_). What makes you lame?\n\n_Clown_. Good! You hit a man in the eye, and then ask him why the\ntears come.\n\n_King_. I do not understand you. Speak plainly.\n\n_Clown_. When a reed bends over like a hunchback, do you blame the\nreed or the river-current?\n\n_King_. The river-current, of course.\n\n_Clown_. And you are to blame for my troubles.\n\n_King_. How so?\n\n_Clown_. It's a fine thing for you to neglect your royal duties and\nsuch a sure job--to live in the woods! What's the good of talking?\nHere I am, a Brahman, and my joints are all shaken up by this eternal\nrunning after wild animals, so that I can't move. Please be good to\nme. Let us have a rest for just one day.\n\n_King_ (_to himself_). He says this. And I too, when I remember\nKanva's daughter, have little desire for the chase. For\n\n  The bow is strung, its arrow near;\n    And yet I cannot bend\n  That bow against the fawns who share\n    Soft glances with their friend.\n\n_Clown_ (_observing the king_). He means more than he says. I might as\nwell weep in the woods.\n\n_King_ (_smiling_). What more could I mean? I have been thinking that\nI ought to take my friend's advice.\n\n_Clown_ (_cheerfully_). Long life to you, then. (_He unstiffens_.)\n\n_King_. Wait. Hear me out.\n\n_Clown_. Well, sir?\n\n_King_. When you are rested, you must be my companion in another\ntask--an easy one.\n\n_Clown_. Crushing a few sweetmeats?\n\n_King_. I will tell you presently.\n\n_Clown_. Pray command my leisure.\n\n_King_. Who stands without? (_Enter the door-keeper_.)\n\n_Door-keeper_. I await your Majesty's commands.\n\n_King_. Raivataka, summon the general.\n\n_Door-keeper_. Yes, your Majesty. (_He goes out, then returns with the\ngeneral_.) Follow me, sir. There is his Majesty, listening to our\nconversation. Draw near, sir.\n\n_General_ (_observing the king, to himself_). Hunting is declared to\nbe a sin, yet it brings nothing but good to the king. See!\n\n  He does not heed the cruel sting\n  Of his recoiling, twanging string;\n  The mid-day sun, the dripping sweat\n  Affect him not, nor make him fret;\n  His form, though sinewy and spare,\n  Is most symmetrically fair;\n  No mountain-elephant could be\n  More filled with vital strength than he.\n\n(_He approaches_.) Victory to your Majesty! The forest is full of\ndeer-tracks, and beasts of prey cannot be far off. What better\noccupation could we have?\n\n_King_. Bhadrasena, my enthusiasm is broken. Madhavya has been\npreaching against hunting.\n\n_General_ (_aside to the clown_). Stick to it, friend Madhavya. I will\nhumour the king a moment. (_Aloud_.) Your Majesty, he is a chattering\nidiot. Your Majesty may judge by his own case whether hunting is an\nevil. Consider:\n\n  The hunter's form grows sinewy, strong, and light;\n  He learns, from beasts of prey, how wrath and fright\n  Affect the mind; his skill he loves to measure\n  With moving targets. 'Tis life's chiefest pleasure.\n\n_Clown_ (_angrily_). Get out! Get out with your strenuous life! The\nking has come to his senses. But you, you son of a slave-wench, can go\nchasing from forest to forest, till you fall into the jaws of some old\nbear that is looking for a deer or a jackal.\n\n_King_. Bhadrasena, I cannot take your advice, because I am in the\nvicinity of a hermitage. So for to-day\n\n  The horn\u00e8d buffalo may shake\n  The turbid water of the lake;\n  Shade-seeking deer may chew the cud,\n  Boars trample swamp-grass in the mud;\n  The bow I bend in hunting, may\n  Enjoy a listless holiday.\n\n_General_. Yes, your Majesty.\n\n_King_. Send back the archers who have gone ahead. And forbid the\nsoldiers to vex the hermitage, or even to approach it. Remember:\n\n  There lurks a hidden fire in each\n    Religious hermit-bower;\n  Cool sun-stones kindle if assailed\n    By any foreign power.\n\n_General_. Yes, your Majesty.\n\n_Clown_. Now will you get out with your strenuous life? (_Exit\ngeneral_.)\n\n_King_ (_to his attendants_). Lay aside your hunting dress. And you,\nRaivataka, return to your post of duty.\n\n_Raivataka_. Yes, your Majesty. (_Exit_.)\n\n_Clown_. You have got rid of the vermin. Now be seated on this flat\nstone, over which the trees spread their canopy of shade. I can't sit\ndown till you do.\n\n_King_. Lead the way.\n\n_Clown_. Follow me. (_They walk about and sit down_.)\n\n_King_. Friend Madhavya, you do not know what vision is. You have not\nseen the fairest of all objects.\n\n_Clown_. I see you, right in front of me.\n\n_King_. Yes, every one thinks himself beautiful. But I was speaking of\nShakuntala, the ornament of the hermitage.\n\n_Clown_ (_to himself_). I mustn't add fuel to the flame. (_Aloud_.)\nBut you can't have her because she is a hermit-girl. What is the use\nof seeing her?\n\n_King_. Fool!\n\n  And is it selfish longing then,\n    That draws our souls on high\n  Through eyes that have forgot to wink,\n    As the new moon climbs the sky?\n\nBesides, Dushyanta's thoughts dwell on no forbidden object.\n\n_Clown_. Well, tell me about her.\n\n_King_.\n\n  Sprung from a nymph of heaven\n    Wanton and gay,\n  Who spurned the blessing given,\n    Going her way;\n\n  By the stern hermit taken\n    In her most need:\n  So fell the blossom shaken,\n    Flower on a weed.\n\n_Clown_ (_laughing_). You are like a man who gets tired of good dates\nand longs for sour tamarind. All the pearls of the palace are yours,\nand you want this girl!\n\n_King_. My friend, you have not seen her, or you could not talk so.\n\n_Clown_. She must be charming if she surprises _you_.\n\n_King_. Oh, my friend, she needs not many words.\n\n  She is God's vision, of pure thought\n    Composed in His creative mind;\n  His reveries of beauty wrought\n    The peerless pearl of womankind.\n  So plays my fancy when I see\n  How great is God, how lovely she.\n\n_Clown_. How the women must hate her!\n\n_King_. This too is in my thought.\n\n  She seems a flower whose fragrance none has tasted,\n    A gem uncut by workman's tool,\n  A branch no desecrating hands have wasted,\n    Fresh honey, beautifully cool.\n\n  No man on earth deserves to taste her beauty,\n    Her blameless loveliness and worth,\n  Unless he has fulfilled man's perfect duty--\n    And is there such a one on earth?\n\n_Clown_. Marry her quick, then, before the poor girl falls into the\nhands of some oily-headed hermit.\n\n_King_. She is dependent on her father, and he is not here.\n\n_Clown_. But how does she feel toward you? _King_. My friend,\nhermit-girls are by their very nature timid. And yet\n\n  When I was near, she could not look at me;\n    She smiled--but not to me--and half denied it;\n  She would not show her love for modesty,\n    Yet did not try so very hard to hide it.\n\n_Clown_. Did you want her to climb into your lap the first time she\nsaw you?\n\n_King_. But when she went away with her friends, she almost showed\nthat she loved me.\n\n  When she had hardly left my side,\n    \"I cannot walk,\" the maiden cried,\n  And turned her face, and feigned to free\n    The dress not caught upon the tree.\n\n_Clown_. She has given you some memories to chew on. I suppose that is\nwhy you are so in love with the pious grove.\n\n_King_. My friend, think of some pretext under which we may return to\nthe hermitage.\n\n_Clown_. What pretext do you need? Aren't you the king?\n\n_King_. What of that?\n\n_Clown_. Collect the taxes on the hermits' rice.\n\n_King_. Fool! It is a very different tax which these hermits pay--one\nthat outweighs heaps of gems.\n\n  The wealth we take from common men,\n    Wastes while we cherish;\n  These share with us such holiness\n    As ne'er can perish.\n\n_Voices behind the scenes_. Ah, we have found him.\n\n_King_ (_Listening_). The voices are grave and tranquil. These must be\nhermits. (_Enter the door-keeper_.)\n\n_Door-keeper_. Victory, O King. There are two hermit-youths at the\ngate.\n\n_King_. Bid them enter at once.\n\n_Door-keeper_. Yes, your Majesty. (_He goes out, then returns with the\nyouths_.) Follow me.\n\n_First youth_ (_looking at the king_). A majestic presence, yet it\ninspires confidence. Nor is this wonderful in a king who is half a\nsaint. For to him\n\n  The splendid palace serves as hermitage;\n  His royal government, courageous, sage,\n  Adds daily to his merit; it is given\n  To him to win applause from choirs of heaven\n  Whose anthems to his glory rise and swell,\n  Proclaiming him a king, and saint as well.\n\n_Second youth_. My friend, is this Dushyanta, friend of Indra?\n\n_First youth_. It is.\n\n_Second youth_.\n\n  Nor is it wonderful that one whose arm\n  Might bolt a city gate, should keep from harm\n    The whole broad earth dark-belted by the sea;\n  For when the gods in heaven with demons fight,\n  Dushyanta's bow and Indra's weapon bright\n    Are their reliance for the victory.\n\n_The two youths_ (_approaching_). Victory, O King!\n\n_King_ (_rising_). I salute you.\n\n_The two youths_. All hail! (_They offer fruit_.)\n\n_King_ (_receiving it and bowing low_). May I know the reason of your\ncoming?\n\n_The two youths_. The hermits have learned that you are here, and they\nrequest----\n\n_King_. They command rather.\n\n_The two youths_. The powers of evil disturb our pious life in the\nabsence of the hermit-father. We therefore ask that you will remain a\nfew nights with your charioteer to protect the hermitage.\n\n_King_. I shall be most happy to do so.\n\n_Clown_ (_to the king_). You rather seem to like being collared this\nway.\n\n_King_. Raivataka, tell my charioteer to drive up, and to bring the\nbow and arrows.\n\n_Raivataka_. Yes, your Majesty. (_Exit_)\n\n_The two youths_.\n\n  Thou art a worthy scion of\n  The kings who ruled our nation\n  And found, defending those in need,\n  Their truest consecration.\n\n_King_. Pray go before. And I will follow straightway.\n\n_The two youths_. Victory, O King! (_Exeunt_.)\n\n_King_. Madhavya, have you no curiosity to see Shakuntala?\n\n_Clown_. I _did_ have an unending curiosity, but this talk about the\npowers of evil has put an end to it.\n\n_King_. Do not fear. You will be with me.\n\n_Clown_. I'll stick close to your chariot-wheel. (_Enter the\ndoor-keeper_.)\n\n_Door-keeper_. Your Majesty, the chariot is ready, and awaits your\ndeparture to victory. But one Karabhaka has come from the city, a\nmessenger from the queen-mother.\n\n_King_ (_respectfully_). Sent by my mother?\n\n_Door-keeper_. Yes.\n\n_King_. Let him enter.\n\n_Door-keeper_ (_goes out and returns with_ KARABHAKA). Karabhaka, here\nis his Majesty. You may draw near.\n\n_Karabhaka_ (_approaching and bowing low_). Victory to your Majesty.\nThe queen-mother sends her commands----\n\n_King_. What are her commands?\n\n_Karabhaka_. She plans to end a fasting ceremony on the fourth day\nfrom to-day. And on that occasion her dear son must not fail to wait\nupon her.\n\n_King_. On the one side is my duty to the hermits, on the other my\nmother's command. Neither may be disregarded. What is to be done?\n\n_Clown_ (_laughing_). Stay half-way between, like Trishanku.\n\n_King_. In truth, I am perplexed.\n\n  Two inconsistent duties sever\n    My mind with cruel shock,\n  As when the current of a river\n    Is split upon a rock.\n\n(_He reflects_.) My friend, the queen-mother has always felt toward\nyou as toward a son. Do you return, tell her what duty keeps me here,\nand yourself perform the offices of a son.\n\n_Clown_. You don't think I am afraid of the devils?\n\n_King_ (_smiling_). O mighty Brahman, who could suspect it?\n\n_Clown_. But I want to travel like a prince.\n\n_King_. I will send all the soldiers with you, for the pious grove\nmust not be disturbed. _Clown_ (_strutting_). Aha! Look at the\nheir-apparent!\n\n_King_ (_to himself_). The fellow is a chatterbox. He might betray my\nlonging to the ladies of the palace. Good, then! (_He takes the clown\nby the hand. Aloud_.) Friend Madhavya, my reverence for the hermits\ndraws me to the hermitage. Do not think that I am really in love with\nthe hermit-girl. Just think:\n\n  A king, and a girl of the calm hermit-grove,\n  Bred with the fawns, and a stranger to love!\n  Then do not imagine a serious quest;\n  The light words I uttered were spoken in jest.\n\n_Clown_. Oh, I understand that well enough. (_Exeunt ambo_.)\n\n\nACT III\n\n\nTHE LOVE-MAKING\n\n(_Enter a pupil, with sacred grass for the sacrifice_.)\n\n_Pupil_ (_with meditative astonishment_). How great is the power of\nKing Dushyanta! Since his arrival our rites have been undisturbed.\n\n  He does not need to bend the bow;\n  For every evil thing,\n  Awaiting not the arrow, flees\n  From the twanging of the string.\n\nWell, I will take this sacred grass to the priests, to strew the\naltar. (_He walks and looks about, then speaks to some one not\nvisible_.) Priyamvada, for whom are you carrying this cuscus-salve and\nthe fibrous lotus-leaves? (_He listens_.) What do you say? That\nShakuntala has become seriously ill from the heat, and that these\nthings are to relieve her suffering? Give her the best of care,\nPriyamvada. She is the very life of the hermit-father. And I will give\nGautami the holy water for her. (_Exit. Enter the lovelorn king_.)\n\n_King_ (_with a meditative sigh_).\n\n  I know that stern religion's power\n  Keeps guardian watch my maiden o'er;\n  Yet all my heart flows straight to her\n  Like water to the valley-floor.\n\nOh, mighty Love, thine arrows are made of flowers. How can they be so\nsharp? (_He recalls something_.) Ah, I understand.\n\n  Shiva's devouring wrath still burns in thee,\n  As burns the eternal fire beneath the sea;\n  Else how couldst thou, thyself long since consumed,\n  Kindle the fire that flames so ruthlessly?\n\nIndeed, the moon and thou inspire confidence, only to deceive the host\nof lovers.\n\n  Thy shafts are blossoms; coolness streams\n  From moon-rays: thus the poets sing;\n  But to the lovelorn, falsehood seems\n  To lurk in such imagining;\n  The moon darts fire from frosty beams;\n  Thy flowery arrows cut and sting.\n\nAnd yet\n\n  If Love will trouble her\n  Whose great eyes madden me,\n  I greet him unafraid,\n  Though wounded ceaselessly.\n\nO mighty god, wilt thou not show me mercy after such reproaches?\n\n  With tenderness unending\n  I cherished thee when small,\n  In vain--thy bow is bending;\n  On me thine arrows fall.\n  My care for thee to such a plight\n  Has brought me; and it serves me right.\n\nI have driven off the powers of evil, and the hermits have dismissed\nme. Where shall I go now to rest from my weariness? (_He sighs_.)\nThere is no rest for me except in seeing her whom I love. (_He looks\nup_.) She usually spends these hours of midday heat with her friends\non the vine-wreathed banks of the Malini. I will go there. (_He walks\nand looks about_.) I believe the slender maiden has just passed\nthrough this corridor of young trees. For\n\n  The stems from which she gathered flowers\n  Are still unhealed;\n  The sap where twigs were broken off\n  Is uncongealed.\n\n(_He feels a breeze stirring_.) This is a pleasant spot, with the wind\namong the trees.\n\n  Limbs that love's fever seizes,\n  Their fervent welcome pay\n  To lotus-fragrant breezes\n  That bear the river-spray.\n\n(_He studies the ground_.) Ah, Shakuntala must be in this reedy bower.\nFor\n\n  In white sand at the door\n    Fresh footprints appear,\n  The toe lightly outlined,\n    The heel deep and clear.\n\nI will hide among the branches, and see what happens. (_He does so.\nJoyfully_.) Ah, my eyes have found their heaven. Here is the darling\nof my thoughts, lying upon a flower-strewn bench of stone, and\nattended by her two friends. I will hear what they say to each other.\n\n(_He stands gazing. Enter_ SHAKUNTALA _with her two friends_.)\n\n_The two friends_ (_fanning her_). Do you feel better, dear, when we\nfan you with these lotus-leaves?\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_wearily_). Oh, are you fanning me, my dear girls? (_The\ntwo friends look sorrowfully at each other_.)\n\n_King_. She is seriously ill. (_Doubtfully_.) Is it the heat, or is it\nas I hope? (_Decidedly_.) It _must_ be so.\n\n  With salve upon her breast,\n    With loosened lotus-chain,\n  My darling, sore oppressed,\n    Is lovely in her pain.\n\n  Though love and summer heat\n    May work an equal woe,\n  No maiden seems so sweet\n    When summer lays her low.\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_aside to_ ANUSUYA). Anusuya, since she first saw the\ngood king, she has been greatly troubled. I do not believe her fever\nhas any other cause.\n\n_Anusuya_. I suspect you are right. I am going to ask her. My dear, I\nmust ask you something. You are in a high fever.\n\n_King_. It is too true.\n\n  Her lotus-chains that were as white\n  As moonbeams shining in the night,\n  Betray the fever's awful pain,\n  And fading, show a darker stain.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_half rising_.) Well, say whatever you like.\n\n_Anusuya_. Shakuntala dear, you have not told us what is going on in\nyour mind. But I have heard old, romantic stories, and I can't help\nthinking that you are in a state like that of a lady in love. Please\ntell us what hurts you. We have to understand the disease before we\ncan even try to cure it.\n\n_King_. Anusuya expresses my own thoughts.\n\n_Shakuntala_. It hurts me terribly. I can't tell you all at once.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Anusuya is right, dear. Why do you hide your trouble?\nYou are wasting away every day. You are nothing but a beautiful\nshadow.\n\n_King_. Priyamvada is right. See!\n\n  Her cheeks grow thin; her breast and shoulders fail;\n  Her waist is weary and her face is pale:\n  She fades for love; oh, pitifully sweet!\n  As vine-leaves wither in the scorching heat.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_sighing_). I could not tell any one else. But I shall\nbe a burden to you.\n\n_The two friends_. That is why we insist on knowing, dear. Grief must\nbe shared to be endured.\n\n_King_.\n\n  To friends who share her joy and grief\n    She tells what sorrow laid her here;\n  She turned to look her love again\n    When first I saw her--yet I fear!\n\n_Shakuntala_. Ever since I saw the good king who protects the pious\ngrove--(_She stops and fidgets_.)\n\n_The two friends_. Go on, dear.\n\n_Shakuntala_. I love him, and it makes me feel like this.\n\n_The two friends_. Good, good! You have found a lover worthy of your\ndevotion. But of course, a great river always runs into the sea.\n\n_King_ (_joyfully_). I have heard what I longed to hear.\n\n  'Twas love that caused the burning pain;\n  'Tis love that eases it again;\n  As when, upon a sultry day,\n  Rain breaks, and washes grief away.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Then, if you think best, make the good king take pity\nupon me. If not, remember that I was. _King_. Her words end all\ndoubt.\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_aside to_ ANUSUYA). Anusuya, she is far gone in love\nand cannot endure any delay.\n\n_Anusuya_. Priyamvada, can you think of any scheme by which we could\ncarry out her wishes quickly and secretly?\n\n_Priyamvada_. We must plan about the \"secretly.\" The \"quickly\" is not\nhard.\n\n_Anusuya_. How so?\n\n_Priyamvada_. Why, the good king shows his love for her in his tender\nglances, and he has been wasting away, as if he were losing sleep.\n\n_King_. It is quite true.\n\n  The hot tears, flowing down my cheek\n    All night on my supporting arm\n  And on its golden bracelet, seek\n    To stain the gems and do them harm.\n\n  The bracelet slipping o'er the scars\n    Upon the wasted arm, that show\n  My deeds in hunting and in wars,\n    All night is moving to and fro.\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_reflecting_). Well, she must write him a love-letter.\nAnd I will hide it in a bunch of flowers and see that it gets into the\nking's hand as if it were a relic of the sacrifice.\n\n_Anusuya_. It is a pretty plan, dear, and it pleases me. What does\nShakuntala say?\n\n_Shakuntala_. I suppose I must obey orders.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Then compose a pretty little love-song, with a hint of\nyourself in it.\n\n_Shakuntala_. I'll try. But my heart trembles, for fear he will\ndespise me.\n\n_King_.\n\n  Here stands the eager lover, and you pale\n    For fear lest he disdain a love so kind:\n  The seeker may find fortune, or may fail;\n    But how could fortune, seeking, fail to find?\n\nAnd again:\n\n  The ardent lover comes, and yet you fear\n    Lest he disdain love's tribute, were it brought,\n  The hope of which has led his footsteps here--\n    Pearls need not seek, for they themselves are sought.\n\n_The two friends_. You are too modest about your own charms. Would\nanybody put up a parasol to keep off the soothing autumn moonlight?\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_smiling_). I suppose I shall have to obey orders. (_She\nmeditates_.)\n\n_King_. It is only natural that I should forget to wink when I see my\ndarling. For\n\n  One clinging eyebrow lifted,\n    As fitting words she seeks,\n  Her face reveals her passion\n    For me in glowing cheeks.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Well, I have thought out a little song. But I haven't\nanything to write with.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Here is a lotus-leaf, glossy as a parrot's breast. You\ncan cut the letters in it with your nails.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Now listen, and tell me whether it makes sense.\n\n_The two friends_. Please.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_reads_).\n\n  I know not if I read your heart aright;\n    Why, pitiless, do you distress me so?\n  I only know that longing day and night\n    Tosses my restless body to and fro,\n    That yearns for you, the source of all its woe.\n\n_King_ (_advancing_).\n\n  Though Love torments you, slender maid,\n    Yet he consumes me quite,\n  As daylight shuts night-blooming flowers\n    And slays the moon outright.\n\n_The two friends_ (_perceive the king and rise joyfully_). Welcome to\nthe wish that is fulfilled without delay. (SHAKUNTALA _tries to\nrise_.)\n\n_King_.\n\n  Do not try to rise, beautiful Shakuntala.\n  Your limbs from which the strength is fled,\n  That crush the blossoms of your bed\n  And bruise the lotus-leaves, may be\n  Pardoned a breach of courtesy.\n\n _Shakuntala_ (_sadly to herself_). Oh, my heart, you were so\nimpatient, and now you find no answer to make.\n\n_Anusuya_. Your Majesty, pray do this stone bench the honour of\nsitting upon it. (SHAKUNTALA _edges away_.)\n\n_King_ (_seating himself_). Priyamvada, I trust your friend's illness\nis not dangerous.\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_smiling_). A remedy is being applied and it will soon\nbe better. It is plain, sir, that you and she love each other. But I\nlove her too, and I must say something over again.\n\n_King_. Pray do not hesitate. It always causes pain in the end, to\nleave unsaid what one longs to say.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Then listen, sir.\n\n_King_. I am all attention.\n\n_Priyamvada_. It is the king's duty to save hermit-folk from all\nsuffering. Is not that good Scripture?\n\n_King_. There is no text more urgent.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Well, our friend has been brought to this sad state by\nher love for you. Will you not take pity on her and save her life?\n\n_King_. We cherish the same desire. I feel it a great honour.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_with a jealous smile_). Oh, don't detain the good king.\nHe is separated from the court ladies, and he is anxious to go back to\nthem.\n\n_King_.\n\n  Bewitching eyes that found my heart,\n      You surely see\n  It could no longer live apart,\n      Nor faithless be.\n  I bear Love's arrows as I can;\n  Wound not with doubt a wounded man.\n\n_Anusuya_. But, your Majesty, we hear that kings have many favourites.\nYou must act in such a way that our friend may not become a cause of\ngrief to her family.\n\n_King_. What more can I say?\n\n  Though many queens divide my court,\n    But two support the throne;\n  Your friend will find a rival in\n    The sea-girt earth alone.\n\n_The two friends_. We are content. (SHAKUNTALA _betrays her joy_.)\n_Priyamvada_ (_aside to_ ANUSUYA). Look, Anusuya! See how the dear\ngirl's life is coming back moment by moment--just like a peahen in\nsummer when the first rainy breezes come.\n\n_Shakuntala_. You must please ask the king's pardon for the rude\nthings we said when we were talking together.\n\n_The two friends_ (_smiling_). Anybody who says it was rude, may ask\nhis pardon. Nobody else feels guilty.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Your Majesty, pray forgive what we said when we did not\nknow that you were present. I am afraid that we say a great many\nthings behind a person's back.\n\n_King_ (_smiling_).\n\n  Your fault is pardoned if I may\n    Relieve my weariness\n  By sitting on the flower-strewn couch\n    Your fevered members press.\n\n_Priyamvada_. But that will not be enough to satisfy him.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_feigning anger_). Stop! You are a rude girl. You make\nfun of me when I am in this condition.\n\n_Anusuya_ (_looking out of the arbour_). Priyamvada, there is a little\nfawn, looking all about him. He has probably lost his mother and is\ntrying to find her. I am going to help him.\n\n_Priyamvada_. He is a frisky little fellow. You can't catch him alone.\nI'll go with you. (_They start to go_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. I will not let you go and leave me alone.\n\n_The two friends_ (_smiling_). You alone, when the king of the world\nis with you! (_Exeunt_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. Are my friends gone?\n\n_King_ (_looking about_). Do not be anxious, beautiful Shakuntala.\nHave you not a humble servant here, to take the place of your friends?\nThen tell me:\n\n  Shall I employ the moistened lotus-leaf\n  To fan away your weariness and grief?\n  Or take your lily feet upon my knee\n  And rub them till you rest more easily?\n\n_Shakuntala_. I will not offend against those to whom I owe honour.\n(_She rises weakly and starts to walk away_.) _King_ (_detaining\nher_). The day is still hot, beautiful Shakuntala, and you are\nfeverish.\n\n  Leave not the blossom-dotted couch\n    To wander in the midday heat,\n  With lotus-petals on your breast,\n    With fevered limbs and stumbling feet.\n\n(_He lays his hand upon her_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. Oh, don't! Don't! For I am not mistress of myself. Yet\nwhat can I do now? I had no one to help me but my friends.\n\n_King_. I am rebuked.\n\n_Shakuntala_. I was not thinking of your Majesty. I was accusing fate.\n\n_King_. Why accuse a fate that brings what you desire?\n\n_Shakuntala_. Why not accuse a fate that robs me of self-control and\ntempts me with the virtues of another?\n\n_King_ (_to himself_).\n\n  Though deeply longing, maids are coy\n    And bid their wooers wait;\n  Though eager for united joy\n    In love, they hesitate.\n\n  Love cannot torture them, nor move\n    Their hearts to sudden mating;\n  Perhaps they even torture love\n    By their procrastinating.\n\n(SHAKUNTALA _moves away_.)\n\n_King_. Why should I not have my way? (_He approaches and seizes her\ndress_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. Oh, sir! Be a gentleman. There are hermits wandering\nabout.\n\n_King_. Do not fear your family, beautiful Shakuntala. Father Kanva\nknows the holy law. He will not regret it.\n\n  For many a hermit maiden who\n    By simple, voluntary rite\n  Dispensed with priest and witness, yet\n    Found favour in her father's sight.\n\n(_He looks about_.) Ah, I have come into the open air. (_He leaves_\nSHAKUNTALA _and retraces his steps_.) _Shakuntala_ (_takes a step,\nthen turns with an eager gesture_).\n\nO King, I cannot do as you would have me. You hardly know me after\nthis short talk. But oh, do not forget me.\n\n_King_.\n\n  When evening comes, the shadow of the tree\n    Is cast far forward, yet does not depart;\n  Even so, belov\u00e8d, wheresoe'er you be,\n    The thought of you can never leave my heart.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_takes a few steps. To herself_). Oh, oh! When I hear\nhim speak so, my feet will not move away. I will hide in this amaranth\nhedge and see how long his love lasts. (_She hides and waits_.)\n\n_King_. Oh, my belov\u00e8d, my love for you is my whole life, yet you\nleave me and go away without a thought.\n\n  Your body, soft as siris-flowers,\n  Engages passion's utmost powers;\n  How comes it that your heart is hard\n  As stalks that siris-blossoms guard?\n\n_Shakuntala_. When I hear this, I have no power to go.\n\n_King_. What have I to do here, where she is not? (_He gazes on the\nground_.) Ah, I cannot go.\n\n  The perfumed lotus-chain\n    That once was worn by her\n  Fetters and keeps my heart\n    A hopeless prisoner. (_He lifts it reverently_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_looking at her arm_). Why, I was so weak and ill that\nwhen the lotus-bracelet fell off, I did not even notice it.\n\n_King_ (_laying the lotus-bracelet on his heart_). Ah!\n\n  Once, dear, on your sweet arm it lay,\n  And on my heart shall ever stay;\n  Though you disdain to give me joy,\n  I find it in a lifeless toy.\n\n_Shakuntala_. I cannot hold back after that. I will use the bracelet\nas an excuse for my coming. (_She approaches_.)\n\n_King_ (_seeing her. Joyfully_). The queen of my life! As soon as I\ncomplained, fate proved kind to me.\n\n  No sooner did the thirsty bird\n    With parching throat complain,\n  Than forming clouds in heaven stirred\n    And sent the streaming rain.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_standing before the king_). When I was going away, sir,\nI remembered that this lotus-bracelet had fallen from my arm, and I\nhave come back for it. My heart seemed to tell me that you had taken\nit. Please give it back, or you will betray me, and yourself too, to\nthe hermits.\n\n_King_. I will restore it on one condition.\n\n_Shakuntala_. What condition?\n\n_King_. That I may myself place it where it belongs.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). What can I do? (_She approaches_.)\n\n_King_. Let us sit on this stone bench. (_They walk to the bench and\nsit down_.)\n\n_King_ (_taking_ SHAKUNTALA'S _hand_). Ah!\n\n  When Shiva's anger burned the tree\n    Of love in quenchless fire,\n  Did heavenly fate preserve a shoot\n    To deck my heart's desire?\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_feeling his touch_). Hasten, my dear, hasten.\n\n_King_ (_joyfully to himself_). Now I am content. She speaks as a wife\nto her husband. (_Aloud_.) Beautiful Shakuntala, the clasp of the\nbracelet is not very firm. May I fasten it in another way?\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_smiling_). If you like.\n\n_King_ (_artfully delaying before he fastens it_). See, my beautiful\ngirl!\n\n  The lotus-chain is dazzling white\n  As is the slender moon at night.\n  Perhaps it was the moon on high\n  That joined her horns and left the sky,\n  Believing that your lovely arm\n  Would, more than heaven, enhance her charm.\n\n_Shakuntala_. I cannot see it. The pollen from the lotus over my ear\nhas blown into my eye.\n\n_King_ (_smiling_). Will you permit me to blow it away?\n\n_Shakuntala_. I should not like to be an object of pity. But why\nshould I not trust you? _King_. Do not have such thoughts. A new\nservant does not transgress orders.\n\n_Shakuntala_. It is this exaggerated courtesy that frightens me.\n\n_King_ (_to himself_). I shall not break the bonds of this sweet\nservitude. (_He starts to raise her face to his_. SHAKUNTALA _resists\na little, then is passive_.)\n\n_King_. Oh, my bewitching girl, have no fear of me.\n\n(SHAKUNTALA _darts a glance at him, then looks down. The king raises\nher face. Aside_.)\n\n  Her sweetly trembling lip\n    With virgin invitation\n  Provokes my soul to sip\n    Delighted fascination.\n\n_Shakuntala_. You seem slow, dear, in fulfilling your promise.\n\n_King_. The lotus over your ear is so near your eye, and so like it,\nthat I was confused. (_He gently blows her eye_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. Thank you. I can see quite well now. But I am ashamed\nnot to make any return for your kindness.\n\n_King_. What more could I ask?\n\n  It ought to be enough for me\n    To hover round your fragrant face;\n  Is not the lotus-haunting bee\n    Content with perfume and with grace?\n\n_Shakuntala_. But what does he do if he is not content?\n\n_King_. This! This! (_He draws her face to his_.)\n\n_A voice behind the scenes_. O sheldrake bride, bid your mate\nfarewell. The night is come.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_listening excitedly_). Oh, my dear, this is Mother\nGautami, come to inquire about me. Please hide among the branches.\n\n(_The king conceals himself. Enter _GAUTAMI, _with a bowl in her\nhand_.)\n\n_Gautami_. Here is the holy water, my child. (_She sees_ SHAKUNTALA\n_and helps her to rise_.) So ill, and all alone here with the gods?\n\n_Shakuntala_. It was just a moment ago that Priyamvada and Anusuya\nwent down to the river.\n\n_Gautami_ (_sprinkling_ SHAKUNTALA _with the holy water_). May you\nlive long and happy, my child. Has the fever gone down? (_She touches\nher_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. There is a difference, mother.\n\n_Gautami_. The sun is setting. Come, let us go to the cottage.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_weakly rising. To herself_). Oh, my heart, you delayed\nwhen your desire came of itself. Now see what you have done. (_She\ntakes a step, then turns around. Aloud_.) O bower that took away my\npain, I bid you farewell until another blissful hour. (_Exeunt_\nSHAKUNTALA _and_ GAUTAMI.)\n\n_King_ (_advancing with a sigh_.) The path to happiness is strewn with\nobstacles.\n\n  Her face, adorned with soft eye-lashes,\n  Adorable with trembling flashes\n  Of half-denial, in memory lingers;\n  The sweet lips guarded by her fingers,\n  The head that drooped upon her shoulder--\n  Why was I not a little bolder?\n\nWhere shall I go now? Let me stay a moment in this bower where my\nbelov\u00e8d lay. (_He looks about_.)\n\n  The flower-strewn bed whereon her body tossed;\n  The bracelet, fallen from her arm and lost;\n  The dear love-missive, in the lotus-leaf\n  Cut by her nails: assuage my absent grief\n  And occupy my eyes--I have no power,\n  Though she is gone, to leave the reedy bower.\n\n(_He reflects_.) Alas! I did wrong to delay when I had found my love.\nSo now\n\n  If she will grant me but one other meeting,\n  I'll not delay; for happiness is fleeting;\n  So plans my foolish, self-defeated heart;\n  But when she comes, I play the coward's part.\n\n_A voice behind the scenes_. O King!\n\n  The flames rise heavenward from the evening altar;\n    And round the sacrifices, blazing high,\n  Flesh-eating demons stalk, like red cloud-masses,\n    And cast colossal shadows on the sky.\n\n_King_ (_listens. Resolutely_). Have no fear, hermits. I am here.\n\n(_Exit_.)\n\n\nACT IV\n\n\nSHAKUNTALA'S DEPARTURE\n\nSCENE I\n\n(_Enter the two friends, gathering flowers_.)\n\n_Anusuya_. Priyamvada, dear Shakuntala has been properly married by\nthe voluntary ceremony and she has a husband worthy of her. And yet I\nam not quite satisfied.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Why not?\n\n_Anusuya_. The sacrifice is over and the good king was dismissed\nto-day by the hermits. He has gone back to the city and there he is\nsurrounded by hundreds of court ladies. I wonder whether he will\nremember poor Shakuntala or not.\n\n_Priyamvada_. You need not be anxious about that. Such handsome men\nare sure to be good. But there is something else to think about. I\ndon't know what Father will have to say when he comes back from his\npilgrimage and hears about it.\n\n_Anusuya_. I believe that he will be pleased.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Why?\n\n_Anusuya_. Why not? You know he wanted to give his daughter to a lover\nworthy of her. If fate brings this about of itself, why shouldn't\nFather be happy?\n\n_Priyamvada_. I suppose you are right. (_She looks at her\nflower-basket_.) My dear, we have gathered flowers enough for the\nsacrifice.\n\n_Anusuya_. But we must make an offering to the gods that watch over\nShakuntala's marriage. We had better gather more.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Very well. (_They do so_.)\n\n_A voice behind the scenes_. Who will bid me welcome?\n\n_Anusuya_ (_listening_). My dear, it sounds like a guest announcing\nhimself.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Well, Shakuntala is near the cottage. (_Reflecting_.)\nAh, but to-day her heart is far away. Come, we must do with the\nflowers we have. (_They start to walk away_.)\n\n_The voice_.\n\n    Do you dare despise a guest like me?\n  Because your heart, by loving fancies blinded,\n    Has scorned a guest in pious life grown old,\n  Your lover shall forget you though reminded,\n    Or think of you as of a story told.\n\n(_The two girls listen and show dejection_.)\n\n_Priyamvada_. Oh, dear! The very thing has happened. The dear,\nabsent-minded girl has offended some worthy man.\n\n_Anusuya_ (_looking ahead_). My dear, this is no ordinary somebody. It\nis the great sage Durvasas, the irascible. See how he strides away!\n\n_Priyamvada_. Nothing burns like fire. Run, fall at his feet, bring\nhim back, while I am getting water to wash his feet.\n\n_Anusuya_. I will. (_Exit_.)\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_stumbling_). There! I stumbled in my excitement, and\nthe flower-basket fell out of my hand. (_She collects the scattered\nflowers_. ANUSUYA _returns_.)\n\n_Anusuya_. My dear, he is anger incarnate. Who could appease him? But\nI softened him a little.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Even that is a good deal for him. Tell me about it.\n\n_Anusuya_. When he would not turn back, I fell at his feet and prayed\nto him. \"Holy sir,\" I said, \"remember her former devotion and pardon\nthis offence. Your daughter did not recognise your great and holy\npower to-day.\"\n\n_Priyamvada_. And then----\n\n_Anusuya_. Then he said: \"My words must be fulfilled. But the curse\nshall be lifted when her lover sees a gem which he has given her for a\ntoken.\" And so he vanished.\n\n_Priyamvada_. We can breathe again. When the good king went away, he\nput a ring, engraved with his own name, on Shakuntala's finger to\nremember him by. That will save her.\n\n_Anusuya_. Come, we must finish the sacrifice for her. (_They walk\nabout_.)\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_gazing_). Just look, Anusuya! There is the dear girl,\nwith her cheek resting on her left hand. She looks like a painted\npicture. She is thinking about him. How could she notice a guest when\nshe has forgotten herself?\n\n_Anusuya_. Priyamvada, we two must keep this thing to ourselves. We\nmust be careful of the dear girl. You know how delicate she is.\n\n_Priyamvada_. Would any one sprinkle a jasmine-vine with scalding\nwater? (_Exeunt ambo_.)\n\n\nSCENE II.--_Early Morning_\n\n(_Enter a pupil of_ KANVA, _just risen from sleep_.)\n\n_Pupil_. Father Kanva has returned from his pilgrimage, and has bidden\nme find out what time it is. I will go into the open air and see how\nmuch of the night remains. (_He walks and looks about_.) See! The dawn\nis breaking. For already\n\n  The moon behind the western mount is sinking;\n  The eastern sun is heralded by dawn;\n  From heaven's twin lights, their fall and glory linking,\n  Brave lessons of submission may be drawn.\n\nAnd again:\n\n  Night-blooming lilies, when the moon is hidden,\n  Have naught but memories of beauty left.\n  Hard, hard to bear! Her lot whom heaven has bidden\n  To live alone, of love and lover reft.\n\nAnd again:\n\n  On jujube-trees the blushing dewdrops falter;\n  The peacock wakes and leaves the cottage thatch;\n  A deer is rising near the hoof-marked altar,\n  And stretching, stands, the day's new life to catch.\n\nAnd yet again:\n\n  The moon that topped the loftiest mountain ranges,\n  That slew the darkness in the midmost sky,\n  Is fallen from heaven, and all her glory changes:\n  So high to rise, so low at last to lie!\n\n_Anusuya_ (_entering hurriedly. To herself_). That is just what\nhappens to the innocent. Shakuntala has been treated shamefully by the\nking. _Pupil_. I will tell Father Kanva that the hour of morning\nsacrifice is come. (_Exit_.)\n\n_Anusuya_. The dawn is breaking. I am awake bright and early. But what\nshall I do now that I am awake? My hands refuse to attend to the\nordinary morning tasks. Well, let love take its course. For the dear,\npure-minded girl trusted him--the traitor! Perhaps it is not the good\nking's fault. It must be the curse of Durvasas. Otherwise, how could\nthe good king say such beautiful things, and then let all this time\npass without even sending a message? (_She reflects_.) Yes, we must\nsend him the ring he left as a token. But whom shall we ask to take\nit? The hermits are unsympathetic because they have never suffered. It\nseemed as if her friends were to blame and so, try as we might, we\ncould not tell Father Kanva that Shakuntala was married to Dushyanta\nand was expecting a baby. Oh, what shall we do? (_Enter_ PRIYAMVADA.)\n\n_Priyamvada_. Hurry, Anusuya, hurry! We are getting Shakuntala ready\nfor her journey.\n\n_Anusuya_ (_astonished_). What do you mean, my dear?\n\n_Priyamuada_. Listen. I just went to Shakuntala, to ask if she had\nslept well.\n\n_Anusuya_. And then----\n\n_Priyamvada_. I found her hiding her face for shame, and Father Kanva\nwas embracing her and encouraging her. \"My child,\" he said, \"I bring\nyou joy. The offering fell straight in the sacred fire, and auspicious\nsmoke rose toward the sacrificer. My pains for you have proved like\ninstruction given to a good student; they have brought me no regret.\nThis very day I shall give you an escort of hermits and send you to\nyour husband.\"\n\n_Anusuya_. But, my dear, who told Father Kanva about it?\n\n_Priyamvada_. A voice from heaven that recited a verse when he had\nentered the fire-sanctuary.\n\n_Anusuya_ (_astonished_). What did it say?\n\n_Priyamvada_. Listen. (_Speaking in good Sanskrit_.)\n\n  Know, Brahman, that your child,\n  Like the fire-pregnant tree,\n  Bears kingly seed that shall be born\n  For earth's prosperity.\n\n _Anusuya_ (_hugging_ PRIYAMVADA). I am so glad, dear. But my joy is\nhalf sorrow when I think that Shakuntala is going to be taken away\nthis very day.\n\n_Priyamvada_. We must hide our sorrow as best we can. The poor girl\nmust be made happy to-day.\n\n_Anusuya_. Well, here is a cocoa-nut casket, hanging on a branch of\nthe mango-tree. I put flower-pollen in it for this very purpose. It\nkeeps fresh, you know. Now you wrap it in a lotus-leaf, and I will get\nyellow pigment and earth from a sacred spot and blades of panic grass\nfor the happy ceremony. (PRIYAMVADA _does so. Exit_ ANUSUYA.)\n\n_A voice behind the scenes_. Gautami, bid the worthy Sharngarava and\nSharadvata make ready to escort my daughter Shakuntala.\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_listening_). Hurry, Anusuya, hurry! They are calling\nthe hermits who are going to Hastinapura. (_Enter_ ANUSUYA, _with\nmaterials for the ceremony_.)\n\n_Anusuya_. Come, dear, let us go. (_They walk about_.)\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_looking ahead_). There is Shakuntala. She took the\nceremonial bath at sunrise, and now the hermit-women are giving her\nrice-cakes and wishing her happiness. Let's go to her. (_They do so.\nEnter_ SHAKUNTALA _with attendants as described, and_ GAUTAMI.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. Holy women, I salute you.\n\n_Gautami_. My child, may you receive the happy title \"queen,\" showing\nthat your husband honours you.\n\n_Hermit-women_. My dear, may you become the mother of a hero. (_Exeunt\nall but_ GAUTAMI.)\n\n_The two friends_ (_approaching_). Did you have a good bath, dear?\n\n_Shakuntala_. Good morning, girls. Sit here.\n\n_The two friends_ (_seating themselves_). Now stand straight, while we\ngo through the happy ceremony.\n\n_Shakuntala_. It has happened often enough, but I ought to be very\ngrateful to-day. Shall I ever be adorned by my friends again? (_She\nweeps_.)\n\n_The two friends_. You ought not to weep, dear, at this happy time.\n\n(_They wipe the tears away and adorn her_.)\n\n_Priyamvada_. You are so beautiful, you ought to have the finest gems.\nIt seems like an insult to give you these hermitage things. (_Enter_\nHARITA, _a hermit-youth with ornaments_.) _Harita_. Here are\nornaments for our lady. (_The women look at them in astonishment_.)\n\n_Gautami_. Harita, my son, whence come these things?\n\n_Harita_. From the holy power of Father Kanva.\n\n_Gautami_. A creation of his mind?\n\n_Harita_. Not quite. Listen. Father Kanva sent us to gather blossoms\nfrom the trees for Shakuntala, and then\n\n  One tree bore fruit, a silken marriage dress\n  That shamed the moon in its white loveliness;\n  Another gave us lac-dye for the feet;\n  From others, fairy hands extended, sweet\n  Like flowering twigs, as far as to the wrist,\n  And gave us gems, to adorn her as we list.\n\n_Priyamvada_ (_Looking at_ SHAKUNTALA). A bee may be born in a hole in\na tree, but she likes the honey of the lotus.\n\n_Gautami_. This gracious favour is a token of the queenly happiness\nwhich you are to enjoy in your husband's palace. (SHAKUNTALA _shows\nembarrassment_.)\n\n_Harita_. Father Kanva has gone to the bank of the Malini, to perform\nhis ablutions. I will tell him of the favour shown us by the trees.\n\n(_Exit_.)\n\n_Anusuya_. My dear, we poor girls never saw such ornaments. How shall\nwe adorn you? (_She stops to think, and to look at the ornaments_.)\nBut we have seen pictures. Perhaps we can arrange them right.\n\n_Shakuntala_. I know how clever you are. (_The two friends adorn her.\nEnter_ KANVA, _returning after his ablutions_.)\n\n_Kanva_.\n\n  Shakuntala must go to-day;\n    I miss her now at heart;\n  I dare not speak a loving word\n  Or choking tears will start.\n\n  My eyes are dim with anxious thought;\n  Love strikes me to the life:\n  And yet I strove for pious peace--\n  I have no child, no wife.\n\n  What must a father feel, when come\n  The pangs of parting from his child at home?\n\n(_He walks about_.) _The two friends_. There, Shakuntala, we have\narranged your ornaments. Now put on this beautiful silk dress.\n\n(SHAKUNTALA _rises and does so_.)\n\n_Gautami_. My child, here is your father. The eyes with which he seems\nto embrace you are overflowing with tears of joy. You must greet him\nproperly. (SHAKUNTALA _makes a shamefaced reverence_.)\n\n_Kanva_. My child,\n\n  Like Sharmishtha, Yayati's wife,\n    Win favour measured by your worth;\n  And may you bear a kingly son\n    Like Puru, who shall rule the earth.\n\n_Gautami_. My child, this is not a prayer, but a benediction.\n\n_Kanva_. My daughter, walk from left to right about the fires in which\nthe offering has just been thrown. (_All walk about_.)\n\n  The holy fires around the altar kindle,\n    And at their margins sacred grass is piled;\n  Beneath their sacrificial odours dwindle\n    Misfortunes. May the fires protect you, child!\n\n(SHAKUNTALA _walks about them from left to right_.)\n\n_Kanva_. Now you may start, my daughter. (_He glances about_.) Where\nare Sharngarava and Sharadvata? (_Enter the two pupils_.)\n\n_The two pupils_. We are here, Father.\n\n_Kanva_. Sharngarava, my son, lead the way for your sister.\n\n_Sharngarava_. Follow me. (_They all walk about_.)\n\n_Kanva_. O trees of the pious grove, in which the fairies dwell,\n\n  She would not drink till she had wet\n    Your roots, a sister's duty,\n  Nor pluck your flowers; she loves you yet\n    Far more than selfish beauty.\n\n  'Twas festival in her pure life\n    When budding blossoms showed;\n  And now she leaves you as a wife--\n    Oh, speed her on her road!\n\n _Sharngarava_ (_listening to the song of ko\u00efl-birds_). Father,\n\n  The trees are answering your prayer\n  In cooing cuckoo-song,\n  Bidding Shakuntala farewell,\n  Their sister for so long.\n\n_Invisible beings_,\n\n  May lily-dotted lakes delight your eye;\n  May shade-trees bid the heat of noonday cease;\n  May soft winds blow the lotus-pollen nigh;\n  May all your path be pleasantness and peace.\n\n(_All listen in astonishment_.)\n\n_Gautami_. My child, the fairies of the pious grove bid you farewell.\nFor they love the household. Pay reverence to the holy ones.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_does so. Aside to_ PRIYAMVADA). Priyamvada, I long to\nsee my husband, and yet my feet will hardly move. It is hard, hard to\nleave the hermitage.\n\n_Priyamvada_. You are not the only one to feel sad at this farewell.\nSee how the whole grove feels at parting from you.\n\n  The grass drops from the feeding doe;\n  The peahen stops her dance;\n  Pale, trembling leaves are falling slow,\n  The tears of clinging plants.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_recalling something_). Father, I must say good-bye to\nthe spring-creeper, my sister among the vines.\n\n_Kanva_. I know your love for her. See! Here she is at your right\nhand.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_approaches the vine and embraces it_). Vine sister,\nembrace me too with your arms, these branches. I shall be far away\nfrom you after to-day. Father, you must care for her as you did for\nme.\n\n_Kanva_.\n\n  My child, you found the lover who\n  Had long been sought by me;\n  No longer need I watch for you;\n  I'll give the vine a lover true,\n  This handsome mango-tree.\n\nAnd now start on your journey. _Shakuntala_ (_going to the two\nfriends_). Dear girls, I leave her in your care too.\n\n_The two friends_. But who will care for poor us? (_They shed tears_.)\n\n_Kanva_. Anusuya! Priyamvada! Do not weep. It is you who should cheer\nShakuntala. (_All walk about_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. Father, there is the pregnant doe, wandering about near\nthe cottage. When she becomes a happy mother, you must send some one\nto bring me the good news. Do not forget.\n\n_Kanva_. I shall not forget, my child.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_stumbling_) Oh, oh! Who is it that keeps pulling at my\ndress, as if to hinder me? (_She turns round to see_.)\n\n_Kanva_.\n\n  It is the fawn whose lip, when torn\n  By kusha-grass, you soothed with oil;\n  The fawn who gladly nibbled corn\n  Held in your hand; with loving toil\n  You have adopted him, and he\n  Would never leave you willingly.\n\n_Shakuntala_. My dear, why should you follow me when I am going away\nfrom home? Your mother died when you were born and I brought you up.\nNow I am leaving you, and Father Kanva will take care of you. Go back,\ndear! Go back! (_She walks away, weeping_.)\n\n_Kanva_. Do not weep, my child. Be brave. Look at the path before you.\n\n  Be brave, and check the rising tears\n  That dim your lovely eyes;\n  Your feet are stumbling on the path\n  That so uneven lies.\n\n_Sharngarava_. Holy Father, the Scripture declares that one should\naccompany a departing loved one only to the first water. Pray give us\nyour commands on the bank of this pond, and then return.\n\n_Kanva_. Then let us rest in the shade of this fig-tree. (_All do\nso_.) What commands would it be fitting for me to lay on King\nDushyanta? (_He reflects_.)\n\n_Anusuya_. My dear, there is not a living thing in the whole\nhermitage that is not grieving to-day at saying good-bye to you. Look!\n\n  The sheldrake does not heed his mate\n    Who calls behind the lotus-leaf;\n  He drops the lily from his bill\n    And turns on you a glance of grief.\n\n_Kanva_. Son Sharngarava, when you present Shakuntala to the king,\ngive him this message from me.\n\n  Remembering my religious worth,\n  Your own high race, the love poured forth\n  By her, forgetful of her friends,\n  Pay her what honour custom lends\n  To all your wives. And what fate gives\n  Beyond, will please her relatives.\n\n_Sharngarava_. I will not forget your message, Father.\n\n_Kanva_ (_turning to_ SHAKUNTALA). My child, I must now give you my\ncounsel. Though I live in the forest, I have some knowledge of the\nworld.\n\n_Sharngarava_. True wisdom, Father, gives insight into everything.\n\n_Kanva_. My child, when you have entered your husband's home,\n\n  Obey your elders; and be very kind\n  To rivals; never be perversely blind\n  And angry with your husband, even though he\n  Should prove less faithful than a man might be;\n  Be as courteous to servants as you may,\n  Not puffed with pride in this your happy day:\n  Thus does a maiden grow into a wife;\n  But self-willed women are the curse of life.\n\nBut what does Gautami say?\n\n_Gautami_. This is advice sufficient for a bride. (_To_ SHAKUNTALA.)\nYou will not forget, my child.\n\n_Kanva_. Come, my daughter, embrace me and your friends.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Oh, Father! Must my friends turn back too?\n\n_Kanva_. My daughter, they too must some day be given in marriage.\nTherefore they may not go to court. Gautami will go with you.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_throwing her arms about her father_). I am torn from\nmy father's breast like a vine stripped from a sandal-tree on the\nMalabar hills. How can I live in another soil? (_She weeps_.)\n\n_Kanva_. My daughter, why distress yourself so?\n\n  A noble husband's honourable wife,\n  You are to spend a busy, useful life\n  In the world's eye; and soon, as eastern skies\n  Bring forth the sun, from you there shall arise\n  A child, a blessing and a comfort strong--\n  You will not miss me, dearest daughter, long.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_falling at his feet_). Farewell, Father.\n\n_Kanva_. My daughter, may all that come to you which I desire for you.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_going to her two friends_). Come, girls! Embrace me,\nboth of you together.\n\n_The two friends_ (_do so_). Dear, if the good king should perhaps be\nslow to recognise you, show him the ring with his own name engraved on\nit.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Your doubts make my heart beat faster.\n\n_The two friends_. Do not be afraid, dear. Love is timid.\n\n_Sharngarava_ (_looking about_). Father, the sun is in mid-heaven. She\nmust hasten.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_embracing_ KANVA _once more_). Father, when shall I see\nthe pious grove again?\n\n_Kanva_. My daughter,\n\n  When you have shared for many years\n    The king's thoughts with the earth,\n  When to a son who knows no fears\n    You shall have given birth,\n\n  When, trusted to the son you love,\n    Your royal labours cease,\n  Come with your husband to the grove\n    And end your days in peace.\n\n_Gautami_. My child, the hour of your departure is slipping by. Bid\nyour father turn back. No, she would never do that. Pray turn back,\nsir.\n\n_Kanva_. Child, you interrupt my duties in the pious grove.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Yes, Father. You will be busy in the grove. You will not\nmiss me. But oh! I miss you. _Kanva_. How can you think me so\nindifferent? (_He sighs_.)\n\n  My lonely sorrow will not go,\n  For seeds you scattered here\n  Before the cottage door, will grow;\n  And I shall see them, dear.\n\nGo. And peace go with you. (_Exit_ SHAKUNTALA, _with_ GAUTAMI,\nSHARNGARAVA, _and_ SHARADVATA.)\n\n_The two friends_ (_gazing long after her. Mournfully_). Oh, oh!\nShakuntala is lost among the trees.\n\n_Kanva_. Anusuya! Priyamvada! Your companion is gone. Choke down your\ngrief and follow me. (_They start to go back_.)\n\n_The two friends_. Father, the grove seems empty without Shakuntala.\n\n_Kanva_. So love interprets. (_He walks about, sunk in thought_.) Ah!\nI have sent Shakuntala away, and now I am myself again. For\n\n  A girl is held in trust, another's treasure;\n  To arms of love my child to-day is given;\n  And now I feel a calm and sacred pleasure;\n  I have restored the pledge that came from heaven.\n\n(_Exeunt omnes_.)\n\n\nACT V\n\n\nSHAKUNTALA'S REJECTION\n\n(_Enter a chamberlain_.)\n\n_Chamberlain_ (_sighing_). Alas! To what a state am I reduced!\n\n  I once assumed the staff of reed\n  For custom's sake alone,\n  As officer to guard at need\n  The ladies round the throne.\n  But years have passed away and made\n  It serve, my tottering steps to aid.\n\nThe king is within. I will tell him of the urgent business which\ndemands his attention. (_He takes a few steps_.) But what is the\nbusiness? (_He recalls it_.) Yes, I remember. Certain hermits, pupils\nof Kanva, desire to see his Majesty. Strange, strange!\n\n  The mind of age is like a lamp\n  Whose oil is running thin;\n  One moment it is shining bright,\n  Then darkness closes in.\n\n(_He walks and looks about_.) Here is his Majesty.\n\n  He does not seek--until a father's care\n  Is shown his subjects--rest in solitude;\n  As a great elephant recks not of the sun\n  Until his herd is sheltered in the wood.\n\nIn truth, I hesitate to announce the coming of Kanva's pupils to the\nking. For he has this moment risen from the throne of justice. But\nkings are never weary. For\n\n  The sun unyokes his horses never;\n  Blows night and day the breeze;\n  Shesha upholds the world forever:\n  And kings are like to these.\n\n(_He walks about. Enter the king, the clown, and retinue according to\nrank_.) _King_ (_betraying the cares of office_). Every one is happy\non attaining his desire--except a king. His difficulties increase with\nhis power. Thus:\n\n  Security slays nothing but ambition;\n    With great possessions, troubles gather thick;\n  Pain grows, not lessens, with a king's position,\n    As when one's hand must hold the sunshade's stick.\n\n_Two court poets behind the scenes_. Victory to your Majesty.\n\n_First poet_.\n\n  The world you daily guard and bless,\n  Not heeding pain or weariness;\n    Thus is your nature made.\n  A tree will brave the noonday, when\n  The sun is fierce, that weary men\n  May rest beneath its shade.\n\n_Second poet_.\n\n  Vice bows before the royal rod;\n  Strife ceases at your kingly nod;\n    You are our strong defender.\n  Friends come to all whose wealth is sure,\n  But you, alike to rich and poor,\n    Are friend both strong and tender.\n\n_King_ (_listening_). Strange! I was wearied by the demands of my\noffice, but this renews my spirit.\n\n_Clown_. Does a bull forget that he is tired when you call him the\nleader of the herd?\n\n_King_ (_smiling_). Well, let us sit down. (_They seat themselves, and\nthe retinue arranges itself. A lute is heard behind the scenes_.)\n\n_Clown_ (_listening_). My friend, listen to what is going on in the\nmusic-room. Some one is playing a lute, and keeping good time. I\nsuppose Lady Hansavati is practising.\n\n_King_. Be quiet. I wish to listen.\n\n_Chamberlain_ (_looks at the king_). Ah, the king is occupied. I must\nawait his leisure. (_He stands aside_.)\n\n_A song behind the scenes_.\n\n  You who kissed the mango-flower,\n    Honey-loving bee,\n  Gave her all your passion's power,\n    Ah, so tenderly!\n\n  How can you be tempted so\n  By the lily, pet?\n  Fresher honey's sweet, I know;\n  But can you forget?\n\n_King_. What an entrancing song!\n\n_Clown_. But, man, don't you understand what the words mean?\n\n_King_ (_smiling_). I was once devoted to Queen Hansavati. And the\nrebuke comes from her. Friend Madhavya, tell Queen Hansavati in my\nname that the rebuke is a very pretty one.\n\n_Clown_. Yes, sir. (_He rises_.) But, man, you are using another\nfellow's fingers to grab a bear's tail-feathers with. I have about as\nmuch chance of salvation as a monk who hasn't forgotten his passions.\n\n_King_. Go. Soothe her like a gentleman.\n\n_Clown_. I suppose I must. (_Exit_.)\n\n_King_ (_to himself_). Why am I filled with wistfulness on hearing\nsuch a song? I am not separated from one I love. And yet\n\n  In face of sweet presentment\n  Or harmonies of sound,\n  Man e'er forgets contentment,\n  By wistful longings bound.\n\n  There must be recollections\n  Of things not seen on earth,\n  Deep nature's predilections,\n  Loves earlier than birth.\n\n(_He shows the wistfulness that comes from unremembered things_.)\n\n_Chamberlain_ (_approaching_). Victory to your Majesty. Here are\nhermits who dwell in the forest at the foot of the Himalayas. They\nbring women with them, and they carry a message from Kanva. What is\nyour pleasure with regard to them?\n\n_King_ (_astonished_). Hermits? Accompanied by women? From Kanva?\n\n_Chamberlain_. Yes.\n\n_King_. Request my chaplain Somarata in my name to receive these\nhermits in the manner prescribed by Scripture, and to conduct them\nhimself before me. I will await them in a place fit for their\nreception.\n\n_Chamberlain_. Yes, your Majesty. (_Exit_.)\n\n_King_ (_rising_). Vetravati, conduct me to the fire-sanctuary.\n\n_Portress_. Follow me, your Majesty. (_She walks about_) Your Majesty,\nhere is the terrace of the fire-sanctuary. It is beautiful, for it has\njust been swept, and near at hand is the cow that yields the milk of\nsacrifice. Pray ascend it.\n\n_King_ (_ascends and stands leaning on the shoulder of an attendant_.)\nVetravati, with what purpose does Father Kanva send these hermits to\nme?\n\n  Do leagu\u00e8d powers of sin conspire\n  To balk religion's pure desire?\n  Has wrong been done to beasts that roam\n  Contented round the hermits' home?\n  Do plants no longer bud and flower,\n  To warn me of abuse of power?\n  These doubts and more assail my mind,\n  But leave me puzzled, lost, and blind.\n\n_Portress_. How could these things be in a hermitage that rests in the\nfame of the king's arm? No, I imagine they have come to pay homage to\ntheir king, and to congratulate him on his pious rule.\n\n(_Enter the chaplain and the chamberlain, conducting the two pupils\nof_ KANVA, _with_ GAUTAMI _and_ SHAKUNTALA.)\n\n_Chamberlain_. Follow me, if you please.\n\n_Sharngarava_. Friend Sharadvata,\n\n  The king is noble and to virtue true;\n  None dwelling here commit the deed of shame;\n  Yet we ascetics view the worldly crew\n  As in a house all lapped about with flame.\n\n_Sharadvata_. Sharngarava, your emotion on entering the city is quite\njust. As for me,\n\n  Free from the world and all its ways,\n  I see them spending worldly days\n  As clean men view men smeared with oil,\n  As pure men, those whom passions soil,\n  As waking men view men asleep,\n  As free men, those in bondage deep.\n_Chaplain_. That is why men like you are great.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_observing an evil omen_). Oh, why does my right eye\nthrob?\n\n_Gautami_. Heaven avert the omen, my child. May happiness wait upon\nyou. (_They walk about_.)\n\n_Chaplain_ (_indicating the king_). O hermits, here is he who protects\nthose of every station and of every age. He has already risen, and\nawaits you. Behold him.\n\n_Sharngarava_. Yes, it is admirable, but not surprising. For\n\n  Fruit-laden trees bend down to earth;\n    The water-pregnant clouds hang low;\n  Good men are not puffed up by power--\n    The unselfish are by nature so.\n\n_Portress_. Your Majesty, the hermits seem to be happy. They give you\ngracious looks.\n\n_King_ (_observing_ SHAKUNTALA). Ah!\n\n  Who is she, shrouded in the veil\n    That dims her beauty's lustre,\n  Among the hermits like a flower\n    Round which the dead leaves cluster?\n\n_Portress_. Your Majesty, she is well worth looking at.\n\n_King_. Enough! I must not gaze upon another's wife.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_laying her hand on her breast. Aside_). Oh, my heart,\nwhy tremble so? Remember his constant love and be brave.\n\n_Chaplain_ (_advancing_). Hail, your Majesty. The hermits have been\nreceived as Scripture enjoins. They have a message from their teacher.\nMay you be pleased to hear it.\n\n_King_ (_respectfully_). I am all attention.\n\n_The two pupils_ (_raising their right hands_). Victory, O King.\n\n_King_ (_bowing low_). I salute you all.\n\n_The two pupils_. All hail.\n\n_King_. Does your pious life proceed without disturbance?\n\n_The two pupils_.\n\n  How could the pious duties fail\n    While you defend the right?\n  Or how could darkness' power prevail\n    O'er sunbeams shining bright?\n_King_ (_to himself_). Indeed, my royal title is no empty one.\n(_Aloud_.) Is holy Kanva in health?\n\n_Sharngarava_. O King, those who have religious power can command\nhealth. He asks after your welfare and sends this message.\n\n_King_. What are his commands?\n\n_Sharngarava_. He says: \"Since you have met this my daughter and have\nmarried her, I give you my glad consent. For\n\n  You are the best of worthy men, they say;\n  And she, I know, Good Works personified;\n  The Creator wrought for ever and a day,\n  In wedding such a virtuous groom and bride.\n\nShe is with child. Take her and live with her in virtue.\"\n\n_Gautami_. Bless you, sir. I should like to say that no one invites me\nto speak.\n\n_King_. Speak, mother.\n\n_Gautami_.\n\n  Did she with father speak or mother?\n  Did you engage her friends in speech?\n  Your faith was plighted each to other;\n  Let each be faithful now to each.\n\n_Shakuntala_. What will my husband say?\n\n_King_ (_listening with anxious suspicion_). What is this insinuation?\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). Oh, oh! So haughty and so slanderous!\n\n_Sharngarava_. \"What is this insinuation?\" What is your question?\nSurely you know the world's ways well enough.\n\n  Because the world suspects a wife\n  Who does not share her husband's lot,\n  Her kinsmen wish her to abide\n  With him, although he love her not.\n\n_King_. You cannot mean that this young woman is my wife.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_sadly to herself_). Oh, my heart, you feared it, and\nnow it has come. _Sharngarava_. O King,\n\n  A king, and shrink when love is done,\n  Turn coward's back on truth, and flee!\n\n_King_. What means this dreadful accusation?\n\n_Sharngarava_ (_furiously_).\n\n  O drunk with power! We might have known\n  That you were steeped in treachery.\n\n_King_. A stinging rebuke!\n\n_Gautami_ (_to_ SHAKUNTALA). Forget your shame, my child. I will\nremove your veil. Then your husband will recognise you. (_She does\nso_.)\n\n_King_ (_observing_ SHAKUNTALA. _To himself_).\n\n  As my heart ponders whether I could ever\n  Have wed this woman that has come to me\n  In tortured loveliness, as I endeavour\n  To bring it back to mind, then like a bee\n\n  That hovers round a jasmine flower at dawn,\n  While frosty dews of morning still o'erweave it,\n  And hesitates to sip ere they be gone,\n  I cannot taste the sweet, and cannot leave it.\n\n_Portress_ (_to herself_). What a virtuous king he is! Would any other\nman hesitate when he saw such a pearl of a woman coming of her own\naccord?\n\n_Sharngarava_. Have you nothing to say, O King?\n\n_King_. Hermit, I have taken thought. I cannot believe that this woman\nis my wife. She is plainly with child. How can I take her, confessing\nmyself an adulterer?\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). Oh, oh, oh! He even casts doubt on our\nmarriage. The vine of my hope climbed high, but it is broken now.\n\n_Sharngarava_. Not so.\n\n  You scorn the sage who rendered whole\n  His child befouled, and choked his grief,\n  Who freely gave you what you stole\n  And added honour to a thief!\n\n_Sharadvata_. Enough, Sharngarava. Shakuntala, we have said what we\nwere sent to say. You hear his words. Answer him.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). He loved me so. He is so changed. Why\nremind him? Ah, but I must clear my own character. Well, I will try.\n(_Aloud_.) My dear husband--(_She stops_.) No, he doubts my right to\ncall him that. Your Majesty, it was pure love that opened my poor\nheart to you in the hermitage. Then you were kind to me and gave me\nyour promise. Is it right for you to speak so now, and to reject me?\n\n_King_ (_stopping his ears_). Peace, peace!\n\n  A stream that eats away the bank,\n  Grows foul, and undermines the tree.\n  So you would stain your honour, while\n  You plunge me into misery.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Very well. If you have acted so because you really fear\nto touch another man's wife, I will remove your doubts with a token\nyou gave me.\n\n_King_. An excellent idea!\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_touching her finger_). Oh, oh! The ring is lost. (_She\nlooks sadly at_ GAUTAMI.)\n\n_Gautami_. My child, you worshipped the holy Ganges at the spot where\nIndra descended. The ring must have fallen there.\n\n_King_. Ready wit, ready wit!\n\n_Shakuntala_. Fate is too strong for me there. I will tell you\nsomething else.\n\n_King_. Let me hear what you have to say.\n\n_Shakuntala_. One day, in the bower of reeds, you were holding a\nlotus-leaf cup full of water.\n\n_King_. I hear you.\n\n_Shakuntala_. At that moment the fawn came up, my adopted son. Then\nyou took pity on him and coaxed him. \"Let him drink first,\" you said.\nBut he did not know you, and he would not come to drink water from\nyour hand. But he liked it afterwards, when I held the very same\nwater. Then you smiled and said: \"It is true. Every one trusts his own\nsort. You both belong to the forest.\"\n\n_King_. It is just such women, selfish, sweet, false, that entice\nfools. _Gautami_. You have no right to say that. She grew up in the\npious grove. She does not know how to deceive.\n\n_King_. Old hermit woman,\n\n  The female's untaught cunning may be seen\n  In beasts, far more in women selfish-wise;\n  The cuckoo's eggs are left to hatch and rear\n  By foster-parents, and away she flies.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_angrily_). Wretch! You judge all this by your own false\nheart. Would any other man do what you have done? To hide behind\nvirtue, like a yawning well covered over with grass!\n\n_King_ (_to himself_). But her anger is free from coquetry, because\nshe has lived in the forest. See!\n\n  Her glance is straight; her eyes are flashing red;\n  Her speech is harsh, not drawlingly well-bred;\n  Her whole lip quivers, seems to shake with cold;\n  Her frown has straightened eyebrows arching bold.\n\nNo, she saw that I was doubtful, and her anger was feigned. Thus\n\n  When I refused but now\n  Hard-heartedly, to know\n  Of love or secret vow,\n  Her eyes grew red; and so,\n  Bending her arching brow,\n  She fiercely snapped Love's bow.\n\n(_Aloud_.) My good girl, Dushyanta's conduct is known to the whole\nkingdom, but not this action.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Well, well. I had my way. I trusted a king, and put\nmyself in his hands. He had a honey face and a heart of stone. (_She\ncovers her face with her dress and weeps_.)\n\n_Sharngarava_. Thus does unbridled levity burn.\n\n  Be slow to love, but yet more slow\n  With secret mate;\n  With those whose hearts we do not know,\n  Love turns to hate.\n\n_King_. Why do you trust this girl, and accuse me of an imaginary\ncrime? _Sharngarava_ (_disdainfully_). You have learned your wisdom\nupside down.\n\n  It would be monstrous to believe\n  A girl who never lies;\n  Trust those who study to deceive\n  And think it very wise.\n\n_King_. Aha, my candid friend! Suppose I were to admit that I am such\na man. What would happen if I deceived the girl?\n\n_Sharngarava_. Ruin.\n\n_King_. It is unthinkable that ruin should fall on Puru's line.\n\n_Sharngarava_. Why bandy words? We have fulfilled our Father's\nbidding. We are ready to return.\n\n  Leave her or take her, as you will;\n  She is your wife;\n  Husbands have power for good or ill\n  O'er woman's life.\n\nGautami, lead the way. (_They start to go_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. He has deceived me shamelessly. And will you leave me\ntoo? (_She starts to follow_.)\n\n_Gautami_ (_turns around and sees her_). Sharngarava, my son,\nShakuntala is following us, lamenting piteously. What can the poor\nchild do with a husband base enough to reject her?\n\n_Sharngarava_ (_turns angrily_). You self-willed girl! Do you dare\nshow independence? (SHAKUNTALA _shrinks in fear_.) Listen.\n\n  If you deserve such scorn and blame,\n  What will your father with your shame?\n  But if you know your vows are pure,\n  Obey your husband and endure.\n\nRemain. We must go.\n\n_King_. Hermit, why deceive this woman? Remember:\n\n  Night-blossoms open to the moon,\n  Day-blossoms to the sun;\n  A man of honour ever strives\n  Another's wife to shun.\n_Sharngarava_. O King, suppose you had forgotten your former actions\nin the midst of distractions. Should you now desert your wife--you who\nfear to fail in virtue?\n\n_King_. I ask _you_ which is the heavier sin:\n\n  Not knowing whether I be mad\n  Or falsehood be in her,\n  Shall I desert a faithful wife\n  Or turn adulterer?\n\n_Chaplain_ (_considering_). Now if this were done----\n\n_King_. Instruct me, my teacher.\n\n_Chaplain_. Let the woman remain in my house until her child is born.\n\n_King_. Why this?\n\n_Chaplain_. The chief astrologers have told you that your first child\nwas destined to be an emperor. If the son of the hermit's daughter is\nborn with the imperial birthmarks, then welcome her and introduce her\ninto the palace. Otherwise, she must return to her father.\n\n_King_. It is good advice, my teacher.\n\n_Chaplain_ (_rising_). Follow me, my daughter.\n\n_Shakuntala_. O mother earth, give me a grave! (_Exit weeping, with\nthe chaplain, the hermits, and_ GAUTAMI. _The king, his memory clouded\nby the curse, ponders on_ SHAKUNTALA.)\n\n_Voices behind the scenes_. A miracle! A miracle!\n\n_King_ (_listening_). What does this mean? (_Enter the chaplain_.)\n\n_Chaplain_ (_in amazement_). Your Majesty, a wonderful thing has\nhappened.\n\n_King_. What?\n\n_Chaplain_. When Kanva's pupils had departed,\n\n  She tossed her arms, bemoaned her plight,\n  Accused her crushing fate----\n\n_King_. What then?\n\n_Chaplain_.\n\n  Before our eyes a heavenly light\n  In woman's form, but shining bright,\n  Seized her and vanished straight.\n\n(_All betray astonishment_.)\n\n_King_. My teacher, we have already settled the matter. Why speculate\nin vain? Let us seek repose. _Chaplain_. Victory to your Majesty.\n\n(_Exit_.)\n\n_King_. Vetravati, I am bewildered. Conduct me to my apartment.\n\n_Portress_. Follow me, your Majesty.\n\n_King_ (_walks about. To himself_).\n\n  With a hermit-wife I had no part,\n  All memories evade me;\n  And yet my sad and stricken heart\n  Would more than half persuade me.\n\n(_Exeunt omnes_.)\n\n\nACT VI\n\n\nSEPARATION FROM SHAKUNTALA\n\nSCENE I.--_In the street before the Palace_\n\n(_Enter the chief of police, two policemen, and a man with his hands\nbound behind his back_.)\n\n_The two policemen_ (_striking the man_). Now, pickpocket, tell us\nwhere you found this ring. It is the king's ring, with letters\nengraved on it, and it has a magnificent great gem.\n\n_Fisherman_ (_showing fright_). Be merciful, kind gentlemen. I am not\nguilty of such a crime.\n\n_First policeman_. No, I suppose the king thought you were a pious\nBrahman, and made you a present of it.\n\n_Fisherman_. Listen, please. I am a fisherman, and I live on the\nGanges, at the spot where Indra came down.\n\n_Second policeman_. You thief, we didn't ask for your address or your\nsocial position.\n\n_Chief_. Let him tell a straight story, Suchaka. Don't interrupt.\n\n_The two policemen_. Yes, chief. Talk, man, talk.\n\n_Fisherman_. I support my family with things you catch fish\nwith--nets, you know, and hooks, and things.\n\n_Chief_ (_laughing_). You have a sweet trade.\n\n_Fisherman_. Don't say that, master.\n\n  You can't give up a lowdown trade\n  That your ancestors began;\n  A butcher butchers things, and yet\n  He's the tenderest-hearted man.\n\n_Chief_. Go on. Go on.\n\n_Fisherman_. Well, one day I was cutting up a carp. In its maw I see\nthis ring with the magnificent great gem. And then I was just trying\nto sell it here when you kind gentlemen grabbed me. That is the only\nway I got it. Now kill me, or find fault with me.\n\n_Chief_ (_smelling the ring_). There is no doubt about it, Januka.\nIt has been in a fish's maw. It has the real perfume of raw meat. Now\nwe have to find out how he got it. We must go to the palace.\n\n_The two policemen_ (_to the fisherman_). Move on, you cutpurse, move\non. (_They walk about_.)\n\n_Chief_. Suchaka, wait here at the big gate until I come out of the\npalace. And don't get careless.\n\n_The two policemen_. Go in, chief. I hope the king will be nice to\nyou.\n\n_Chief_. Good-bye. (_Exit_.)\n\n_Suchaka_. Januka, the chief is taking his time.\n\n_Januka_. You can't just drop in on a king.\n\n_Suchaka_. Januka, my fingers are itching (_indicating the fisherman_)\nto kill this cutpurse.\n\n_Fisherman_. Don't kill a man without any reason, master.\n\n_Januka_ (_looking ahead_). There is the chief, with a written order\nfrom the king. (_To the fisherman_.) Now you will see your family, or\nelse you will feed the crows and jackals. (_Enter the chief_.)\n\n_Chief_. Quick! Quick! (_He breaks off_.)\n\n_Fisherman_. Oh, oh! I'm a dead man. (_He shows dejection_.)\n\n_Chief_. Release him, you. Release the fishnet fellow. It is all\nright, his getting the ring. Our king told me so himself.\n\n_Suchaka_. All right, chief. He is a dead man come back to life. (_He\nreleases the fisherman_.)\n\n_Fisherman_ (_bowing low to the chief_). Master, I owe you my life.\n\n(_He falls at his feet_.)\n\n_Chief_. Get up, get up! Here is a reward that the king was kind\nenough to give you. It is worth as much as the ring. Take it. (_He\nhands the fisherman a bracelet_.)\n\n_Fisherman_ (_joyfully taking it_). Much obliged.\n\n_Januka_. He _is_ much obliged to the king. Just as if he had been\ntaken from the stake and put on an elephant's back.\n\n_Suchaka_. Chief, the reward shows that the king thought a lot of the\nring. The gem must be worth something.\n\n_Chief_. No, it wasn't the fine gem that pleased the king. It was this\nway.\n\n_The two policemen_. Well?\n\n_Chief_. I think, when the king saw it, he remembered somebody he\nloves. You know how dignified he is usually. But as soon as he saw it,\nhe broke down for a moment.\n\n_Suchaka_. You have done the king a good turn, chief.\n\n_Januka_. All for the sake of this fish-killer, it seems to me. (_He\nlooks enviously at the fisherman_.)\n\n_Fisherman_. Take half of it, masters, to pay for something to drink.\n\n_Januka_. Fisherman, you are the biggest and best friend I've got. The\nfirst thing we want, is all the brandy we can hold. Let's go where\nthey keep it. (_Exeunt omnes_.)\n\n\nSCENE II.--_In the Palace Gardens_\n\n(_Enter_ MISHRAKESHI, _flying through the air_.)\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. I have taken my turn in waiting upon the nymphs. And\nnow I will see what this good king is doing. Shakuntala is like a\nsecond self to me, because she is the daughter of Menaka. And it was\nshe who asked me to do this. (_She looks about_.) It is the day of the\nspring festival. But I see no preparations for a celebration at court.\nI might learn the reason by my power of divination. But I must do as\nmy friend asked me. Good! I will make myself invisible and stand near\nthese girls who take care of the garden. I shall find out that way.\n\n(_She descends to earth. Enter a maid, gazing at a mango branch, and\nbehind her, a second_.)\n\n_First maid_.\n\n  First mango-twig, so pink, so green,\n  First living breath of spring,\n  You are sacrificed as soon as seen,\n  A festival offering.\n\n_Second maid_. What are you chirping about to yourself, little cuckoo?\n\n_First maid_. Why, little bee, you know that the cuckoo goes crazy\nwith delight when she sees the mango-blossom.\n\n_Second maid_ (_joyfully_). Oh, has the spring really come?\n\n_First maid_. Yes, little bee. And this is the time when you too buzz\nabout in crazy joy. _Second maid_. Hold me, dear, while I stand on\ntiptoe and offer this blossom to Love, the divine.\n\n_First maid_. If I do, you must give me half the reward of the\noffering.\n\n_Second maid_. That goes without saying, dear. We two are one. (_She\nleans on her friend and takes the mango-blossom_.) Oh, see! The\nmango-blossom hasn't opened, but it has broken the sheath, so it is\nfragrant. (_She brings her hands together_.) I worship mighty Love.\n\n  O mango-twig I give to Love\n    As arrow for his bow,\n  Most sovereign of his arrows five,\n    Strike maiden-targets low.\n\n(_She throws the twig. Enter the chamberlain_.)\n\n_Chamberlain_ (_angrily_). Stop, silly girl. The king has strictly\nforbidden the spring festival. Do you dare pluck the mango-blossoms?\n\n_The two maids_ (_frightened_). Forgive us, sir. We did not know.\n\n_Chamberlain_. What! You have not heard the king's command, which is\nobeyed even by the trees of spring and the creatures that dwell in\nthem. See!\n\n  The mango branches are in bloom,\n    Yet pollen does not form;\n  The cuckoo's song sticks in his throat,\n    Although the days are warm;\n\n  The amaranth-bud is formed, and yet\n    Its power of growth is gone;\n  The love-god timidly puts by\n    The arrow he has drawn.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. There is no doubt of it. This good king has wonderful\npower.\n\n_First maid_. A few days ago, sir, we were sent to his Majesty by his\nbrother-in-law Mitravasu to decorate the garden. That is why we have\nheard nothing of this affair.\n\n_Chamberlain_. You must not do so again.\n\n_The two maids_. But we are curious. If we girls may know about it,\npray tell us, sir. Why did his Majesty forbid the spring festival?\n_Mishrakeshi_. Kings are fond of celebrations. There must be some good\nreason.\n\n_Chamberlain_ (_to himself_). It is in everybody's mouth. Why should I\nnot tell it? (_Aloud_.) Have you heard the gossip concerning\nShakuntala's rejection?\n\n_The two maids_. Yes, sir. The king's brother-in-law told us, up to\nthe point where the ring was recovered.\n\n_Chamberlain_. There is little more to tell. When his Majesty saw the\nring, he remembered that he had indeed contracted a secret marriage\nwith Shakuntala, and had rejected her under a delusion. And then he\nfell a prey to remorse.\n\n  He hates the things he loved; he intermits\n  The daily audience, nor in judgment sits;\n  Spends sleepless nights in tossing on his bed;\n  At times, when he by courtesy is led\n  To address a lady, speaks another name,\n  Then stands for minutes, sunk in helpless shame.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. I am glad to hear it.\n\n_Chamberlain_. His Majesty's sorrow has forbidden the festival.\n\n_The two maids_. It is only right.\n\n_A voice behind the scenes_. Follow me.\n\n_Chamberlain_ (_listening_). Ah, his Majesty approaches. Go, and\nattend to your duties. (_Exeunt the two maids. Enter the king, wearing\na dress indicative of remorse; the clown, and the portress_.)\n\n_Chamberlain_ (_observing the king_). A beautiful figure charms in\nwhatever state. Thus, his Majesty is pleasing even in his sorrow. For\n\n  All ornament is laid aside; he wears\n    One golden bracelet on his wasted arm;\n  His lip is scorched by sighs; and sleepless cares\n    Redden his eyes. Yet all can work no harm\n  On that magnificent beauty, wasting, but\n  Gaining in brilliance, like a diamond cut.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_ (_observing the king_). No wonder Shakuntala pines for\nhim, even though he dishonoured her by his rejection of her.\n\n_King_ (_walks about slowly, sunk in thought_).\n\n  Alas! My smitten heart, that once lay sleeping,\n    Heard in its dreams my fawn-eyed love's laments,\n  And wakened now, awakens but to weeping,\n    To bitter grief, and tears of penitence.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. That is the poor girl's fate.\n\n_Clown_ (_to himself_). He has got his Shakuntala-sickness again. I\nwish I knew how to cure him.\n\n_Chamberlain (advancing)_. Victory to your Majesty. I have examined\nthe garden. Your Majesty may visit its retreats.\n\n_King_. Vetravati, tell the minister Pishuna in my name that a\nsleepless night prevents me from mounting the throne of judgment. He\nis to investigate the citizens' business and send me a memorandum.\n\n_Portress_. Yes, your Majesty. _(Exit.)_\n\n_King_. And you, Parvatayana, return to your post of duty.\n\n_Chamberlain_. Yes, your Majesty. (_Exit_.)\n\n_Clown_. You have got rid of the vermin. Now amuse yourself in this\ngarden. It is delightful with the passing of the cold weather.\n\n_King_ (_sighing_). My friend, the proverb makes no mistake.\nMisfortune finds the weak spot. See!\n\n  No sooner did the darkness lift\n    That clouded memory's power,\n  Than the god of love prepared his bow\n    And shot the mango-flower.\n\n  No sooner did the ring recall\n    My banished maiden dear,\n  No sooner do I vainly weep\n    For her, than spring is here.\n\n_Clown_. Wait a minute, man. I will destroy Love's arrow with my\nstick. (_He raises his stick and strikes at the mango branch_.)\n\n_King_ (_smiling_). Enough! I see your pious power. My friend, where\nshall I sit now to comfort my eyes with the vines? They remind me\nsomehow of her.\n\n_Clown_. Well, you told one of the maids, the clever painter, that\nyou would spend this hour in the bower of spring-creepers. And you\nasked her to bring you there the picture of the lady Shakuntala which\nyou painted on a tablet.\n\n_King_. It is my only consolation. Lead the way to the bower of\nspring-creepers.\n\n_Clown_. Follow me. (_They walk about_. MISHRAKESHI _follows_.) Here\nis the bower of spring-creepers, with its jewelled benches. Its\nloneliness seems to bid you a silent welcome. Let us go in and sit\ndown. (_They do so_.)\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. I will hide among the vines and see the dear girl's\npicture. Then I shall be able to tell her how deep her husband's love\nis. (_She hides_.)\n\n_King_ (_sighing_). I remember it all now, my friend. I told you how I\nfirst met Shakuntala. It is true, you were not with me when I rejected\nher. But I had told you of her at the first. Had you forgotten, as I\ndid?\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. This shows that a king should not be separated a single\nmoment from some intimate friend.\n\n_Clown_. No, I didn't forget. But when you had told the whole story,\nyou said it was a joke and there was nothing in it. And I was fool\nenough to believe you. No, this is the work of fate.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. It must be.\n\n_King_ (_after meditating a moment_). Help me, my friend.\n\n_Clown_. But, man, this isn't right at all. A good man never lets\ngrief get the upper hand. The mountains are calm even in a tempest.\n\n_King_. My friend, I am quite forlorn. I keep thinking of her pitiful\nstate when I rejected her. Thus:\n\n  When I denied her, then she tried\n  To join her people. \"Stay,\" one cried,\n  Her father's representative.\n  She stopped, she turned, she could but give\n  A tear-dimmed glance to heartless me--\n  That arrow burns me poisonously.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. How his fault distresses him!\n\n_Clown_. Well, I don't doubt it was some heavenly being that carried\nher away.\n\n_King_. Who else would dare to touch a faithful wife? Her friends told\nme that Menaka was her mother. My heart persuades me that it was\nshe, or companions of hers, who carried Shakuntala away.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. His madness was wonderful, not his awakening reason.\n\n_Clown_. But in that case, you ought to take heart. You will meet her\nagain.\n\n_King_. How so?\n\n_Clown_. Why, a mother or a father cannot long bear to see a daughter\nseparated from her husband.\n\n_King_. My friend,\n\n  And was it phantom, madness, dream,\n    Or fatal retribution stern?\n  My hopes fell down a precipice\n    And never, never will return.\n\n_Clown_. Don't talk that way. Why, the ring shows that incredible\nmeetings do happen.\n\n_King_ (_looking at the ring_). This ring deserves pity. It has fallen\nfrom a heaven hard to earn.\n\n  Your virtue, ring, like mine,\n    Is proved to be but small;\n  Her pink-nailed finger sweet\n    You clasped. How could you fall?\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. If it were worn on any other hand, it would deserve\npity. My dear girl, you are far away. I am the only one to hear these\ndelightful words.\n\n_Clown_. Tell me how you put the ring on her finger.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. He speaks as if prompted by my curiosity.\n\n_King_. Listen, my friend. When I left the pious grove for the city,\nmy darling wept and said: \"But how long will you remember us, dear?\"\n\n_Clown_. And then you said----\n\n_King_. Then I put this engraved ring on her finger, and said to\nher----\n\n_Clown_. Well, what?\n\n_King_.\n\n  Count every day one letter of my name;\n    Before you reach the end, dear,\n  Will come to lead you to my palace halls\n    A guide whom I shall send, dear.\n\nThen, through my madness, it fell out cruelly. _Mishrakeshi_. It was\ntoo charming an agreement to be frustrated by fate.\n\n_Clown_. But how did it get into a carp's mouth, as if it had been a\nfish-hook?\n\n_King_. While she was worshipping the Ganges at Shachitirtha, it fell.\n\n_Clown_. I see.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. That is why the virtuous king doubted his marriage with\npoor Shakuntala. Yet such love does not ask for a token. How could it\nhave been?\n\n_King_. Well, I can only reproach this ring.\n\n_Clown_ (_smiling_). And I will reproach this stick of mine. Why are\nyou crooked when I am straight?\n\n_King_ (_not hearing him_).\n\n  How could you fail to linger\n  On her soft, tapering finger,\n  And in the water fall?\n\nAnd yet\n\n  Things lifeless know not beauty;\n  But I--I scorned my duty,\n  The sweetest task of all.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. He has given the answer which I had ready.\n\n_Clown_. But that is no reason why I should starve to death.\n\n_King_ (_not heeding_). O my darling, my heart burns with repentance\nbecause I abandoned you without reason. Take pity on me. Let me see\nyou again. (_Enter a maid with a tablet_.)\n\n_Maid_. Your Majesty, here is the picture of our lady. (_She produces\nthe tablet_.)\n\n_King_ (_gazing at it_). It is a beautiful picture. See!\n\n  A graceful arch of brows above great eyes;\n  Lips bathed in darting, smiling light that flies\n  Reflected from white teeth; a mouth as red\n  As red karkandhu-fruit; love's brightness shed\n  O'er all her face in bursts of liquid charm--\n  The picture speaks, with living beauty warm.\n\n_Clown_ (_looking at it_). The sketch is full of sweet meaning. My\neyes seem to stumble over its uneven surface. What more can I say? I\nexpect to see it come to life, and I feel like speaking to it.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. The king is a clever painter. I seem to see the dear\ngirl before me.\n\n_King_. My friend,\n\n  What in the picture is not fair,\n  Is badly done;\n  Yet something of her beauty there,\n  I feel, is won.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. This is natural, when love is increased by remorse.\n\n_King_ (_sighing_).\n\n  I treated her with scorn and loathing ever;\n  Now o'er her pictured charms my heart will burst:\n  A traveller I, who scorned the mighty river.\n  And seeks in the mirage to quench his thirst.\n\n_Clown_. There are three figures in the picture, and they are all\nbeautiful. Which one is the lady Shakuntala?\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. The poor fellow never saw her beauty. His eyes are\nuseless, for she never came before them.\n\n_King_. Which one do you think?\n\n_Clown_ (_observing closely_). I think it is this one, leaning against\nthe creeper which she has just sprinkled. Her face is hot and the\nflowers are dropping from her hair; for the ribbon is loosened. Her\narms droop like weary branches; she has loosened her girdle, and she\nseems a little fatigued. This, I think, is the lady Shakuntala, the\nothers are her friends.\n\n_King_. You are good at guessing. Besides, here are proofs of my love.\n\n  See where discolorations faint\n  Of loving handling tell;\n  And here the swelling of the paint\n  Shows where my sad tears fell.\n\nChaturika, I have not finished the background. Go, get the brushes.\n\n_Maid_. Please hold the picture, Madhavya, while I am gone.\n\n_King_. I will hold it. (_He does so. Exit maid_.)\n\n_Clown_. What are you going to add?\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. Surely, every spot that the dear girl loved.\n\n_King_. Listen, my friend.\n\n  The stream of Malini, and on its sands\n  The swan-pairs resting; holy foot-hill lands\n  Of great Himalaya's sacred ranges, where\n  The yaks are seen; and under trees that bear\n  Bark hermit-dresses on their branches high,\n  A doe that on the buck's horn rubs her eye.\n\n_Clown_ (_aside_). To hear him talk, I should think he was going to\nfill up the picture with heavy-bearded hermits.\n\n_King_. And another ornament that Shakuntala loved I have forgotten to\npaint.\n\n_Clown_. What?\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. Something natural for a girl living in the forest.\n\n_King_.\n\n  The siris-blossom, fastened o'er her ear,\n  Whose stamens brush her cheek;\n  The lotus-chain like autumn moonlight soft\n  Upon her bosom meek.\n\n_Clown_. But why does she cover her face with fingers lovely as the\npink water-lily? She seems frightened. (_He looks more closely_.) I\nsee. Here is a bold, bad bee. He steals honey, and so he flies to her\nlotus-face.\n\n_King_. Drive him away.\n\n_Clown_. It is your affair to punish evil-doers.\n\n_King_. True. O welcome guest of the flowering vine, why do you waste\nyour time in buzzing here?\n\n  Your faithful, loving queen,\n  Perched on a flower, athirst,\n  Is waiting for you still,\n  Nor tastes the honey first.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. A gentlemanly way to drive him off!\n\n_Clown_. This kind are obstinate, even when you warn them.\n\n_King_ (_angrily_). Will you not obey my command? Then listen:\n\n  'Tis sweet as virgin blossoms on a tree,\n  The lip I kissed in love-feasts tenderly;\n  Sting that dear lip, O bee, with cruel power,\n  And you shall be imprisoned in a flower.\n\n_Clown_. Well, he doesn't seem afraid of your dreadful punishment.\n(_Laughing. To himself_.) The man is crazy, and I am just as bad, from\nassociating with him.\n\n_King_. Will he not go, though I warn him?\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. Love works a curious change even in a brave man.\n\n_Clown_ (_aloud_). It is only a picture, man.\n\n_King_. A picture?\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. I too understand it now. But to him, thoughts are real\nexperiences.\n\n_King_. You have done an ill-natured thing.\n\n  When I was happy in the sight,\n  And when my heart was warm,\n  You brought sad memories back, and made\n  My love a painted form.\n\n(_He sheds a tear_.)\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. Fate plays strangely with him.\n\n_King_. My friend, how can I endure a grief that has no respite?\n\n  I cannot sleep at night\n  And meet her dreaming;\n  I cannot see the sketch\n  While tears are streaming.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. My friend, you have indeed atoned--and in her friend's\npresence--for the pain you caused by rejecting dear Shakuntala.\n\n(_Enter the maid_ CHATURIKA.)\n\n_Maid_. Your Majesty, I was coming back with the box of\npaint-brushes----\n\n_King_. Well?\n\n_Maid_. I met Queen Vasumati with the maid Pingalika. And the queen\nsnatched the box from me, saying: \"I will take it to the king myself.\"\n\n_Clown_. How did you escape?\n\n_Maid_. The queen's dress caught on a vine. And while her maid was\nsetting her free, I excused myself in a hurry. _A voice behind the\nscenes_. Follow me, your Majesty.\n\n_Clown_ (_listening_). Man, the she-tiger of the palace is making a\nspring on her prey. She means to make one mouthful of the maid.\n\n_King_. My friend, the queen has come because she feels touched in her\nhonour. You had better take care of this picture.\n\n_Clown_. \"And yourself,\" you might add. (_He takes the picture and\nrises_.) If you get out of the trap alive, call for me at the Cloud\nBalcony. And I will hide the thing there so that nothing but a pigeon\ncould find it. (_Exit on the run_.)\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. Though his heart is given to another, he is courteous\nto his early flame. He is a constant friend.\n\n(_Enter the portress with a document_.)\n\n_Portress_. Victory to your Majesty.\n\n_King_. Vetravati, did you not meet Queen Vasumati?\n\n_Portress_. Yes, your Majesty. But she turned back when she saw that I\ncarried a document.\n\n_King_. The queen knows times and seasons. She will not interrupt\nbusiness.\n\n_Portress_. Your Majesty, the minister sends word that in the press of\nvarious business he has attended to only one citizen's suit. This he\nhas reduced to writing for your Majesty's perusal.\n\n_King_. Give me the document. (_The portress does so_.)\n\n_King_ (_reads_). \"Be it known to his Majesty. A seafaring merchant\nnamed Dhanavriddhi has been lost in a shipwreck. He is childless, and\nhis property, amounting to several millions, reverts to the crown.\nWill his Majesty take action?\" (_Sadly_.) It is dreadful to be\nchildless. Vetravati, he had great riches. There must be several\nwives. Let inquiry be made. There may be a wife who is with child.\n\n_Portress_. We have this moment heard that a merchant's daughter of\nSaketa is his wife. And she is soon to become a mother.\n\n_King_. The child shall receive the inheritance. Go, inform the\nminister.\n\n_Portress_. Yes, your Majesty. (_She starts to go_.)\n\n_King_. Wait a moment.\n\n_Portress_ (_turning back_). Yes, your Majesty. _King_. After all,\nwhat does it matter whether he have issue or not?\n\n  Let King Dushyanta be proclaimed\n  To every sad soul kin\n  That mourns a kinsman loved and lost,\n  Yet did not plunge in sin.\n\n_Portress_. The proclamation shall be made. (_She goes out and soon\nreturns_.) Your Majesty, the royal proclamation was welcomed by the\npopulace as is a timely shower.\n\n_King_ (_sighing deeply_). Thus, when issue fails, wealth passes, on\nthe death of the head of the family, to a stranger. When I die, it\nwill be so with the glory of Puru's line.\n\n_Portress_. Heaven avert the omen!\n\n_King_. Alas! I despised the happiness that offered itself to me.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. Without doubt, he has dear Shakuntala in mind when he\nthus reproaches himself.\n\n_King_.\n\n  Could I forsake the virtuous wife\n  Who held my best, my future life\n  And cherished it for glorious birth,\n  As does the seed-receiving earth?\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. She will not long be forsaken.\n\n_Maid_ (_to the portress_). Mistress, the minister's report has\ndoubled our lord's remorse. Go to the Cloud Balcony and bring Madhavya\nto dispel his grief.\n\n_Portress_. A good suggestion. (_Exit_.)\n\n_King_. Alas! The ancestors of Dushyanta are in a doubtful case.\n\n  For I am childless, and they do not know,\n  When I am gone, what child of theirs will bring\n  The scriptural oblation; and their tears\n  Already mingle with my offering.\n\n_Mishrakeshi_. He is screened from the light, and is in darkness.\n\n_Maid_. Do not give way to grief, your Majesty. You are in the prime\nof your years, and the birth of a son to one of your other wives will\nmake you blameless before your ancestors. (_To herself_.) He does not\nheed me. The proper medicine is needed for any disease. _King_\n(_betraying his sorrow_). Surely,\n\n  The royal line that flowed\n  A river pure and grand,\n  Dies in the childless king,\n  Like streams in desert sand.\n\n(_He swoons_.)\n\n_Maid_ (_in distress_). Oh, sir, come to yourself.\n\n_Mishrakeski_. Shall I make him happy now? No, I heard the mother of\nthe gods consoling Shakuntala. She said that the gods, impatient for\nthe sacrifice, would soon cause him to welcome his true wife. I must\ndelay no longer. I will comfort dear Shakuntala with my tidings.\n\n(_Exit through the air_.)\n\n_A voice behind the scenes_. Help, help!\n\n_King_ (_comes to himself and listens_). It sounds as if Madhavya were\nin distress.\n\n_Maid_. Your Majesty, I hope that Pingalika and the other maids did\nnot catch poor Madhavya with the picture in his hands.\n\n_King_. Go, Chaturika. Reprove the queen in my name for not\ncontrolling her servants.\n\n_Maid_. Yes, your Majesty. (_Exit_.)\n\n_The voice_. Help, help!\n\n_King_. The Brahman's voice seems really changed by fear. Who waits\nwithout? (_Enter the chamberlain_.)\n\n_Chamberlain_. Your Majesty commands?\n\n_King_. See why poor Madhavya is screaming so.\n\n_Chamberlain_. I will see. (_He goes out, and returns trembling_.)\n\n_King_. Parvatayana, I hope it is nothing very dreadful.\n\n_Chamberlain_. I hope not.\n\n_King_. Then why do you tremble so? For\n\n  Why should the trembling, born\n  Of age, increasing, seize\n  Your limbs and bid them shake\n  Like fig-leaves in the breeze?\n\n_Chamberlain_. Save your friend, O King!\n\n_King_. From what?\n\n_Chamberlain_. From great danger.\n\n_King_. Speak plainly, man.\n\n_Chamberlain_. On the Cloud Balcony, open to the four winds of\nheaven--\n\n_King_. What has happened there?\n\n_Chamberlain_.\n\n  While he was resting on its height,\n  Which palace peacocks in their flight\n  Can hardly reach, he seemed to be\n  Snatched up--by what, we could not see.\n\n_King_ (_rising quickly_). My very palace is invaded by evil\ncreatures. To be a king, is to be a disappointed man.\n\n  The moral stumblings of mine own,\n  The daily slips, are scarcely known;\n  Who then that rules a kingdom, can\n  Guide every deed of every man?\n\n_The voice_. Hurry, hurry!\n\n_King_ (_hears the voice and quickens his steps_). Have no fear, my\nfriend.\n\n_The voice_. Have no fear! When something has got me by the back of\nthe neck, and is trying to break my bones like a piece of sugar-cane!\n\n_King_ (_looks about_). A bow! a bow! (_Enter a Greek woman with a\nbow_.)\n\n_Greek woman_. A bow and arrows, your Majesty. And here are the\nfinger-guards. (_The king takes the bow and arrows_.)\n\n_Another voice behind the scenes_.\n\n  Writhe, while I drink the red blood flowing clear\n  And kill you, as a tiger kills a deer;\n  Let King Dushyanta grasp his bow; but how\n  Can all his kingly valour save you now?\n\n_King_ (_angrily_). He scorns me, too! In one moment, miserable demon,\nyou shall die. (_Stringing his bow_.) Where is the stairway,\nParvatayana?\n\n_Chamberlain_. Here, your Majesty. (_All make haste_.)\n\n_King_ (_Looking about_). There is no one here.\n\n_The Clown's voice_. Save me, save me! I see you, if you can't see me.\nI am a mouse in the claws of the cat. I am done for. _King_. You are\nproud of your invisibility. But shall not my arrow see you? Stand\nstill. Do not hope to escape by clinging to my friend.\n\n  My arrow, flying when the bow is bent,\n  Shall slay the wretch and spare the innocent;\n  When milk is mixed with water in a cup,\n  Swans leave the water, and the milk drink up.\n\n(_He takes aim. Enter_ MATALI _and the clown_.)\n\n_Matali_. O King, as Indra, king of the gods, commands,\n\n  Seek foes among the evil powers alone;\n  For them your bow should bend;\n  Not cruel shafts, but glances soft and kind\n  Should fall upon a friend.\n\n_King_ (_hastily withdrawing the arrow_). It is Matali. Welcome to the\ncharioteer of heaven's king.\n\n_Clown_. Well! He came within an inch of butchering me. And you\nwelcome him.\n\n_Matali_ (_smiling_). Hear, O King, for what purpose Indra sends me to\nyou.\n\n_King_. I am all attention.\n\n_Matali_. There is a host of demons who call themselves\nInvincible--the brood of Kalanemi.\n\n_King_. So Narada has told me.\n\n_Matali_.\n\n  Heaven's king is powerless; you shall smite\n  His foes in battle soon;\n  Darkness that overcomes the day,\n  Is scattered by the moon.\n\nTake your bow at once, enter my heavenly chariot, and set forth for\nvictory.\n\n_King_. I am grateful for the honour which Indra shows me. But why did\nyou act thus toward Madhavya?\n\n_Matali_. I will tell you. I saw that you were overpowered by some\ninner sorrow, and acted thus to rouse you. For\n\n  The spurn\u00e8d snake will swell his hood;\n  Fire blazes when 'tis stirred;\n  Brave men are roused to fighting mood\n  By some insulting word.\n_King_. Friend Madhavya, I must obey the bidding of heaven's king. Go,\nacquaint the minister Pishuna with the matter, and add these words of\nmine:\n\n  Your wisdom only shall control\n    The kingdom for a time;\n  My bow is strung; a distant goal\n    Calls me, and tasks sublime.\n\n_Clown_. Very well. (_Exit_.)\n\n_Matali_. Enter the chariot. (_The king does so. Exeunt omnes_.)\n\n\nACT VII\n\n\n(_Enter, in a chariot that flies through the air, the king and_\nMATALI.)\n\n_King_. Matali, though I have done what Indra commanded, I think\nmyself an unprofitable servant, when I remember his most gracious\nwelcome.\n\n_Matali_. O King, know that each considers himself the other's debtor.\nFor\n\n  You count the service given\n    Small by the welcome paid,\n  Which to the king of heaven\n    Seems mean for such brave aid.\n\n_King_. Ah, no! For the honour given me at parting went far beyond\nimagination. Before the gods, he seated me beside him on his throne.\nAnd then\n\n  He smiled, because his son Jayanta's heart\n    Beat quicker, by the self-same wish oppressed,\n  And placed about my neck the heavenly wreath\n    Still fragrant from the sandal on his breast.\n\n_Matali_. But what do you not deserve from heaven's king? Remember:\n\n  Twice, from peace-loving Indra's sway\n  The demon-thorn was plucked away:\n    First, by Man-lion's crooked claws;\n  Again, by your smooth shafts to-day.\n\n_King_. This merely proves Indra's majesty. Remember:\n\n  All servants owe success in enterprise\n    To honour paid before the great deed's done;\n  Could dawn defeat the darkness otherwise\n    Than resting on the chariot of the sun?\n\n_Matali_. The feeling becomes you. (_After a little_.) See, O King!\nYour glory has the happiness of being published abroad in heaven.\n\n  With colours used by nymphs of heaven\n    To make their beauty shine,\n  Gods write upon the surface given\n    Of many a magic vine,\n  As worth their song, the simple story\n  Of those brave deeds that made your glory.\n\n_King_. Matali, when I passed before, I was intent on fighting the\ndemons, and did not observe this region. Tell me. In which path of the\nwinds are we?\n\n_Matali_.\n\n  It is the windpath sanctified\n  By holy Vishnu's second stride;\n  Which, freed from dust of passion, ever\n  Upholds the threefold heavenly river;\n  And, driving them with reins of light,\n  Guides the stars in wheeling flight.\n\n_King_. That is why serenity pervades me, body and soul. (_He observes\nthe path taken by the chariot_.) It seems that we have descended into\nthe region of the clouds.\n\n_Matali_. How do you perceive it?\n\n_King_.\n\n  Plovers that fly from mountain-caves,\n  Steeds that quick-flashing lightning laves,\n  And chariot-wheels that drip with spray--\n  A path o'er pregnant clouds betray.\n\n_Matali_. You are right. And in a moment you will be in the world over\nwhich you bear rule.\n\n_King_ (_looking down_). Matali, our quick descent gives the world of\nmen a mysterious look. For\n\n  The plains appear to melt and fall\n  From mountain peaks that grow more tall;\n  The trunks of trees no longer hide\n  Nor in their leafy nests abide;\n  The river network now is clear,\n  For smaller streams at last appear:\n  It seems as if some being threw\n  The world to me, for clearer view.\n\n_Matali_. You are a good observer, O King. (_He looks down,\nawe-struck_.) There is a noble loveliness in the earth. _King_.\nMatali, what mountain is this, its flanks sinking into the eastern and\ninto the western sea? It drips liquid gold like a cloud at sunset.\n\n_Matali_. O King, this is Gold Peak, the mountain of the fairy\ncentaurs. Here it is that ascetics most fully attain to magic powers.\nSee!\n\n  The ancient sage, Marichi's son,\n  Child of the Uncreated One,\n  Father of superhuman life,\n  Dwells here austerely with his wife.\n\n_King_ (_reverently_). I must not neglect the happy chance. I cannot\ngo farther until I have walked humbly about the holy one.\n\n_Matali_. It is a worthy thought, O King. (_The chariot descends_.) We\nhave come down to earth.\n\n_King_ (_astonished_). Matali,\n\n  The wheels are mute on whirling rim;\n    Unstirred, the dust is lying there;\n  We do not bump the earth, but skim:\n    Still, still we seem to fly through air.\n\n_Matali_. Such is the glory of the chariot which obeys you and Indra.\n\n_King_. In which direction lies the hermitage of Marichi's son?\n\n_Matali_ (_pointing_). See!\n\n  Where stands the hermit, horridly austere,\n  Whom clinging vines are choking, tough and sore;\n  Half-buried in an ant-hill that has grown\n  About him, standing post-like and alone;\n  Sun-staring with dim eyes that know no rest,\n  The dead skin of a serpent on his breast:\n  So long he stood unmoved, insensate there\n  That birds build nests within his mat of hair.\n\n_King_ (_gazing_). All honour to one who mortifies the flesh so\nterribly.\n\n_Matali_ (_checking the chariot_). We have entered the hermitage of\nthe ancient sage, whose wife Aditi tends the coral-trees. _King_.\nHere is deeper contentment than in heaven. I seem plunged in a pool of\nnectar.\n\n_Matali_ (_stopping the chariot_). Descend, O King.\n\n_King_ (_descending_). But how will you fare?\n\n_Matali_. The chariot obeys the word of command. I too will descend.\n(_He does so_.) Before you, O King, are the groves where the holiest\nhermits lead their self-denying life.\n\n_King_. I look with amazement both at their simplicity and at what\nthey might enjoy.\n\n  Their appetites are fed with air\n  Where grows whatever is most fair;\n  They bathe religiously in pools\n  Which golden lily-pollen cools;\n  They pray within a jewelled home,\n  Are chaste where nymphs of heaven roam:\n  They mortify desire and sin\n  With things that others fast to win.\n\n_Matali_. The desires of the great aspire high. (_He walks about and\nspeaks to some one not visible_.) Ancient Shakalya, how is Marichi's\nholy son occupied? (_He listens_.) What do you say? That he is\nexplaining to Aditi, in answer to her question, the duties of a\nfaithful wife? My matter must await a fitter time. (_He turns to the\nking_.) Wait here, O King, in the shade of the ashoka tree, till I\nhave announced your coming to the sire of Indra.\n\n_King_. Very well. (_Exit_ MATALI. _The king's arm throbs, a happy\nomen_.)\n\n  I dare not hope for what I pray;\n    Why thrill--in vain?\n  For heavenly bliss once thrown away\n    Turns into pain.\n\n_A voice behind the scenes_. Don't! You mustn't be so foolhardy. Oh,\nyou are always the same.\n\n_King_ (_listening_). No naughtiness could feel at home in this spot.\nWho draws such a rebuke upon himself? (_He looks towards the sound. In\nsurprise_.) It is a child, but no child in strength. And two\nhermit-women are trying to control him.\n\n  He drags a struggling lion cub,\n  The lioness' milk half-sucked, half-missed,\n  Towzles his mane, and tries to drub\n  Him tame with small, imperious fist.\n\n(_Enter a small boy, as described, and two hermit-women_.)\n\n_Boy_. Open your mouth, cub. I want to count your teeth.\n\n_First woman_. Naughty boy, why do you torment our pets? They are like\nchildren to us. Your energy seems to take the form of striking\nsomething. No wonder the hermits call you All-tamer.\n\n_King_. Why should my heart go out to this boy as if he were my own\nson? (_He reflects_.) No doubt my childless state makes me\nsentimental.\n\n_Second woman_. The lioness will spring at you if you don't let her\nbaby go.\n\n_Boy_ (_smiling_). Oh, I'm dreadfully scared. (_He bites his lip_.)\n\n_King_ (_in surprise_).\n\n  The boy is seed of fire\n  Which, when it grows, will burn;\n  A tiny spark that soon\n  To awful flame may turn.\n\n_First woman_. Let the little lion go, dear. I will give you another\nplaything.\n\n_Boy_. Where is it? Give it to me. (_He stretches out his hand_.)\n\n_King_ (_looking at the hand_.) He has one of the imperial birthmarks!\nFor\n\n  Between the eager fingers grow\n  The close-knit webs together drawn,\n  Like some lone lily opening slow\n  To meet the kindling blush of dawn.\n\n_Second woman_. Suvrata, we can't make him stop by talking. Go. In my\ncottage you will find a painted clay peacock that belongs to the\nhermit-boy Mankanaka. Bring him that.\n\n_First woman_. I will. (_Exit_.) _Boy_. Meanwhile I'll play with\nthis one.\n\n_Hermit-woman_ (_looks and laughs_). Let him go.\n\n_King_. My heart goes out to this wilful child. (_Sighing_.)\n\n  They show their little buds of teeth\n  In peals of causeless laughter;\n  They hide their trustful heads beneath\n  Your heart. And stumbling after\n  Come sweet, unmeaning sounds that sing\n  To you. The father warms\n  And loves the very dirt they bring\n  Upon their little forms.\n\n_Hermit-woman_ (_shaking her finger_). Won't you mind me? (_She looks\nabout_.) Which one of the hermit-boys is here? (_She sees the king_.)\nOh, sir, please come here and free this lion cub. The little rascal is\ntormenting him, and I can't make him let go.\n\n_King_. Very well. (_He approaches, smiling_.) O little son of a great\nsage!\n\n  Your conduct in this place apart,\n  Is most unfit;\n  'Twould grieve your father's pious heart\n  And trouble it.\n\n  To animals he is as good\n  As good can be;\n  You spoil it, like a black snake's brood\n  In sandal tree.\n\n_Hermit-woman_. But, sir, he is not the son of a hermit.\n\n_King_. So it would seem, both from his looks and his actions. But in\nthis spot, I had no suspicion of anything else. (_He loosens the boy's\nhold on the cub, and touching him, says to himself_.)\n\n  It makes me thrill to touch the boy,\n  The stranger's son, to me unknown;\n  What measureless content must fill\n  The man who calls the child his own!\n\n_Hermit-woman_ (_looking at the two_). Wonderful! wonderful!\n\n_King_. Why do you say that, mother?\n\n_Hermit-woman_. I am astonished to see how much the boy looks like\nyou, sir. You are not related. Besides, he is a perverse little\ncreature and he does not know you. Yet he takes no dislike to\nyou.\n\n_King_ (_caressing the boy_). Mother, if he is not the son of a\nhermit, what is his family?\n\n_Hermit-woman_. The family of Puru.\n\n_King_ (_to himself_). He is of one family with me! Then could my\nthought be true? (_Aloud_.) But this is the custom of Puru's line:\n\n  In glittering palaces they dwell\n  While men, and rule the country well;\n  Then make the grove their home in age,\n  And die in austere hermitage.\n\nBut how could human beings, of their own mere motion, attain this\nspot?\n\n_Hermit-woman_. You are quite right, sir. But the boy's mother was\nrelated to a nymph, and she bore her son in the pious grove of the\nfather of the gods.\n\n_King_ (_to himself_). Ah, a second ground for hope. (_Aloud_.) What\nwas the name of the good king whose wife she was?\n\n_Hermit-woman_. Who would speak his name? He rejected his true wife.\n\n_King_ (_to himself_). This story points at me. Suppose I ask the boy\nfor his mother's name. (_He reflects_.) No, it is wrong to concern\nmyself with one who may be another's wife.\n\n(_Enter the first woman, with the clay peacock_.)\n\n_First woman_. Look, All-tamer. Here is the bird, the _shakunta_.\nIsn't the _shakunta_ lovely?\n\n_Boy_ (_looks about_). Where is my mamma? (_The two women burst out\nlaughing_.)\n\n_First woman_. It sounded like her name, and deceived him. He loves\nhis mother.\n\n_Second woman_. She said: \"See how pretty the peacock is.\" That is\nall.\n\n_King_ (_to himself_). His mother's name is Shakuntala! But names are\nalike. I trust this hope may not prove a disappointment in the end,\nlike a mirage.\n\n_Boy_. I like this little peacock, sister. Can it fly? (_He seizes the\ntoy_.) _First woman_ (_looks at the boy. Anxiously_), Oh, the amulet\nis not on his wrist.\n\n_King_. Do not be anxious, mother. It fell while he was struggling\nwith the lion cub. (_He starts to pick it up_.)\n\n_The two women_. Oh, don't, don't! (_They look at him_.) He has\ntouched it! (_Astonished, they lay their hands on their bosoms, and\nlook at each other_.)\n\n_King_. Why did you try to prevent me?\n\n_First woman_. Listen, your Majesty. This is a divine and most potent\ncharm, called the Invincible. Marichi's holy son gave it to the baby\nwhen the birth-ceremony was performed. If it falls on the ground, no\none may touch it except the boy's parents or the boy himself.\n\n_King_. And if another touch it?\n\n_First woman_. It becomes a serpent and stings him.\n\n_King_. Did you ever see this happen to any one else?\n\n_Both women_. More than once.\n\n_King_ (_joyfully_). Then why may I not welcome my hopes fulfilled at\nlast? (_He embraces the boy_.)\n\n_Second woman_. Come, Suvrata. Shakuntala is busy with her religious\nduties. We must go and tell her what has happened. (_Exeunt ambo_.)\n\n_Boy_. Let me go. I want to see my mother.\n\n_King_. My son, you shall go with me to greet your mother.\n\n_Boy_. Dushyanta is my father, not you.\n\n_King_ (_smiling_). You show I am right by contradicting me. (_Enter_\nSHAKUNTALA, _wearing her hair in a single braid_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_doubtfully_). I have heard that All-tamer's amulet did\nnot change when it should have done so. But I do not trust my own\nhappiness. Yet perhaps it is as Mishrakeshi told me. (_She walks\nabout_.)\n\n_King_ (_looking at_ SHAKUNTALA. _With plaintive joy_). It is she. It\nis Shakuntala.\n\n  The pale, worn face, the careless dress,\n  The single braid,\n  Show her still true, me pitiless,\n  The long vow paid.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_seeing the king pale with remorse. Doubtfully_). It is\nnot my husband. Who is the man that soils my boy with his caresses?\nThe amulet should protect him. _Boy_ (_running to his mother_).\nMother, he is a man that belongs to other people. And he calls me his\nson.\n\n_King_. My darling, the cruelty I showed you has turned to happiness.\nWill you not recognise me?\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). Oh, my heart, believe it. Fate struck\nhard, but its envy is gone and pity takes its place. It is my husband.\n\n_King_.\n\n  Black madness flies;\n  Comes memory;\n  Before my eyes\n  My love I see.\n\n  Eclipse flees far;\n  Light follows soon;\n  The loving star\n  Draws to the moon.\n\n_Shakuntala_. Victory, victo--(_Tears choke her utterance_.)\n\n_King_.\n\n  The tears would choke you, sweet, in vain;\n  My soul with victory is fed,\n  Because I see your face again--\n  No jewels, but the lips are red.\n\n_Boy_. Who is he, mother?\n\n_Shakuntala_. Ask fate, my child. (_She weeps_.)\n\n_King_.\n\n  Dear, graceful wife, forget;\n  Let the sin vanish;\n  Strangely did madness strive\n  Reason to banish.\n\n  Thus blindness works in men,\n  Love's joy to shake;\n  Spurning a garland, lest\n  It prove a snake. (_He falls at her feet_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_. Rise, my dear husband. Surely, it was some old sin of\nmine that broke my happiness--though it has turned again to happiness.\nOtherwise, how could you, dear, have acted so? You are so kind. (_The\nking rises_.) But what brought back the memory of your suffering\nwife? _King_. I will tell you when I have plucked out the dart of\nsorrow.\n\n  'Twas madness, sweet, that could let slip\n  A tear to burden your dear lip;\n  On graceful lashes seen to-day,\n  I wipe it, and our grief, away.   (_He does so_.)\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_sees more clearly and discovers the ring_). My husband,\nit is the ring!\n\n_King_. Yes. And when a miracle recovered it, my memory returned.\n\n_Shakuntala_. That was why it was so impossible for me to win your\nconfidence.\n\n_King_. Then let the vine receive her flower, as earnest of her union\nwith spring.\n\n_Shakuntala_. I do not trust it. I would rather you wore it.\n\n(_Enter_ MATALI)\n\n_Matali_. I congratulate you, O King, on reunion with your wife and on\nseeing the face of your son.\n\n_King_. My desires bear sweeter fruit because fulfilled through a\nfriend. Matali, was not this matter known to Indra?\n\n_Matali_ (_smiling_.) What is hidden from the gods? Come. Marichi's\nholy son, Kashyapa, wishes to see you.\n\n_King_. My dear wife, bring our son. I could not appear without you\nbefore the holy one.\n\n_Shakuntala_. I am ashamed to go before such parents with my husband.\n\n_King_. It is the custom in times of festival. Come. (_They walk\nabout_. KASHYAPA _appears seated, with_ ADITI.)\n\n_Kashyapa_ (_looking at the king_). Aditi,\n\n  'Tis King Dushyanta, he who goes before\n  Your son in battle, and who rules the earth,\n  Whose bow makes Indra's weapon seem no more\n  Than a fine plaything, lacking sterner worth.\n\n_Aditi_. His valour might be inferred from his appearance.\n\n_Matali_. O King, the parents of the gods look upon you with a glance\nthat betrays parental fondness. Approach them. _King_. Matali,\n\n  Sprung from the Creator's children, do I see\n  Great Kashyapa and Mother Aditi?\n  The pair that did produce the sun in heaven,\n  To which each year twelve changing forms are given;\n  That brought the king of all the gods to birth,\n  Who rules in heaven, in hell, and on the earth;\n  That Vishnu, than the Uncreated higher,\n  Chose as his parents with a fond desire.\n\n_Matali_. It is indeed they.\n\n_King_ (_falling before them_). Dushyanta, servant of Indra, does\nreverence to you both.\n\n_Kashyapa_. My son, rule the earth long.\n\n_Aditi_. And be invincible. (SHAKUNTALA _and her son fall at their\nfeet_.)\n\n_Kashyapa_. My daughter,\n\n  Your husband equals Indra, king\n  Of gods; your son is like his son;\n  No further blessing need I bring:\n  Win bliss such as his wife has won.\n\n_Aditi_. My child, keep the favour of your husband. And may this fine\nboy be an honour to the families of both parents. Come, let us be\nseated. (_All seat themselves_.)\n\n_Kashyapa_ (_indicating one after the other_).\n\n  Faithful Shakuntala, the boy,\n  And you, O King, I see\n  A trinity to bless the world--\n  Faith, Treasure, Piety.\n\n_King_. Holy one, your favour shown to us is without parallel. You\ngranted the fulfilment of our wishes before you called us to your\npresence. For, holy one,\n\n  The flower comes first, and then the fruit;\n  The clouds appear before the rain;\n  Effect comes after cause; but you\n  First helped, then made your favour plain.\n\n_Matali_. O King, such is the favour shown by the parents of the\nworld. _King_. Holy one, I married this your maid-servant by the\nvoluntary ceremony. When after a time her relatives brought her to me,\nmy memory failed and I rejected her. In so doing, I sinned against\nKanva, who is kin to you. But afterwards, when I saw the ring, I\nperceived that I had married her. And this seems very wonderful to me.\n\n  Like one who doubts an elephant,\n  Though seeing him stride by,\n  And yet believes when he has seen\n  The footprints left; so I.\n\n_Kashyapa_. My son, do not accuse yourself of sin. Your infatuation\nwas inevitable. Listen.\n\n_King_. I am all attention.\n\n_Kashyapa_. When the nymph Menaka descended to earth and received\nShakuntala, afflicted at her rejection, she came to Aditi. Then I\nperceived the matter by my divine insight. I saw that the unfortunate\ngirl had been rejected by her rightful husband because of Durvasas'\ncurse. And that the curse would end when the ring came to light.\n\n_King_ (_with a sigh of relief. To himself_). Then I am free from\nblame.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). Thank heaven! My husband did not reject\nme of his own accord. He really did not remember me. I suppose I did\nnot hear the curse in my absent-minded state, for my friends warned me\nmost earnestly to show my husband the ring.\n\n_Kashyapa_. My daughter, you know the truth. Do not now give way to\nanger against your rightful husband. Remember:\n\n  The curse it was that brought defeat and pain;\n  The darkness flies; you are his queen again.\n  Reflections are not seen in dusty glass,\n  Which, cleaned, will mirror all the things that pass.\n\n_King_. It is most true, holy one.\n\n_Kashyapa_. My son, I hope you have greeted as he deserves the son\nwhom Shakuntala has borne you, for whom I myself have performed the\nbirth-rite and the other ceremonies.\n\n_King_. Holy one, the hope of my race centres in him.\n\n_Kashyapa_. Know then that his courage will make him emperor.\n\n  Journeying over every sea,\n  His car will travel easily;\n  The seven islands of the earth\n  Will bow before his matchless worth;\n  Because wild beasts to him were tame,\n  All-tamer was his common name;\n  As Bharata he shall be known,\n  For he will bear the world alone.\n\n_King_. I anticipate everything from him, since you have performed the\nrites for him.\n\n_Aditi_. Kanva also should be informed that his daughter's wishes are\nfulfilled. But Menaka is waiting upon me here and cannot be spared.\n\n_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). The holy one has expressed my own desire.\n\n_Kashyapa_. Kanva knows the whole matter through his divine insight.\n(_He reflects_.) Yet he should hear from us the pleasant tidings, how\nhis daughter and her son have been received by her husband. Who waits\nwithout? (_Enter a pupil_.)\n\n_Pupil_. I am here, holy one.\n\n_Kashyapa_. Galava, fly through the air at once, carrying pleasant\ntidings from me to holy Kanva. Tell him how Durvasas' curse has come\nto an end, how Dushyanta recovered his memory, and has taken\nShakuntala with her child to himself.\n\n_Pupil_. Yes, holy one. (_Exit_.)\n\n_Kashyapa_ (_to the king_). My son, enter with child and wife the\nchariot of your friend Indra, and set out for your capital.\n\n_King_. Yes, holy one.\n\n_Kashyapa_. For now\n\n  May Indra send abundant rain,\n  Repaid by sacrificial gain;\n  With aid long mutually given,\n  Rule you on earth, and he in heaven.\n\n_King_. Holy one, I will do my best.\n\n_Kashyapa_. What more, my son, shall I do for you?\n\n_King_. Can there be more than this? Yet may this prayer be fulfilled.\n\n  May kingship benefit the land,\n  And wisdom grow in scholars' band;\n  May Shiva see my faith on earth\n  And make me free of all rebirth.\n\n(_Exeunt omnes_.)\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF SHAKUNTALA\n\n\nIn the first book of the vast epic poem _Mahabharata_, Kalidasa found\nthe story of Shakuntala. The story has a natural place there, for\nBharata, Shakuntala's son, is the eponymous ancestor of the princes\nwho play the leading part in the epic.\n\nWith no little abbreviation of its epic breadth, the story runs as\nfollows:--\n\nTHE EPIC TALE\n\nOnce that strong-armed king, with a mighty host of men and chariots,\nentered a thick wood. Then when the king had slain thousands of wild\ncreatures, he entered another wood with his troops and his chariots,\nintent on pursuing a deer. And the king beheld a wonderful, beautiful\nhermitage on the bank of the sacred river Malini; on its bank was the\nbeautiful hermitage of bless\u00e8d, high-souled Kanva, whither the great\nsages resorted. Then the king determined to enter, that he might see\nthe great sage Kanva, rich in holiness. He laid aside the insignia of\nroyalty and went on alone, but did not see the austere sage in the\nhermitage. Then, when he did not see the sage, and perceived that the\nhermitage was deserted, he cried aloud, \"Who is here?\" until the\nforest seemed to shriek. Hearing his cry, a maiden, lovely as Shri,\ncame from the hermitage, wearing a hermit garb. \"Welcome!\" she said at\nonce, greeting him, and smilingly added: \"What may be done for you?\"\nThen the king said to the sweet-voiced maid: \"I have come to pay\nreverence to the holy sage Kanva. Where has the bless\u00e8d one gone,\nsweet girl? Tell me this, lovely maid.\" Shakuntala said: \"My bless\u00e8d\nfather has gone from the hermitage to gather fruits. Wait a moment.\nYou shall see him when he returns.\"\n\nThe king did not see the sage, but when the lovely girl of the fair\nhips and charming smile spoke to him, he saw that{} she was radiant in\nher beauty, yes, in her hard vows and self-restraint all youth and\nbeauty, and he said to her:\n\n\"Who are you? Whose are you, lovely maiden? Why did you come to the\nforest? Whence are you, sweet girl, so lovely and so good? Your beauty\nstole my heart at the first glance. I wish to know you better. Answer\nme, sweet maid.\"\n\nThe maiden laughed when thus questioned by the king in the hermitage,\nand the words she spoke were very sweet: \"O Dushyanta, I am known as\nblessed Kanva's daughter, and he is austere, steadfast, wise, and of a\nlofty soul.\"\n\nDushyanta said: \"But he is chaste, glorious maid, holy, honoured by\nthe world. Though virtue should swerve from its course, he would not\nswerve from the hardness of his vow. How were you born his daughter,\nfor you are beautiful? I am in great perplexity about this. Pray\nremove it.\"\n\n[Shakuntala here explains how she is the child of a sage and a nymph,\ndeserted at birth, cared for by birds (_shakuntas_), found and reared\nby Kanva, who gave her the name Shakuntala.]\n\nDushyanta said: \"You are clearly a king's daughter, sweet maiden, as\nyou say. Become my lovely wife. Tell me, what shall I do for you? Let\nall my kingdom be yours to-day. Become my wife, sweet maid.\"\n\nShakuntala said: \"Promise me truly what I say to you in secret. The\nson that is born to me must be your heir. If you promise, Dushyanta, I\nwill marry you.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" said the king without thinking, and added: \"I will bring\nyou too to my city, sweet-smiling girl.\"\n\nSo the king took the faultlessly graceful maiden by the hand and dwelt\nwith her. And when he had bidden her be of good courage, he went\nforth, saying again and again: \"I will send a complete army for you,\nand tell them to bring my sweet-smiling bride to my palace.\" When he\nhad made this promise, the king went thoughtfully to find Kanva. \"What\nwill he do when he hears it, this holy, austere man?\" he wondered, and\nstill thinking, he went back to his capital.\n\nNow the moment he was gone, Kanva came to the hermitage. And\nShakuntala was ashamed and did not come to meet her father. But\nblessed, austere Kanva had divine discernment. He discovered her, and\nseeing the matter with celestial vision, he was pleased and said:\n\"What you have done, dear, to-day, forgetting me and meeting a man,\nthis does not break the law. A man who loves may marry secretly the\nwoman who loves him without a ceremony; and Dushyanta is virtuous and\nnoble, the best of men. Since you have found a loving husband,\nShakuntala, a noble son shall be born to you, mighty in the world.\"\n\nSweet Shakuntala gave birth to a boy of unmeasured prowess. His hands\nwere marked with the wheel, and he quickly grew to be a glorious boy.\nAs a six years' child in Kanva's hermitage he rode on the backs of\nlions, tigers, and boars near the hermitage, and tamed them, and ran\nabout playing with them. Then those who lived in Kanva's hermitage\ngave him a name. \"Let him be called All-tamer,\" they said: \"for he\ntames everything.\"\n\nBut when the sage saw the boy and his more than human deeds, he said\nto Shakuntala: \"It is time for him to be anointed crown prince.\" When\nhe saw how strong the boy was, Kanva said to his pupils: \"Quickly\nbring my Shakuntala and her son from my house to her husband's palace.\nA long abiding with their relatives is not proper for married women.\nIt destroys their reputation, and their character, and their virtue;\nso take her without delay.\" \"We will,\" said all the mighty men, and\nthey set out with Shakuntala and her son for Gajasahvaya.\n\nWhen Shakuntala drew near, she was recognised and invited to enter,\nand she said to the king: \"This is your son, O King. You must anoint\nhim crown prince, just as you promised before, when we met.\"\n\nWhen the king heard her, although he remembered her, he said: \"I do\nnot remember. To whom do you belong, you wicked hermit-woman? I do not\nremember a union with you for virtue, love, and wealth.[1] Either go\nor stay, or do whatever you wish.\"\n\nWhen he said this, the sweet hermit-girl half fainted from shame and\ngrief, and stood stiff as a pillar. Her eyes darkened with passionate\nindignation; her lips quivered; she seemed to consume the king as she\ngazed at him with sidelong glances. Concealing her feelings and nerved\nby anger, she held in check the magic power that her ascetic life had\ngiven her. She seemed to meditate a moment, overcome by grief and\nanger. She gazed at her husband, then spoke passionately: \"O shameless\nking, although you know, why do you say, 'I do not know,' like any\nother ordinary man?\"\n\nDushyanta said: \"I do not know the son born of you, Shakuntala. Women\nare liars. Who will believe what you say? Are you not ashamed to say\nthese incredible things, especially in my presence? You wicked\nhermit-woman, go!\"\n\nShakuntala said: \"O King, sacred is holy God, and sacred is a holy\npromise. Do not break your promise, O King. Let your love be sacred.\nIf you cling to a lie, and will not believe, alas! I must go away;\nthere is no union with a man like you. For even without you,\nDushyanta, my son shall rule this foursquare earth adorned with kingly\nmountains.\"\n\nWhen she had said so much to the king, Shakuntala started to go. But a\nbodiless voice from heaven said to Dushyanta: \"Care for your son,\nDushyanta. Do not despise Shakuntala. You are the boy's father.\nShakuntala tells the truth.\"\n\nWhen he heard the utterance of the gods, the king joyfully said to his\nchaplain and his ministers: \"Hear the words of this heavenly\nmessenger. If I had received my son simply because of her words, he\nwould be suspected by the world, he would not be pure.\"\n\nThen the king received his son gladly and joyfully. He kissed his head\nand embraced him lovingly. His wife also Dushyanta honoured, as\njustice required. And the king soothed her, and said: \"This union\nwhich I had with you was hidden from the world. Therefore I hesitated,\nO Queen, in order to save your reputation. And as for the cruel words\nyou said to me in an excess of passion, these I pardon you, my\nbeautiful, great-eyed darling, because you love me.\"\n\nThen King Dushyanta gave the name Bharata to Shakuntala's son, and had\nhim anointed crown prince.\n\nIt is plain that this story contains the material for a good play; the\nvery form of the epic tale is largely dramatic. It is also plain, in a\nlarge way, of what nature are the principal changes which a dramatist\nmust introduce in the original. For while Shakuntala is charming in\nthe epic story, the king is decidedly contemptible. Somehow or other,\nhis face must be saved.\n\nTo effect this, Kalidasa has changed the old story in three important\nrespects. In the first place, he introduces the curse of Durvasas,\nclouding the king's memory, and saving him from moral responsibility\nin his rejection of Shakuntala. That there may be an ultimate recovery\nof memory, the curse is so modified as to last only until the king\nshall see again the ring which he has given to his bride. To the\nHindu, curse and modification are matters of frequent occurrence; and\nKalidasa has so delicately managed the matter as not to shock even a\nmodern and Western reader with a feeling of strong improbability. Even\nto us it seems a natural part of the divine cloud that envelops the\ndrama, in no way obscuring human passion, but rather giving to human\npassion an unwonted largeness and universality.\n\nIn the second place, the poet makes Shakuntala undertake her journey\nto the palace before her son is born. Obviously, the king's character\nis thus made to appear in a better light, and a greater probability is\ngiven to the whole story.\n\nThe third change is a necessary consequence of the first; for without\nthe curse, there could have been no separation, no ensuing remorse,\nand no reunion.\n\nBut these changes do not of themselves make a drama out of the epic\ntale. Large additions were also necessary, both of scenes and of\ncharacters. We find, indeed, that only acts one and five, with a part\nof act seven, rest upon the ancient text, while acts two, three, four,\nand six, with most of seven, are a creation of the poet. As might have\nbeen anticipated, the acts of the former group are more dramatic,\nwhile those of the latter contribute more of poetical charm. It is\nwith these that scissors must be chiefly busy when the play--rather\ntoo long for continuous presentation as it stands--is performed on the\nstage.\n\nIn the epic there are but three characters--Dushyanta, Shakuntala,\nKanva, with the small boy running about in the background. To these\nKalidasa has added from the palace, from the hermitage, and from the\nElysian region which is represented with vague precision in the last\nact.\n\nThe conventional clown plays a much smaller part in this play than in\nthe others which Kalidasa wrote. He has also less humour. The real\nhumorous relief is given by the fisherman and the three policemen in\nthe opening scene of the sixth act. This, it may be remarked, is the\nonly scene of rollicking humour in Kalidasa's writing.\n\nThe forest scenes are peopled with quiet hermit-folk. Far the most\ncharming of these are Shakuntala's girl friends. The two are\nbeautifully differentiated: Anusuya grave, sober; Priyamvada\nvivacious, saucy; yet wonderfully united in friendship and in devotion\nto Shakuntala, whom they feel to possess a deeper nature than theirs.\n\nKanva, the hermit-father, hardly required any change from the epic\nKanva. It was a happy thought to place beside him the staid, motherly\nGautami. The small boy in the last act has magically become an\nindividual in Kalidasa's hands. In this act too are the creatures of a\nhigher world, their majesty not rendered too precise.\n\nDushyanta has been saved by the poet from his epic shabbiness; it may\nbe doubted whether more has been done. There is in him, as in some\nother Hindu heroes, a shade too much of the meditative to suit our\nideal of more alert and ready manhood.\n\nBut all the other characters sink into insignificance beside the\nheroine. Shakuntala dominates the play. She is actually on the stage\nin five of the acts, and her spirit pervades the other two, the second\nand the sixth. Shakuntala has held captive the heart of India for\nfifteen hundred years, and wins the love of increasing thousands in\nthe West; for so noble a union of sweetness with strength is one of\nthe miracles of art.\n\n  Though lovely women walk the world to-day\n    By tens of thousands, there is none so fair\n  In all that exhibition and display\n    With her most perfect beauty to compare--\n\nbecause it is a most perfect beauty of soul no less than of outward\nform. Her character grows under our very eyes. When we first meet her,\nshe is a simple maiden, knowing no greater sorrow than the death of a\nfavourite deer; when we bid her farewell, she has passed through happy\nlove, the mother's joys and pains, most cruel humiliation and\nsuspicion, and the reunion with her husband, proved at last not to\nhave been unworthy. And each of these great experiences has been met\nwith a courage and a sweetness to which no words can render justice.\n\nKalidasa has added much to the epic tale; yet his use of the original\nis remarkably minute. A list of the epic suggestions incorporated in\nhis play is long. But it is worth making, in order to show how keen is\nthe eye of genius. Thus the king lays aside the insignia of royalty\nupon entering the grove (Act I). Shakuntala appears in hermit garb, a\ndress of bark (Act I). The quaint derivation of the heroine's name\nfrom _shakunta_--bird--is used with wonderful skill in a passage (Act\nVII) which defies translation, as it involves a play on words. The\nking's anxiety to discover whether the maiden's father is of a caste\nthat permits her to marry him is reproduced (Act I). The marriage\nwithout a ceremony is retained (Act IV), but robbed of all offence.\nKanva's celestial vision, which made it unnecessary for his child to\ntell him of her union with the king, is introduced with great delicacy\n(Act IV). The curious formation of the boy's hand which indicated\nimperial birth adds to the king's suspense (Act VII). The boy's rough\nplay with wild animals is made convincing (Act VII) and his very\nnickname All-tamer is preserved (Act VII). Kanva's worldly wisdom as\nto husband and wife dwelling together is reproduced (Act IV). No small\npart of the give-and-take between the king and Shakuntala is given\n(Act V), but with a new dignity.\n\nOf the construction of the play I speak with diffidence. It seems\nadmirable to me, the apparently undue length of some scenes hardly\nconstituting a blemish, as it was probably intended to give the actors\nconsiderable latitude of choice and excision. Several versions of the\ntext have been preserved; it is from the longer of the two more\nfamiliar ones that the translation in this volume has been made. In\nthe warm discussion over this matter, certain technical arguments of\nsome weight have been advanced in favour of this choice; there is also\na more general consideration which seems to me of importance. I find\nit hard to believe that any lesser artist could pad such a\nmasterpiece, and pad it all over, without making the fraud apparent on\nalmost every page. The briefer version, on the other hand, might\neasily grow out of the longer, either as an acting text, or as a\nschool-book.\n\nWe cannot take leave of Shakuntala in any better way than by quoting\nthe passage[2] in which L\u00e9vi's imagination has conjured up \"the\nmemorable _premi\u00e8re_ when Shakuntala saw the light, in the presence of\nVikramaditya and his court.\"\n\n  La f\u00eate du printemps approche; Ujjayin\u00ee, la ville aux riches\n  marchands et la capitale intellectuelle de l'Inde, glorieuse et\n  prosp\u00e8re sous un roi victorieux et sage, se pr\u00e9pare \u00e0 c\u00e9l\u00e9brer\n  la solennit\u00e9 avec une pompe digne de son opulence et de son\n  go\u00fbt.... L'auteur applaudi de M\u00e2lavik\u00e2 ... le po\u00e8te dont le\n  souple g\u00e9nie s'accommode sans effort au ton de l'\u00e9pop\u00e9e ou de\n  l'\u00e9l\u00e9gie, K\u00e2lid\u00e2sa vient d'achever une com\u00e9die h\u00e9ro\u00efque\n  annonc\u00e9e comme un chef-d'oeuvre par la voix de ses amis.... Le\n  po\u00e8te a ses com\u00e9diens, qu'il a \u00e9prouv\u00e9s et dress\u00e9s \u00e0 sa mani\u00e8re\n  avec M\u00e2lavik\u00e2. Les com\u00e9diens suivront leur po\u00e8te familier,\n  devenu leur ma\u00eetre et leur ami.... Leur solide instruction,\n  leur go\u00fbt \u00e9pur\u00e9 reconnaissent les qualit\u00e9s ma\u00eetresses de\n  l'oeuvre, l'habilet\u00e9 de l'intrigue, le juste \u00e9quilibre des\n  sentiments, la fra\u00eecheur de l'imagination ...\n\n  Vikram\u00e2ditya entre, suivi des courtisans, et s'asseoit sur son\n  tr\u00f4ne; ses femmes restent \u00e0 sa gauche; \u00e0 sa droite les rois\n  vassaux accourus pour rendre leurs hommages, les princes, les\n  hauts fonctionnaires, les litt\u00e9rateurs et les savants, group\u00e9s\n  autour de Var\u00e2ha-mihira l'astrologue et d'Amarasimha le\n  lexicographe ...\n\n  Tout \u00e0 coup, les deux jolies figurantes plac\u00e9es devant le\n  rideau de la coulisse en \u00e9cartent les plis, et Duhsanta, l'arc\n  et les fl\u00e8ches \u00e0 la main, para\u00eet mont\u00e9 sur un char; son cocher\n  tient les r\u00eanes; lanc\u00e9s \u00e0 la poursuite d'une gazelle\n  imaginaire, ils simulent par leurs gestes la rapidit\u00e9 de la\n  course; leurs stances pittoresques et descriptives sugg\u00e8rent \u00e0\n  l'imagination un d\u00e9cor que la peinture serait impuissante \u00e0\n  tracer. Ils approchent de l'ermitage; le roi descend \u00e0 terre,\n  cong\u00e9die le cocher, les chevaux et le char, entend les voix des\n  jeunes filles et se cache. Un mouvement de curiosit\u00e9\n  agite les spectateurs; fille d'une Apsaras et cr\u00e9ation de\n  K\u00e2lid\u00e2sa, \u00c7akuntal\u00e2 r\u00e9unit tous les charmes; l'actrice\n  saura-t-elle r\u00e9pondre \u00e0 l'attente des connaisseurs et r\u00e9aliser\n  l'id\u00e9al? Elle para\u00eet, v\u00eatue d'une simple tunique d'\u00e9corce qui\n  semble cacher ses formes et par un contraste habile les\n  embellit encore; la ligne arrondie du visage, les yeux longs,\n  d'un bleu sombre, langoureux, les seins opulents mal\n  emprisonn\u00e9s, les bras d\u00e9licats laissent \u00e0 deviner les beaut\u00e9s\n  que le costume asc\u00e9tique d\u00e9robe. Son attitude, ses gestes\n  ravissent \u00e0 la fois les regards et les coeurs; elle parle, et sa\n  voix est un chant. La cour de Vikr\u00e2maditya fr\u00e9mit d'une \u00e9motion\n  sereine et profonde: un chef-d'oeuvre nouveau vient d'entrer\n  dans l'immortalit\u00e9.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: The Hindu equivalent of \"for better, for worse.\"]\n\n[Footnote 2: _Le Th\u00e9\u00e2tre Indien_, pages 368-371. This is without\ncompetition the best work in which any part of the Sanskrit literature\nhas been treated, combining erudition, imagination, and taste. The\nbook is itself literature of a high order. The passage is\nunfortunately too long to be quoted entire.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWO MINOR DRAMAS\n\n\nI.--\"MALAVIKA AND AGNIMITRA\"\n\n_Malavika and Agnimitra_ is the earliest of Kalidasa's three dramas,\nand probably his earliest work. This conclusion would be almost\ncertain from the character of the play, but is put beyond doubt by the\nfollowing speeches of the prologue:\n\n_Stage-director_. The audience has asked us to present at this spring\nfestival a drama called _Malavika and Agnimitra_, composed by\nKalidasa. Let the music begin.\n\n_Assistant_. No, no! Shall we neglect the works of such illustrious\nauthors as Bhasa, Saumilla, and Kaviputra? Can the audience feel any\nrespect for the work of a modern poet, a Kalidasa?\n\n_Stage-director_. You are quite mistaken. Consider:\n\n  Not all is good that bears an ancient name,\n  Nor need we every modern poem blame:\n  Wise men approve the good, or new or old;\n  The foolish critic follows where he's told.\n\n_Assistant_. The responsibility rests with you, sir.\n\nThere is irony in the fact that the works of the illustrious authors\nmentioned have perished, that we should hardly know of their existence\nwere it not for the tribute of their modest, youthful rival. But\nKalidasa could not read the future. We can imagine his feelings of\nmingled pride and fear when his early work was presented at the spring\nfestival before the court of King Vikramaditya, without doubt the most\npolished and critical audience that could at that hour have been\ngathered in any city on earth. The play which sought the approbation\nof this audience shows no originality of plot, no depth of passion. It\nis a light, graceful drama of court intrigue. The hero, King\nAgnimitra, is an historical character of the second century before\nChrist, and Kalidasa's play gives us some information about him that\nhistory can seriously consider. The play represents Agnimitra's\nfather, the founder of the Sunga dynasty, as still living. As the seat\nof empire was in Patna on the Ganges, and as Agnimitra's capital is\nVidisha--the modern Bhilsa--it seems that he served as regent of\ncertain provinces during his father's lifetime. The war with the King\nof Vidarbha seems to be an historical occurrence, and the fight with\nthe Greek cavalry force is an echo of the struggle with Menander, in\nwhich the Hindus were ultimately victorious. It was natural for\nKalidasa to lay the scene of his play in Bhilsa rather than in the\nfar-distant Patna, for it is probable that many in the audience were\nacquainted with the former city. It is to Bhilsa that the poet refers\nagain in _The Cloud-Messenger_, where these words are addressed to the\ncloud:\n\n    At thine approach, Dasharna land is blest\n  With hedgerows where gay buds are all aglow,\n    With village trees alive with many a nest\n  Abuilding by the old familiar crow,\n  With lingering swans, with ripe rose-apples' darker show.\n\n    There shalt thou see the royal city, known\n  Afar, and win the lover's fee complete,\n    If thou subdue thy thunders to a tone\n  Of murmurous gentleness, and taste the sweet,\n  Love-rippling features of the river at thy feet.\n\nYet in Kalidasa's day, the glories of the Sunga dynasty were long\ndeparted, nor can we see why the poet should have chosen his hero and\nhis era as he did.\n\nThere follows an analysis of the plot and some slight criticism.\n\nIn addition to the stage-director and his assistant, who appear in the\nprologue, the characters of the play are these:\n\n\n  AGNIMITRA, _king in Vidisha_.\n\n  GAUTAMA, _a clown, his friend_.\n\n\n  GANADASA   }\n             }  _dancing-masters_.\n  HARADATTA  }\n\n\n  DHARINI, _the senior queen_.\n\n  IRAVATI, _the junior queen_.\n\n  MALAVIKA, _maid to Queen Dharini, later discovered to be a princess_.\n\n  KAUSHIKI, _a Buddhist nun_.\n\n  BAKULAVALIKA, _a maid, friend of Malavika_.\n\n  NIPUNIKA, _maid to Queen Iravati_.\n\n  _A counsellor, a chamberlain, a humpback, two court poets, maids,\n  and mute attendants_.\n\nThe scene is the palace and gardens of King Agnimitra, the time a few\ndays.\n\n\nACT I.--After the usual prologue, the maid Bakulavalika appears with\nanother maid. From their conversation we learn that King Agnimitra has\nseen in the palace picture-gallery a new painting of Queen Dharini\nwith her attendants. So beautiful is one of these, Malavika, that the\nking is smitten with love, but is prevented by the jealous queen from\nviewing the original. At this point the dancing-master Ganadasa\nenters. From him Bakulavalika learns that Malavika is a wonderfully\nproficient pupil, while he learns from her that Malavika had been sent\nas a present to Queen Dharini by a general commanding a border\nfortress, the queen's brother.\n\nAfter this introductory scene, the king enters, and listens to a\nletter sent by the king of Vidarbha. The rival monarch had imprisoned\na prince and princess, cousins of Agnimitra, and in response to\nAgnimitra's demand that they be set free, he declares that the\nprincess has escaped, but that the prince shall not be liberated\nexcept on certain conditions. This letter so angers Agnimitra that he\ndespatches an army against the king of Vidarbha.\n\nGautama, the clown, informs Agnimitra that he has devised a plan for\nbringing Malavika into the king's presence. He has stirred an envious\nrivalry in the bosoms of the two dancing-masters, who soon appear,\neach abusing the other vigorously, and claiming for himself the\npre-eminence in their art. It is agreed that each shall exhibit his\nbest pupil before the king, Queen Dharini, and the learned Buddhist\nnun, Kaushiki. The nun, who is in the secret of the king's desire, is\nmade mistress of ceremonies, and the queen's jealous opposition is\noverborne.\n\n\nACT II.--The scene is laid in the concert-hall of the palace. The nun\ndetermines that Ganadasa shall present his pupil first. Malavika is\nthereupon introduced, dances, and sings a song which pretty plainly\nindicates her own love for the king. He is in turn quite ravished,\nfinding her far more beautiful even than the picture. The clown\nmanages to detain her some little time by starting a discussion as to\nher art, and when she is finally permitted to depart, both she and the\nking are deeply in love. The court poet announces the noon hour, and\nthe exhibition of the other dancing-master is postponed.\n\n\nACT III.--The scene is laid in the palace garden. From the\nconversation of two maids it appears that a favourite ashoka-tree is\nlate in blossoming. This kind of tree, so the belief runs, can be\ninduced to put forth blossoms if touched by the foot of a beautiful\nwoman in splendid garments.\n\nWhen the girls depart, the king enters with the clown, his confidant.\nThe clown, after listening to the king's lovelorn confidences, reminds\nhim that he has agreed to meet his young Queen Iravati in the garden,\nand swing with her. But before the queen's arrival, Malavika enters,\nsent thither by Dharini to touch the ashoka-tree with her foot, and\nthus encourage it to blossom. The king and the clown hide in a\nthicket, to feast their eyes upon her. Presently the maid Bakulavalika\nappears, to adorn Malavika for the ceremony, and engages her in\nconversation about the king. But now a third pair enter, the young\nQueen Iravati, somewhat flushed with wine, and her maid Nipunika. They\nalso conceal themselves to spy upon the young girls. Thus there are\nthree groups upon the stage: the two girls believe themselves to be\nalone; the king and the clown are aware of the two girls, as are also\nthe queen and her maid; but neither of these two pairs knows of the\npresence of the other. This situation gives rise to very entertaining\ndialogue, which changes its character when the king starts forward to\nexpress his love for Malavika. Another sudden change is brought about\nwhen Iravati, mad with jealousy, joins the group, sends the two girls\naway, and berates the king. He excuses himself as earnestly as a man\nmay when caught in such a predicament, but cannot appease the young\nqueen, who leaves him with words of bitter jealousy.\n\n\nACT IV.--The clown informs the king that Queen Dharini has locked\nMalavika and her friend in the cellar, and has given orders to the\ndoorkeeper that they are to be released only upon presentation of her\nown signet-ring, engraved with the figure of a serpent. But he\ndeclares that he has devised a plan to set them free. He bids the king\nwait upon Queen Dharini, and presently rushes into their presence,\nshowing his thumb marked with two scratches, and declaring that he has\nbeen bitten by a cobra. Imploring the king to care for his childless\nmother, he awakens genuine sympathy in the queen, who readily parts\nwith her serpent-ring, supposed to be efficacious in charming away the\neffects of snake-poison. Needless to say, he uses the ring to procure\nthe freedom of Malavika and her friend, and then brings about a\nmeeting with Agnimitra in the summer-house. The love-scene which\nfollows is again interrupted by Queen Iravati. This time the king is\nsaved by the news that his little daughter has been frightened by a\nyellow monkey, and will be comforted only by him. The act ends with\nthe announcement that the ashoka-tree has blossomed.\n\n\nACT V.--It now appears that Queen Dharini has relented and is willing\nto unite Malavika with the king; for she invites him to meet her under\nthe ashoka-tree, and includes Malavika among her attendants. Word is\nbrought that the army despatched against the king of Vidarbha has been\ncompletely successful, and that in the spoil are included two maids\nwith remarkable powers of song. These maids are brought before the\ncompany gathered at the tree, where they surprise every one by falling\non their faces before Malavika with the exclamation, \"Our princess!\"\nHere the Buddhist nun takes up the tale. She tells how her brother,\nthe counsellor of the captive prince, had rescued her and Malavika\nfrom the king of Vidarbha, and had started for Agnimitra's court.\n\nOn the way they had been overpowered by robbers, her brother killed,\nand she herself separated from Malavika. She had thereupon become a\nnun and made her way to Agnimitra's court, and had there found\nMalavika, who had been taken from the robbers by Agnimitra's general\nand sent as a present to Queen Dharini. She had not divulged the\nmatter sooner, because of a prophecy that Malavika should be a servant\nfor just one year before becoming a king's bride. This recital removes\nany possible objection to a union of Malavika and Agnimitra. To\ncomplete the king's happiness, there comes a letter announcing that\nhis son by Dharini has won a victory over a force of Greek cavalry,\nand inviting the court to be present at the sacrifice which was to\nfollow the victory. Thus every one is made happy except the jealous\nyoung Queen Iravati, now to be supplanted by Malavika; yet even she\nconsents, though somewhat ungraciously, to the arrangements made.\n\nCriticism of the large outlines of this plot would be quite unjust,\nfor it is completely conventional. In dozens of plays we have the same\nstory: the king who falls in love with a maid-servant, the jealousy of\nhis harem, the eventual discovery that the maid is of royal birth, and\nthe addition of another wife to a number already sufficiently large.\nIn writing a play of this kind, the poet frankly accepts the\nconventions; his ingenuity is shown in the minor incidents, in stanzas\nof poetical description, and in giving abundant opportunity for\ngraceful music and dancing. When the play is approached in this way,\nit is easy to see the _griffe du lion_ in this, the earliest work of\nthe greatest poet who ever sang repeatedly of love between man and\nwoman, troubled for a time but eventually happy. For though there is\nin Agnimitra, as in all heroes of his type, something contemptible,\nthere is in Malavika a sweetness, a delicacy, a purity, that make her\nno unworthy precursor of Sita, of Indumati, of the Yaksha's bride, and\nof Shakuntala.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nII.--\"URVASHI\"\n\n\nThe second of the two inferior dramas may be conveniently called\n_Urvashi_, though the full title is _The Tale of Urvashi won by\nValour_. When and where the play was first produced we do not know,\nfor the prologue is silent as to these matters. It has been thought\nthat it was the last work of Kalidasa, even that it was never produced\nin his lifetime. Some support is lent to this theory by the fact that\nthe play is filled with reminiscences of Shakuntala, in small matters\nas well as in great; as if the poet's imagination had grown weary, and\nhe were willing to repeat himself. Yet _Urvashi_ is a much more\nambitious effort than _Malavika_, and invites a fuller criticism,\nafter an outline of the plot has been given.\n\nIn addition to the stage-director and his assistant, who appear in the\nprologue, the characters of the play are these:\n\n\n  PURURAVAS, _king in Pratishthana on the Ganges_.\n\n  AYUS, _his son_.\n\n  MANAVAKA, _a clown, his friend_.\n\n  URVASHI, _a heavenly nymph_.\n\n  CHITRALEKHA, _another nymph, her friend_.\n\n  AUSHINARI, _queen of Pururavas_.\n\n  NIPUNIKA, _her maid_.\n\n_A charioteer, a chamberlain, a hermit-woman, various nymphs and other\ndivine beings, and attendants_.\n\nThe scene shifts as indicated in the following analysis. The time of\nthe first four acts is a few days. Between acts four and five several\nyears elapse.\n\n\nACT I.--The prologue only tells us that we may expect a new play of\nKalidasa. A company of heavenly nymphs then appear upon Mount\nGold-peak wailing and calling for help. Their cries are answered by\nKing Pururavas, who rides in a chariot that flies through the air. In\nresponse to his inquiries, the nymphs inform him that two of their\nnumber, Urvashi and Chitralekha, have been carried into captivity by a\ndemon. The king darts in pursuit, and presently returns, victorious,\nwith the two nymphs. As soon as Urvashi recovers consciousness, and\nhas rejoined her joyful friends, it is made plain that she and the\nking have been deeply impressed with each other's attractions. The\nking is compelled to decline an invitation to visit Paradise, but he\nand Urvashi exchange loving glances before they part.\n\n\nACT II.--The act opens with a comic scene in the king's palace. The\nclown appears, bursting with the secret of the king's love for\nUrvashi, which has been confided to him. He is joined by the maid\nNipunika, commissioned by the queen to discover what it is that\noccupies the king's mind. She discovers the secret ingeniously, but\nwithout much difficulty, and gleefully departs.\n\nThe king and the clown then appear in the garden, and the king\nexpresses at some length the depth and seeming hopelessness of his\npassion. The latter part of his lament is overheard by Urvashi\nherself, who, impelled by love for the king, has come down to earth\nwith her friend Chitralekha, and now stands near, listening but\ninvisible. When she has heard enough to satisfy her of the king's\npassion, she writes a love-stanza on a birch-leaf, and lets it fall\nbefore him. His reception of this token is such that Urvashi throws\naside the magic veil that renders her invisible, but as soon as she\nhas greeted the king, she and her friend are called away to take their\nparts in a play that is being presented in Paradise.\n\nThe king and the clown hunt for Urvashi's love-letter, which has been\nneglected during the past few minutes. But the leaf has blown away,\nonly to be picked up and read by Nipunika, who at that moment enters\nwith the queen. The queen can hardly be deceived by the lame excuses\nwhich the king makes, and after offering her ironical congratulations,\njealously leaves him.\n\n\nACT III.--The act opens with a conversation between two minor\npersonages in Paradise. It appears that Urvashi had taken the\nheroine's part in the drama just presented there, and when asked, \"On\nwhom is your heart set?\" had absentmindedly replied, \"On Pururavas.\"\nHeaven's stage-director had thereupon cursed her to fall from\nParadise, but this curse had been thus modified: that she was to live\non earth with Pururavas until he should see a child born of her, and\nwas then to return.\n\nThe scene shifts to Pururavas' palace. In the early evening, the\nchamberlain brings the king a message, inviting him to meet the queen\non a balcony bathed in the light of the rising moon. The king betakes\nhimself thither with his friend, the clown. In the midst of a dialogue\nconcerning moonlight and love, Urvashi and Chitralekha enter from\nParadise, wearing as before veils of invisibility. Presently the queen\nappears and with humble dignity asks pardon of the king for her\nrudeness, adding that she will welcome any new queen whom he genuinely\nloves and who genuinely returns his love. When the queen departs,\nUrvashi creeps up behind the king and puts her hands over his eyes.\nChitralekha departs after begging the king to make her friend forget\nParadise.\n\n\nACT IV.--From a short dialogue in Paradise between Chitralekha and\nanother nymph, we learn that a misfortune has befallen Pururavas and\nUrvashi. During their honeymoon in a delightful Himalayan forest,\nUrvashi, in a fit of jealousy, had left her husband, and had\ninadvertently entered a grove forbidden by an austere god to women.\nShe was straightway transformed into a vine, while Pururavas is\nwandering through the forest in desolate anguish.\n\nThe scene of what follows is laid in the Himalayan forest. Pururavas\nenters, and in a long poetical soliloquy bewails his loss and seeks\nfor traces of Urvashi. He vainly asks help of the creatures whom he\nmeets: a peacock, a cuckoo, a swan, a ruddy goose, a bee, an elephant,\na mountain-echo, a river, and an antelope. At last he finds a\nbrilliant ruby in a cleft of the rocks, and when about to throw it\naway, is told by a hermit to preserve it: for this is the gem of\nreunion, and one who possesses it will soon be reunited with his love.\nWith the gem in his hand, Pururavas comes to a vine which mysteriously\nreminds him of Urvashi, and when he embraces it, he finds his beloved\nin his arms. After she has explained to him the reason of her\ntransformation, they determine to return to the king's capital.\n\n\nACT V.--The scene of the concluding act is the king's palace. Several\nyears have passed in happy love, and Pururavas has only one\nsorrow--that he is childless.\n\nOne day a vulture snatches from a maid's hand the treasured gem of\nreunion, which he takes to be a bit of bloody meat, and flies off with\nit, escaping before he can be killed. While the king and his\ncompanions lament the gem's loss, the chamberlain enters, bringing the\ngem and an arrow with which the bird had been shot. On the arrow is\nwritten a verse declaring it to be the property of Ayus, son of\nPururavas and Urvashi. A hermit-woman is then ushered in, who brings a\nlad with her. She explains that the lad had been entrusted to her as\nsoon as born by Urvashi, and that it was he who had just shot the bird\nand recovered the gem. When Urvashi is summoned to explain why she had\nconcealed her child, she reminds the king of heaven's decree that she\nshould return as soon as Pururavas should see the child to be born to\nthem. She had therefore sacrificed maternal love to conjugal\naffection. Upon this, the king's new-found joy gives way to gloom. He\ndetermines to give up his kingdom and spend the remainder of his life\nas a hermit in the forest. But the situation is saved by a messenger\nfrom Paradise, bearing heaven's decree that Urvashi shall live with\nthe king until his death. A troop of nymphs then enter and assist in\nthe solemn consecration of Ayus as crown prince.\n\nThe tale of Pururavas and Urvashi, which Kalidasa has treated\ndramatically, is first made known to us in the Rigveda. It is thus one\nof the few tales that so caught the Hindu imagination as to survive\nthe profound change which came over Indian thinking in the passage\nfrom Vedic to classical times. As might be expected from its history,\nit is told in many widely differing forms, of which the oldest and\nbest may be summarised thus.\n\nPururavas, a mortal, sees and loves the nymph Urvashi. She consents to\nlive with him on earth so long as he shall not break certain trivial\nconditions. Some time after the birth of a son, these conditions are\nbroken, through no fault of the man, and she leaves him. He wanders\ndisconsolate, finds her, and pleads with her, by her duty as a wife,\nby her love for her child, even by a threat of suicide. She rejects\nhis entreaties, declaring that there can be no lasting love between\nmortal and immortal, even adding: \"There are no friendships with\nwomen. Their hearts are the hearts of hyenas.\" Though at last she\ncomforts him with vague hopes of a future happiness, the story\nremains, as indeed it must remain, a tragedy--the tragedy of love\nbetween human and divine.\n\nThis splendid tragic story Kalidasa has ruined. He has made of it an\nordinary tale of domestic intrigue, has changed the nymph of heaven\ninto a member of an earthly harem. The more important changes made by\nKalidasa in the traditional story, all have the tendency to remove the\nmassive, godlike, austere features of the tale, and to substitute\nsomething graceful or even pretty. These principal changes are: the\nintroduction of the queen, the clown, and the whole human\nparaphernalia of a court; the curse pronounced on Urvashi for her\ncarelessness in the heavenly drama, and its modification; the\ninvention of the gem of reunion; and the final removal of the curse,\neven as modified. It is true that the Indian theatre permits no\ntragedy, and we may well believe that no successor of Kalidasa could\nhope to present a tragedy on the stage. But might not Kalidasa, far\novertopping his predecessors, have put on the stage a drama the story\nof which was already familiar to his audience as a tragic story?\nPerhaps not. If not, one can but wish that he had chosen another\nsubject.\n\nThis violent twisting of an essentially tragic story has had a further\nill consequence in weakening the individual characters. Pururavas is a\nmere conventional hero, in no way different from fifty others, in\nspite of his divine lineage and his successful wooing of a goddess.\nUrvashi is too much of a nymph to be a woman, and too much of a woman\nto be a nymph. The other characters are mere types.\n\nYet, in spite of these obvious objections, Hindu critical opinion has\nalways rated the _Urvashi_ very high, and I have long hesitated to\nmake adverse comments upon it, for it is surely true that every nation\nis the best judge of its own literature. And indeed, if one could but\nforget plot and characters, he would find in _Urvashi_ much to attract\nand charm. There is no lack of humour in the clever maid who worms the\nclown's secret out of him. There is no lack of a certain shrewdness in\nthe clown, as when he observes:\n\n\"Who wants heaven? It is nothing to eat or drink. It is just a place\nwhere they never shut their eyes--like fishes!\"\n\nAgain, the play offers an opportunity for charming scenic display. The\nterrified nymphs gathered on the mountain, the palace balcony bathed\nin moonlight, the forest through which the king wanders in search of\nhis lost darling, the concluding solemn consecration of the crown\nprince by heavenly beings--these scenes show that Kalidasa was no\ncloset dramatist. And finally, there is here and there such poetry as\nonly Kalidasa could write. The fourth act particularly, undramatic as\nit is, is full of a delicate beauty that defies transcription. It was\na new and daring thought--to present on the stage a long lyrical\nmonologue addressed to the creatures of the forest and inspired by\ndespairing passion. Nor must it be forgotten that this play, like all\nIndian plays, is an opera. The music and the dancing are lost. We\njudge it perforce unfairly, for we judge it by the text alone. If, in\nspite of all, the _Urvashi_ is a failure, it is a failure possible\nonly to a serene and mighty poet.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTHE DYNASTY OF RAGHU\n\n\n_The Dynasty of Raghu_ is an epic poem in nineteen cantos. It consists\nof 1564 stanzas, or something over six thousand lines of verse. The\nsubject is that great line of kings who traced their origin to the\nsun, the famous \"solar line\" of Indian story. The bright particular\nstar of the solar line is Rama, the knight without fear and without\nreproach, the Indian ideal of a gentleman. His story had been told\nlong before Kalidasa's time in the _Ramayana_, an epic which does not\nneed to shun comparison with the foremost epic poems of Europe. In\n_The Dynasty of Raghu_, too, Rama is the central figure; yet in\nKalidasa's poem there is much detail concerning other princes of the\nline. The poem thus naturally falls into three great parts: first, the\nfour immediate ancestors of Rama (cantos 1-9); second, Rama (cantos\n10-15); third, certain descendants of Rama (cantos 16-19). A somewhat\ndetailed account of the matter of the poem may well precede criticism\nand comment.\n\n\n_First canto. The journey to the hermitage_.--The poem begins with the\ncustomary brief prayer for Shiva's favour:\n\n  God Shiva and his mountain bride,\n  Like word and meaning unified,\n  The world's great parents, I beseech\n  To join fit meaning to my speech.\n\nThen follow nine stanzas in which Kalidasa speaks more directly of\nhimself than elsewhere in his works:\n\n  How great is Raghu's solar line!\n  How feebly small are powers of mine!\n  As if upon the ocean's swell\n  I launched a puny cockle-shell.\n\n  The fool who seeks a poet's fame\n  Must look for ridicule and blame,\n  Like tiptoe dwarf who fain would try\n  To pluck the fruit for giants high.\n\n  Yet I may enter through the door\n  That mightier poets pierced of yore;\n  A thread may pierce a jewel, but\n  Must follow where the diamond cut.\n\n  Of kings who lived as saints from birth,\n  Who ruled to ocean-shore on earth,\n  Who toiled until success was given,\n  Whose chariots stormed the gates of heaven,\n\n  Whose pious offerings were blest,\n  Who gave his wish to every guest,\n  Whose punishments were as the crimes,\n  Who woke to guard the world betimes,\n\n  Who sought, that they might lavish, pelf,\n  Whose measured speech was truth itself,\n  Who fought victorious wars for fame,\n  Who loved in wives the mother's name,\n\n  Who studied all good arts as boys,\n  Who loved, in manhood, manhood's joys,\n  Whose age was free from worldly care,\n  Who breathed their lives away in prayer,\n\n  Of these I sing, of Raghu's line,\n  Though weak mine art, and wisdom mine.\n  Forgive these idle stammerings\n  And think: For virtue's sake he sings.\n\n  The good who hear me will be glad\n  To pluck the good from out the bad;\n  When ore is proved by fire, the loss\n  Is not of purest gold, but dross.\n\nAfter the briefest glance at the origin of the solar line, the poet\ntells of Rama's great-great-grandfather, King Dilipa. The detailed\ndescription of Dilipa's virtues has interest as showing Kalidasa's\nideal of an aristocrat; a brief sample must suffice here:\n\n  He practised virtue, though in health;\n  Won riches, with no greed for wealth;\n  Guarded his life, though not from fear;\n  Prized joys of earth, but not too dear.\n\n  His virtuous foes he could esteem\n  Like bitter drugs that healing seem;\n  The friends who sinned he could forsake\n  Like fingers bitten by a snake.\n\nYet King Dilipa has one deep-seated grief: he has no son. He therefore\njourneys with his queen to the hermitage of the sage Vasishtha, in\norder to learn what they must do to propitiate an offended fate. Their\nchariot rolls over country roads past fragrant lotus-ponds and\nscreaming peacocks and trustful deer, under archways formed without\nsupporting pillars by the cranes, through villages where they receive\nthe blessings of the people. At sunset they reach the peaceful forest\nhermitage, and are welcomed by the sage. In response to Vasishtha's\nbenevolent inquiries, the king declares that all goes well in the\nkingdom, and yet:\n\n  Until from this dear wife there springs\n  A son as great as former kings,\n  The seven islands of the earth\n  And all their gems, are nothing worth.\n\n  The final debt, most holy one,\n  Which still I owe to life--a son--\n  Galls me as galls the cutting chain\n  An elephant housed in dirt and pain.\n\nVasishtha tells the king that on a former occasion he had offended the\ndivine cow Fragrant, and had been cursed by the cow to lack children\nuntil he had propitiated her own offspring. While the sage is\nspeaking, Fragrant's daughter approaches, and is entrusted to the care\nof the king and queen.\n\n\n_Second canto. The holy cow's gift_.--During twenty-one days the king\naccompanies the cow during her wanderings in the forest, and each\nnight the queen welcomes their return to the hermitage. On the\ntwenty-second day the cow is attacked by a lion, and when the king\nhastens to draw an arrow, his arm is magically numbed, so that he\nstands helpless. To increase his horror, the lion speaks with a human\nvoice, saying that he is a servant of the god Shiva, set on guard\nthere and eating as his appointed food any animals that may appear.\nDilipa perceives that a struggle with earthly weapons is useless, and\nbegs the lion to accept his own body as the price of the cow's\nrelease. The lion tries sophistry, using the old, hollow arguments:\n\n  Great beauty and fresh youth are yours; on earth\n    As sole, unrivalled emperor you rule;\n  Should you redeem a thing of little worth\n    At such a price, you would appear a fool.\n\n  If pity moves you, think that one mere cow\n    Would be the gainer, should you choose to die;\n  Live rather for the world! Remember how\n    The father-king can bid all dangers fly.\n\n  And if the fiery sage's wrath, aglow\n    At loss of one sole cow, should make you shudder,\n  Appease his anger; for you can bestow\n    Cows by the million, each with pot-like udder.\n\n  Save life and youth; for to the dead are given\n    No long, unbroken years of joyous mirth;\n  But riches and imperial power are heaven--\n    The gods have nothing that you lack on earth.\n\n  The lion spoke and ceased; but echo rolled\n    Forth from the caves wherein the sound was pent,\n  As if the hills applauded manifold,\n    Repeating once again the argument.\n\nDilipa has no trouble in piercing this sophistical argument, and again\noffers his own life, begging the lion to spare the body of his fame\nrather than the body of his flesh. The lion consents, but when the\nking resolutely presents himself to be eaten, the illusion vanishes,\nand the holy cow grants the king his desire. The king returns to his\ncapital with the queen, who shortly becomes pregnant.\n\n\n_Third canto. Raghu's consecration_.--The queen gives birth to a\nglorious boy, whom the joyful father names Raghu. There follows a\ndescription of the happy family, of which a few stanzas are given\nhere:\n\n  The king drank pleasure from him late and soon\n    With eyes that stared like windless lotus-flowers;\n    Unselfish joy expanded all his powers\n  As swells the sea responsive to the moon.\n\n  The rooted love that filled each parent's soul\n    For the other, deep as bird's love for the mate,\n    Was now divided with the boy; and straight\n  The remaining half proved greater than the whole.\n\n  He learned the reverence that befits a boy;\n    Following the nurse's words, began to talk;\n    And clinging to her finger, learned to walk:\n  These childish lessons stretched his father's joy,\n\n  Who clasped the baby to his breast, and thrilled\n    To feel the nectar-touch upon his skin,\n    Half closed his eyes, the father's bliss to win\n  Which, more for long delay, his being filled.\n\n  The baby hair must needs be clipped; yet he\n    Retained two dangling locks, his cheeks to fret;\n    And down the river of the alphabet\n  He swam, with other boys, to learning's sea.\n\n  Religion's rites, and what good learning suits\n    A prince, he had from teachers old and wise;\n    Not theirs the pain of barren enterprise,\n  For effort spent on good material, fruits.\n\nThis happy childhood is followed by a youth equally happy. Raghu is\nmarried and made crown prince. He is entrusted with the care of the\nhorse of sacrifice,[1] and when Indra, king of the gods, steals the\nhorse, Raghu fights him. He cannot overcome the king of heaven, yet he\nacquits himself so creditably that he wins Indra's friendship. In\nconsequence of this proof of his manhood, the empire is bestowed upon\nRaghu by his father, who retires with his queen to the forest, to\nspend his last days and prepare for death.\n\n\n_Fourth canto. Raghu conquers the world_.--The canto opens with\nseveral stanzas descriptive of the glory of youthful King Raghu.\n\n  He manifested royal worth\n  By even justice toward the earth,\n  Beloved as is the southern breeze,\n  Too cool to burn, too warm to freeze.\n\n  The people loved his father, yet\n  For greater virtues could forget;\n  The beauty of the blossoms fair\n  Is lost when mango-fruits are there.\n\nBut the vassal kings are restless\n\n  For when they knew the king was gone\n  And power was wielded by his son,\n  The wrath of subject kings awoke,\n  Which had been damped in sullen smoke.\n\nRaghu therefore determines to make a warlike progress through all\nIndia. He marches eastward with his army from his capital Ayodhya (the\nname is preserved in the modern Oudh) to the Bay of Bengal, then south\nalong the eastern shore of India to Cape Comorin, then north along the\nwestern shore until he comes to the region drained by the Indus,\nfinally east through the tremendous Himalaya range into Assam, and\nthence home. The various nations whom he encounters, Hindus, Persians,\nGreeks, and White Huns, all submit either with or without fighting. On\nhis safe return, Raghu offers a great sacrifice and gives away all his\nwealth.[2]\n\n\n_Fifth canto. Aja goes wooing_.--While King Raghu is penniless, a\nyoung sage comes to him, desiring a huge sum of money to give to the\nteacher with whom he has just finished his education. The king,\nunwilling that any suppliant should go away unsatisfied, prepares to\nassail the god of wealth in his Himalayan stronghold, and the god,\nrather than risk the combat, sends a rain of gold into the king's\ntreasury. This gold King Raghu bestows upon the sage, who gratefully\nuses his spiritual power to cause a son to be born to his benefactor.\nIn course of time, the son is born and the name Aja is given to him.\nWe are here introduced to Prince Aja, who is a kind of secondary hero\nin the poem, inferior only to his mighty grandson, Rama. To Aja are\ndevoted the remainder of this fifth canto and the following three\ncantos; and these Aja-cantos are among the loveliest in the epic. When\nthe prince has grown into young manhood, he journeys to a neighbouring\ncourt to participate in the marriage reception of Princess\nIndumati.[3]\n\nOne evening he camps by a river, from which a wild elephant issues and\nattacks his party. When wounded by Aja, the elephant strangely changes\nhis form, becoming a demigod, gives the prince a magic weapon, and\ndeparts to heaven. Aja proceeds without further adventure to the\ncountry and the palace of Princess Indumati, where he is made welcome\nand luxuriously lodged for the night. In the morning, he is awakened\nby the song of the court poets outside his chamber. He rises and\nbetakes himself to the hall where the suitors are gathering.\n\n\n_Sixth canto. The princess chooses_.--The princely suitors assemble in\nthe hall; then, to the sound of music, the princess enters in a\nlitter, robed as a bride, and creates a profound sensation.\n\n  For when they saw God's masterpiece, the maid\n    Who smote their eyes to other objects blind,\n  Their glances, wishes, hearts, in homage paid,\n    Flew forth to her; mere flesh remained behind.\n\n  The princes could not but betray their yearning\n    By sending messengers, their love to bring,\n  In many a quick, involuntary turning,\n    As flowering twigs of trees announce the spring.\n\nThen a maid-servant conducts the princess from one suitor to another,\nand explains the claim which each has upon her affection. First is\npresented the King of Magadha, recommended in four stanzas, one of\nwhich runs:\n\n  Though other kings by thousands numbered be,\n    He seems the one, sole governor of earth;\n  Stars, constellations, planets, fade and flee\n    When to the moon the night has given birth.\n\nBut the princess is not attracted.\n\n  The slender maiden glanced at him; she glanced\n    And uttered not a word, nor heeded how\n  The grass-twined blossoms of her garland danced\n    When she dismissed him with a formal bow.\n\nThey pass to the next candidate, the king of the Anga country, in\nwhose behalf this, and more, is said:\n\n  Learning and wealth by nature are at strife,\n    Yet dwell at peace in him; and for the two\n  You would be fit companion as his wife,\n    Like wealth enticing, and like learning true.\n\nHim too the princess rejects, \"not that he was unworthy of love, or\nshe lacking in discernment, but tastes differ.\" She is then conducted\nto the King of Avanti:\n\n  And if this youthful prince your fancy pleases,\n    Bewitching maiden, you and he may play\n  In those unmeasured gardens that the breezes\n    From Sipra's billows ruffle, cool with spray.\n\nThe inducement is insufficient, and a new candidate is presented, the\nKing of Anupa,\n\n  A prince whose fathers' glories cannot fade,\n    By whom the love of learned men is wooed,\n  Who proves that Fortune is no fickle jade\n    When he she chooses is not fickly good.\n\nBut alas!\n\n  She saw that he was brave to look upon,\n    Yet could not feel his love would make her gay;\n  Full moons of autumn nights, when clouds are gone,\n    Tempt not the lotus-flowers that bloom by day.\n\nThe King of Shurasena has no better fortune, in spite of his virtues\nand his wealth. As a river hurrying to the sea passes by a mountain\nthat would detain her, so the princess passes him by. She is next\nintroduced to the king of the Kalinga country;\n\n  His palace overlooks the ocean dark\n    With windows gazing on the unresting deep,\n  Whose gentle thunders drown the drums that mark\n    The hours of night, and wake him from his sleep.\n\nBut the maiden can no more feel at home with him than the goddess of\nfortune can with a good but unlucky man. She therefore turns her\nattention to the king of the Pandya country in far southern India. But\nshe is unmoved by hearing of the magic charm of the south, and rejects\nhim too.\n\n  And every prince rejected while she sought\n    A husband, darkly frowned, as turrets, bright\n  One moment with the flame from torches caught,\n    Frown gloomily again and sink in night.\n\nThe princess then approaches Aja, who trembles lest she pass him by,\nas she has passed by the other suitors. The maid who accompanies\nIndumati sees that Aja awakens a deeper feeling, and she therefore\ngives a longer account of his kingly line, ending with the\nrecommendation:\n\n  High lineage is his, fresh beauty, youth,\n    And virtue shaped in kingly breeding's mould;\n  Choose him, for he is worth your love; in truth,\n    A gem is ever fitly set in gold.\n\nThe princess looks lovingly at the handsome youth, but cannot speak\nfor modesty. She is made to understand her own feelings when the maid\ninvites her to pass on to the next candidate. Then the wreath is\nplaced round Aja's neck, the people of the city shout their approval,\nand the disappointed suitors feel like night-blooming lotuses at\ndaybreak.\n\n\n_Seventh canto. Aja's marriage_.--While the suitors retire to the\ncamps where they have left their retainers, Aja conducts Indumati into\nthe decorated and festive city. The windows are filled with the faces\nof eager and excited women, who admire the beauty of the young prince\nand the wisdom of the princess's choice. When the marriage ceremony\nhas been happily celebrated, the disappointed suitors say farewell\nwith pleasant faces and jealous hearts, like peaceful pools concealing\ncrocodiles. They lie in ambush on the road which he must take, and\nwhen he passes with his young bride, they fall upon him. Aja provides\nfor the safety of Indumati, marshals his attendants, and greatly\ndistinguishes himself in the battle which follows. Finally he uses the\nmagic weapon, given him by the demigod, to benumb his adversaries, and\nleaving them in this helpless condition, returns home. He and his\nyoung bride are joyfully welcomed by King Raghu, who resigns the\nkingdom in favour of Aja.\n\n\n_Eighth canto. Aja's lament_.--As soon as King Aja is firmly\nestablished on his throne, Raghu retires to a hermitage to prepare for\nthe death of his mortal part. After some years of religious meditation\nhe is released, attaining union with the eternal spirit which is\nbeyond all darkness. His obsequies are performed by his dutiful son.\nIndumati gives birth to a splendid boy, who is named Dasharatha. One\nday, as the queen is playing with her husband in the garden, a wreath\nof magic flowers falls upon her from heaven, and she dies. The\nstricken king clasps the body of his dead beloved, and laments over\nher.\n\n  If flowers that hardly touch the body, slay it,\n    The simplest instruments of fate may bring\n  Destruction, and we have no power to stay it;\n    Then must we live in fear of everything?\n\n  No! Death was right. He spared the sterner anguish;\n    Through gentle flowers your gentle life was lost\n  As I have seen the lotus fade and languish\n    When smitten by the slow and silent frost.\n\n  Yet God is hard. With unforgiving rigour\n    He forged a bolt to crush this heart of mine;\n  He left the sturdy tree its living vigour,\n    But stripped away and slew the clinging vine.\n\n  Through all the years, dear, you would not reprove me,\n    Though I offended. Can you go away\n  Sudden, without a word? I know you love me,\n    And I have not offended you to-day.\n\n  You surely thought me faithless, to be banished\n    As light-of-love and gambler, from your life,\n  Because without a farewell word, you vanished\n    And never will return, sweet-smiling wife.\n\n  The warmth and blush that followed after kisses\n    Is still upon her face, to madden me;\n  For life is gone, 'tis only life she misses.\n    A curse upon such life's uncertainty!\n\n  I never wronged you with a thought unspoken,\n    Still less with actions. Whither are you flown?\n  Though king in name, I am a man heartbroken,\n    For power and love took root in you alone.\n\n  Your bee-black hair from which the flowers are peeping,\n    Dear, wavy hair that I have loved so well,\n  Stirs in the wind until I think you sleeping,\n    Soon to return and make my glad heart swell.\n\n  Awake, my love! Let only life be given,\n    And choking griefs that stifle now, will flee\n  As darkness from the mountain-cave is driven\n    By magic herbs that glitter brilliantly.\n\n  The silent face, round which the curls are keeping\n    Their scattered watch, is sad to look upon\n  As in the night some lonely lily, sleeping\n    When musically humming bees are gone.\n\n  The girdle that from girlhood has befriended\n    You, in love-secrets wise, discreet, and true,\n  No longer tinkles, now your dance is ended,\n    Faithful in life, in dying faithful too.\n\n  Your low, sweet voice to nightingales was given;\n    Your idly graceful movement to the swans;\n  Your grace to fluttering vines, dear wife in heaven;\n    Your trustful, wide-eyed glances to the fawns:\n\n  You left your charms on earth, that I, reminded\n    By them, might be consoled though you depart;\n  But vainly! Far from you, by sorrow blinded,\n    I find no prop of comfort for my heart.\n\n  Remember how you planned to make a wedding,\n    Giving the vine-bride to her mango-tree;\n  Before that happy day, dear, you are treading\n    The path with no return. It should not be.\n\n  And this ashoka-tree that you have tended\n    With eager longing for the blossoms red--\n  How can I twine the flowers that should have blended\n    With living curls, in garlands for the dead?\n\n  The tree remembers how the anklets, tinkling\n    On graceful feet, delighted other years;\n  Sad now he droops, your form with sorrow sprinkling,\n    And sheds his blossoms in a rain of tears.\n\n  Joy's sun is down, all love is fallen and perished,\n    The song of life is sung, the spring is dead,\n  Gone is the use of gems that once you cherished,\n    And empty, ever empty, is my bed.\n\n  You were my comrade gay, my home, my treasure,\n    You were my bosom's friend, in all things true,\n  My best-loved pupil in the arts of pleasure:\n    Stern death took all I had in taking you.\n\n  Still am I king, and rich in kingly fashion,\n    Yet lacking you, am poor the long years through;\n  I cannot now be won to any passion,\n    For all my passions centred, dear, in you.\n\nAja commits the body of his beloved queen to the flames. A holy hermit\ncomes to tell the king that his wife had been a nymph of heaven in a\nformer existence, and that she has now returned to her home. But Aja\ncannot be comforted. He lives eight weary years for the sake of his\nyoung son, then is reunited with his queen in Paradise.\n\n\n_Ninth canto. The hunt_.--This canto introduces us to King Dasharatha,\nfather of the heroic Rama. It begins with an elaborate description of\nhis glory, justice, prowess, and piety; then tells of the three\nprincesses who became his wives: Kausalya, Kaikeyi, and Sumitra. In\nthe beautiful springtime he takes an extended hunting-trip in the\nforest, during which an accident happens, big with fate.\n\n  He left his soldiers far behind one day\n  In the wood, and following where deer-tracks lay,\n  Came with his weary horse adrip with foam\n  To river-banks where hermits made their home.\n\n  And in the stream he heard the water fill\n  A jar; he heard it ripple clear and shrill,\n  And shot an arrow, thinking he had found\n  A trumpeting elephant, toward the gurgling sound.\n\n  Such actions are forbidden to a king,\n  Yet Dasharatha sinned and did this thing;\n  For even the wise and learned man is minded\n  To go astray, by selfish passion blinded.\n\n  He heard the startling cry, \"My father!\" rise\n  Among the reeds; rode up; before his eyes\n  He saw the jar, the wounded hermit boy:\n  Remorse transfixed his heart and killed his joy.\n\n  He left his horse, this monarch famous far,\n  Asked him who drooped upon the water-jar\n  His name, and from the stumbling accents knew\n  A hermit youth, of lowly birth but true.\n\n  The arrow still undrawn, the monarch bore\n  Him to his parents who, afflicted sore\n  With blindness, could not see their only son\n  Dying, and told them what his hand had done.\n\n  The murderer then obeyed their sad behest\n  And drew the fix\u00e8d arrow from his breast;\n  The boy lay dead; the father cursed the king,\n  With tear-stained hands, to equal suffering.\n\n  \"In sorrow for your son you too shall die,\n  An old, old man,\" he said, \"as sad as I.\"\n  Poor, trodden snake! He used his venomous sting,\n  Then heard the answer of the guilty king:\n\n  \"Your curse is half a blessing if I see\n  The longed-for son who shall be born to me:\n  The scorching fire that sweeps the well-ploughed field,\n  May burn indeed, but stimulates the yield.\n\n  The deed is done; what kindly act can I\n  Perform who, pitiless, deserve to die?\"\n  \"Bring wood,\" he begged, \"and build a funeral pyre,\n  That we may seek our son through death by fire.\"\n\n  The king fulfilled their wish; and while they burned,\n  In mute, sin-stricken sorrow he returned,\n  Hiding death's seed within him, as the sea\n  Hides magic fire that burns eternally.\n\nThus is foreshadowed in the birth of Rama, his banishment, and the\ndeath of his father.\n\nCantos ten to fifteen form the kernel of the epic, for they tell the\nstory of Rama, the mighty hero of Raghu's line. In these cantos\nKalidasa attempts to present anew, with all the literary devices of a\nmore sophisticated age, the famous old epic story sung in masterly\nfashion by the author of the _Ramayana_. As the poet is treading\nground familiar to all who hear him, the action of these cantos is\nvery compressed.\n\n\n_Tenth canto. The incarnation of Rama_.--While Dasharatha, desiring a\nson, is childless, the gods, oppressed by a giant adversary, betake\nthemselves to Vishnu, seeking aid. They sing a hymn of praise, a part\nof which is given here.\n\n  O thou who didst create this All,\n  Who dost preserve it, lest it fall,\n  Who wilt destroy it and its ways--\n  To thee, O triune Lord, be praise.\n\n  As into heaven's water run\n  The tastes of earth--yet it is one,\n  So thou art all the things that range\n  The universe, yet dost not change.\n\n  Far, far removed, yet ever near;\n  Untouched by passion, yet austere;\n  Sinless, yet pitiful of heart;\n  Ancient, yet free from age--Thou art.\n\n  Though uncreate, thou seekest birth;\n  Dreaming, thou watchest heaven and earth;\n  Passionless, smitest low thy foes;\n  Who knows thy nature, Lord? Who knows?\n\n  Though many different paths, O Lord,\n  May lead us to some great reward,\n  They gather and are merged in thee\n  Like floods of Ganges in the sea.\n\n  The saints who give thee every thought,\n  Whose every act for thee is wrought,\n  Yearn for thine everlasting peace,\n  For bliss with thee, that cannot cease.\n\n  Like pearls that grow in ocean's night,\n  Like sunbeams radiantly bright,\n  Thy strange and wonder-working ways\n  Defeat extravagance of praise.\n\n  If songs that to thy glory tend\n  Should weary grow or take an end,\n  Our impotence must bear the blame,\n  And not thine unexhausted name.\n\nVishnu is gratified by the praise of the gods, and asks their desire.\nThey inform him that they are distressed by Ravana, the giant king of\nLanka (Ceylon), whom they cannot conquer. Vishnu promises to aid them\nby descending to earth in a new avatar, as son of Dasharatha. Shortly\nafterwards, an angel appears before King Dasharatha, bringing in a\ngolden bowl a substance which contains the essence of Vishnu. The king\ngives it to his three wives, who thereupon conceive and dream\nwonderful dreams. Then Queen Kausalya gives birth to Rama; Queen\nKaikeyi to Bharata; Queen Sumitra to twins, Lakshmana and Shatrughna.\nHeaven and earth rejoice. The four princes grow up in mutual\nfriendship, yet Rama and Lakshmana are peculiarly drawn to each other,\nas are Bharata and Shatrughna. So beautiful and so modest are the four\nboys that they seem like incarnations of the four things worth living\nfor--virtue, money, love, and salvation.\n\n\n_Eleventh canto. The victory over Rama-with-the-axe_.--At the request\nof the holy hermit Vishvamitra, the two youths Rama and Lakshmana\nvisit his hermitage, to protect it from evil spirits. The two lads\nlittle suspect, on their maiden journey, how much of their lives will\nbe spent in wandering together in the forest. On the way they are\nattacked by a giantess, whom Rama kills; the first of many giants who\nare to fall at his hand. He is given magic weapons by the hermit, with\nwhich he and his brother kill other giants, freeing the hermitage from\nall annoyance. The two brothers then travel with the hermit to the\ncity of Mithila, attracted thither by hearing of its king, his\nwonderful daughter, and his wonderful bow. The bow was given him by\nthe god Shiva; no man has been able to bend it; and the beautiful\nprincess's hand is the prize of any man who can perform the feat. On\nthe way thither, Rama brings to life Ahalya, a woman who in a former\nage had been changed to stone for unfaithfulness to her austere\nhusband, and had been condemned to remain a stone until trodden by\nRama's foot. Without further adventure, they reach Mithila, where the\nhermit presents Rama as a candidate for the bending of the bow.\n\n  The king beheld the boy, with beauty blest\n    And famous lineage; he sadly thought\n  How hard it was to bend the bow, distressed\n    Because his child must be so dearly bought.\n\n  He said: \"O holy one, a mighty deed\n    That full-grown elephants with greatest pain\n  Could hardly be successful in, we need\n    Not ask of elephant-cubs. It would be vain.\n\n  For many splendid kings of valorous name,\n    Bearing the scars of many a hard-fought day,\n  Have tried and failed; then, covered with their shame,\n    Have shrugged their shoulders, cursed, and strode away.\"\n\nYet when the bow is given to the youthful Rama, he not only bends, but\nbreaks it. He is immediately rewarded with the hand of the Princess\nSita, while Lakshmana marries her sister. On their journey home with\ntheir young brides, dreadful portents appear, followed by their cause,\na strange being called Rama-with-the-axe, who is carefully to be\ndistinguished from Prince Rama. This Rama-with-the-axe is a Brahman\nwho has sworn to exterminate the entire warrior caste, and who\nnaturally attacks the valorous prince. He makes light of Rama's\nachievement in breaking Shiva's bow, and challenges him to bend the\nmightier bow which he carries. This the prince succeeds in doing, and\nRama-with-the-axe disappears, shamed and defeated. The marriage party\nthen continues its journey to Ayodhya.\n\n\n_Twelfth canto. The killing of Ravana_.--King Dasharatha prepares to\nanoint Rama crown prince, when Queen Kaikeyi interposes. On an earlier\noccasion she had rendered the king a service and received his promise\nthat he would grant her two boons, whatever she desired. She now\ndemands her two boons: the banishment of Rama for fourteen years, and\nthe anointing of her own son Bharata as crown prince. Rama thereupon\nsets out for the Dandaka forest in Southern India, accompanied by his\nfaithful wife Sita and his devoted brother Lakshmana. The stricken\nfather dies of grief, thus fulfilling the hermit's curse. Now Prince\nBharata proves himself more generous than his mother; he refuses the\nkingdom, and is with great difficulty persuaded by Rama himself to act\nas regent during the fourteen years. Even so, he refuses to enter the\ncapital city, dwelling in a village outside the walls, and preserving\nRama's slippers as a symbol of the rightful king. Meanwhile Rama's\nlittle party penetrates the wild forests of the south, fighting as\nneed arises with the giants there. Unfortunately, a giantess falls in\nlove with Rama, and\n\n  In Sita's very presence told\n  Her birth--love made her overbold:\n  For mighty passion, as a rule,\n  Will change a woman to a fool.\n\nScorned by Rama, laughed at by Sita, she becomes furious and\nthreatening.\n\n  Laugh on! Your laughter's fruit shall be\n  Commended to you. Gaze on me!\n  I am a tigress, you shall know,\n  Insulted by a feeble doe.\n\nLakshmana thereupon cuts off her nose and ears, rendering her\nredundantly hideous. She departs, to return presently at the head of\nan army of giants, whom Rama defeats single-handed, while his brother\nguards Sita. The giantess then betakes herself to her brother, the\nterrible ten-headed Ravana, king of Ceylon. He succeeds in capturing\nSita by a trick, and carries her off to his fortress in Ceylon. It is\nplainly necessary for Rama to seek allies before attempting to cross\nthe straits and attack the stronghold. He therefore renders an\nimportant service to the monkey king Sugriva, who gratefully leads an\narmy of monkeys to his assistance. The most valiant of these, Hanumat,\nsucceeds in entering Ravana's capital, where he finds Sita, gives her\na token from Rama, and receives a token for Rama. The army thereupon\nsets out and comes to the seashore, where it is reinforced by the\ngiant Vibhishana, who has deserted his wicked brother Ravana. The\nmonkeys hurl great boulders into the strait, thus forming a bridge\nover which they cross into Ceylon and besiege Ravana's capital. There\nensue many battles between the giants and the monkeys, culminating in\na tremendous duel between the champions, Rama and Ravana. In this duel\nRavana is finally slain. Rama recovers his wife, and the principal\npersonages of the army enter the flying chariot which had belonged to\nRavana, to return to Ayodhya; for the fourteen years of exile are now\nover.\n\n\n_Thirteenth canto. The return from the forest_.--This canto describes\nthe long journey through the air from Ceylon over the whole length of\nIndia to Ayodhya. As the celestial car makes its journey, Rama points\nout the objects of interest or of memory to Sita. Thus, as they fly\nover the sea:\n\n  The form of ocean, infinitely changing,\n    Clasping the world and all its gorgeous state,\n  Unfathomed by the intellect's wide ranging,\n    Is awful like the form of God, and great.\n\n  He gives his billowy lips to many a river\n    That into his embrace with passion slips,\n  Lover of many wives, a generous giver\n    Of kisses, yet demanding eager lips.\n\n  Look back, my darling, with your fawn-like glances\n    Upon the path that from your prison leads;\n  See how the sight of land again entrances,\n    How fair the forest, as the sea recedes.\n\nThen, as they pass over the spot where Rama searched for his stolen\nwife:\n\n  There is the spot where, sorrowfully searching,\n    I found an anklet on the ground one day;\n  It could not tinkle, for it was not perching\n    On your dear foot, but sad and silent lay.\n\n  I learned where you were carried by the giant\n    From vines that showed themselves compassionate;\n  They could not utter words, yet with their pliant\n    Branches they pointed where you passed of late.\n\n  The deer were kind; for while the juicy grasses\n    Fell quite unheeded from each careless mouth,\n  They turned wide eyes that said, \"'Tis there she passes\n    The hours as weary captive\" toward the south.\n\n  There is the mountain where the peacocks' screaming,\n    And branches smitten fragrant by the rain,\n  And madder-flowers that woke at last from dreaming,\n    Made unendurable my lonely pain;\n\n  And mountain-caves where I could scarce dissemble\n    The woe I felt when thunder crashed anew,\n  For I remembered how you used to tremble\n    At thunder, seeking arms that longed for you.\n\nRama then points out the spots in Southern India where he and Sita had\ndwelt in exile, and the pious hermitages which they had visited;\nlater, the holy spot where the Jumna River joins the Ganges; finally,\ntheir distant home, unseen for fourteen years, and the well-known\nriver, from which spray-laden breezes come to them like cool,\nwelcoming hands. When they draw near, Prince Bharata comes forth to\nwelcome them, and the happy procession approaches the capital city.\n\n\n_Fourteenth canto. Sita is put away_.--The exiles are welcomed by\nQueen Kausalya and Queen Sumitra with a joy tinged with deep\nmelancholy. After the long-deferred anointing of Rama as king, comes\nthe triumphal entry into the ancestral capital, where Rama begins his\nvirtuous reign with his beloved queen most happily; for the very\nhardships endured in the forest turn into pleasures when remembered in\nthe palace. To crown the king's joy, Sita becomes pregnant, and\nexpresses a wish to visit the forest again. At this point, where an\nordinary story would end, comes the great tragedy, the tremendous test\nof Rama's character. The people begin to murmur about the queen,\nbelieving that she could not have preserved her purity in the giant's\npalace. Rama knows that she is innocent, but he also knows that he\ncannot be a good king while the people feel as they do; and after a\npitiful struggle, he decides to put away his beloved wife. He bids his\nbrother Lakshmana take her to the forest, in accordance with her\nrequest, but to leave her there at the hermitage of the sage Valmiki.\nWhen this is done, and Sita hears the terrible future from Lakshmana,\nshe cries:\n\n  Take reverent greeting to the queens, my mothers,\n    And say to each with honour due her worth:\n  \"My child is your son's child, and not another's;\n    Oh, pray for him, before he comes to birth.\"\n\n  And tell the king from me: \"You saw the matter,\n    How I was guiltless proved in fire divine;\n  Will you desert me for mere idle chatter?\n    Are such things done in Raghu's royal line?\n\n  Ah no! I cannot think you fickle-minded,\n    For you were always very kind to me;\n  Fate's thunderclap by which my eyes are blinded\n    Rewards my old, forgotten sins, I see.\n\n  Oh, I could curse my life and quickly end it,\n    For it is useless, lived from you apart,\n  But that I bear within, and must defend it,\n    Your life, your child and mine, beneath my heart.\n\n  When he is born, I'll scorn my queenly station,\n    Gaze on the sun, and live a hell on earth,\n  That I may know no pain of separation\n    From you, my husband, in another birth.\n\n  My king! Eternal duty bids you never\n    Forget a hermit who for sorrow faints;\n  Though I am exiled from your bed for ever,\n    I claim the care you owe to all the saints.\"\n\nSo she accepts her fate with meek courage. But\n\n  When Rama's brother left her there to languish\n    And bore to them she loved her final word,\n  She loosed her throat in an excess of anguish\n    And screamed as madly as a frightened bird.\n\n  Trees shed their flowers, the peacock-dances ended,\n    The grasses dropped from mouths of feeding deer,\n  As if the universal forest blended\n    Its tears with hers, and shared her woeful fear.\n\nWhile she laments thus piteously, she is discovered by the poet-sage\nValmiki, who consoles her with tender and beautiful words, and\nconducts her to his hermitage, where she awaits the time of her\nconfinement. Meanwhile Rama leads a dreary life, finding duty but a\ncold comforter. He makes a golden statue of his wife, and will not\nlook at other women.\n\n\n_Fifteenth canto. Rama goes to heaven_.--The canto opens with a rather\nlong description of a fight between Rama's youngest brother and a\ngiant. On the journey to meet the giant, Shatrughna spends a night in\nValmiki's hermitage, and that very night Sita gives birth to twin\nsons. Valmiki gives them the names Kusha and Lava, and when they grow\nout of childhood he teaches them his own composition, the _Ramayana_,\n\"the sweet story of Rama,\" \"the first path shown to poets.\" At this\ntime the young son of a Brahman dies in the capital, and the father\nlaments at the king's gate, for he believes that the king is unworthy,\nelse heaven would not send death prematurely. Rama is roused to stamp\nout evil-doing in the kingdom, whereupon the dead boy comes to life.\nThe king then feels that his task on earth is nearly done, and\nprepares to celebrate the great horse-sacrifice.[4]\n\nAt this sacrifice appear the two youths Kusha and Lava, who sing the\nepic of Rama's deeds in the presence of Rama himself. The father\nperceives their likeness to himself, then learns that they are indeed\nhis children, whom he has never seen. Thereupon Sita is brought\nforward by the poet-sage Valmiki and in the presence of her husband\nand her detractors establishes her constant purity in a terrible\nfashion.\n\n  \"If I am faithful to my lord\n  In thought, in action, and in word,\n  I pray that Earth who bears us all\n  May bid me in her bosom fall.\"\n\n  The faithful wife no sooner spoke\n  Than earth divided, and there broke\n  From deep within a flashing light\n  That flamed like lightning, blinding-bright.\n\n  And, seated on a splendid throne\n  Upheld by serpents' hoods alone,\n  The goddess Earth rose visibly,\n  And she was girded with the sea.\n\n  Sita was clasped in her embrace,\n  While still she gazed on Rama's face:\n  He cried aloud in wild despair;\n  She sank, and left him standing there.\n\nRama then establishes his brothers, sons, and nephews in different\ncities of the kingdom, buries the three queens of his father, and\nawaits death. He has not long to wait; Death comes, wearing a hermit's\ngarb, asks for a private interview, and threatens any who shall\ndisturb their conference. Lakshmana disturbs them, and so dies before\nRama. Then Rama is translated.\n\nCantos sixteen to nineteen form the third division of the epic, and\ntreat of Rama's descendants. The interest wanes, for the great hero is\ngone.\n\n\n_Sixteenth canto. Kumudvati's wedding_.--As Kusha lies awake one\nnight, a female figure appears in his chamber; and in answer to his\nquestion, declares that she is the presiding goddess of the ancient\ncapital Ayodhya, which has been deserted since Rama's departure to\nheaven. She pictures the sad state of the city thus:\n\n  I have no king; my towers and terraces\n    Crumble and fall; my walls are overthrown;\n  As when the ugly winds of evening seize\n    The rack of clouds in helpless darkness blown.\n\n  In streets where maidens gaily passed at night,\n    Where once was known the tinkle and the shine\n  Of anklets, jackals slink, and by the light\n    Of flashing fangs, seek carrion, snarl, and whine.\n\n  The water of the pools that used to splash\n    With drumlike music, under maidens' hands,\n  Groans now when bisons from the jungle lash\n    It with their clumsy horns, and roil its sands.\n\n  The peacock-pets are wild that once were tame;\n    They roost on trees, not perches; lose desire\n  For dancing to the drums; and feel no shame\n    For fans singed close by sparks of forest-fire.\n\n  On stairways where the women once were glad\n    To leave their pink and graceful footprints, here\n  Unwelcome, blood-stained paws of tigers pad,\n    Fresh-smeared from slaughter of the forest deer.\n\n  Wall-painted elephants in lotus-brooks,\n    Receiving each a lily from his mate,\n  Are torn and gashed, as if by cruel hooks,\n    By claws of lions, showing furious hate.\n\n  I see my pillared caryatides\n    Neglected, weathered, stained by passing time,\n  Wearing in place of garments that should please,\n    The skins of sloughing cobras, foul with slime.\n\n  The balconies grow black with long neglect,\n    And grass-blades sprout through floors no longer tight;\n  They still receive but cannot now reflect\n    The old, familiar moonbeams, pearly white.\n\n  The vines that blossomed in my garden bowers,\n    That used to show their graceful beauty, when\n  Girls gently bent their twigs and plucked their flowers,\n    Are broken by wild apes and wilder men.\n\n  The windows are not lit by lamps at night,\n    Nor by fair faces shining in the day,\n  But webs of spiders dim the delicate, light\n    Smoke-tracery with one mere daub of grey.\n\n  The river is deserted; on the shore\n    No gaily bathing men and maidens leave\n  Food for the swans; its reedy bowers no more\n    Are vocal: seeing this, I can but grieve.\n\nThe goddess therefore begs Kusha to return with his court to the old\ncapital, and when he assents, she smiles and vanishes. The next\nmorning Kusha announces the vision of the night, and immediately sets\nout for Ayodhya with his whole army. Arrived there, King Kusha quickly\nrestores the city to its former splendour. Then when the hot summer\ncomes, the king goes down to the river to bathe with the ladies of the\ncourt. While in the water he loses a great gem which his father had\ngiven him. The divers are unable to find it, and declare their belief\nthat it has been stolen by the serpent Kumuda who lives in the river.\nThe king threatens to shoot an arrow into the river, whereupon the\nwaters divide, and the serpent appears with the gem. He is accompanied\nby a beautiful maiden, whom he introduces as his sister Kumudvati, and\nwhom he offers in marriage to Kusha. The offer is accepted, and the\nwedding celebrated with great pomp.\n\n\n_Seventeenth canto. King Atithi_.--To the king and queen is born a\nson, who is named Atithi. When he has grown into manhood, his father\nKusha engages in a struggle with a demon, in which the king is killed\nin the act of killing his adversary. He goes to heaven, followed by\nhis faithful queen, and Atithi is anointed king. The remainder of the\ncanto describes King Atithi's glorious reign.\n\n\n_Eighteenth canto. The later princes_.--This canto gives a brief,\nimpressionistic sketch of the twenty-one kings who in their order\nsucceeded Atithi.\n\n\n_Nineteenth canto. The loves of Agnivarna_.--After the twenty-one\nkings just mentioned, there succeeds a king named Agnivarna, who gives\nhimself to dissipation. He shuts himself up in the palace; even when\nduty requires him to appear before his subjects, he does so merely by\nhanging one foot out of a window. He trains dancing-girls himself, and\nhas so many mistresses that he cannot always call them by their right\nnames. It is not wonderful that this kind of life leads before long to\na consuming disease; and as Agnivarna is even then unable to resist\nthe pleasures of the senses, he dies. His queen is pregnant, and she\nmounts the throne as regent in behalf of her unborn son. With this\nstrange scene, half tragic, half vulgar, the epic, in the form in\nwhich it has come down to us, abruptly ends.\n\nIf we now endeavour to form some critical estimate of the poem, we are\nmet at the outset by this strangely unnatural termination. We cannot\navoid wondering whether the poem as we have it is complete. And we\nshall find that there are good reasons for believing that Kalidasa did\nnot let the glorious solar line end in the person of the voluptuous\nAgnivarna and his unborn child. In the first place, there is a\nconstant tradition which affirms that _The Dynasty of Raghu_\noriginally consisted of twenty-five cantos. A similar tradition\nconcerning Kalidasa's second epic has justified itself; for some time\nonly seven cantos were known; then more were discovered, and we now\nhave seventeen. Again, there is a rhetorical rule, almost never\ndisregarded, which requires a literary work to end with an epilogue in\nthe form of a little prayer for the welfare of readers or auditors.\nKalidasa himself complies with this rule, certainly in five of his\nother six books. Once again, Kalidasa has nothing of the tragedian in\nhis soul; his works, without exception, end happily. In the drama\n_Urvashi_ he seriously injures a splendid old tragic story for the\nsake of a happy ending. These facts all point to the probability that\nthe conclusion of the epic has been lost. We may even assign a\nnatural, though conjectural, reason for this. _The Dynasty of Raghu_\nhas been used for centuries as a text-book in India, so that\nmanuscripts abound, and commentaries are very numerous. Now if the\nconcluding cantos were unfitted for use as a text-book, they might\nvery easily be lost during the centuries before the introduction of\nprinting-presses into India. Indeed, this very unfitness for use as a\nschool text seems to be the explanation of the temporary loss of\nseveral cantos of Kalidasa's second epic.\n\nOn the other hand, we are met by the fact that numerous commentators,\nliving in different parts of India, know the text of only nineteen\ncantos. Furthermore, it is unlikely that Kalidasa left the poem\nincomplete at his death; for it was, without serious question, one of\nhis earlier works. Apart from evidences of style, there is the\nsubject-matter of the introductory stanzas, in which the poet presents\nhimself as an aspirant for literary fame. No writer of established\nreputation would be likely to say:\n\n  The fool who seeks a poet's fame,\n  Must look for ridicule and blame,\n  Like tiptoe dwarf who fain would try\n  To pluck the fruit for giants high.\n\nIn only one other of his writings, in the drama which was undoubtedly\nwritten earlier than the other two dramas, does the poet thus present\nhis feeling of diffidence to his auditors.\n\nIt is of course possible that Kalidasa wrote the first nineteen cantos\nwhen a young man, intending to add more, then turned to other matters,\nand never afterwards cared to take up the rather thankless task of\nending a youthful work.\n\nThe question does not admit of final solution. Yet whoever reads and\nre-reads _The Dynasty of Raghu_, and the other works of its author,\nfinds the conviction growing ever stronger that our poem in nineteen\ncantos is mutilated. We are thus enabled to clear the author of the\ncharge of a lame and impotent conclusion.\n\nAnother adverse criticism cannot so readily be disposed of; that of a\nlack of unity in the plot. As the poem treats of a kingly dynasty, we\nfrequently meet the cry: The king is dead. Long live the king! The\nstory of Rama himself occupies only six cantos; he is not born until\nthe tenth canto, he is in heaven after the fifteenth. There are in\ntruth six heroes, each of whom has to die to make room for his\nsuccessor. One may go farther and say that it is not possible to give\na brief and accurate title to the poem. It is not a _Ramayana_, or\nepic of Rama's deeds, for Rama is on the stage during only a third of\nthe poem. It is not properly an epic of Raghu's line, for many kings\nof this line are unmentioned. Not merely kings who escape notice by\ntheir obscurity, but also several who fill a large place in Indian\nstory, whose deeds and adventures are splendidly worthy of epic\ntreatment. _The Dynasty of Raghu_ is rather an epic poem in which Rama\nis the central figure, giving it such unity as it possesses, but which\nprovides Rama with a most generous background in the shape of selected\nepisodes concerning his ancestors and his descendants.\n\nRama is the central figure. Take him away and the poem falls to pieces\nlike a pearl necklace with a broken string. Yet it may well be doubted\nwhether the cantos dealing with Rama are the most successful. They are\ntoo compressed, too briefly allusive. Kalidasa attempts to tell the\nstory in about one-thirtieth of the space given to it by his great\npredecessor Valmiki. The result is much loss by omission and much loss\nby compression. Many of the best episodes of the _Ramayana_ are quite\nomitted by Kalidasa: for example, the story of the jealous humpback\nwho eggs on Queen Kaikeyi to demand her two boons; the beautiful scene\nin which Sita insists on following Rama into the forest; the account\nof the somnolent giant Pot-ear, a character quite as good as\nPolyphemus. Other fine episodes are so briefly alluded to as to lose\nall their charm: for example, the story of the golden deer that\nattracts the attention of Rama while Ravana is stealing his wife; the\njourney of the monkey Hanumat to Ravana's fortress and his interview\nwith Sita.\n\nThe Rama-story, as told by Valmiki, is one of the great epic stories\nof the world. It has been for two thousand years and more the story\n_par excellence_ of the Hindus; and the Hindus may fairly claim to be\nthe best story-tellers of the world. There is therefore real matter\nfor regret in the fact that so great a poet as Kalidasa should have\ntreated it in a way not quite worthy of it and of himself. The reason\nis not far to seek, nor can there be any reasonable doubt as to its\ntruth. Kalidasa did not care to put himself into direct competition\nwith Valmiki. The younger poet's admiration of his mighty predecessor\nis clearly expressed. It is with especial reference to Valmiki that he\nsays in his introduction:\n\n  Yet I may enter through the door\n  That mightier poets pierced of yore;\n  A thread may pierce a jewel, but\n  Must follow where the diamond cut.\n\nHe introduces Valmiki into his own epic, making him compose the\n_Ramayana_ in Rama's lifetime. Kalidasa speaks of Valmiki as \"the\npoet,\" and the great epic he calls \"the sweet story of Rama,\" \"the\nfirst path shown to poets,\" which, when sung by the two boys, was\nheard with motionless delight by the deer, and, when sung before a\ngathering of learned men, made them heedless of the tears that rolled\ndown their cheeks.\n\nBearing these matters in mind, we can see the course of Kalidasa's\nthoughts almost as clearly as if he had expressed them directly. He\nwas irresistibly driven to write the wonderful story of Rama, as any\npoet would be who became familiar with it. At the same time, his\nmodesty prevented him from challenging the old epic directly. He\ntherefore writes a poem which shall appeal to the hallowed association\nthat cluster round the great name of Rama, but devotes two-thirds of\nit to themes that permit him greater freedom. The result is a formless\nplot.\n\nThis is a real weakness, yet not a fatal weakness. In general,\nliterary critics lay far too much emphasis on plot. Of the elements\nthat make a great book, two, style and presentation of character,\nhardly permit critical analysis. The third, plot, does permit such\nanalysis. Therefore the analyst overrates its importance. It is fatal\nto all claim of greatness in a narrative if it is shown to have a bad\nstyle or to be without interesting characters. It is not fatal if it\nis shown that the plot is rambling. In recent literature it is easy to\nfind truly great narratives in which the plot leaves much to be\ndesired. We may cite the _Pickwick Papers, Les Mis\u00e9rables, War and\nPeace_.\n\nWe must then regard _The Dynasty of Raghu_ as a poem in which single\nepisodes take a stronger hold upon the reader than does the unfolding\nof an ingenious plot. In some degree, this is true of all long poems.\nThe _\u00c6neid_ itself, the most perfect long poem ever written, has dull\npassages. And when this allowance is made, what wonderful passages we\nhave in Kalidasa's poem! One hardly knows which of them makes the\nstrongest appeal, so many are they and so varied. There is the\ndescription of the small boy Raghu in the third canto, the choice of\nthe princess in the sixth, the lament of King Aja in the eighth, the\nstory of Dasharatha and the hermit youth in the ninth, the account of\nthe ruined city in the sixteenth. Besides these, the Rama cantos, ten\nto fifteen, make an epic within an epic. And if Kalidasa is not seen\nat his very best here, yet his second best is of a higher quality than\nthe best of others. Also, the Rama story is so moving that a mere\nallusion to it stirs like a sentimental memory of childhood. It has\nthe usual qualities of a good epic story: abundance of travel and\nfighting and adventure and magic interweaving of human with\nsuperhuman, but it has more than this. In both hero and heroine there\nis real development of character. Odysseus and \u00c6neas do not grow; they\ngo through adventures. But King Rama, torn between love for his wife\nand duty to his subjects, is almost a different person from the\nhandsome, light-hearted prince who won his bride by breaking Shiva's\nbow. Sita, faithful to the husband who rejects her, has made a long,\ncharacter-forming journey since the day when she left her father's\npalace, a youthful bride. Herein lies the unique beauty of the tale of\nRama, that it unites romantic love and moral conflict with a splendid\nstory of wild adventure. No wonder that the Hindus, connoisseurs of\nstory-telling, have loved the tale of Rama's deeds better than any\nother story.\n\nIf we compare _The Dynasty of Raghu_ with Kalidasa's other books, we\nfind it inferior to _The Birth of the War-god_ in unity of plot,\ninferior to _Shakuntala_ in sustained interest, inferior to _The\nCloud-Messenger_ in perfection of every detail. Yet passages in it are\nas high and sweet as anything in these works. And over it is shed the\nmagic charm of Kalidasa's style. Of that it is vain to speak. It can\nbe had only at first hand. The final proof that _The Dynasty of Raghu_\nis a very great poem, is this: no one who once reads it can leave it\nalone thereafter.{}\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: If a king aspired to the title of emperor, or king of\nkings, he was at liberty to celebrate the horse-sacrifice. A horse was\nset free to wander at will for a year, and was escorted by a band of\nnoble youths who were not permitted to interfere with his movements.\nIf the horse wandered into the territory of another king, such king\nmust either submit to be the vassal of the horse's owner, or must\nfight him. If the owner of the horse received the submission, with or\nwithout fighting, of all the kings into whose territories the horse\nwandered during the year of freedom, he offered the horse in sacrifice\nand assumed the imperial title.]\n\n[Footnote 2: This is not the place to discuss the many interesting\nquestions of geography and ethnology suggested by the fourth canto.\nBut it is important to notice that Kalidasa had at least superficial\nknowledge of the entire Indian peninsula and of certain outlying\nregions.]\n\n[Footnote 3: A girl of the warrior caste had the privilege of choosing\nher husband. The procedure was this. All the eligible youths of the\nneighbourhood were invited to her house, and were lavishly\nentertained. On the appointed day, they assembled in a hall of the\npalace, and the maiden entered with a garland in her hand. The suitors\nwere presented to her with some account of their claims upon her\nattention, after which she threw the garland around the neck of him\nwhom she preferred.]\n\n[Footnote 4: See footnote, p. 128.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTHE BIRTH OF THE WAR-GOD\n\n\n_The Birth of the War-god_ is an epic poem in seventeen cantos. It\nconsists of 1096 stanzas, or about 4400 lines of verse. The subject is\nthe marriage of the god Shiva, the birth of his son, and the victory\nof this son over a powerful demon. The story was not invented by\nKalidasa, but taken from old mythology. Yet it had never been told in\nso masterly a fashion as had been the story of Rama's deeds by\nValmiki. Kalidasa is therefore under less constraint in writing this\nepic than in writing _The Dynasty of Raghu_. I give first a somewhat\ndetailed analysis of the matter of the poem.\n\n_First canto. The birth of Parvati_.--The poem begins with a\ndescription of the great Himalaya mountain-range.\n\n  God of the distant north, the Snowy Range\n    O'er other mountains towers imperially;\n  Earth's measuring-rod, being great and free from change,\n    Sinks to the eastern and the western sea.\n\n  Whose countless wealth of natural gems is not\n    Too deeply blemished by the cruel snow;\n  One fault for many virtues is forgot,\n    The moon's one stain for beams that endless flow.\n\n  Where demigods enjoy the shade of clouds\n    Girding his lower crests, but often seek,\n  When startled by the sudden rain that shrouds\n    His waist, some loftier, ever sunlit peak.\n\n  Where bark of birch-trees makes, when torn in strips\n    And streaked with mountain minerals that blend\n  To written words 'neath dainty finger-tips,\n    Such dear love-letters as the fairies send.\n\n  Whose organ-pipes are stems of bamboo, which\n    Are filled from cavern-winds that know no rest,\n  As if the mountain strove to set the pitch\n    For songs that angels sing upon his crest.\n\n  Where magic herbs that glitter in the night\n    Are lamps that need no oil within them, when\n  They fill cave-dwellings with their shimmering light\n    And shine upon the loves of mountain men.\n\n  Who offers roof and refuge in his caves\n    To timid darkness shrinking from the day;\n  A lofty soul is generous; he saves\n    Such honest cowards as for protection pray,\n\n  Who brings to birth the plants of sacrifice;\n    Who steadies earth, so strong is he and broad.\n  The great Creator, for this service' price,\n    Made him the king of mountains, and a god.\n\nHimalaya marries a wife, to whom in course of time a daughter is born,\nas wealth is born when ambition pairs with character. The child is\nnamed Parvati, that is, daughter of the mountain. Her father takes\ninfinite delight in her, as well he may; for\n\n  She brought him purity and beauty too,\n    As white flames to the lamp that burns at night;\n  Or Ganges to the path whereby the true\n    Reach heaven; or judgment to the erudite.\n\nShe passes through a happy childhood of sand-piles, balls, dolls, and\nlittle girl friends, when all at once young womanhood comes upon her.\n\n  As pictures waken to the painter's brush,\n    Or lilies open to the morning sun,\n  Her perfect beauty answered to the flush\n    Of womanhood when childish days were done.\n\n  Suppose a blossom on a leafy spray;\n    Suppose a pearl on spotless coral laid:\n  Such was the smile, pure, radiantly gay,\n    That round her red, red lips for ever played.\n\n  And when she spoke, the music of her tale\n    Was sweet, the music of her voice to suit,\n  Till listeners felt as if the nightingale\n    Had grown discordant like a jangled lute.\n\nIt is predicted by a heavenly being that she will one day become the\nwife of the god Shiva. This prediction awakens her father's pride, and\nalso his impatience, since Shiva makes no advances. For the destined\nbridegroom is at this time leading a life of stern austerity and\nself-denial upon a mountain peak. Himalaya therefore bids his daughter\nwait upon Shiva. She does so, but without being able to divert him\nfrom his austerities.\n\n\n_Second canto. Brahma's self-revelation_.--At this time, the gods\nbetake themselves to Brahma, the Creator, and sing a hymn of praise, a\npart of which is given here.\n\n  Before creation, thou art one;\n  Three, when creation's work is done:\n  All praise and honour unto thee\n  In this thy mystic trinity.\n\n  Three various forms and functions three\n  Proclaim thy living majesty;\n  Thou dost create, and then maintain,\n  And last, destroyest all again.\n\n  Thy slow recurrent day and night\n  Bring death to all, or living light.\n  We live beneath thy waking eye;\n  Thou sleepest, and thy creatures die.\n\n  Solid and fluid, great and small,\n  And light and heavy--Thou art all;\n  Matter and form are both in thee:\n  Thy powers are past discovery.[]\n\n  Thou art the objects that unroll\n  Their drama for the passive soul;\n  Thou art the soul that views the play\n  Indifferently, day by day.\n\n  Thou art the knower and the known;\n  Eater and food art thou alone;\n  The priest and his oblation fair;\n  The prayerful suppliant and the prayer.\n\nBrahma receives their worship graciously, and asks the reason of their\ncoming. The spokesman of the gods explains to Brahma how a great demon\nnamed Taraka is troubling the world, and how helpless they are in\nopposing him. They have tried the most extravagant propitiation, and\nfound it useless.\n\n  The sun in heaven dare not glow\n  With undiminished heat, but so\n  As that the lilies may awake\n  Which blossom in his pleasure-lake.\n\n  The wind blows gently as it can\n  To serve him as a soothing fan,\n  And dare not manifest its power,\n  Lest it should steal a garden flower.\n\n  The seasons have forgotten how\n  To follow one another now;\n  They simultaneously bring\n  Him flowers of autumn, summer, spring.\n\n  Such adoration makes him worse;\n  He troubles all the universe:\n  Kindness inflames a rascal's mind;\n  He should be recompensed in kind.\n\n  And all the means that we have tried\n  Against the rogue, are brushed aside,\n  As potent herbs have no avail\n  When bodily powers begin to fail.\n\n  We seek a leader, O our Lord,\n  To bring him to his just reward--\n  As saints seek evermore to win\n  Virtue, to end life's woe and sin--\n\n  That he may guide the heavenly host,\n  And guard us to the uttermost,\n  And from our foe lead captive back\n  The victory which still we lack.\n\nBrahma answers that the demon's power comes from him, and he does not\nfeel at liberty to proceed against it; \"for it is not fitting to cut\ndown even a poison-tree that one's own hand has planted.\" But he\npromises that a son shall be born to Shiva and Parvati, who shall lead\nthe gods to victory. With this answer the gods are perforce content,\nand their king, Indra, waits upon the god of love, to secure his\nnecessary co-operation.\n\n\n_Third canto. The burning of Love_.--Indra waits upon Love, who asks\nfor his commands. Indra explains the matter, and asks Love to inflame\nShiva with passion for Parvati. Love thereupon sets out, accompanied\nby his wife Charm and his friend Spring. When they reach the mountain\nwhere Shiva dwells, Spring shows his power. The snow disappears; the\ntrees put forth blossoms; bees, deer, and birds waken to new life. The\nonly living being that is not influenced by the sudden change of\nseason is Shiva, who continues his meditation, unmoved. Love himself\nis discouraged, until he sees the beauty of Parvati, when he takes\nheart again. At this moment, Shiva chances to relax his meditation,\nand Parvati approaches to do him homage. Love seizes the lucky moment,\nand prepares to shoot his bewildering arrow at Shiva. But the great\ngod sees him, and before the arrow is discharged, darts fire from his\neye, whereby Love is consumed. Charm falls in a swoon, Shiva vanishes,\nand the wretched Parvati is carried away by her father.\n\n\n_Fourth canto. The lament of Charm_.--This canto is given entire.\n\n  The wife of Love lay helpless in a swoon,\n    Till wakened by a fate whose deadliest sting\n  Was preparation of herself full soon\n    To taste the youthful widow's sorrowing.\n\n  Her opening eyes were fixed with anxious thought\n    On every spot where he might be, in vain,\n  Were gladdened nowhere by the sight she sought,\n    The lover she should never see again.\n\n  She rose and cried aloud: \"Dost thou yet live,\n    Lord of my life?\" And at the last she found\n  Him whom the wrathful god could not forgive,\n    Her Love, a trace of ashes on the ground.\n\n  With breaking heart, with lovely bosom stained\n    By cold embrace of earth, with flying hair,\n  She wept and to the forest world complained,\n    As if the forest in her grief might share.\n\n  \"Thy beauty slew the pride that maidens cherish;\n    Perfect its loveliness in every part;\n  I saw that beauty fade away and perish,\n    Yet did not die. How hard is woman's heart!\n\n  Where art thou gone? Thy love a moment only\n    Endured, and I for ever need its power;\n  Gone like the stream that leaves the lily lonely,\n    When the dam breaks, to mourn her dying flower.\n\n  Thou never didst a thing to cause me anguish;\n    I never did a thing to work thee harm;\n  Why should I thus in vain affliction languish?\n    Why not return to bless thy grieving Charm?\n\n  Of playful chastisements art thou reminded,\n    Thy flirtings punished by my girdle-strands,\n  Thine eyes by flying dust of blossoms blinded,\n    Held for thy meet correction in these hands?\n\n  I loved to hear the name thou gav'st me often\n    'Heart of my heart,' Alas! It was not true,\n  But lulling phrase, my coming grief to soften:\n    Else in thy death, my life had ended, too.\n\n  Think not that on the journey thou hast taken\n    So newly, I should fail to find thy track;\n  Ah, but the world! The world is quite forsaken,\n    For life is love; no life, when thee they lack.\n\n  Thou gone, my love, what power can guide the maiden\n    Through veils of midnight darkness in the town\n  To the eager heart with loving fancies laden,\n    And fortify against the storm-cloud's frown?\n\n  The wine that teaches eyes their gladdest dances,\n    That bids the love-word trippingly to glide,\n  Is now deception; for if flashing glances\n    Lead not to love, they lead to naught beside.\n\n  And when he knows thy life is a remembrance,\n    Thy friend the moon will feel his shining vain,\n  Will cease to show the world a circle's semblance,\n    And even in his waxing time, will wane.\n\n  Slowly the mango-blossoms are unfolding\n    On twigs where pink is struggling with the green,\n  Greeted by ko\u00efl-birds sweet concert holding--\n    Thou dead, who makes of flowers an arrow keen?\n\n  Or weaves a string of bees with deft invention,\n    To speed the missile when the bow is bent?\n  They buzz about me now with kind intention,\n    And mortify the grief which they lament.\n\n  Arise! Assume again thy radiant beauty!\n    Rebuke the ko\u00efl-bird, whom nature taught\n  Such sweet persuasion; she forgets her duty\n    As messenger to bosoms passion-fraught.\n\n  Well I remember, Love, thy suppliant motion,\n    Thy trembling, quick embrace, the moments blest\n  By fervent, self-surrendering devotion--\n    And memories like these deny me rest.\n\n  Well didst thou know thy wife; the springtime garland,\n    Wrought by thy hands, O charmer of thy Charm!\n  Remains to bid me grieve, while in a far land\n    Thy body seeks repose from earthly harm.\n\n  Thy service by the cruel gods demanded,\n    Meant service to thy wife left incomplete,\n  My bare feet with coquettish streakings banded--\n    Return to end the adorning of my feet.\n\n  No, straight to thee I fly, my body given,\n    A headlong moth, to quick-consuming fire,\n  Or e'er my cunning rivals, nymphs in heaven,\n    Awake in thee an answering desire.\n\n  Yet, dearest, even this short delay is fated\n    For evermore a deep reproach to prove,\n  A stain that may not be obliterated,\n    If Charm has lived one moment far from Love.\n\n  And how can I perform the last adorning\n    Of thy poor body, as befits a wife?\n  So strangely on the path that leaves me mourning\n    Thy body followed still the spirit's life.\n\n  I see thee straighten out thy blossom-arrow,\n    The bow slung careless on thy breast the while,\n  Thine eyes in mirthful, sidelong glance grow narrow,\n    Thy conference with friendly Spring, thy smile.\n\n  But where is Spring? Dear friend, whose art could fashion\n    The flowery arrow for thee? Has the wrath\n  Of dreadful Shiva, in excess of passion,\n    Bade him, too, follow on that fatal path?\"\n\n  Heart-smitten by the accents of her grief\n    Like poisoned darts, soothing her fond alarm,\n  Incarnate Spring appeared, to bring relief\n    As friendship can, to sore-lamenting Charm.\n\n  And at the sight of him, she wept the more,\n    And often clutched her throat, and beat her breast;\n  For lamentation finds an open door\n    In the presence of the friends we love the best.\n\n  Stifling, she cried: \"Behold the mournful matter!\n    In place of him thou seekest, what is found?\n  A something that the winds of heaven scatter,\n    A trace of dove-grey ashes on the ground.\n\n  Arise, O Love! For Spring knows no estranging,\n    Thy friend in lucky hap and evil lot;\n  Man's love for wife is ever doubtful, changing;\n    Man's love for man abides and changes not.\n\n  With such a friend, thy dart, on dainty pinion\n    Of blossoms, shot from lotus-fibre string,\n  Reduced men, giants, gods to thy dominion--\n    The triple world has felt that arrow sting.\n\n  But Love is gone, far gone beyond returning,\n    A candle snuffed by wandering breezes vain;\n  And see! I am his wick, with Love once burning,\n    Now blackened by the smoke of nameless pain.\n\n  In slaying Love, fate wrought but half a slaughter,\n    For I am left. And yet the clinging vine\n  Must fall, when falls the sturdy tree that taught her\n    Round him in loving tenderness to twine.\n\n  So then, fulfil for me the final mission\n    Of him who undertakes a kinsman's part;\n  Commit me to the flames (my last petition)\n    And speed the widow to her husband's heart.\n\n  The moonlight wanders not, the moon forsaking;\n    Where sails the cloud, the lightning is not far;\n  Wife follows mate, is law of nature's making,\n    Yes, even among such things as lifeless are.\n\n  My breast is stained; I lay among the ashes\n    Of him I loved with all a woman's powers;\n  Now let me lie where death-fire flames and flashes,\n    As glad as on a bed of budding flowers.\n\n  Sweet Spring, thou camest oft where we lay sleeping\n    On blossoms, I and he whose life is sped;\n  Unto the end thy friendly office keeping,\n    Prepare for me the last, the fiery bed.\n\n  And fan the flame to which I am committed\n    With southern winds; I would no longer stay;\n  Thou knowest well how slow the moments flitted\n    For Love, my love, when I was far away.\n\n  And sprinkle some few drops of water, given\n    In friendship, on his ashes and on me;\n  That Love and I may quench our thirst in heaven\n    As once on earth, in heavenly unity.\n\n  And sometimes seek the grave where Love is lying;\n    Pause there a moment, gentle Spring, and shower\n  Sweet mango-clusters to the winds replying;\n    For he thou lovedst, loved the mango-flower.\"\n\n  As Charm prepared to end her mortal pain\n    In fire, she heard a voice from heaven cry,\n  That showed her mercy, as the early rain\n    Shows mercy to the fish, when lakes go dry:\n\n  \"O wife of Love! Thy lover is not lost\n    For evermore. This voice shall tell thee why\n  He perished like the moth, when he had crossed\n    The dreadful god, in fire from Shiva's eye.\n\n  When darts of Love set Brahma in a flame,\n    To shame his daughter with impure desire,\n  He checked the horrid sin without a name,\n    And cursed the god of love to die by fire.\n\n  But Virtue interceded in behalf\n    Of Love, and won a softening of the doom:\n  'Upon the day when Shiva's heart shall laugh\n    In wedding joy, for mercy finding room,\n\n  He shall unite Love's body with the soul,\n    A marriage-present to his mountain bride.'\n  As clouds hold fire and water in control,\n    Gods are the fount of wrath, and grace beside.\n\n  So, gentle Charm, preserve thy body sweet\n    For dear reunion after present pain;\n  The stream that dwindles in the summer heat,\n    Is reunited with the autumn rain.\"\n\n  Invisibly and thus mysteriously\n    The thoughts of Charm were turned away from death;\n  And Spring, believing where he might not see,\n    Comforted her with words of sweetest breath.\n\n  The wife of Love awaited thus the day,\n    Though racked by grief, when fate should show its power,\n  As the waning moon laments her darkened ray\n    And waits impatient for the twilight hour.\n\n\n_Fifth canto. The reward of self-denial_.--Parvati reproaches her own\nbeauty, for \"loveliness is fruitless if it does not bind a lover.\" She\ntherefore resolves to lead a life of religious self-denial, hoping\nthat the merit thus acquired will procure her Shiva's love. Her mother\ntries in vain to dissuade her; her father directs her to a fit\nmountain peak, and she retires to her devotions. She lays aside all\nornaments, lets her hair hang unkempt, and assumes the hermit's dress\nof bark. While she is spending her days in self-denial, she is visited\nby a Brahman youth, who compliments her highly upon her rigid\ndevotion, and declares that her conduct proves the truth of the\nproverb: Beauty can do no wrong. Yet he confesses himself bewildered,\nfor she seems to have everything that heart can desire. He therefore\nasks her purpose in performing these austerities, and is told how her\ndesires are fixed upon the highest of all objects, upon the god Shiva\nhimself, and how, since Love is dead, she sees no way to win him\nexcept by ascetic religion. The youth tries to dissuade Parvati by\nrecounting all the dreadful legends that are current about Shiva: how\nhe wears a coiling snake on his wrist, a bloody elephant-hide upon his\nback, how he dwells in a graveyard, how he rides upon an undignified\nbull, how poor he is and of unknown birth. Parvati's anger is awakened\nby this recital. She frowns and her lip quivers as she defends herself\nand the object of her love.\n\n  Shiva, she said, is far beyond the thought\n    Of such as you: then speak no more to me.\n  Dull crawlers hate the splendid wonders wrought\n    By lofty souls untouched by rivalry.\n\n  They search for wealth, whom dreaded evil nears,\n    Or they who fain would rise a little higher;\n  The world's sole refuge neither hopes nor fears\n    Nor seeks the objects of a small desire.\n\n  Yes, he is poor, yet he is riches' source;\n    This graveyard-haunter rules the world alone;\n  Dreadful is he, yet all beneficent force:\n    Think you his inmost nature can be known?\n\n  All forms are his; and he may take or leave\n    At will, the snake, or gem with lustre white;\n  The bloody skin, or silk of softest weave;\n    Dead skulls, or moonbeams radiantly bright.\n\n  For poverty he rides upon a bull,\n    While Indra, king of heaven, elephant-borne,\n  Bows low to strew his feet with beautiful,\n    Unfading blossoms in his chaplet worn.\n\n  Yet in the slander spoken in pure hate\n    One thing you uttered worthy of his worth:\n  How could the author of the uncreate\n    Be born? How could we understand his birth?\n\n  Enough of this! Though every word that you\n    Have said, be faithful, yet would Shiva please\n  My eager heart all made of passion true\n    For him alone. Love sees no blemishes.\n\nIn response to this eloquence, the youth throws off his disguise,\nappearing as the god Shiva himself, and declares his love for her.\nParvati immediately discontinues her religious asceticism; for\n\"successful effort regenerates.\"\n\n\n_Sixth canto. Parvati is given in marriage_.--While Parvati departs to\ninform her father of what has happened, Shiva summons the seven sages,\nwho are to make the formal proposal of marriage to the bride's\nparents. The seven sages appear, flying through the air, and with them\nArundhati, the heavenly model of wifely faith and devotion. On seeing\nher, Shiva feels his eagerness for marriage increase, realising that\n\n  All actions of a holy life\n  Are rooted in a virtuous wife.\n\nShiva then explains his purpose, and sends the seven sages to make the\nformal request for Parvati's hand. The seven sages fly to the\nbrilliant city of Himalaya, where they are received by the mountain\ngod. After a rather portentous interchange of compliments, the seven\nsages announce their errand, requesting Parvati's hand in behalf of\nShiva. The father joyfully assents, and it is agreed that the marriage\nshall be celebrated after three days. These three days are spent by\nShiva in impatient longing.\n\n\n_Seventh canto. Parvati's wedding_.--The three days are spent in\npreparations for the wedding. So great is Parvati's unadorned beauty\nthat the waiting-women can hardly take their eyes from her to inspect\nthe wedding-dress. But the preparations are complete at last; and the\nbride is beautiful indeed.\n\n  As when the flowers are budding on a vine,\n    Or white swans rest upon a river's shore,\n  Or when at night the stars in heaven shine,\n    Her lovely beauty grew with gems she wore.\n\n  When wide-eyed glances gave her back the same\n    Bright beauty--and the mirror never lies--\n  She waited with impatience till he came:\n    For women dress to please their lovers' eyes.\n\nMeanwhile Shiva finishes his preparations, and sets out on his wedding\njourney, accompanied by Brahma, Vishnu, and lesser gods. At his\njourney's end, he is received by his bride's father, and led through\nstreets ankle-deep in flowers, where the windows are filled with the\nfaces of eager and excited women, who gossip together thus:\n\n  For his sake it was well that Parvati\n    Should mortify her body delicate;\n  Thrice happy might his serving-woman be,\n    And infinitely blest his bosom's mate.\n\nShiva and his retinue then enter the palace, where he is received with\nbashful love by Parvati, and the wedding is celebrated with due pomp.\nThe nymphs of heaven entertain the company with a play, and Shiva\nrestores the body of Love.\n\n\n_Eighth canto. The honeymoon_.--The first month of marital bliss is\nspent in Himalaya's palace. After this the happy pair wander for a\ntime among the famous mountain-peaks. One of these they reach at\nsunset, and Shiva describes the evening glow to his bride. A few\nstanzas are given here.\n\n  See, my belov\u00e8d, how the sun\n    With beams that o'er the water shake\n  From western skies has now begun\n    A bridge of gold across the lake.\n\n  Upon the very tree-tops sway\n    The peacocks; even yet they hold\n  And drink the dying light of day,\n    Until their fans are molten gold.\n\n  The water-lily closes, but\n    With wonderful reluctancy;\n  As if it troubled her to shut\n    Her door of welcome to the bee.\n\n  The steeds that draw the sun's bright car,\n    With bended neck and falling plume\n  And drooping mane, are seen afar\n    To bury day in ocean's gloom.\n\n  The sun is down, and heaven sleeps:\n    Thus every path of glory ends;\n  As high as are the scaled steeps,\n    The downward way as low descends.\n\nShiva then retires for meditation. On his return, he finds that his\nbride is peevish at being left alone even for a little time, and to\nsoothe her, he describes the night which is now advancing. A few\nstanzas of this description run as follows.\n\n  The twilight glow is fading far\n    And stains the west with blood-red light,\n  As when a reeking scimitar\n    Slants upward on a field of fight.\n\n  And vision fails above, below,\n    Around, before us, at our back;\n  The womb of night envelops slow\n    The world with darkness vast and black.\n\n  Mute while the world is dazed with light,\n    The smiling moon begins to rise\n  And, being teased by eager night,\n    Betrays the secrets of the skies.\n\n  Moon-fingers move the black, black hair\n    Of night into its proper place,\n  Who shuts her eyes, the lilies fair,\n    As he sets kisses on her face.\n\nShiva and Parvati then drink wine brought them by the guardian goddess\nof the grove, and in this lovely spot they dwell happily for many\nyears.\n\n\n_Ninth canto. The journey to Mount Kailasa_.--One day the god of fire\nappears as a messenger from the gods before Shiva, to remonstrate with\nhim for not begetting the son upon whom heaven's welfare depends.\nShiva deposits his seed in Fire, who departs, bent low with the\nburden. Shortly afterwards the gods wait upon Shiva and Parvati, who\njourney with them to Mount Kailasa, the splendid dwelling-place of the\ngod of wealth. Here also Shiva and Parvati spend happy days.\n\n\n_Tenth canto. The birth of Kumara_.--To Indra, king of the gods, Fire\nbetakes himself, tells his story, and begs to be relieved of his\nburden. Indra advises him to deposit it in the Ganges. Fire therefore\ntravels to the Ganges, leaves Shiva's seed in the river, and departs\nmuch relieved. But now it is the turn of Ganges to be distressed,\nuntil at dawn the six Pleiades come to bathe in the river. They find\nShiva's seed and lay it in a nest of reeds, where it becomes a child,\nKumara, the future god of war.\n\n\n_Eleventh canto. The birth of Kumara, continued_.--Ganges suckles the\nbeautiful infant. But there arises a dispute for the possession of the\nchild between Fire, Ganges, and the Pleiades. At this point Shiva and\nParvati arrive, and Parvati, wondering at the beauty of the infant and\nat the strange quarrel, asks Shiva to whom the child belongs. When\nShiva tells her that Kumara is their own child, her joy is unbounded.\n\n  Because her eyes with happy tears were dim,\n    'Twas but by snatches that she saw the boy;\n  Yet, with her blossom-hand caressing him,\n    She felt a strange, an unimagined joy.\n\n  The vision of the infant made her seem\n    A flower unfolding in mysterious bliss;\n  Or, billowy with her joyful tears, a stream;\n    Or pure affection, perfect in a kiss.\n\nShiva conducts Parvati and the boy back to Mount Kailasa, where gods\nand fairies welcome them with music and dancing. Here the divine child\nspends the days of a happy infancy, not very different from human\ninfancy; for he learns to walk, gets dirty in the courtyard, laughs a\ngood deal, pulls the scanty hair of an old servant, and learns to\ncount: \"One, nine, two, ten, five, seven.\" These evidences of healthy\ndevelopment cause Shiva and Parvati the most exquisite joy.\n\n\n_Twelfth canto. Kumara is made general_.--Indra, with the other gods,\nwaits upon Shiva, to ask that Kumara, now a youth, may be lent to them\nas their leader in the campaign against Taraka. The gods are\ngraciously received by Shiva, who asks their errand. Indra prefers\ntheir request, whereupon Shiva bids his son assume command of the\ngods, and slay Taraka. Great is the joy of Kumara himself, of his\nmother Parvati, and of Indra.\n\n\n_Thirteenth canto. Kumara is consecrated general_.--Kumara takes an\naffectionate farewell of his parents, and sets out with the gods. When\nthey come to Indra's paradise, the gods are afraid to enter, lest they\nfind their enemy there. There is an amusing scene in which each\ncourteously invites the others to precede him, until Kumara ends their\nembarrassment by leading the way. Here for the first time Kumara sees\nwith deep respect the heavenly Ganges, Indra's garden and palace, and\nthe heavenly city. But he becomes red-eyed with anger on beholding the\ndevastation wrought by Taraka.\n\n  He saw departed glory, saw the state\n    Neglected, ruined, sad, of Indra's city,\n  As of a woman with a cowardly mate:\n    And all his inmost heart dissolved in pity.\n\n  He saw how crystal floors were gashed and torn\n    By wanton tusks of elephants, were strewed\n  With skins that sloughing cobras once had worn:\n    And sadness overcame him as he viewed.\n\n  He saw beside the bathing-pools the bowers\n    Defiled by elephants grown overbold,\n  Strewn with uprooted golden lotus-flowers,\n    No longer bright with plumage of pure gold,\n\n  Rough with great, jewelled columns overthrown,\n    Rank with invasion of the untrimmed grass:\n  Shame strove with sorrow at the ruin shown,\n    For heaven's foe had brought these things to pass.\n\nAmid these sorrowful surroundings the gods gather and anoint Kumara,\nthus consecrating him as their general.\n\n\n_Fourteenth canto. The march_.--Kumara prepares for battle, and\nmarshals his army. He is followed by Indra riding on an elephant, Agni\non a ram, Yama on a buffalo, a giant on a ghost, Varuna on a dolphin,\nand many other lesser gods. When all is ready, the army sets out on\nits dusty march.\n\n\n_Fifteenth canto. The two armies clash_.--The demon Taraka is informed\nthat the hostile army is approaching, but scorns the often-conquered\nIndra and the boy Kumara. Nevertheless, he prepares for battle,\nmarshals his army, and sets forth to meet the gods. But he is beset by\ndreadful omens of evil.\n\n  For foul birds came, a horrid flock to see,\n    Above the army of the foes of heaven,\n  And dimmed the sun, awaiting ravenously\n    The feast of demon corpses to be given.\n\n  And monstrous snakes, as black as powdered soot,\n    Spitting hot poison high into the air,\n  Brought terror to the army underfoot,\n    And crept and coiled and crawled before them there.\n\n  The sun a sickly halo round him had;\n    Coiling within it frightened eyes could see\n  Great, writhing serpents, enviously glad\n    Because the demon's death so soon should be.\n\n  And in the very circle of the sun\n    Were phantom jackals, snarling to be fed;\n  And with impatient haste they seemed to run\n    To drink the demon's blood in battle shed.\n\n  There fell, with darting flame and blinding flash\n    Lighting the farthest heavens, from on high\n  A thunderbolt whose agonising crash\n    Brought fear and shuddering from a cloudless sky.\n\n  There came a pelting rain of blazing coals\n    With blood and bones of dead men mingled in;\n  Smoke and weird flashes horrified their souls;\n    The sky was dusty grey like asses' skin.\n\n  The elephants stumbled and the horses fell,\n    The footmen jostled, leaving each his post,\n  The ground beneath them trembled at the swell\n    Of ocean, when an earthquake shook the host.\n\n  And dogs before them lifted muzzles foul\n    To see the sun that lit that awful day,\n  And pierced the ears of listeners with a howl\n    Dreadful yet pitiful, then slunk away.\n\nTaraka's counsellors endeavour to persuade him to turn back, but he\nrefuses; for timidity is not numbered among his faults. As he advances\neven worse portents appear, and finally warning voices from heaven\ncall upon him to desist from his undertaking. The voices assure him of\nKumara's prowess and inevitable victory; they advise him to make his\npeace while there is yet time. But Taraka's only answer is a defiance.\n\n  \"You mighty gods that flit about in heaven\n    And take my foeman's part, what would you say?\n  Have you forgot so soon the torture given\n    By shafts of mine that never miss their way?\n\n  Why should I fear before a six-days child?\n    Why should you prowl in heaven and gibber shrill,\n  Like dogs that in an autumn night run wild,\n    Like deer that sneak through forests, trembling still?\n\n  The boy whom you have chosen as your chief\n    In vain upon his hermit-sire shall cry;\n  The upright die, if taken with a thief:\n    First you shall perish, then he too shall die.\"\n\nAnd as Taraka emphasises his meaning by brandishing his great sword,\nthe warning spirits flee, their knees knocking together. Taraka laughs\nhorribly, then mounts his chariot, and advances against the army of\nthe gods. On the other side the gods advance, and the two armies\nclash.\n\n\n_Sixteenth canto. The battle between gods and demons_.--This canto is\nentirely taken up with the struggle between the two armies. A few\nstanzas are given here.\n\n  As pairs of champions stood forth\n  To test each other's fighting worth,\n  The bards who knew the family fame\n  Proclaimed aloud each mighty name.\n\n  As ruthless weapons cut their way\n  Through quilted armour in the fray,\n  White tufts of cotton flew on high\n  Like hoary hairs upon the sky.\n\n  Blood-dripping swords reflected bright\n  The sunbeams in that awful fight;\n  Fire-darting like the lightning-flash,\n  They showed how mighty heroes clash.\n\n  The archers' arrows flew so fast,\n  As through a hostile breast they passed,\n  That they were buried in the ground,\n  No stain of blood upon them found.\n\n  The swords that sheaths no longer clasped,\n  That hands of heroes firmly grasped,\n  Flashed out in glory through the fight,\n  As if they laughed in mad delight.\n\n  And many a warrior's eager lance\n  Shone radiant in the eerie dance,\n  A curling, lapping tongue of death\n  To lick away the soldier's breath.\n\n  Some, panting with a bloody thirst,\n  Fought toward the victim chosen first,\n  But had a reeking path to hew\n  Before they had him full in view.\n\n  Great elephants, their drivers gone\n  And pierced with arrows, struggled on,\n  But sank at every step in mud\n  Made liquid by the streams of blood.\n\n  The warriors falling in the fray,\n  Whose heads the sword had lopped away,\n  Were able still to fetch a blow\n  That slew the loud-exulting foe.\n\n  The footmen thrown to Paradise\n  By elephants of monstrous size,\n  Were seized upon by nymphs above,\n  Exchanging battle-scenes for love.\n\n  The lancer, charging at his foe,\n  Would pierce him through and bring him low,\n  And would not heed the hostile dart\n  That found a lodgment in his heart.\n\n  The war-horse, though unguided, stopped\n  The moment that his rider dropped,\n  And wept above the lifeless head,\n  Still faithful to his master dead.\n\n  Two lancers fell with mortal wound\n  And still they struggled on the ground;\n  With bristling hair, with brandished knife,\n  Each strove to end the other's life.\n\n  Two slew each other in the fight;\n  To Paradise they took their flight;\n  There with a nymph they fell in love,\n  And still they fought in heaven above.\n\n  Two souls there were that reached the sky;\n  From heights of heaven they could spy\n  Two writhing corpses on the plain,\n  And knew their headless forms again.\n\nAs the struggle comes to no decisive issue, Taraka seeks out the chief\ngods, and charges upon them.\n\n_Seventeenth canto. Taraka is slain_.--Taraka engages the principal\ngods and defeats them with magic weapons. When they are relieved by\nKumara, the demon turns to the youthful god of war, and advises him to\nretire from the battle.\n\n  Stripling, you are the only son\n    Of Shiva and of Parvati.\n  Go safe and live! Why should you run\n    On certain death? Why fight with me?\n  Withdraw! Let sire and mother blest\n  Clasp living son to joyful breast.\n\n  Flee, son of Shiva, flee the host\n    Of Indra drowning in the sea\n  That soon shall close upon his boast\n    In choking waves of misery.\n  For Indra is a ship of stone;\n  Withdraw, and let him sink alone.\n\nKumara answers with modest firmness.\n\n  The words you utter in your pride,\n    O demon-prince, are only fit;\n  Yet I am minded to abide\n    The fight, and see the end of it.\n  The tight-strung bow and brandished sword\n  Decide, and not the spoken word.\n\nAnd with this the duel begins. When Taraka finds his arrows parried by\nKumara, he employs the magic weapon of the god of wind. When this too\nis parried, he uses the magic weapon of the god of fire, which Kumara\nneutralises with the weapon of the god of water. As they fight on,\nKumara finds an opening, and slays Taraka with his lance, to the\nunbounded delight of the universe.\n\nHere the poem ends, in the form in which it has come down to us. It\nhas been sometimes thought that we have less than Kalidasa wrote,\npartly because of a vague tradition that there were once twenty-three\ncantos, partly because the customary prayer is lacking at the end.\nThese arguments are not very cogent. Though the concluding prayer is\nnot given in form, yet the stanzas which describe the joy of the\nuniverse fairly fill its place. And one does not see with what matter\nfurther cantos would be concerned. The action promised in the earlier\npart is completed in the seventeenth canto.\n\nIt has been somewhat more formidably argued that the concluding cantos\nare spurious, that Kalidasa wrote only the first seven or perhaps the\nfirst eight cantos. Yet, after all, what do these arguments amount to?\nHardly more than this, that the first eight cantos are better poetry\nthan the last nine. As if a poet were always at his best, even when\nwriting on a kind of subject not calculated to call out his best.\nFighting is not Kalidasa's _forte_; love is. Even so, there is great\nvigour in the journey of Taraka, the battle, and the duel. It may not\nbe the highest kind of poetry, but it is wonderfully vigorous poetry\nof its kind. And if we reject the last nine cantos, we fall into a\nvery much greater difficulty. The poem would be glaringly incomplete,\nits early promise obviously disregarded. We should have a _Birth of\nthe War-god_ in which the poet stopped before the war-god was born.\n\nThere seems then no good reason to doubt that we have the epic\nsubstantially as Kalidasa wrote it. Plainly, it has a unity which is\nlacking in Kalidasa's other epic, _The Dynasty_ _of Raghu_, though in\nthis epic, too, the interest shifts. Parvati's love-affair is the\nmatter of the first half, Kumara's fight with the demon the matter of\nthe second half. Further, it must be admitted that the interest runs a\nlittle thin. Even in India, where the world of gods runs insensibly\ninto the world of men, human beings take more interest in the\nadventures of men than of gods. The gods, indeed, can hardly have\nadventures; they must be victorious. _The Birth of the War-god_ pays\nfor its greater unity by a poverty of adventure.\n\nIt would be interesting if we could know whether this epic was written\nbefore or after _The Dynasty of Raghu_. But we have no data for\ndeciding the question, hardly any for even arguing it. The\nintroduction to _The Dynasty of Raghu_ seems, indeed, to have been\nwritten by a poet who yet had his spurs to win. But this is all.\n\nAs to the comparative excellence of the two epics, opinions differ. My\nown preference is for _The Dynasty of Raghu_, yet there are passages\nin _The Birth of the War-god_ of a piercing beauty which the world can\nnever let die.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTHE CLOUD-MESSENGER\n\n\nIn _The Cloud-Messenger_ Kalidasa created a new _genre_ in Sanskrit\nliterature. Hindu critics class the poem with _The Dynasty of Raghu_\nand _The Birth of the War-god_ as a _kavya_, or learned epic. This it\nobviously is not. It is fair enough to call it an elegiac poem, though\na precisian might object to the term.\n\nWe have already seen, in speaking of _The Dynasty of Raghu_, what\nadmiration Kalidasa felt for his great predecessor Valmiki, the author\nof the _Ramayana_; and it is quite possible that an episode of the\nearly epic suggested to him the idea which he has exquisitely treated\nin _The Cloud-Messenger_. In the _Ramayana_, after the defeat and\ndeath of Ravana, Rama returns with his wife and certain heroes of the\nstruggle from Ceylon to his home in Northern India. The journey, made\nin an a\u00ebrial car, gives the author an opportunity to describe the\ncountry over which the car must pass in travelling from one end of\nIndia to the other. The hint thus given him was taken by Kalidasa; a\nwhole canto of _The Dynasty of Raghu_ (the thirteenth) is concerned\nwith the a\u00ebrial journey. Now if, as seems not improbable, _The Dynasty\nof Raghu_ was the earliest of Kalidasa's more ambitious works, it is\nperhaps legitimate to imagine him, as he wrote this canto, suddenly\ninspired with the plan of _The Cloud-Messenger_.\n\nThis plan is slight and fanciful. A demigod, in consequence of some\ntransgression against his master, the god of wealth, is condemned to\nleave his home in the Himalayas, and spend a year of exile on a peak\nin the Vindhya Mountains, which divide the Deccan from the Ganges\nbasin. He wishes to comfort and encourage his wife, but has no\nmessenger to send her. In his despair, he begs a passing cloud to\ncarry his words. He finds it necessary to describe the long journey\nwhich the cloud must take, and, as the two termini are skilfully\nchosen, the journey involves a visit to many of the spots famous in\nIndian story. The description of these spots fills the first half of\nthe poem. The second half is filled with a more minute description of\nthe heavenly city, of the home and bride of the demigod, and with the\nmessage proper. The proportions of the poem may appear unfortunate to\nthe Western reader, in whom the proper names of the first half will\nwake scanty associations. Indeed, it is no longer possible to identify\nall the places mentioned, though the general route followed by the\ncloud can be easily traced. The peak from which he starts is probably\none near the modern Nagpore. From this peak he flies a little west of\nnorth to the Nerbudda River, and the city of Ujjain; thence pretty\nstraight north to the upper Ganges and the Himalaya. The geography of\nthe magic city of Alaka is quite mythical.\n\n_The Cloud-Messenger_ contains one hundred and fifteen four-line\nstanzas, in a majestic metre called the \"slow-stepper.\" The English\nstanza which has been chosen for the translation gives perhaps as fair\na representation of the original movement as may be, where direct\nimitation is out of the question. Though the stanza of the translation\nhas five lines to four for the slow-stepper, it contains fewer\nsyllables; a constant check on the temptation to padding.\n\nThe analysis which accompanies the poem, and which is inserted in\nItalics at the beginning of each stanza, has more than one object. It\nsaves footnotes; it is intended as a real help to comprehension; and\nit is an eminently Hindu device. Indeed, it was my first intention to\ntranslate literally portions of Mallinatha's famous commentary; and\nthough this did not prove everywhere feasible, there is nothing in the\nanalysis except matter suggested by the commentary.\n\nOne minor point calls for notice. The word Him\u00e1laya has been accented\non the second syllable wherever it occurs. This accent is historically\ncorrect, and has some foothold in English usage; besides, it is more\neuphonious and better adapted to the needs of the metre.\n\n\nFORMER CLOUD\n\n  I\n\n_A Yaksha, or divine attendant on Kubera, god of wealth, is exiled for\na year from his home in the Himalayas. As he dwells on a peak in the\nVindhya range, half India separates him from his young bride_.\n\n    On Rama's shady peak where hermits roam,\n  Mid streams by Sita's bathing sanctified,\n    An erring Yaksha made his hapless home,\n  Doomed by his master humbly to abide,\n  And spend a long, long year of absence from his bride.\n\n  II\n\n_After eight months of growing emaciation, the first cloud warns him\nof the approach of the rainy season, when neglected brides are wont to\npine and die_.\n\n    Some months were gone; the lonely lover's pain\n  Had loosed his golden bracelet day by day\n    Ere he beheld the harbinger of rain,\n  A cloud that charged the peak in mimic fray,\n  As an elephant attacks a bank of earth in play.\n\n  III\n\n    Before this cause of lovers' hopes and fears\n  Long time Kubera's bondman sadly bowed\n    In meditation, choking down his tears--\n  Even happy hearts thrill strangely to the cloud;\n  To him, poor wretch, the loved embrace was disallowed.\n\n  IV\n\n_Unable to send tidings otherwise of his health and unchanging love,\nhe resolves to make the cloud his messenger_.\n\n    Longing to save his darling's life, unblest\n  With joyous tidings, through the rainy days,\n    He plucked fresh blossoms for his cloudy guest,\n  Such homage as a welcoming comrade pays,\n  And bravely spoke brave words of greeting and of praise.\n\n  V\n\n    Nor did it pass the lovelorn Yaksha's mind\n  How all unfitly might his message mate\n    With a cloud, mere fire and water, smoke and wind--\n  Ne'er yet was lover could discriminate\n  'Twixt life and lifeless things, in his love-blinded state.\n\n  VI\n\n_He prefers his request_,\n\n    I know, he said, thy far-famed princely line,\n  Thy state, in heaven's imperial council chief,\n    Thy changing forms; to thee, such fate is mine,\n  I come a suppliant in my widowed grief--\n  Better thy lordly \"no\" than meaner souls' relief.\n\n  VII\n\n    O cloud, the parching spirit stirs thy pity;\n  My bride is far, through royal wrath and might;\n    Bring her my message to the Yaksha city,\n  Rich-gardened Alaka, where radiance bright\n  From Shiva's crescent bathes the palaces in light.\n\n  VIII\n\n_hinting at the same time that the' cloud will find his kindly labour\nrewarded by pleasures on the road_,\n\n    When thou art risen to airy paths of heaven,\n  Through lifted curls the wanderer's love shall peep\n    And bless the sight of thee for comfort given;\n  Who leaves his bride through cloudy days to weep\n  Except he be like me, whom chains of bondage keep?\n\n  IX\n\n_and by happy omens_.\n\n    While favouring breezes waft thee gently forth,\n  And while upon thy left the plover sings\n    His proud, sweet song, the cranes who know thy worth\n  Will meet thee in the sky on joyful wings\n  And for delights anticipated join their rings.\n\n  X\n\n_He assures the cloud that his bride is neither dead nor faithless_;\n\n    Yet hasten, O my brother, till thou see--\n  Counting the days that bring the lonely smart--\n    The faithful wife who only lives for me:\n  A drooping flower is woman's loving heart,\n  Upheld by the stem of hope when two true lovers part.\n\n  XI\n\n_further, that there will be no lack of travelling companions_.\n\n    And when they hear thy welcome thunders break,\n  When mushrooms sprout to greet thy fertile weeks,\n    The swans who long for the Himalayan lake\n  Will be thy comrades to Kailasa's peaks,\n  With juicy bits of lotus-fibre in their beaks.\n\n  XII\n\n    One last embrace upon this mount bestow\n  Whose flanks were pressed by Rama's holy feet,\n    Who yearly strives his love for thee to show,\n  Warmly his well-beloved friend to greet\n  With the tear of welcome shed when two long-parted meet.\n\n  XIII\n\n_He then describes the long journey_,\n\n    Learn first, O cloud, the road that thou must go,\n  Then hear my message ere thou speed away;\n    Before thee mountains rise and rivers flow:\n  When thou art weary, on the mountains stay,\n  And when exhausted, drink the rivers' driven spray.\n\n  XIV\n\n_beginning with the departure from Rama's peak, where dwells a company\nof Siddhas, divine beings of extraordinary sanctity_.\n\n    Elude the heavenly elephants' clumsy spite;\n  Fly from this peak in richest jungle drest;\n    And Siddha maids who view thy northward flight\n  Will upward gaze in simple terror, lest\n  The wind be carrying quite away the mountain crest.\n\n  XV\n\n    Bright as a heap of flashing gems, there shines\n  Before thee on the ant-hill, Indra's bow;\n    Matched with that dazzling rainbow's glittering lines,\n  Thy sombre form shall find its beauties grow,\n  Like the dark herdsman Vishnu, with peacock-plumes aglow.\n\n  XVI\n\n  _The Mala plateau_.\n\n    The farmers' wives on Mala's lofty lea,\n  Though innocent of all coquettish art,\n    Will give thee loving glances; for on thee\n  Depends the fragrant furrow's fruitful part;\n  Thence, barely westering, with lightened burden start.\n\n  XVII\n\n  _The Mango Peak_.\n\n    The Mango Peak whose forest fires were laid\n  By streams of thine, will soothe thy weariness;\n    In memory of a former service paid,\n  Even meaner souls spurn not in time of stress\n  A suppliant friend; a soul so lofty, much the less.\n\n  XVIII\n\n    With ripened mango-fruits his margins teem;\n  And thou, like wetted braids, art blackness quite;\n    When resting on the mountain, thou wilt seem\n  Like the dark nipple on Earth's bosom white,\n  For mating gods and goddesses a thrilling sight.\n\n  XIX\n\n  _The Reva, or Nerbudda River, foaming\n  against the mountain side_,\n\n    His bowers are sweet to forest maidens ever;\n  Do thou upon his crest a moment bide,\n    Then fly, rain-quickened, to the Reva river\n  Which gaily breaks on Vindhya's rocky side,\n  Like painted streaks upon an elephant's dingy hide.\n\n  XX\n\n_and flavoured with the ichor which exudes from the temples of\nelephants during the mating season_.\n\n  Refresh thyself from thine exhausted state\n    With ichor-pungent drops that fragrant flow;\n  Thou shalt not then to every wind vibrate--\n  Empty means ever light, and full means added weight.\n\n  XXI\n\n   Spying the madder on the banks, half brown,\n  Half green with shoots that struggle to the birth,\n    Nibbling where early plantain-buds hang down,\n  Scenting the sweet, sweet smell of forest earth,\n  The deer will trace thy misty track that ends the dearth.\n\n  XXII\n\n    Though thou be pledged to ease my darling's pain,\n  Yet I foresee delay on every hill\n    Where jasmines blow, and where the peacock-train\n  Cries forth with joyful tears a welcome shrill;\n  Thy sacrifice is great, but haste thy journey still.\n\n  XXIII\n\n_The Dasharna country_,\n\n    At thine approach, Dasharna land is blest\n  With hedgerows where gay buds are all aglow,\n    With village trees alive with many a nest\n  Abuilding by the old familiar crow,\n  With lingering swans, with ripe rose-apples' darker show.\n\n  XXIV\n\n_and its capital Vidisha, on the banks of Reed River_.\n\n    There shalt thou see the royal city, known\n  Afar, and win the lover's fee complete,\n    If thou subdue thy thunders to a tone\n  Of murmurous gentleness, and taste the sweet,\n  Love-rippling features of the river at thy feet.\n\n  XXV\n\n    A moment rest on Nichais' mountain then,\n  Where madder-bushes don their blossom coat\n    As thrilling to thy touch; where city men\n  O'er youth's unbridled pleasures fondly gloat\n  In caverns whence the perfumes of gay women float.\n\n  XXVI\n\n    Fly on refreshed; and sprinkle buds that fade\n  On jasmine-vines in gardens wild and rare\n    By forest rivers; and with loving shade\n  Caress the flower-girls' heated faces fair,\n  Whereon the lotuses droop withering from their hair.\n\n  XXVII\n\n_The famous old city of Ujjain, the home of the poet, and dearly\nbeloved by him_;\n\n    Swerve from thy northern path; for westward rise\n  The palace balconies thou mayst not slight\n    In fair Ujjain; and if bewitching eyes\n  That flutter at thy gleams, should not delight\n  Thine amorous bosom, useless were thy gift of sight.\n\n  XXVIII\n\n_and the river, personified as a loving woman, whom the cloud will\nmeet just before he reaches the city_.\n\n    The neighbouring mountain stream that gliding grants\n  A glimpse of charms in whirling eddies pursed,\n    While noisy swans accompany her dance\n  Like a tinkling zone, will slake thy loving thirst--\n  A woman always tells her love in gestures first.\n\n  XXIX\n\n    Thou only, happy lover! canst repair\n  The desolation that thine absence made:\n    Her shrinking current seems the careless hair\n  That brides deserted wear in single braid,\n  And dead leaves falling give her face a paler shade.\n\n  XXX\n\n_The city of Ujjain is fully described_,\n\n  Sufficed, though fallen from heaven, to bring down heaven on earth!\n\n  XXXI\n\n    Where the river-breeze at dawn, with fragrant gain\n  From friendly lotus-blossoms, lengthens out\n    The clear, sweet passion-warbling of the crane,\n  To cure the women's languishing, and flout\n  With a lover's coaxing all their hesitating doubt.\n\n  XXXII\n\n    Enriched with odours through the windows drifting\n  From perfumed hair, and greeted as a friend\n    By peacock pets their wings in dances lifting,\n  On flower-sweet balconies thy labour end,\n  Where prints of dear pink feet an added glory lend.\n\n  XXXIII\n\n_especially its famous shrine to Shiva, called Mahakala_;\n\n    Black as the neck of Shiva, very God,\n  Dear therefore to his hosts, thou mayest go\n    To his dread shrine, round which the gardens nod\n  When breezes rich with lotus-pollen blow\n  And ointments that the gaily bathing maidens know.\n\n  XXXIV\n\n    Reaching that temple at another time,\n  Wait till the sun is lost to human eyes;\n    For if thou mayest play the part sublime\n  Of Shiva's drum at evening sacrifice,\n  Then hast thou in thy thunders grave a priceless prize.\n\n  XXXV\n\n    The women there, whose girdles long have tinkled\n  In answer to the dance, whose hands yet seize\n    And wave their fans with lustrous gems besprinkled,\n  Will feel thine early drops that soothe and please,\n  And recompense thee from black eyes like clustering bees.\n\n  XXXVI\n\n_and the black cloud, painted with twilight red, is bidden to serve as\na robe for the god, instead of the bloody elephant hide which he\ncommonly wears in his wild dance_.\n\n    Clothing thyself in twilight's rose-red glory,\n  Embrace the dancing Shiva's tree-like arm;\n    He will prefer thee to his mantle gory\n  And spare his grateful goddess-bride's alarm,\n  Whose eager gaze will manifest no fear of harm.\n\n  XXXVII\n\n_After one night of repose in the city_\n\n    Where women steal to rendezvous by night\n  Through darkness that a needle might divide,\n    Show them the road with lightning-flashes bright\n  As golden streaks upon the touchstone's side--\n  But rain and thunder not, lest they be terrified.\n\n  XXXVIII\n\n    On some rich balcony where sleep the doves,\n  Through the dark night with thy beloved stay,\n    The lightning weary with the sport she loves;\n  But with the sunrise journey on thy way--\n  For they that labour for a friend do not delay.\n\n  XXXIX\n\n    The gallant dries his mistress' tears that stream\n  When he returns at dawn to her embrace--\n    Prevent thou not the sun's bright-fingered beam\n  That wipes the tear-dew from the lotus' face;\n  His anger else were great, and great were thy disgrace.\n\n  XL\n\n  _the cloud is besought to travel to Deep River_.\n\n    Thy winsome shadow-soul will surely find\n  An entrance in Deep River's current bright,\n    As thoughts find entrance in a placid mind;\n  Then let no rudeness of thine own affright\n  The darting fish that seem her glances lotus-white.\n\n  XLI\n\n    But steal her sombre veil of mist away,\n  Although her reeds seem hands that clutch the dress\n    To hide her charms; thou hast no time to stay,\n  Yet who that once has known a dear caress\n  Could bear to leave a woman's unveiled loveliness?\n\n  XLII\n\n_Thence to Holy Peak_,\n\n    The breeze 'neath which the breathing acre grants\n  New odours, and the forest figs hang sleek,\n    With pleasant whistlings drunk by elephants\n  Through long and hollow trunks, will gently seek\n  To waft thee onward fragrantly to Holy Peak.\n\n  XLIII\n\n  _the dwelling-place of Skanda, god of war, the\n  child of Shiva and Gauri, concerning whose\n  birth more than one quaint tale is told_.\n\n    There change thy form; become a cloud of flowers\n  With heavenly moisture wet, and pay the meed\n    Of praise to Skanda with thy blossom showers;\n  That sun-outshining god is Shiva's seed,\n  Fire-born to save the heavenly hosts in direst need.\n\n  XLIV\n\n    God Skanda's peacock--he whose eyeballs shine\n  By Shiva's moon, whose flashing fallen plume\n    The god's fond mother wears, a gleaming line\n  Over her ear beside the lotus bloom--\n  Will dance to thunders echoing in the caverns' room.\n\n  XLV\n\n_Thence to Skin River, so called because it flowed forth from a\nmountain of cattle carcasses, offered in sacrifice by the pious\nemperor Rantideva_.\n\n    Adore the reed-born god and speed away,\n  While Siddhas flee, lest rain should put to shame\n    The lutes which they devoutly love to play;\n  But pause to glorify the stream whose name\n  Recalls the sacrificing emperor's blessed fame.\n\n  XLVI\n\n    Narrow the river seems from heaven's blue;\n  And gods above, who see her dainty line\n    Matched, when thou drinkest, with thy darker hue,\n  Will think they see a pearly necklace twine\n  Round Earth, with one great sapphire in its midst ashine.\n\n  XLVII\n\n_The province of the Ten Cities_.\n\n    Beyond, the province of Ten Cities lies\n  Whose women, charming with their glances rash,\n    Will view thine image with bright, eager eyes,\n  Dark eyes that dance beneath the lifted lash,\n  As when black bees round nodding jasmine-blossoms flash.\n\n  XLVIII\n\n_The Hallowed Land, where were fought the awful battles of the ancient\nepic time_.\n\n    Then veil the Hallowed Land in cloudy shade;\n  Visit the field where to this very hour\n    Lie bones that sank beneath the soldier's blade,\n  Where Arjuna discharged his arrowy shower\n  On men, as thou thy rain-jets on the lotus-flower.\n\n  XLIX\n\n_In these battles, the hero Balarama, whose weapon was a plough-share,\nwould take no part, because kinsmen of his were fighting in each army.\nHe preferred to spend the time in drinking from the holy river\nSarasvati, though little accustomed to any other drink than wine_.\n\n    Sweet friend, drink where those holy waters shine\n  Which the plough-bearing hero--loath to fight\n    His kinsmen--rather drank than sweetest wine\n  With a loving bride's reflected eyes alight;\n  Then, though thy form be black, thine inner soul is bright.\n\n  L\n\n  _The Ganges River, which originates in heaven.\n  Its fall is broken by the head of Shiva, who\n  stands on the Himalaya Mountains;\n  otherwise the shock would be too great for\n  the earth. But Shiva's goddess-bride is\n  displeased_.\n\n    Fly then where Ganges o'er the king of mountains\n  Falls like a flight of stairs from heaven let down\n    For the sons of men; she hurls her billowy fountains\n  Like hands to grasp the moon on Shiva's crown\n  And laughs her foamy laugh at Gauri's jealous frown.\n\n  LI\n\n_The dark cloud is permitted to mingle with the clear stream of\nGanges, as the muddy Jumna River does near the city now called\nAllahabad_.\n\n    If thou, like some great elephant of the sky,\n  Shouldst wish from heaven's eminence to bend\n    And taste the crystal stream, her beauties high--\n  As thy dark shadows with her whiteness blend--\n  Would be what Jumna's waters at Prayaga lend.\n\n  LII\n\n_The magnificent Himalaya range_.\n\n    Her birth-place is Himalaya's rocky crest\n  Whereon the scent of musk is never lost,\n    For deer rest ever there where thou wilt rest\n  Sombre against the peak with whiteness glossed,\n  Like dark earth by the snow-white bull of Shiva tossed.\n\n  LIII\n\n    If, born from friction of the deodars,\n  A scudding fire should prove the mountain's bane,\n    Singeing the tails of yaks with fiery stars,\n  Quench thou the flame with countless streams of rain--\n  The great have power that they may soothe distress and pain.\n\n  LIV\n\n    If mountain monsters should assail thy path\n  With angry leaps that of their object fail,\n    Only to hurt themselves in helpless wrath,\n  Scatter the creatures with thy pelting hail--\n  For who is not despised that strives without avail?\n\n  LV\n\n    Bend lowly down and move in reverent state\n  Round Shiva's foot-print on the rocky plate\n    With offerings laden by the saintly great;\n  The sight means heaven as their eternal fate\n  When death and sin are past, for them that faithful wait.\n\n  LVI\n\n    The breeze is piping on the bamboo-tree;\n  And choirs of heaven sing in union sweet\n    O'er demon foe of Shiva's victory;\n  If thunders in the caverns drumlike beat,\n  Then surely Shiva's symphony will be complete.\n\n  LVII\n\n_The mountain pass called the Swan-gate_.\n\n    Pass by the wonders of the snowy slope;\n  Through the Swan-gate, through mountain masses rent\n    To make his fame a path by Bhrigu's hope\n  In long, dark beauty fly, still northward bent,\n  Like Vishnu's foot, when he sought the demon's chastisement.\n\n  LVIII\n\n_And at Mount Kailasa, the long journey is ended_;\n\n    Seek then Kailasa's hospitable care,\n  With peaks by magic arms asunder riven,\n    To whom, as mirror, goddesses repair,\n  So lotus-bright his summits cloud the heaven,\n  Like form and substance to God's daily laughter given.\n\n  LIX\n\n    Like powder black and soft I seem to see\n  Thine outline on the mountain slope as bright\n    As new-sawn tusks of stainless ivory;\n  No eye could wink before as fair a sight\n  As dark-blue robes upon the Ploughman's shoulder white.\n\n  LX\n\n    Should Shiva throw his serpent-ring aside\n  And give Gauri his hand, go thou before\n    Upon the mount of joy to be their guide;\n  Conceal within thee all thy watery store\n  And seem a terraced stairway to the jewelled floor.\n\n  LXI\n\n    I doubt not that celestial maidens sweet\n  With pointed bracelet gems will prick thee there\n    To make of thee a shower-bath in the heat;\n  Frighten the playful girls if they should dare\n  To keep thee longer, friend, with thunder's harshest blare.\n\n  LXII\n\n    Drink where the golden lotus dots the lake;\n  Serve Indra's elephant as a veil to hide\n    His drinking; then the tree of wishing shake,\n  Whose branches like silk garments flutter wide:\n  With sports like these, O cloud, enjoy the mountain side.\n\n  LXIII\n\n_for on this mountain is the city of the Yakshas_.\n\n    Then, in familiar Alaka find rest,\n  Down whom the Ganges' silken river swirls,\n    Whose towers cling to her mountain lover's breast,\n  While clouds adorn her face like glossy curls\n  And streams of rain like strings of close-inwoven pearls.\n\n\nLATTER CLOUD\n\n  I\n\n  _The splendid heavenly city Alaka_,\n\n  Where palaces in much may rival thee--\n  Their ladies gay, thy lightning's dazzling powers--\n  Symphonic drums, thy thunder's melody--\n  Their bright mosaic floors, thy silver showers--\n  Thy rainbow, paintings, and thy height, cloud-licking towers.\n\n  II\n\n_where the flowers which on earth blossom at different seasons, are\nall found in bloom the year round_.\n\n    Where the autumn lotus in dear fingers shines,\n  And lodh-flowers' April dust on faces rare,\n    Spring amaranth with winter jasmine twines\n  In women's braids, and summer siris fair,\n  The rainy madder in the parting of their hair.\n\n  III\n\n_Here grows the magic tree which yields whatever is desired_.\n\n      Where men with maids whose charm no blemish mars\n    Climb to the open crystal balcony\n      Inlaid with flower-like sparkling of the stars,\n    And drink the love-wine from the wishing-tree,\n    And listen to the drums' deep-thundering dignity.\n\n  IV\n\n    Where maidens whom the gods would gladly wed\n  Are fanned by breezes cool with Ganges' spray\n    In shadows that the trees of heaven spread;\n  In golden sands at hunt-the-pearl they play,\n  Bury their little fists, and draw them void away.\n\n  V\n\n    Where lovers' passion-trembling fingers cling\n  To silken robes whose sashes flutter wide,\n    The knots undone; and red-lipped women fling,\n  Silly with shame, their rouge from side to side.\n  Hoping in vain the flash of jewelled lamps to hide.\n\n  VI\n\n    Where, brought to balconies' palatial tops\n  By ever-blowing guides, were clouds before\n    Like thee who spotted paintings with their drops;\n  Then, touched with guilty fear, were seen no more,\n  But scattered smoke-like through the lattice' grated door.\n\n  VII\n\n  _Here are the stones from which drops of water\n  ooze when the moon shines on them_.\n\n    Where from the moonstones hung in nets of thread\n  Great drops of water trickle in the night--\n    When the moon shines clear and thou, O cloud, art fled--\n  To ease the languors of the women's plight\n  Who lie relaxed and tired in love's embraces tight.\n\n  VIII\n\n  _Here are the magic gardens of heaven_.\n\n    Where lovers, rich with hidden wealth untold,\n  Wander each day with nymphs for ever young,\n    Enjoy the wonders that the gardens hold,\n  The Shining Gardens, where the praise is sung\n  Of the god of wealth by choirs with love-impassioned tongue.\n\n  IX\n\n    Where sweet nocturnal journeys are betrayed\n  At sunrise by the fallen flowers from curls\n    That fluttered as they stole along afraid,\n  By leaves, by golden lotuses, by pearls,\n  By broken necklaces that slipped from winsome girls.\n\n  X\n\n  _Here the god of love is not seen, because of\n  the presence of his great enemy, Shiva.\n  Yet his absence is not severely felt_.\n\n    Where the god of love neglects his bee-strung bow,\n  Since Shiva's friendship decks Kubera's reign;\n    His task is done by clever maids, for lo!\n  Their frowning missile glances, darting plain\n  At lover-targets, never pass the mark in vain.\n\n  XI\n\n  _Here the goddesses have all needful ornaments.\n  For the Mine of Sentiment declares:\n  \"Women everywhere have four kinds of\n  ornaments--hair-ornaments, jewels, clothes,\n  cosmetics; anything else is local_.\"\n\n    Where the wishing-tree yields all that might enhance\n  The loveliness of maidens young and sweet:\n    Bright garments, wine that teaches eyes to dance,\n  And flowering twigs, and rarest gems discrete,\n  And lac-dye fit to stain their pretty lotus-feet.\n\n  XII\n\n  _And here is the home of the unhappy Yaksha_,\n\n    There, northward from the master's palace, see\n  Our home, whose rainbow-gateway shines afar;\n    And near it grows a little coral-tree,\n  Bending 'neath many a blossom's clustered star,\n  Loved by my bride as children of adoption are.\n\n  XIII\n\n  _with its artificial pool_;\n\n    A pool is near, to which an emerald stair\n  Leads down, with blooming lotuses of gold\n    Whose stalks are polished beryl; resting there,\n  The wistful swans are glad when they behold\n  Thine image, and forget the lake they loved of old.\n\n  XIV\n\n  _its hill of sport, girdled by bright hedges, like\n  the dark cloud girdled by the lightening_;\n\n    And on the bank, a sapphire-crested hill\n  Round which the golden plantain-hedges fit;\n    She loves the spot; and while I marvel still\n  At thee, my friend, as flashing lightnings flit\n  About thine edge, with restless rapture I remember it.\n\n  XV\n\n  _its two favourite trees, which will not blossom\n  while their mistress is grieving_;\n\n    The ashoka-tree, with sweetly dancing lines,\n  The favourite bakul-tree, are near the bower\n    Of amaranth-engirdled jasmine-vines;\n  Like me, they wait to feel the winning power\n  Of her persuasion, ere they blossom into flower.\n\n  XVI\n\n  _its tame peacock_;\n\n    A golden pole is set between the pair,\n  With crystal perch above its emerald bands\n    As green as young bamboo; at sunset there\n  Thy friend, the blue-necked peacock, rises, stands,\n  And dances when she claps her bracelet-tinkling hands.\n\n  XVII\n\n  _and its painted emblems of the god\n  of wealth_.\n\n    These are the signs--recall them o'er and o'er,\n  My clever friend--by which the house is known,\n    And the Conch and Lotus painted by the door:\n  Alas! when I am far, the charm is gone--\n  The lotus' loveliness is lost with set of sun.\n\n  XVIII\n\n    Small as the elephant cub thou must become\n  For easy entrance; rest where gems enhance\n    The glory of the hill beside my home,\n  And peep into the house with lightning-glance,\n  But make its brightness dim as fireflies' twinkling dance.\n\n  XIX\n\n  _The Yaksha's bride_.\n\n    The supremest woman from God's workshop gone--\n  Young, slender; little teeth and red, red lips,\n    Slight waist and gentle eyes of timid fawn,\n  An idly graceful movement, generous hips,\n  Fair bosom into which the sloping shoulder slips--\n\n  XX\n\n    Like a bird that mourns her absent mate anew\n  Passing these heavy days in longings keen,\n    My girlish wife whose words are sweet and few,\n  My second life, shall there of thee be seen--\n  But changed like winter-blighted lotus-blooms, I ween.\n\n  XXI\n\n    Her eyes are swol'n with tears that stream unchidden;\n  Her lips turn pale with sorrow's burning sighs;\n    The face that rests upon her hand is hidden\n  By hanging curls, as when the glory dies\n  Of the suffering moon pursued by thee through nightly skies.\n\n  XXII\n\n  _The passion of love passes through ten stages,\n  eight of which are suggested in this stanza\n  and the stanzas which follow. The first\n  stage is not indicated; it is called Exchange\n  of Glances_.\n\n    Thou first wilt see her when she seeks relief\n  In worship; or, half fancying, half recalling,\n    She draws mine image worn by absent grief;\n  Or asks the caged, sweetly-singing starling:\n  \"Do you remember, dear, our lord? You were his darling.\"\n\n  XXIII\n\n  _In this stanza and the preceding one is\n  suggested the second stage: Wistfulness_.\n\n    Or holds a lute on her neglected skirt,\n  And tries to sing of me, and tries in vain;\n    For she dries the tear-wet string with hands inert,\n  And e'er begins, and e'er forgets again,\n  Though she herself composed it once, the loving strain.\n\n  XXIV\n\n  _Here is suggested the third stage: Desire_.\n\n    Or counts the months of absence yet remaining\n  With flowers laid near the threshold on the floor,\n    Or tastes the bliss of hours when love was gaining\n  The memories recollected o'er and o'er--\n  woman's comforts when her lonely heart is sore.\n\n  XXV\n\n  _Here is suggested the fourth stage: Wakefulness_.\n\n    Such daytime labours doubtless ease the ache\n  Which doubly hurts her in the helpless dark;\n    With news from me a keener joy to wake,\n  Stand by her window in the night, and mark\n  My sleepless darling on her pallet hard and stark.\n\n  XXVI\n\n  _Here is suggested the fifth stage: Emaciation_.\n\n    Resting one side upon that widowed bed,\n  Like the slender moon upon the Eastern height,\n    So slender she, now worn with anguish dread,\n  Passing with stifling tears the long, sad night\n  Which, spent in love with me, seemed but a moment's flight.\n\n  XXVII\n\n  _Here is suggested the sixth stage: Loss of\n  Interest in Ordinary Pleasures_.\n\n    On the cool, sweet moon that through the lattice flashes\n  She looks with the old delight, then turns away\n    And veils her eyes with water-weighted lashes,\n  Sad as the flower that blooms in sunlight gay,\n  But cannot wake nor slumber on a cloudy day.\n\n  XXVIII\n\n  _Here is suggested the seventh stage: Loss of\n  Youthful Bashfulness_.\n\n    One unanointed curl still frets her cheek\n  When tossed by sighs that burn her blossom-lip;\n    And still she yearns, and still her yearnings seek\n  That we might be united though in sleep--\n  Ah! Happy dreams come not to brides that ever weep.\n\n  XXIX\n\n  _Here is suggested the eighth stage: Absent-mindedness.\n  For if she were not absent-minded,\n  she would arrange the braid so\n  as not to be annoyed by it_.\n\n    Her single tight-bound braid she pushes oft--\n  With a hand uncared for in her lonely madness--\n    So rough it seems, from the cheek that is so soft:\n  That braid ungarlanded since the first day's sadness,\n  Which I shall loose again when troubles end in gladness.\n\n  XXX\n\n  _Here is suggested the ninth stage: Prostration.\n  The tenth stage, Death, is not suggested_.\n\n    The delicate body, weak and suffering,\n  Quite unadorned and tossing to and fro\n    In oft-renewing wretchedness, will wring\n  Even from thee a raindrop-tear, I know--\n  Soft breasts like thine are pitiful to others' woe.\n\n  XXXI\n\n    I know her bosom full of love for me,\n  And therefore fancy how her soul doth grieve\n    In this our first divorce; it cannot be\n  Self-flattery that idle boastings weave--\n  Soon shalt thou see it all, and seeing, shalt believe.\n\n  XXXII\n\n  _Quivering of the eyelids_\n\n    Her hanging hair prevents the twinkling shine\n  Of fawn-eyes that forget their glances sly,\n    Lost to the friendly aid of rouge and wine--\n  Yet the eyelids quiver when thou drawest nigh\n  As water-lilies do when fish go scurrying by.\n\n  XXXIII\n\n  _and trembling of the limbs are omens of\n  speedy union with the beloved_.\n\n    And limbs that thrill to thee thy welcome prove,\n  Limbs fair as stems in some rich plantain-bower,\n    No longer showing marks of my rough love,\n  Robbed of their cooling pearls by fatal power,\n  The limbs which I was wont to soothe in passion's hour.\n\n  XXXIV\n\n    But if she should be lost in happy sleep,\n  Wait, bear with her, grant her but three hours' grace,\n    And thunder not, O cloud, but let her keep\n  The dreaming vision of her lover's face--\n  Loose not too soon the imagined knot of that embrace.\n\n  XXXV\n\n    As thou wouldst wake the jasmine's budding wonder,\n  Wake her with breezes blowing mistily;\n    Conceal thy lightnings, and with words of thunder\n  Speak boldly, though she answer haughtily\n  With eyes that fasten on the lattice and on thee.\n\n  XXXVI\n\n  _The cloud is instructed how to announce himself_\n\n    \"Thou art no widow; for thy husband's friend\n  Is come to tell thee what himself did say--\n    A cloud with low, sweet thunder-tones that send\n  All weary wanderers hastening on their way,\n  Eager to loose the braids of wives that lonely stay.\"\n\n  XXXVII\n\n  _in such a way as to win the favour of his auditor_.\n\n    Say this, and she will welcome thee indeed,\n  Sweet friend, with a yearning heart's tumultuous beating\n    And joy-uplifted eyes; and she will heed\n  The after message: such a friendly greeting\n  Is hardly less to woman's heart than lovers' meeting.\n\n  XXXVIII\n\n  _The message itself_.\n\n    Thus too, my king, I pray of thee to speak,\n  Remembering kindness is its own reward;\n    \"Thy lover lives, and from the holy peak\n  Asks if these absent days good health afford--\n  Those born to pain must ever use this opening word.\n\n  XXXIX\n\n    With body worn as thine, with pain as deep,\n  With tears and ceaseless longings answering thine,\n    With sighs more burning than the sighs that keep\n  Thy lips ascorch--doomed far from thee to pine,\n  He too doth weave the fancies that thy soul entwine.\n\n  XL\n\n    He used to love, when women friends were near,\n  To whisper things he might have said aloud\n    That he might touch thy face and kiss thine ear;\n  Unheard and even unseen, no longer proud,\n  He now must send this yearning message by a cloud.\n\n  XLI\n\n  _According to the treatise called \"Virtues\n  Banner,\" a lover has four solaces in separation:\n  first, looking at objects that remind\n  him of her he loves_;\n\n    'I see thy limbs in graceful-creeping vines,\n  Thy glances in the eyes of gentle deer,\n    Thine eyebrows in the ripple's dancing lines,\n  Thy locks in plumes, thy face in moonlight clear--\n  Ah, jealous! But the whole sweet image is not here.\n\n  XLII\n\n  _second, painting a picture of her_;\n\n    And when I paint that loving jealousy\n  With chalk upon the rock, and my caress\n    As at thy feet I lie, I cannot see\n  Through tears that to mine eyes unbidden press--\n  So stern a fate denies a painted happiness.\n\n  XLIII\n\n  _third, dreaming of her_;\n\n    And when I toss mine arms to clasp thee tight,\n  Mine own though but in visions of a dream--\n    They who behold the oft-repeated sight,\n  The kind divinities of wood and stream,\n  Let fall great pearly tears that on the blossoms gleam.\n\n  XLIV\n\n  _fourth, touching something which she\n  has touched_.\n\n    Himalaya's breeze blows gently from the north,\n  Unsheathing twigs upon the deodar\n    And sweet with sap that it entices forth--\n  I embrace it lovingly; it came so far,\n  Perhaps it touched thee first, my life's unchanging star!\n\n  XLV\n\n    Oh, might the long, long night seem short to me!\n  Oh, might the day his hourly tortures hide!\n    Such longings for the things that cannot be,\n  Consume my helpless heart, sweet-glancing bride,\n  In burning agonies of absence from thy side.\n\n  XLVI\n\n  _The bride is besought not to lose heart at\n  hearing of her lover's wretchedness_,\n\n    Yet much reflection, dearest, makes me strong,\n  Strong with an inner strength; nor shouldst thou feel\n    Despair at what has come to us of wrong;\n  Who has unending woe or lasting weal?\n  Our fates move up and down upon a circling wheel.\n\n  XLVII\n\n  _and to remember that the curse has its\n  appointed end, when the rainy season is\n  over and the year of exile fulfilled. Vishnu\n  spends the rainy months in sleep upon the\n  back of the cosmic serpent Shesha_.\n\n    When Vishnu rises from his serpent bed\n  The curse is ended; close thine eyelids tight\n    And wait till only four months more are sped;\n  Then we shall taste each long-desired delight\n  Through nights that the full autumn moon illumines bright.\n\n  XLVIII\n\n  _Then is added a secret which, as it could not\n  possibly be known to a third person,\n  assures her that the cloud is a true\n  messenger_.\n\n    And one thing more: thou layest once asleep,\n  Clasping my neck, then wakening with a scream;\n    And when I wondered why, thou couldst but weep\n  A while, and then a smile began to beam:\n  \"Rogue! Rogue! I saw thee with another girl in dream.\"\n\n  XLIX\n\n    This memory shows me cheerful, gentle wife;\n  Then let no gossip thy suspicions move:\n    They say the affections strangely forfeit life\n  In separation, but in truth they prove\n  Toward the absent dear, a growing bulk of tenderest love.'\"\n\n  L\n\n  _The Yaksha then begs the cloud to return\n  with a message of comfort_.\n\n    Console her patient heart, to breaking full\n  In our first separation; having spoken,\n    Fly from the mountain ploughed by Shiva's bull;\n  Make strong with message and with tender token\n  My life, so easily, like morning jasmines, broken.\n\n  LI\n\n    I hope, sweet friend, thou grantest all my suit,\n  Nor read refusal in thy solemn air;\n    When thirsty birds complain, thou givest mute\n  The rain from heaven: such simple hearts are rare,\n  Whose only answer is fulfilment of the prayer.\n\n  LII\n\n  _and dismisses him, with a prayer for his\n  welfare_.\n\n    Thus, though I pray unworthy, answer me\n  For friendship's sake, or pity's, magnified\n    By the sight of my distress; then wander free\n  In rainy loveliness, and ne'er abide\n  One moment's separation from thy lightning bride.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEASONS\n\n\n_The Seasons_ is an unpretentious poem, describing in six short cantos\nthe six seasons into which the Hindus divide the year. The title is\nperhaps a little misleading, as the description is not objective, but\ndeals with the feelings awakened by each season in a pair of young\nlovers. Indeed, the poem might be called a Lover's Calendar.\nKalidasa's authorship has been doubted, without very cogent argument.\nThe question is not of much interest, as _The Seasons_ would neither\nadd greatly to his reputation nor subtract from it.\n\nThe whole poem contains one hundred and forty-four stanzas, or\nsomething less than six hundred lines of verse. There follow a few\nstanzas selected from each canto.\n\n  SUMMER\n\n  Pitiless heat from heaven pours\n    By day, but nights are cool;\n  Continual bathing gently lowers\n    The water in the pool;\n  The evening brings a charming peace:\n    For summer-time is here\n  When love that never knows surcease,\n    Is less imperious, dear.\n\n  Yet love can never fall asleep;\n    For he is waked to-day\n  By songs that all their sweetness keep\n    And lutes that softly play,\n  By fans with sandal-water wet\n    That bring us drowsy rest,\n  By strings of pearls that gently fret\n    Full many a lovely breast.\n\n  The sunbeams like the fires are hot\n    That on the altar wake;\n  The enmity is quite forgot\n    Of peacock and of snake;\n  The peacock spares his ancient foe,\n    For pluck and hunger fail;\n  He hides his burning head below\n    The shadow of his tail.\n\n  Beneath the garland of the rays\n    That leave no corner cool,\n  The water vanishes in haze\n    And leaves a muddy pool;\n  The cobra does not hunt for food\n    Nor heed the frog at all\n  Who finds beneath the serpent's hood\n    A sheltering parasol.\n\n  Dear maiden of the graceful song,\n    To you may summer's power\n  Bring moonbeams clear and garlands long\n    And breath of trumpet-flower,\n  Bring lakes that countless lilies dot,\n    Refreshing water-sprays,\n  Sweet friends at evening, and a spot\n    Cool after burning days.\n\n\n  THE RAINS\n\n  The rain advances like a king\n    In awful majesty;\n  Hear, dearest, how his thunders ring\n    Like royal drums, and see\n  His lightning-banners wave; a cloud\n    For elephant he rides,\n  And finds his welcome from the crowd\n    Of lovers and of brides.\n\n  The clouds, a mighty army, march\n    With drumlike thundering\n  And stretch upon the rainbow's arch\n    The lightning's flashing string;\n  The cruel arrows of the rain\n    Smite them who love, apart\n  From whom they love, with stinging pain,\n    And pierce them to the heart.\n\n  The forest seems to show its glee\n    In flowering nipa plants;\n  In waving twigs of many a tree\n    Wind-swept, it seems to dance;\n  Its ketak-blossom's opening sheath\n    Is like a smile put on\n  To greet the rain's reviving breath,\n    Now pain and heat are gone.\n\n  To you, dear, may the cloudy time\n    Bring all that you desire,\n  Bring every pleasure, perfect, prime,\n    To set a bride on fire;\n  May rain whereby life wakes and shines\n    Where there is power of life,\n  The unchanging friend of clinging vines,\n    Shower blessings on my wife.\n\n\n  AUTUMN\n\n  The autumn comes, a maiden fair\n    In slenderness and grace,\n  With nodding rice-stems in her hair\n    And lilies in her face.\n  In flowers of grasses she is clad;\n    And as she moves along,\n  Birds greet her with their cooing glad\n    Like bracelets' tinkling song.\n\n  A diadem adorns the night\n    Of multitudinous stars;\n  Her silken robe is white moonlight,\n    Set free from cloudy bars;\n  And on her face (the radiant moon)\n    Bewitching smiles are shown:\n  She seems a slender maid, who soon\n    Will be a woman grown.\n\n  Over the rice-fields, laden plants\n    Are shivering to the breeze;\n  While in his brisk caresses dance\n    The blossom-burdened trees;\n  He ruffles every lily-pond\n    Where blossoms kiss and part,\n  And stirs with lover's fancies fond\n    The young man's eager heart.\n\n\n  WINTER\n\n  The bloom of tenderer flowers is past\n    And lilies droop forlorn,\n  For winter-time is come at last,\n    Rich with its ripened corn;\n  Yet for the wealth of blossoms lost\n    Some hardier flowers appear\n  That bid defiance to the frost\n    Of sterner days, my dear.\n\n  The vines, remembering summer, shiver\n    In frosty winds, and gain\n  A fuller life from mere endeavour\n    To live through all that pain;\n  Yet in the struggle and acquist\n    They turn as pale and wan\n  As lonely women who have missed\n    Known love, now lost and gone.\n\n  Then may these winter days show forth\n    To you each known delight,\n  Bring all that women count as worth\n    Pure happiness and bright;\n  While villages, with bustling cry,\n    Bring home the ripened corn,\n  And herons wheel through wintry sky,\n    Forget sad thoughts forlorn.\n\n\n  EARLY SPRING\n\n  Now, dearest, lend a heedful ear\n    And listen while I sing\n  Delights to every maiden dear,\n    The charms of early spring:\n  When earth is dotted with the heaps\n    Of corn, when heron-scream\n  Is rare but sweet, when passion leaps\n    And paints a livelier dream.\n\n  When all must cheerfully applaud\n    A blazing open fire;\n  Or if they needs must go abroad,\n    The sun is their desire;\n  When everybody hopes to find\n    The frosty chill allayed\n  By garments warm, a window-blind\n    Shut, and a sweet young maid.\n\n  Then may the days of early spring\n    For you be rich and full\n  With love's proud, soft philandering\n    And many a candy-pull,\n  With sweetest rice and sugar-cane:\n    And may you float above\n  The absent grieving and the pain\n    Of separated love.\n\n\n  SPRING\n\n  A stalwart soldier comes, the spring,\n    Who bears the bow of Love;\n  And on that bow, the lustrous string\n    Is made of bees, that move\n  With malice as they speed the shaft\n    Of blossoming mango-flower\n  At us, dear, who have never laughed\n    At love, nor scorned his power.\n\n  Their blossom-burden weights the trees;\n    The winds in fragrance move;\n  The lakes are bright with lotuses,\n    The women bright with love;\n  The days are soft, the evenings clear\n    And charming; everything\n  That moves and lives and blossoms, dear,\n    Is sweeter in the spring.\n\n  The groves are beautifully bright\n    For many and many a mile\n  With jasmine-flowers that are as white\n    As loving woman's smile:\n  The resolution of a saint\n    Might well be tried by this;\n  Far more, young hearts that fancies paint\n    With dreams of loving bliss.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nEVERYMAN'S LIBRARY\n\nBy Ernest Rhys\n\nMADE AT THE TEMPLE\n\nPRESS LETCHWORTH IN GREAT BRITAIN\n\n\n\n\n\nVictor Hugo said a Library was \"an act of faith,\" and some unknown\nessayist spoke of one so beautiful, so perfect, so harmonious in all\nits parts, that he who made it was smitten with a passion. In that\nfaith the promoters of Everyman's Library planned it out originally on\na large scale; and their idea in so doing was to make it conform as\nfar as possible to a perfect scheme. However, perfection is a thing to\nbe aimed at and not to be achieved in this difficult world; and since\nthe first volumes appeared, now several years ago, there have been\nmany interruptions. A great war has come and gone; and even the City\nof Books has felt something like a world commotion. Only in recent\nyears is the series getting back into its old stride and looking\nforward to complete its original scheme of a Thousand Volumes. One of\nthe practical expedients in that original plan was to divide the\nvolumes into sections, as Biography, Fiction, History, Belles Lettres,\nPoetry, Romance, and so forth; with a compartment for young people,\nand last, and not least, one of Reference Books. Beside the\ndictionaries and encyclop\u00e6dias to be expected in that section, there\nwas a special set of literary and historical atlases. One of these\natlases dealing with Europe, we may recall, was directly affected by\nthe disturbance of frontiers during the war; and the maps had to be\ncompletely revised in consequence, so as to chart the New Europe which\nwe hope will now preserve its peace under the auspices of the League\nof Nations set up at Geneva. That is only one small item, however, in\na library list which runs already to the final centuries of the\nThousand. The largest slice of this huge provision is, as a matter of\ncourse, given to the tyrannous demands of fiction. But in carrying out\nthe scheme, publishers and editors contrived to keep in mind that\nbooks, like men and women, have their elective affinities. The present\nvolume, for instance, will be found to have its companion books, both\nin the same section and even more significantly in other sections.\nWith that idea too, novels like Walter Scott's _Ivanhoe_ and _Fortunes\nof Nigel_, Lytton's _Harold_ and Dickens's _Tale of Two Cities_, have\nbeen used as pioneers of history and treated as a sort of holiday\nhistory books. For in our day history is tending to grow more\ndocumentary and less literary; and \"the historian who is a stylist,\"\nas one of our contributors, the late Thomas Seccombe, said, \"will soon\nbe regarded as a kind of Phoenix.\" But in this special department of\nEveryman's Library we have been eclectic enough to choose our history\nmen from every school in turn. We have Grote, Gibbon, Finlay,\nMacaulay, Motley, Frescott. We have among earlier books the Venerable\nBede and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, have completed a Livy in an\nadmirable new translation by Canon Roberts, while C\u00e6sar, Tacitus,\nThucydides and Herodotus are not forgotten. \"You only, O Books,\" said\nRichard de Bury, \"are liberal and independent; you give to all who\nask.\" The delightful variety, the wisdom and the wit which are at the\ndisposal of Everyman in his own library may well, at times, seem to\nhim a little embarrassing. He may turn to Dick Steele in _The\nSpectator_ and learn how Cleomira dances, when the elegance of her\nmotion is unimaginable and \"her eyes are chastised with the simplicity\nand innocence of her thoughts.\" He may turn to Plato's Ph\u00e6drus and\nread how every soul is divided into three parts (like C\u00e6sar's Gaul).\nHe may turn to the finest critic of Victorian times, Matthew Arnold,\nand find in his essay on Maurice de Guerin the perfect key to what is\nthere called the \"magical power of poetry.\" It is Shakespeare, with\nhis\n\n  \"daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take\n  The winds of March with beauty;\"\n\nit is Wordsworth, with his\n\n  \"voice ... heard\n  In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird,\n  Breaking the silence of the seas\n  Among the farthest Hebrides;\"\n\nor Keats, with his\n\n  \".... moving waters at their priest-like task\n  Of cold ablution round Earth's human shores.\"\n\nWilliam Hazlitt's \"Table Talk,\" among the volumes of Essays, may help\nto show the relationship of one author to another, which is another\nform of the Friendship of Books. His incomparable essay in that\nvolume, \"On Going a Journey,\" forms a capital prelude to Coleridge's\n\"Biographia Literaria\" and to his and Wordsworth's poems. In the same\nway one may turn to the review of Moore's Life of Byron in Macaulay's\n_Essays_ as a prelude to the three volumes of Byron's own poems,\nremembering that the poet whom Europe loved more than England did was\nas Macaulay said: \"the beginning, the middle and the end of all his\nown poetry.\" This brings us to the provoking reflection that it is the\nobvious authors and the books most easy to reprint which have been the\nsignal successes out of the many hundreds in the series, for Everyman\nis distinctly proverbial in his tastes. He likes best of all an old\nauthor who has worn well or a comparatively new author who has gained\nsomething like newspaper notoriety. In attempting to lead him on from\nthe good books that are known to those that are less known, the\npublishers may have at times been too adventurous. The late _Chief_\nhimself was much more than an ordinary book-producer in this critical\nenterprise. He threw himself into it with the zeal of a book-lover and\nindeed of one who, like Milton, thought that books might be as alive\nand productive as dragons' teeth, which, being \"sown up and down the\nland, might chance to spring up armed men.\" Mr. Pepys in his _Diary_\nwrites about some of his books, \"which are come home gilt on the\nbacks, very handsome to the eye.\" The pleasure he took in them is that\nwhich Everyman may take in the gilt backs of his favourite books in\nhis own Library, which after all he has helped to make good and\nlasting.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n Abbott's Rollo at Work, etc., 275\n\n Addison's Spectator, 164-167\n\n \u00c6schylus' Lyrical Dramas, 62\n\n \u00c6sop's and Other Fables, 657\n\n Aimard's The Indian Scout, 428\n\n Ainsworth's Tower of London, 400\n \" Old St. Paul's, 522\n \" Windsor Castle, 709\n \" The Admirable Crichton, 804\n\n A'Kempis' Imitation of Christ, 484\n\n Alcott's Little Women, and Good Wives, 248\n \" Little Men, 512\n\n Alpine Club. Peaks, Passes and Glaciers, 778\n\n Andersen's Fairy Tales, 4\n\n Anglo-Saxon Poetry, 794\n\n Anson's Voyages, 510\n\n Aristophanes' The Acharnians, etc., 344\n \" The Frogs, etc., 516\n\n Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, 547\n \" Politics, 605\n\n Arnold's (Matthew) Essays, 115\n \" Poems, 334\n \" Study of Celtic Literature, etc., 458\n\n Augustine's (Saint) Confessions, 200\n\n Aurelius' (Marcus) Golden Book, 9\n\n Austen's (Jane) Sense and Sensibility, 21\n \" Pride and Prejudice, 22\n \" Mansfield Park, 23\n \" Emma, 24\n \" Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion, 25\n\n\n Bacon's Essays, 10\n \" Advancement of Learning, 719\n\n Bagehot's Literary Studies, 520, 521\n\n Baker's (Sir S.W.) Cast up by the Sea, 539\n\n Ballantyne's Coral Island, 245\n \" Martin Rattler, 246\n \" Ungava, 276\n\n Balzac's Wild Ass's Skin, 26\n \" Eug\u00e9nie Grandet, 169\n \" Old Goriot, 170\n \" Atheist's Mass, etc., 229\n \" Christ in Flanders, etc., 284\n \" The Chouans, 285\n \" Quest of the Absolute, 286\n \" Cat and Racket, etc., 349\n \" Catherine de Medici, 419\n \" Cousin Pons, 463\n \" The Country Doctor, 530\n \" Rise and Fall of C\u00e9sar Birotteau, 596\n \" Lost Illusions, 656\n \" The Country Parson, 686\n \" Ursule Mirou\u00ebt, 733\n\n Barbusse's Under Fire, 798\n\n Barca's (Mme. C. de la) Life in Mexico, 664\n\n Bates' Naturalist on the Amazons, 446\n\n Beaumont and Fletcher's Select Plays, 506\n\n Beaumont's (Mary) Joan Seaton, 597\n\n Bede's Ecclesiastical History, etc., 479\n\n Belt's The Naturalist in Nicaragua, 561\n\n Berkeley's (Bishop) Principles of Human Knowledge, New Theory of\n Vision, etc., 483\n\n Berlioz (Hector), Life of, 602\n\n Binns' Life of Abraham Lincoln, 783\n\n Bj\u00f6rnson's Plays, 625, 696\n\n Blackmore's Lorna Doone, 304\n \" Springhaven, 350\n\n Blackwell's Pioneer Work for Women, 667\n\n Blake's Poems and Prophecies, 792\n\n\n Boehme's The Signature of All Things, etc., 569\n\n Bonaventura's The Little Flowers,\n   The Life of St. Francis, etc., 485\n\n Borrow's Wild Wales, 49\n \" Lavengro, 119\n \" Romany Rye, 120\n \" Bible in Spain, 151\n \" Gypsies in Spain, 697\n\n Boswell's Life of Johnson, 1, 2\n \" Tour in the Hebrides, etc., 387\n\n Boult's Asgard and Norse Heroes, 689\n\n Boyle's The Sceptical Chymist, 559\n\n Bright's (John) Speeches, 252\n\n Bront\u00eb's (A.) The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, 685\n\n Bront\u00eb's (C.) Jane Eyre, 287\n \" Shirley, 288\n \" Villette, 351\n \" The Professor, 417\n\n Bront\u00eb's (E.) Wuthering Heights, 243\n\n Brooke's (Stopford A.) Theology in the English Poets, 493\n\n Brown's (Dr. John) Rab and His Friends, etc., 116\n\n Browne's (Frances) Grannie's Wonderful Chair, 112\n\n Browne's (Sir Thos.) Religio Medici, etc., 92\n\n Browning's Poems, 1833-1844, 41\n \" \" 1844-1864, 42\n \" The Ring and the Book, 502\n\n Buchanan's Life and Adventures of Audubon, 601\n\n Bulfinch's The Age of Fable, 472\n \" Legends of Charlemagne, 556\n\n Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, 204\n\n Burke's American Speeches and Letters, 340\n \" Reflections on the French Revolution, etc., 460\n\n Burnet's History of His Own Times, 85\n\n Burney's Evelina, 352\n\n Burns' Poems and Songs, 94\n\n Burrell's Volume of Heroic Verse, 574\n\n Burton's East Africa, 500\n\n Butler's Analogy of Religion, 90\n\n Buxton's Memoirs, 773\n\n Byron's Complete Poetical and Dramatic Works, 486-488\n\n\n C\u00e6sar's Gallic War, etc., 702\n\n Canton's Child's Book of Saints, 61\n \" Invisible Playmate, etc., 566\n\n Carlyle's French Revolution, 31, 32\n \" Letters, etc., of Cromwell, 266-268\n \" Sartor Resartus, 278\n \" Past and Present, 608\n \" Essays, 703, 704\n\n Cellini's Autobiography, 51\n\n Cervantes' Don Quixote, 385, 386\n\n Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, 307\n\n Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes' Eric and Enid, 698\n\n Cibber's Apology for his Life, 668\n\n Cicero's Select Letters and Orations, 345\n\n Clarke's Tales from Chaucer, 537\n \" Shakespeare's Heroines, 109-111\n\n Cobbett's Rural Rides, 638, 639\n\n Coleridge's Biographia, 11\n \" Golden Book, 43\n \" Lectures on Shakespeare, 162\n\n Collins' Woman in White, 464\n\n Collodi's Pinocchio, 538\n\n Converse's Long Will, 328\n\n Cook's Voyages, 99\n\n Cooper's The Deerslayer, 77\n \" The Pathfinder, 78\n \" Last of the Mohicans, 79\n \" The Pioneer, 171\n \" The Prairie, 172\n\n Cousin's Biographical Dictionary of English Literature, 449\n\n Cowper's Letters, 774\n\n Cox's Tales of Ancient Greece, 721\n\n Craik's Manual of English Literature, 346\n\n Craik (Mrs.). _See_ Mulock.\n\n Creasy's Fifteen Decisive Battles, 300\n\n Cr\u00e8vecoeur's Letters from an American Farmer, 640\n\n Curtis's Prue and I, and Lotus, 418\n\n\n Dana's Two Years Before the Mast, 588\n\n Dante's Divine Comedy, 308\n\n Darwin's Voyage of the Beagle, 104\n\n Dasent's The Story of Burnt Njal, 558\n\n Daudet's Tartarin of Tarascon, 423\n\n Defoe's Robinson Crusoe, 59\n \" Captain Singleton, 74\n \" Memoirs of a Cavalier, 283\n \" Journal of Plague, 289\n\n De Joinville's Memoirs of the Crusades, 333\n\n Demosthenes' Select Orations, 546\n\n Dennis' Cities and Cemeteries of Etruria, 183, 184\n\n De Quincey's Lake Poets, 163\n \" Opium-Eater, 223\n \" English Mail Coach, etc., 609\n\n De Retz (Cardinal), Memoirs of, 735, 736\n\n Descartes' Discourse on Method, 570\n\n Dickens' Barnaby Rudge, 76\n \" Tale of Two Cities, 102\n \" Old Curiosity Shop, 173\n \" Oliver Twist, 233\n \" Great Expectations, 234\n \" Pickwick Papers, 235\n \" Bleak House, 236\n \" Sketches by Boz, 237\n \" Nicholas Nickleby, 238\n \" Christmas Books, 239\n \" Dombey & Son, 240\n \" Martin Chuzzlewit, 241\n \" David Copperfield, 242\n \" American Notes, 290\n \" Child's History of England, 291\n \" Hard Times, 292\n \" Little Dorrit, 293\n \" Our Mutual Friend, 294\n \" Christmas Stories, 414\n \" Uncommercial Traveller, 536\n \" Edwin Drood, 725\n \" Reprinted Pieces, 744\n\n Disraeli's Coningsby, 635\n\n Dixon's Fairy Tales from Arabian Nights, 249\n\n Dodge's Hans Brinker, or the Silver Skates, 620\n\n Dostoieffsky's Crime and Punishment, 501\n \" The House of the Dead, or Prison Life in Siberia, 533\n \" Letters from the Underworld, etc., 654\n \" The Idiot, 682\n \" Poor Folk, and The Gambler, 711\n \" The Brothers Karamazov, 802, 803\n\n Dowden's Life of R. Browning, 701\n\n Dryden's Dramatic Essays, 568\n\n Dufferin's Letters from High Latitudes, 499\n\n Dumas' The Three Musketeers, 81\n \" The Black Tulip, 174\n\n Dumas' Twenty Years After, 175\n \" Marguerite de Valois, 326\n \" The Count of Monte Cristo, 393, 394\n \" The Forty-Five, 420\n \" Chicot the Jester, 421\n \" Vicomte de Bragelonne, 593-595\n \" Le Chevalier de Maison Rouge, 614\n\n Duruy's History of France, 737, 738\n\n Edgar's Cressy and Poictiers, 17\n \" Runnymede and Lincoln Fair, 320\n \" Heroes of England, 471\n\n Edgeworth's Castle Rackrent, etc., 410\n\n Edwardes' Dictionary of Non-Classical Mythology, 632\n\n Eliot's Adam Bede, 27\n \" Silas Marner, 121\n \" Romola, 231\n \" Mill on the Floss, 325\n \" Felix Holt, 353\n \" Scenes of Clerical Life, 468\n\n Elyot's Governour, 227\n\n Emerson's Essays, 12\n \" Representative Men, 279\n \" Nature, Conduct of Life, etc., 322\n \" Society and Solitude, etc., 567\n \" Poems, 715\n\n Epictetus' Moral Discourses, etc., 404\n\n Erckmann--Chatrian's The Conscript and Waterloo, 354\n \" Story of a Peasant, 706, 707\n\n Euripides' Plays, 63, 271\n\n Evelyn's Diary, 220, 221\n\n Ewing's (Mrs.) Mrs. Overtheway's Remembrances, and other Stories, 730\n \" Jackanapes, Daddy Darwin's Dovecot, and The Story of a Short Life,\n 731\n\n Faraday's Experimental Researches in Electricity, 576\n\n Fielding's Tom Jones, 355, 356\n \" Joseph Andrews, 467\n\n Finlay's Byzantine Empire, 33\n \" Greece under the Romans, 185\n\n Fletcher's (Beaumont and) Select Plays, 506\n\n Ford's Gatherings from Spain, 152\n\n Forster's Life of Dickens, 781, 782\n\n Fox's Journal, 754\n\n Fox's Selected Speeches, 759\n\n Franklin's Journey to Polar Sea, 447\n\n Freeman's Old English History for Children, 540\n\n Froissart's Chronicles, 57\n\n Fronde's Short Studies, 13, 705\n \" Henry VIII., 372-374\n \" Edward VI., 375\n \" Mary Tudor, 477\n \" History of Queen Elizabeth's Reign, 583-587\n \" Life of Benjamin Disraeli, Lord Beaconsfield, 666\n\n Gait's Annals of the Parish, 427\n\n Galton's Inquiries into Human Faculty, 263\n\n Gaskell's Cranford, 83\n \" Charlotte Bront\u00eb, 318\n \" Sylvia's Lovers, 524\n \" Mary Barton, 598\n \" Cousin Phillis, etc., 615\n \" North and South, 680\n\n Gatty's Parables from Nature, 158\n\n Geoffrey of Monmouth's Histories of the Kings of Britain, 577\n\n George's Progress and Poverty, 560\n\n Gibbon's Roman Empire, 434-436, 474-476\n \" Autobiography, 511\n\n Gilfillian's Literary Portraits, 348\n\n Giraldus Cambrensis, 272\n\n Gleig's Life of Wellington, 341\n \" The Subaltern, 708\n\n Goethe's Faust (Parts I. and II.), 335\n \" Wilhelm Meister, 599, 600\n\n Gogol's Dead Souls, 726\n \" Taras Bulba, 740\n\n Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield, 295\n \" Poems and Plays, 415\n\n Gorki's Through Russia, 741\n\n Gosse's Restoration Plays, 604\n\n Gotthelf's Ulric the Farm Servant, 228\n\n Gray's Poems and Letters, 628\n\n Green's Short History of the English People, 727, 728 The cloth\n edition is in 2 vols. or 1 vol. All other editions are in 1 vol.\n\n Grimms' Fairy Tales, 56\n\n Grote's History of Greece, 186-197\n\n Guest's (Lady) Mabinogion, 97\n\n\n Hahnemann's The Organon of the Rational Art of Healing, 663\n\n Hakluyt's Voyages, 264, 265, 313, 314, 338, 339, 388, 389\n\n Hallam's Constitutional History, 621-623\n\n Hamilton's The Federalist, 519\n\n Harte's Luck of Roaring Camp, 681\n\n Harvey's Circulation of Blood, 262\n\n Hawthorne's Wonder Book, 5\n \" The Scarlet Letter, 122\n \" House of Seven Gables, 176\n \" The Marble Faun, 424\n \" Twice Told Tales, 531\n \" Blithedale Romance, 592\n\n Hazlitt's Shakespeare's Characters, 65\n \" Table Talk, 321\n \" Lectures, 411\n \" Spirit of the Age and Lectures on English Poets, 459\n\n Hebbel's Plays, 694\n\n Helps' (Sir Arthur) Life of Columbus, 332\n\n Herbert's Temple, 309\n\n Herodotus (Rawlinson's), 405, 406\n\n Herrick's Hesperides, 310\n\n Hobbes' Leviathan, 691\n\n Holinshed's Chronicle, 800\n\n Holmes' Life of Mozart, 564\n\n Holmes' (O.W.) Autocrat, 66\n \" Professor, 67\n \" Poet, 68\n\n Homer's Iliad, 453 \" Odyssey, 454\n\n Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, 201, 202\n\n Horace's Complete Poetical Works, 515\n\n Houghton's Life and Letters of Keats, 801\n\n Hughes' Tom Brown's Schooldays, 58\n\n Hugo's (Victor) Les Mis\u00e9rables, 363, 364\n \" Notre Dame, 422\n \" Toilers of the Sea, 509\n\n Hume's Treatise of Human Nature, etc., 548, 549\n\n Hutchinson's (Col.) Memoirs, 317\n\n Hutchinson's (W.M.L.) Muses' Pageant, 581, 606, 671\n\n Huxley's Man's Place in Nature, 47\n \" Select Lectures and Lay Sermons, 498\n\n\n Ibsen's The Doll's House, etc., 494\n \" Ghosts, etc., 552\n \" Pretenders, Pillars of Society, etc., 659\n \" Brand, 716 \" Lady Inger, etc., 729\n \" Peer Gynt, 747\n\n Ingelow's Mopsa the Fairy, 619\n\n Ingram's Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 624\n\n Irving's Sketch Book, 117\n \" Conquest of Granada, 478\n \" Life of Mahomet, 513\n\n\n James' (G.P.R.) Richelieu, 357\n\n James (Wm.), Selections from, 739\n\n Johnson's (Dr.) Lives of the Poets, 770-771\n\n Johnson's (R.B.) Book of English Ballads, 572\n\n Jonson's (Ben) Plays, 489, 490\n\n Josephus' Wars of the Jews, 712\n\n\n Kalidasa's Shakuntala, 629\n\n Keats' Poems, 101\n\n Keble's Christian Year, 690\n\n King's Life of Mazzini, 562\n\n Kinglake's Eothen, 337\n\n Kingsley's (Chas.) Westward Ho! 20\n \" Heroes, 113 \" Hypatia, 230\n \" Water Babies and Glaucus, 277\n \" Hereward the Wake, 296\n \" Alton Locke, 462\n \" Yeast, 611\n \" Madam How and Lady Why, 777\n \" Poems, 793\n\n Kingsley's (Henry) Ravenshoe, 28\n \" Geoffrey Hamlyn, 416\n\n Kingston's Peter the Whaler, 6\n \" Three Midshipmen, 7\n\n\n Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare, 8\n \" Essays of Elia, 14\n \" Letters, 342, 343\n\n Lane's Modern Egyptians, 315\n\n Langland's Piers Plowman, 571\n\n Latimer's Sermons, 40\n\n Law's Serious Call, 91\n\n Layamon's (Wace and) Arthurian Chronicles, 578\n\n Lear (and others), A Book of Nonsense, 806\n\n Le Sage's Gil Blas, 437, 438\n\n Leslie's Memoirs of John Constable, 563\n\n Lever's Harry Lorrequer, 177\n\n Lewes' Life of Goethe, 269\n\n Lincoln's Speeches, etc., 206\n\n Livy's History of Rome, 603, 669, 670, 749, 755, 756\n\n Locke's Civil Government, 751\n\n Lockhart's Life of Napoleon, 3\n \" Life of Scott, 55 \" Burns, 156\n\n Longfellow's Poems, 382\n\n L\u00f6nnrott's Kalevala, 259, 260\n\n Lover's Handy Andy, 178\n\n Lowell's Among My Books, 607\n\n Lucretius: Of the Nature of Things, 750\n\n L\u00fctzow's History of Bohemia, 432\n\n Lyell's Antiquity of Man, 700\n\n Lytton's Harold, 15\n \" Last of the Barons, 18\n \" Last Days of Pompeii, 80\n \" Pilgrims of the Rhine, 390\n \" Rienzi, 532\n\n\n Macaulay's England, 34-36\n \" Essays, 225, 226\n \" Speeches on Politics, etc., 399\n \" Miscellaneous Essays, 439\n\n MacDonald's Sir Gibbie, 678\n \" Phantastes, 732\n\n Machiavelli's Prince, 280 \" Florence, 376\n\n Maine's Ancient Law, 734\n\n Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur, 45, 46\n\n Malthus on the Principles of Population, 692, 693\n\n Manning's Sir Thomas More, 19\n \" Mary Powell, and Deborah's Diary, 324\n\n Marcus Aurelius' Golden Book, 9\n\n Marlowe's Plays and Poems, 383\n\n Marryat's Mr. Midshipman Easy, 82\n \" Little Savage, 159\n \" Masterman Ready, 160\n \" Peter Simple, 232\n \" Children of New Forest, 247\n \" Percival Keene, 358\n \" Settlers in Canada, 370\n \" King's Own, 580\n \" Jacob Faithful, 618\n\n Martineau's Feats on the Fjords, 429\n\n Martinengo-Cesaresco's Folk-Lore and Other Essays, 673\n\n Maurice's Kingdom of Christ, 146, 147\n\n Mazzini's Duties of Man, etc., 224\n\n Melville's Moby Dick, 179\n \" Typee, 180\n \" Omoo, 297\n\n Merivale's History of Rome, 433\n\n Mignet's French Revolution, 713\n\n Mill's Utilitarianism, Liberty, Representative Government, 482\n\n Miller's Old Red Sandstone, 103\n\n Milman's History of the Jews, 377, 378\n\n Milton's Areopagitica and other Prose Works, 795\n\n Milton's Poems, 384\n\n Mommsen's History of Rome, 542-545\n\n Montagu's (Lady) Letters, 69\n\n Montaigne, Florio's, 440-442\n\n More's Utopia, and Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation, 461\n\n Morier's Hajji Baba, 679\n\n Morris' (Wm.) Early Romances, 261 \" Life and Death of Jason, 575\n\n Motley's Dutch Republic, 86-88\n\n Mulock's John Halifax, 123\n\n\n Neale's Fall of Constantinople, 655\n\n Newcastle's (Margaret, Duchess of) Life of the First Duke of\n Newcastle, etc., 722\n\n Newman's Apologia Pro Vita Sua, 636\n \" On the Scope and Nature of University Education, and\n a Paper on Christianity and Scientific Investigation, 723\n\n\n Oliphant's Salem Chapel, 244\n\n Osborne (Dorothy), Letters of, 674\n\n Owen's A New View of Society, etc., 799\n\n\n Paine's Rights of Man, 718\n\n Palgrave's Golden Treasury, 96\n\n Paltock's Peter Wilkins, 676\n\n Park (Mungo), Travels of, 205\n\n Parkman's Conspiracy of Pontiac, 302, 303\n\n Parry's Letters of Dorothy Osborne, 674\n\n Paston's Letters, 752, 753\n\n Paton's Two Morte D'Arthur Romances, 634\n\n Peacock's Headlong Hall, 327\n\n Penn's The Peace of Europe, Some Fruits of Solitude, etc., 724\n\n Pepys' Diary, 53, 54\n\n Percy's Reliques, 148, 149\n\n Pitt's Orations, 145\n\n Plato's Republic, 64 \" Dialogues, 456, 457\n\n Plutarch's Lives, 407-409\n \" Moralia, 565\n\n Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination, 336\n \" Poems and Essays, 791\n\n Polo's (Marco) Travels, 306\n\n Pope's Complete Poetical Works, 760\n\n Prelude to Poetry, 789\n\n Prescott's Conquest of Peru, 301\n Conquest of Mexico, 397, 398\n\n Procter's Legends and Lyrics, 150\n\n\n Rawlinson's Herodotus, 405, 406\n\n Reade's The Cloister and the Hearth, 29\n \" Peg Woffington, 299\n\n Reid's (Mayne) Boy Hunters of the Mississippi, 582\n\n Reid's (Mayne) The Boy Slaves, 797\n\n Renan's Life of Jesus, 805\n\n Reynolds' Discourses, 118\n\n Rhys' Fairy Gold, 157\n \" New Golden Treasury, 695\n \" Anthology of British Hitstorical Speeches and Orations, 714\n \" Political Liberty, 745\n \" Golden Treasury of Longer Poems, 746\n\n Ricardo's Principles of Political Economy and Taxation, 590\n\n Richardson's Pamela, 683, 684\n\n Roberts' (Morley) Western Avernus, 762\n\n Robertson's Religion and Life, 37\n \" Christian Doctrine, 38\n \" Bible Subjects, 39\n\n Robinson's (Wade) Sermons, 637\n\n Roget's Thesaurus, 630, 631\n\n Rossetti's (D.G.) Poems, 627\n\n Rousseau's Emile, on Education, 518\n \" Social Contract and Other Essays, 660\n\n Ruskin's Seven Lamps of Architecture, 207\n \" Modern Painters, 208-212\n \" Stones of Venice, 213-215\n \" Unto this Last, etc., 216\n \" Elements of Drawing, etc., 217\n \" Pre-Raphaelitism, etc., 218\n \" Sesame and Lilies, 219\n\n Ruskin's Ethics of the Dust, 282\n \" Crown of Wild Olive, and Cestus of Aglaia, 323\n \" Time and Tide, with other Essays, 450\n \" The Two Boyhoods, 688\n\n Russell's Life of Gladstone, 661\n\n Russian Short Stories, 758\n\n\n Sand's (George) The Devil's Pool, and Fran\u00e7ois the Waif, 534\n\n Scheffel's Ekkehard: A Tale of the 10th Century, 529\n\n Scott's (M.) Tom Cringle's Log, 710\n\n Scott's (Sir W.) Ivanhoe, 16\n \" Fortunes of Nigel, 71\n \" Woodstock, 72\n \" Waverley, 75\n \" The Abbot, 124\n \" Anne of Geierstein, 125\n \" The Antiquary, 126\n \" Highland Widow, and Betrothed, 127\n \" Black Dwarf, Legend of Montrose, 123\n \" Bride of Lammermoor, 129\n \" Castle Dangerous, Surgeon's Daughter, 130\n \" Robert of Paris, 131\n \" Fair Maid of Perth, 132\n \" Guy Mannering, 133\n \" Heart of Midlothian, 134\n \" Kenilworth, 135\n \" The Monastery, 136\n \" Old Mortality, 137\n \" Peveril of the Peak, 138\n \" The Pirate, 139\n \" Quentin Durward, 140\n \" Redgauntlet, 141\n \" Rob Roy, 142\n \" St. Ronan's Well, 143\n \" The Talisman, 144\n \" Lives of the Novelists, 331\n \" Poems and Plays, 550, 551\n\n Seebohm's Oxford Reformers, 665\n\n Seeley's Ecce Homo, 305\n\n Sewell's (Anna) Black Beauty, 748\n\n Shakespeare's Comedies, 153\n \" Histories, etc., 154\n \" Tragedies, 155\n\n Shelley's Poetical Works, 257, 258\n\n Shelley's (Mrs.) Frankenstein, 616\n\n Sheppard's Charles Auchester, 505\n\n Sheridan's Plays, 95\n\n Sismondi's Italian Republics, 250\n\n Smeaton's Life of Shakespeare, 514\n\n Smith's A Dictionary of Dates, 554\n\n Smith's Wealth of Nations, 412, 413\n\n Smith's (George) Life of Wm. Carey, 395\n\n Smith's (Sir Wm.) Smaller Classical Dictionary, 495\n\n Smollett's Roderick Random, 790\n\n Sophocles, Young's, 114\n\n Southey's Life of Nelson, 52\n\n Speke's Source of the Nile, 50\n\n Spence's Dictionary of Non-Classical Mythology, 632\n\n Spencer's (Herbert) Essays on Education, 504\n\n Spenser's Faerie Queene, 443, 444\n\n Spinoza's Ethics, etc., 481\n\n Spyri's Heidi, 431\n\n Stanley's Memorials of Canterbury, 89\n \" Eastern Church, 251\n\n Steele's The Spectator, 164-167\n\n Sterne's Tristram Shandy, 617\n \" Sentimental Journey and Journal to Eliza, 796\n\n Stevenson's Treasure Island and Kidnapped, 763\n \" Master of Ballantrae and the Black Arrow, 764\n \" Virginibus Puerisque and Familiar Studies of Men and Books, 765\n \" An Inland Voyage, Travels with a Donkey, and Silverado Squatters, 766\n \" Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Merry Men, etc., 767\n \" Poems, 768\n \" In the South Seas and Island Nights' Entertainments, 769\n\n St. Francis, The Little Flowers of, etc., 485\n\n Stopford Brooke's Theology in the English Poets, 493\n\n Stow's Survey of London, 589\n\n Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin, 371\n\n Strickland's Queen Elizabeth, 100\n\n Swedenborg's Heaven and Hell, 379\n \" Divine Love and Wisdom, 635\n \" Divine Providence, 658\n\n Swift's Gulliver's Travels, 60\n \" Journal to Stella, 757\n \" Tale of a Tub, etc., 347\n\n\n Tacitus' Annals, 273\n \" Agricola and Germania, 274\n\n Taylor's Words and Places, 517\n\n Tennyson's Poems, 44, 626\n\n Thackeray's Esmond, 73\n \" Vanity Fair, 298\n \" Christmas Books, 359\n \" Pendennis, 425, 426\n \" Newcomes, 465, 466\n \" The Virginians, 507, 508\n \" English Humorists, and The Four Georges, 610\n \" Roundabout Papers, 687\n\n Thierry's Norman Conquest, 198, 199\n\n Thoreau's Walden, 281\n\n Thucydides' Peloponnesian War, 455\n\n Tolstoy's Master and Man, and Other Parables and Tales, 469\n \" War and Peace, 525-527\n \" Childhood, Boyhood and Youth, 591\n \" Anna Karenina, 612, 613\n\n Trench's On the Study of Words and English Past and Present, 788\n\n Trollope's Barchester Towers, 30\n \" Framley Parsonage, 181\n \" Golden Lion of Granpere, 761\n \" The Warden, 182\n \" Dr. Thorne, 360\n \" Small House at Allington, 361\n \" Last Chronicles of Barset, 391, 392\n\n Trotter's The Bayard of India, 396\n \" Hodson, of Hodson's Horse, 401\n \" Warren Hastings, 452\n\n Turgeniev's Virgin Soil, 528\n \" Liza, 677\n \" Fathers and Sons, 742\n\n Tyndall's Glaciers of the Alps, 98\n\n Tytler's Principles of Translation, 168\n\n\n Vasari's Lives of the Painters, 784-7\n\n Verne's (Jules) Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea, 319\n \" Dropped from the Clouds, 367\n \" Abandoned, 368\n \" The Secret of the Island, 369\n \" Five Weeks in a Balloon and Around the World in Eighty Days, 779\n\n Virgil's Aeneid, 161\n \" Eclogues and Georgics, 222\n\n Voltaire's Life of Charles XII., 270\n \" Age of Louis XIV., 780\n\n\n Wace and Layamon's Arthurian Chronicles, 578\n\n Walpole's Letters, 775\n\n Walton's Compleat Angler, 70\n\n Waterton's Wanderings in South America, 772\n\n Wesley's Journal, 105-108\n\n White's Selborne, 48\n\n Whitman's Leaves of Grass (I.) and Democratic Vistas, etc., 573\n\n Whyte-Melville's Gladiators, 523\n\n Wood's (Mrs. Henry) The Channings, 84\n\n Woolman's Journal, etc., 402\n\n Wordsworth's Shorter Poems, 203\n \" Longer Poems, 311\n\n Wright's An Encyclop\u00e6dia of Gardening, 555\n\n\n Xenophon's Cyropaedia, 672\n\n\n Yonge's The Dove in the Eagle's Nest, 329\n \" The Book of Golden Deeds, 330\n \" The Heir of Redclyffe, 362\n \" The Little Duke, 470\n \" The Lances of Lynwood, 579\n\n Young's (Arthur) Travels in France and Italy, 720\n\n Young's (Sir George) Sophocles, 114\n\n The New Testament, 93.\n\n Ancient Hebrew Literature, 4 vols., 253-256.\n\n English Short Stories. An Anthology, 143.\n\n Everyman's English Dictionary, 776","title":"Translations of Shakuntala and Other Works","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":65507}