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

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

[Exeunt all the women, excepting Gautami, after blessing Sakoontala.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA [approaching].—Dear Sakoontala, we are come to assist you at your toilet, and may a blessing attend it!

SAKOONTALA.—Welcome, dear friends, welcome. Sit down here.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA [taking the baskets containing the bridal decorations, and sitting down].—Now, then, dearest, prepare to let us dress you. We must first rub your limbs with these perfumed unguents.

SAKOONTALA.—I ought indeed to be grateful for your kind offices, now that I am so soon to be deprived of them. Dear, dear friends, perhaps I shall never be dressed by you again. [Bursts into tears.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.—Weep not, dearest, tears are out of season on such a happy occasion.

[They wipe away her tears and begin to dress her.

PRIYAMVADA.—Alas! these simple flowers and rude ornaments which our hermitage offers in abundance, do not set off your beauty as it deserves.

Enter two young Hermits, bearing costly presents.

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

[The women look at them in astonishment.

GAUTAMI.—Why, Narada, my son, whence came these?

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

GAUTAMI.—Did he create them by the power of his own mind?

SECOND HERMIT.—Certainly not; but you shall hear. The venerable sage ordered us to collect flowers for Sakoontala from the forest-trees; and we went to the wood for that purpose, when Straightway depending from a neighboring tree Appeared a robe of linen tissue, pure And spotless as a moon-beam—mystic pledge Of bridal happiness; another tree Distilled a roseate dye wherewith to stain The lady's feet; and other branches near Glistened with rare and costly ornaments. While, 'midst the leaves, the hands of forest-nymphs, Vying in beauty with the opening buds, Presented us with sylvan offerings.

PRIYAMVADA [looking at Sakoontala].—The wood-nymphs have done you honor, indeed. This favor doubtless signifies that you are soon to be received as a happy wife into your husband's house, and are from this forward to become the partner of his royal fortunes. [Sakoontala appears confused.

FIRST HERMIT.—Come, Gautama; Father Kanwa has finished his ablutions. Let us go and inform him of the favor we have received from the deities who preside over our trees.

SECOND HERMIT.—By all means. [Exeunt.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.—Alas! what are we to do? We are unused to such splendid decorations, and are at a loss how to arrange them. Our knowledge of painting must be our guide. We will dispose the ornaments as we have seen them in pictures.

SAKOONTALA.—Whatever pleases you, dear girls, will please me. I have perfect confidence in your taste. [They commence dressing her.

Enter Kanwa, having just finished his ablutions.

KANWA.—This day my loved one leaves me, and my heart Is heavy with its grief: the streams of sorrow Choked at the source, repress my faltering voice. I have no words to speak; mine eyes are dimmed By the dark shadows of the thoughts that rise Within my soul. If such the force of grief In an old hermit parted from his nursling, What anguish must the stricken parent feel— Bereft forever of an only daughter? [Advances towards Sakoontala

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.—Now, dearest Sakoontala, we have finished decorating you. You have only to put on the two linen mantles. [Sakoontala rises and puts them on.

GAUTAMI.—Daughter, see, here comes thy foster-father; he is eager to fold thee in his arms; his eyes swim with tears of joy. Hasten to do him reverence.

SAKOONTALA [reverently].—My father, I salute you.

KANWA.—My daughter, May'st thou be highly honored by thy lord, E'en as Yayati Sarmishtha adored! And, as she bore him Puru; so may'st thou Bring forth a son to whom the world shall bow!

GAUTAMI.—Most venerable father, she accepts your benediction as if she already possessed the boon it confers.

KANWA.—Now come this way, my child, and walk reverently round these sacrificial fires. [They all walk round.

KANWA [repeats a prayer in the metre of the Rig-veda].— Holy flames, that gleam around Every altar's hallowed ground; Holy flames, whose frequent food Is the consecrated wood, And for whose encircling bed, Sacred Kusa-grass is spread; Holy flames, that waft to heaven Sweet oblations daily given, Mortal guilt to purge away;— Hear, oh hear me, when I pray— Purify my child this day! Now then, my daughter, set out on thy journey. [Looking on one side.] Where are thy attendants, Sarngarava and the others?

YOUNG HERMIT [entering].—Here we are, most venerable father.

KANWA.—Lead the way for thy sister.

SARNGARAVA.—Come, Sakoontala, let us proceed. [All move away.

KANWA.—Hear me, ye trees that surround our hermitage! Sakoontala ne'er moistened in the stream Her own parched lips, till she had fondly poured Its purest water on your thirsty roots; And oft, when she would fain have decked her hair With your thick-clustering blossoms, in her love She robbed you not e'en of a single flower. Her highest joy was ever to behold The early glory of your opening buds: Oh, then, dismiss her with a kind farewell! This very day she quits her father's home, To seek the palace of her wedded lord. [The note of a Koeil is heard. Hark! heard'st thou not the answer of the trees, Our sylvan sisters, warbled in the note Of the melodious Koeil? they dismiss Their dear Sakoontala with loving wishes.

VOICES [in the air].— Fare thee well, journey pleasantly on amid streams Where the lotuses bloom, and the sun's glowing beams Never pierce the deep shade of the wide-spreading trees, While gently around thee shall sport the cool breeze; Then light be thy footsteps and easy thy tread, Beneath thee shall carpets of lilies be spread. Journey on to thy lord, let thy spirit be gay, For the smiles of all Nature shall gladden thy way. [All listen with astonishment.

GAUTAMI.—Daughter! the nymphs of the wood, who love thee with the affection of a sister, dismiss thee with kind wishes for thy happiness. Take thou leave of them reverentially.

SAKOONTALA [bowing respectfully and walking on. Aside to her friend].—Eager as I am, dear Priyamvada, to see my husband once more, yet my feet refuse to move, now that I am quitting forever the home of my girlhood.

PRIYAMVADA.—You are not the only one, dearest, to feel the bitterness of parting. As the time of separation approaches, the whole grove seems to share your anguish. In sorrow for thy loss, the herd of deer Forget to browse; the peacock on the lawn Ceases its dance; the very trees around us Shed their pale leaves, like tears, upon the ground.

SAKOONTALA [recollecting herself].—My father, let me, before I go, bid adieu to my pet jasmine, the Moonlight of the Grove. I love the plant almost as a sister.

KANWA.—Yes, yes, my child, I remember thy sisterly affection for the creeper. Here it is on the right.

SAKOONTALA [approaching the jasmine],—My beloved jasmine, most brilliant of climbing plants, how sweet it is to see thee cling thus fondly to thy husband, the mango-tree; yet, prithee, turn thy twining arms for a moment in this direction to embrace thy sister; she is going far away, and may never see thee again.

KANWA.—Daughter, the cherished purpose of my heart Has ever been to wed thee to a spouse That should be worthy of thee; such a spouse Hast thou thyself, by thine own merits, won. To him thou goest, and about his neck Soon shalt thou cling confidingly, as now Thy favorite jasmine twines its loving arms Around the sturdy mango. Leave thou it To its protector—e'en as I consign Thee to thy lord, and henceforth from my mind Banish all anxious thought on thy behalf. Proceed on thy journey, my child.

SAKOONTALA [to Priyamvada and Anasuya].—To you, my sweet companions, I leave it as a keepsake. Take charge of it when I am gone.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA [bursting into tears].—And to whose charge do you leave us, dearest? Who will care for us when you are gone?

KANWA.—For shame, Anasuya! dry your tears. Is this the way to cheer your friend at a time when she needs your support and consolation? [All move on.

SAKOONTALA.—My father, see you there my pet deer, grazing close to the hermitage? She expects soon to fawn, and even now the weight of the little one she carries hinders her movements. Do not forget to send me word when she becomes a mother.

KANWA.—I will not forget it.

SAKOONTALA [feeling herself drawn back].—What can this be, fastened to my dress? [Turns round.

KANWA.—My daughter, It is the little fawn, thy foster-child. Poor helpless orphan! it remembers well How with a mother's tenderness and love Thou didst protect it, and with grains of rice From thine own hand didst daily nourish it; And, ever and anon, when some sharp thorn Had pierced its mouth, how gently thou didst tend The bleeding wound, and pour in healing balm. The grateful nursling clings to its protectress, Mutely imploring leave to follow her.

SAKOONTALA.—My poor little fawn, dost thou ask to follow an unhappy woman who hesitates not to desert her companions? When thy mother died, soon after thy birth, I supplied her place, and reared thee with my own hand; and now that thy second mother is about to leave thee, who will care for thee? My father, be thou a mother to her. My child, go back, and be a daughter to my father. [Moves on, weeping.

KANWA.—Weep not, my daughter, check the gathering tear That lurks beneath thine eyelid, ere it flow And weaken thy resolve; be firm and true— True to thyself and me; the path of life Will lead o'er hill and plain, o'er rough and smooth, And all must feel the steepness of the way; Though rugged be thy course, press boldly on.

SARNGARAVA.—Venerable sire! the sacred precept is—"Accompany thy friend as far as the margin of the first stream." Here then, we are arrived at the border of a lake. It is time for you to give us your final instructions and return.

KANWA.—Be it so; let us tarry for a moment under the shade of this fig-tree. [They do so.

KANWA [aside].—I must think of some appropriate message to send to his majesty King Dushyanta. [Reflects.

SAKOONTALA [aside to Anasuya].—See, see, dear Anasuya, the poor female Chakravaka-bird, whom cruel fate dooms to nightly separation from her mate, calls to him in mournful notes from the other side of the stream, though he is only hidden from her view by the spreading leaves of the water-lily. Her cry is so piteous that I could almost fancy she was lamenting her hard lot in intelligible words.

ANASUYA.—Say not so, dearest. Fond bird! though sorrow lengthen out her night Of widowhood, yet with a cry of joy She hails the morning light that brings her mate Back to her side. The agony of parting Would wound us like a sword, but that its edge Is blunted by the hope of future meeting.

KANWA.—Sarngarava, when you have introduced Sakoontala into the presence of the King, you must give him this message from me.

SARNGARAVA.—Let me hear it, venerable father.

KANWA.—This is it— Most puissant prince! we here present before thee One thou art bound to cherish and receive As thine own wife; yea, even to enthrone As thine own queen—worthy of equal love With thine imperial consorts. So much, Sire, We claim of thee as justice due to us, In virtue of our holy character— In virtue of thine honorable rank— In virtue of the pure spontaneous love That secretly grew up 'twixt thee and her, Without consent or privity of us. We ask no more—the rest we freely leave To thy just feeling and to destiny.

SARNGARAVA.—A most suitable message. I will take care to deliver it correctly.

KANWA.—And now, my child, a few words of advice for thee. We hermits, though we live secluded from the world, are not ignorant of worldly matters.

SARNGARAVA.—No, indeed. Wise men are conversant with all subjects.

KANWA.—Listen, then, my daughter. When thou reachest thy husband's palace, and art admitted into his family, Honor thy betters; ever be respectful To those above thee; and, should others share Thy husband's love, ne'er yield thyself a prey To jealousy; but ever be a friend, A loving friend, to those who rival thee In his affections. Should thy wedded lord Treat thee with harshness, thou must never be Harsh in return, but patient and submissive. Be to thy menials courteous, and to all Placed under thee, considerate and kind: Be never self-indulgent, but avoid Excess in pleasure; and, when fortune smiles, Be not puffed up. Thus to thy husband's house Wilt thou a blessing prove, and not a curse. What thinks Gautami of this advice?

GAUTAMI.—An excellent compendium, truly, of every wife's duties! Lay it well to heart, my daughter.

KANWA.—Come, my beloved child, one parting embrace for me and for thy companions, and then we leave thee.

SAKOONTALA.—My father, must Priyamvada and Anasuya really return with you? They are very dear to me.

KANWA.—Yes, my child; they, too, in good time, will be given in marriage to suitable husbands. It would not be proper for them to accompany thee to such a public place. But Gautami shall be thy companion.

SAKOONTALA [embracing him].—Removed from thy bosom, my beloved father, like a young tendril of the sandal-tree torn from its home in the western mountains,[40] how shall I be able to support life in a foreign soil?

KANWA.—Daughter, thy fears are groundless:— Soon shall thy lord prefer thee to the rank Of his own consort; and unnumbered cares Befitting his imperial dignity Shall constantly engross thee. Then the bliss Of bearing him a son—a noble boy, Bright as the day-star—shall transport thy soul With new delights, and little shalt thou reck Of the light sorrow that afflicts thee now At parting from thy father and thy friends.

[Sakoontala throws herself at her foster-father's feet.

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

SAKOONTALA [approaching her friends].—Come, my two loved companions, embrace me—both of you together.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA [embracing her].—Dear Sakoontala, remember, if the King should by any chance be slow in recognizing you, you have only to show him this ring, on which his own name is engraved.

SAKOONTALA.—The bare thought of it puts me in a tremor.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.—There is no real cause for fear, dearest. Excessive affection is too apt to suspect evil where none exists.

SARNGARAVA.—Come, lady, we must hasten on. The sun is rising in the heavens.

SAKOONTALA [looking towards the hermitage].—Dear father, when shall I ever see this hallowed grove again?

KANWA.—I will tell thee; listen— When thou hast passed a long and blissful life As King Dushyanta's queen, and jointly shared With all the earth his ever-watchful care; And hast beheld thine own heroic son, Matchless in arms, united to a spouse In happy wedlock; when his aged sire, Thy faithful husband, hath to him resigned The helm of state; then, weary of the world, Together with Dushyanta thou shalt seek The calm seclusion of thy former home:— There amid holy scenes to be at peace, Till thy pure spirit gain its last release.

GAUTAMI.—Come, my child, the favorable time for our journey is fast passing. Let thy father return. Venerable Sire, be thou the first to move homewards, or these last words will never end.

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

SAKOONTALA [again embracing her foster-father].—Beloved father, thy frame is much enfeebled by penitential exercises. Do not, oh! do not, allow thyself to sorrow too much on my account.

KANWA [sighing].—How, O my child, shall my bereaved heart Forget its bitterness, when, day by day, Full in my sight shall grow the tender plants Reared by thy care, or sprung from hallowed grain Which thy loved hands have strewn around the door— A frequent offering to our household gods? Go, my daughter, and may thy journey be prosperous.

[Exit Sakoontala with her escort.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA [gazing after Sakoontala].—Alas! alas! she is gone, and now the trees hide our darling from our view.

KANWA [sighing].—Well, Anasuya, your sister has departed. Moderate your grief, both of you, and follow me. I go back to the hermitage.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.—Holy father, the sacred grove will be a desert without Sakoontala. How can we ever return to it?

KANWA.—It is natural enough that your affection should make you view it in this light. [Walking pensively on.] As for me, I am quite surprised at myself. Now that I have fairly dismissed her to her husband's house, my mind is easy: for indeed, A daughter is a loan—a precious jewel Lent to a parent till her husband claim her. And now that to her rightful lord and master I have delivered her, my burdened soul Is lightened, and I seem to breathe more freely.

[Exeunt.

[40] The sandal-tree is a large kind of myrtle, with pointed leaves. The wood affords many highly esteemed perfumes and is celebrated for its delicious scent. It is chiefly found on the slopes of the Malay mountains or Western Ghants, on the Malabar coast.



ACT FIFTH

Scene.—A Room in the Palace

The King Dushyanta and the Jester Mathavya are discovered seated.

MATHAVYA [listening].—Hark! my dear friend, listen a minute, and you will hear sweet sounds proceeding from the music-room. Someone is singing a charming air. Who can it be? Oh! I know. The queen Hansapadika is practising her notes, that she may greet you with a new song.

KING.—Hush! Let me listen.

A VOICE [sings behind the scenes].— How often hither didst thou rove, Sweet bee, to kiss the mango's cheek; Oh! leave not, then, thy early love, The lily's honeyed lip to seek.

KING.—A most impassioned strain, truly!

MATHAVYA.—Do you understand the meaning of the words?

KING [smiling].—She means to reprove me, because I once paid her great attention, and have lately deserted her for the queen Vasumati. Go, my dear fellow, and tell Hansapadika from me that I take her delicate reproof as it is intended.

MATHAVYA.—Very well. [Rising from his seat.] But stay—I don't much relish being sent to bear the brunt of her jealousy. The chances are that she will have me seized by the hair of the head and beaten to a jelly. I would as soon expose myself, after a vow of celibacy, to the seductions of a lovely nymph, as encounter the fury of a jealous woman.

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

MATHAVYA.—What must be must be, I suppose. [Exit.

KING [aside].—Strange! that song has filled me with a most peculiar sensation. A melancholy feeling has come over me, and I seem to yearn after some long-forgotten object of affection. Singular, indeed! but, Not seldom in our happy hours of ease, When thought is still, the sight of some fair form, Or mournful fall of music breathing low, Will stir strange fancies, thrilling all the soul With a mysterious sadness, and a sense Of vague yet earnest longing. Can it be That the dim memory of events long past, Or friendships formed in other states of being, Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit? [Remains pensive and sad.

Enter the Chamberlain.

CHAMBERLAIN.—Alas! to what an advanced period of life have I attained! Even this wand betrays the lapse of years; In youthful days 'twas but a useless badge And symbol of my office; now it serves As a support to prop my tottering steps.

Ah me! I feel very unwilling to announce to the King that a deputation of young hermits from the sage Kanwa has arrived, and craves an immediate audience. Certainly, his majesty ought not to neglect a matter of sacred duty, yet I hardly like to trouble him when he has just risen from the judgment-seat. Well, well; a monarch's business is to sustain the world, and he must not expect much repose; because—

Onward, forever onward, in his car The unwearied Sun pursues his daily course, Nor tarries to unyoke his glittering steeds. And ever moving speeds the rushing Wind Through boundless space, filling the universe With his life-giving breezes. Day and night, The King of Serpents on his thousand heads Upholds the incumbent earth; and even so, Unceasing toil is aye the lot of kings, Who, in return, draw nurture from their subjects.

I will therefore deliver my message. [Walking on and looking about.] Ah! here comes the King:—

His subjects are his children; through the day, Like a fond father, to supply their wants, Incessantly he labors; wearied now, The monarch seeks seclusion and repose— E'en as the prince of elephants defies The sun's fierce heat, and leads the fainting herd To verdant pastures, ere his wayworn limbs He yields to rest beneath the cooling shade.

[Approaching.] Victory to the King! So please your majesty, some hermits who live in a forest near the Snowy Mountains have arrived here, bringing certain women with them. They have a message to deliver from the sage Kanwa, and desire an audience. I await your Majesty's commands.

KING [respectfully].—A message from the sage Kanwa, did you say?

CHAMBERLAIN.—Even so, my liege.

KING.—Tell my domestic priest, Somarata, to receive the hermits with due honor, according to the prescribed form. He may then himself introduce them into my presence. I will await them in a place suitable for the reception of such holy guests.

CHAMBERLAIN.—Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. [Exit.

KING [rising and addressing the Warder].—Vetravati, lead the way to the chamber of the consecrated fire.

WARDER.—This way, Sire.

KING [walking on, with the air of one oppressed by the cares of government].—People are generally contented and happy when they have gained their desires; but kings have no sooner attained the object of their aspirations than all their troubles begin. 'Tis a fond thought that to attain the end And object of ambition is to rest; Success doth only mitigate the fever Of anxious expectation; soon the fear Of losing what we have, the constant care Of guarding it doth weary. Ceaseless toil Must be the lot of him who with his hands Supports the canopy that shields his subjects.

Two HERALDS [behind the scenes].—May the King be victorious!

FIRST HERALD.—Honor to him who labors day by day For the world's weal, forgetful of his own. Like some tall tree that with its stately head Endures the solar beam, while underneath It yields refreshing shelter to the weary.

SECOND HERALD.—Let but the monarch wield his threatening rod And e'en the guilty tremble; at his voice The rebel spirit cowers; his grateful subjects Acknowledge him their guardian; rich and poor Hail him a faithful friend, a loving kinsman.

KING.—Weary as I was before, this complimentary address has refreshed me. [Walks on.

WARDER.—Here is the terrace of the hallowed fire-chamber, and yonder stands the cow that yields the milk for the oblations. The sacred enclosure has been recently purified, and looks clean and beautiful. Ascend, Sire.

KING [leans on the shoulders of his attendants, and ascends]. Vetravati, what can possibly be the message that the venerable Kanwa has sent me by these hermits?— Perchance their sacred rites have been disturbed By demons, or some evil has befallen The innocent herds, their favorites, that graze Within the precincts of the hermitage; Or haply, through my sins, some withering blight Has nipped the creeping plants that spread their arms Around the hallowed grove. Such troubled thoughts Crowd through my mind, and fill me with misgiving.

WARDER.—If you ask my opinion, Sire, I think the hermits merely wish to take an opportunity of testifying their loyalty, and are therefore come to offer homage to your Majesty.

Enter the Hermits, leading Sakoontala, attended by Gautami; and, in advance of them, the Chamberlain and the domestic Priest.

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

SARNGARAVA.—O Saradwata, 'Tis true the monarch lacks no royal grace, Nor ever swerves from justice; true, his people, Yea such as in life's humblest walks are found, Refrain from evil courses; still to me, A lonely hermit reared in solitude, This throng appears bewildering, and methinks I look upon a burning house, whose inmates Are running to and fro in wild dismay.

SARADWATA.—It is natural that the first sight of the King's capital should affect you in this manner; my own sensations are very similar. As one just bathed beholds the man polluted; As one late purified, the yet impure:— As one awake looks on the yet unwakened; Or as the freeman gazes on the thrall, So I regard this crowd of pleasure-seekers.

SAKOONTALA [feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid, and suspecting a bad omen],—Alas! what means this throbbing of my right eyelid?

GAUTAMI.—Heaven avert the evil omen, my child! May the guardian deities of thy husband's family convert it into a sign of good fortune! [Walks on.

PRIEST [pointing to the King].—Most reverend sirs, there stands the protector of the four classes of the people; the guardian of the four orders of the priesthood. He has just left the judgment-seat, and is waiting for you. Behold him!

SARNGARAVA.—Great Brahman, we are happy in thinking that the King's power is exerted for the protection of all classes of his subjects. We have not come as petitioners—we have the fullest confidence in the generosity of his nature. The loftiest trees bend humbly to the ground Beneath the teeming burden of their fruit; High in the vernal sky the pregnant clouds Suspend their stately course, and hanging low, Scatter their sparkling treasures o'er the earth:— And such is true benevolence; the good Are never rendered arrogant by riches.

WARDER.—So please your Majesty, I judge from the placid countenance of the hermits that they have no alarming message to deliver.

KING [looking at Sakoontala].—But the lady there— Who can she be, whose form of matchless grace Is half concealed beneath her flowing veil? Among the sombre hermits she appears Like a fresh bud 'mid sear and yellow leaves.

WARDER.—So please your Majesty, my curiosity is also roused, but no conjecture occurs to my mind. This at least is certain, that she deserves to be looked at more closely.

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

SAKOONTALA [placing her hand on her bosom. Aside].—O my heart, why this throbbing? Remember thy lord's affection, and take courage.

PRIEST [advancing].—These holy men have been received with all due honor. One of them has now a message to deliver from his spiritual superior. Will your Majesty deign to hear it?

KING.—I am all attention.

HERMITS [extending their hands].—Victory to the King!

KING.—Accept my respectful greeting.

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

KING.—I trust no one is molesting you in the prosecution of your religious rites.

HERMITS.—Who dares disturb our penitential rites When thou art our protector? Can the night Prevail to cast her shadows o'er the earth While the sun's beams irradiate the sky?

KING.—Such, indeed, is the very meaning of my title—"Defender of the Just." I trust the venerable Kanwa is in good health. The world is interested in his well-being.

HERMITS.—Holy men have health and prosperity in their own power. He bade us greet your Majesty, and, after kind inquiries, deliver this message.

KING.—Let me hear his commands.

SARNGARAVA.—He bade us say that he feels happy in giving his sanction to the marriage which your Majesty contracted with this lady, his daughter, privately and by mutual agreement. Because By us thou art esteemed the most illustrious Of noble husbands; and Sakoontala Virtue herself in human form revealed. Great Brahma hath in equal yoke united A bride unto a husband worthy of her:— Henceforth let none make blasphemous complaint That he is pleased with ill-assorted unions.

Since, therefore, she expects soon to be the mother of thy child, receive her into thy palace, that she may perform, in conjunction with thee, the ceremonies prescribed by religion on such an occasion.

GAUTAMI.—So please your Majesty, I would add a few words: but why should I intrude my sentiments when an opportunity of speaking my mind has never been allowed me? She took no counsel with her kindred; thou Didst not confer with thine, but all alone Didst solemnize thy nuptials with thy wife. Together, then, hold converse; let us leave you.

SAKOONTALA [aside].—Ah! how I tremble for my lord's reply.

KING.—What strange proposal is this?

SAKOONTALA [aside].—His words are fire to me.

SARNGARAVA.—What do I hear? Dost thou, then, hesitate? Monarch, thou art well acquainted with the ways of the world, and knowest that A wife, however virtuous and discreet, If she live separate from her wedded lord, Though under shelter of her parent's roof, Is mark for vile suspicion. Let her dwell Beside her husband, though he hold her not In his affection. So her kinsmen will it.

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

SAKOONTALA [despondingly. Aside].—O my heart, thy worst misgivings are confirmed.

SARNGARAVA.—Is it becoming in a monarch to depart from the rules of justice, because he repents of his engagements?

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

SARNGARAVA.—Such inconstancy is fortunately not common, excepting in men intoxicated by power.

KING.—Is that remark aimed at me?

GAUTAMI.—Be not ashamed, my daughter. Let me remove thy veil for a little space. Thy husband will then recognize thee. [Removes her veil.

KING [gazing at Sakoontala. Aside].—What charms are here revealed before mine eyes! Truly no blemish mars the symmetry Of that fair form; yet can I ne'er believe She is my wedded wife; and like a bee That circles round the flower whose nectared cup Teems with the dew of morning, I must pause Ere eagerly I taste the proffered sweetness. [Remains wrapped in-thought.

WARDER.—How admirably does our royal master's behavior prove his regard for justice! Who else would hesitate for a moment when good fortune offered for his acceptance a form of such rare beauty?

SARNGARAVA.—Great King, why art thou silent?

KING.—Holy men, I have revolved the matter in my mind; but the more I think of it, the less able am I to recollect that I ever contracted an alliance with this lady. What answer, then, can I possibly give you when I do not believe myself to be her husband, and I plainly see that she is soon to become a mother?

SAKOONTALA [aside].—Woe! woe! Is our very marriage to be called in question by my own husband? Ah me! is this to be the end of all my bright visions of wedded happiness?

SARNGARAVA.—Beware! Beware how thou insult the holy Sage! Remember how he generously allowed Thy secret union with his foster-child; And how, when thou didst rob him of his treasure, He sought to furnish thee excuse, when rather He should have cursed thee for a ravisher.

SARADWATA.—Sarngarava, speak to him no more. Sakoontala, our part is performed; we have said all we had to say, and the King has replied in the manner thou hast heard. It is now thy turn to give him convincing evidence of thy marriage.

SAKOONTALA [aside].—Since his feeling towards me has undergone a complete revolution, what will it avail to revive old recollections? One thing is clear—I shall soon have to mourn my own widowhood. [Aloud.] My revered husband—[Stops short.] But no—I dare not address thee by this title, since thou hast refused to acknowledge our union. Noble descendant of Puru! It is not worthy of thee to betray an innocent-minded girl, and disown her in such terms, after having so lately and so solemnly plighted thy vows to her in the hermitage.

KING [stopping his ears].—I will hear no more. Be such a crime far from my thoughts! What evil spirit can possess thee, lady, That thou dost seek to sully my good name By base aspersions? like a swollen torrent, That, leaping from its narrow bed, overthrows The tree upon its bank, and strives to blend Its turbid waters with the crystal stream?

SAKOONTALA.—If, then, thou really believest me to be the wife of another, and thy present conduct proceeds from some cloud that obscures thy recollection, I will easily convince thee by this token.

KING.—An excellent idea!

SAKOONTALA [feeling for the ring].—Alas! alas! woe is me! There is no ring on my finger! [Looks with anguish at Gautami.

GAUTAMI.—The ring must have slipped off when thou wast in the act of offering homage to the holy water of Sachi's sacred pool, near Sakravatara.

KING [smiling].—People may well talk of the readiness of woman's invention! Here is an instance of it.

SAKOONTALA.—Say, rather, of the omnipotence of fate. I will mention another circumstance, which may yet convince thee.

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

SAKOONTALA.—One day, while we were seated in a jasmine bower, thou didst pour into the hollow of thine hand some water, sprinkled by a recent shower in the cup of a lotus blossom—

KING.—I am listening; proceed.

SAKOONTALA.—At that instant, my adopted child, the little fawn, with soft, long eyes, came running towards us. Upon which, before tasting the water thyself, thou didst kindly offer some to the little creature, saying fondly—"Drink first, gentle fawn." But she could not be induced to drink from the hand of a stranger; though immediately afterwards, when I took the water in my own hand, she drank with perfect confidence. Then, with a smile, thou didst say—"Every creature confides naturally in its own kind. You are both inhabitants of the same forest, and have learnt to trust each other."

KING.—Voluptuaries may allow themselves to be seduced from the path of duty by falsehoods such as these, expressed in honeyed words.

GAUTAMI.—Speak not thus, illustrious Prince. This lady was brought up in a hermitage, and has never learnt deceit.

KING.—Holy matron, E'en in untutored brutes, the female sex Is marked by inborn subtlety—much more In beings gifted with intelligence. The wily Koeil, ere towards the sky She wings her sportive flight, commits her eggs To other nests, and artfully consigns The rearing of her little ones to strangers.

SAKOONTALA [angrily].—Dishonorable man, thou judgest of others by thine own evil heart. Thou, at least, art unrivalled in perfidy, and standest alone—a base deceiver in the garb of virtue and religion—like a deep pit whose yawning mouth is concealed by smiling flowers.

KING [aside].—Her anger, at any rate, appears genuine, and makes me almost doubt whether I am in the right. For, indeed, When I had vainly searched my memory, And so with stern severity denied The fabled story of our secret loves, Her brows, that met before in graceful curves, Like the arched weapon of the god of love, Seemed by her frown dissevered; while the fire Of sudden anger kindled in her eyes.

[Aloud.] My good lady, Dushyanta's character is well-known to all. I comprehend not your meaning.

SAKOONTALA.—Well do I deserve to be thought a harlot for having, in the innocence of my heart, and out of the confidence I reposed in a Prince of Puru's race, intrusted my honor to a man whose mouth distils honey, while his heart is full of poison. [Covers her face with her mantle, and bursts into tears.

SARNGARAVA.—Thus is it that burning remorse must ever follow rash actions which might have been avoided, and for which one has only one's self to blame. Not hastily should marriage be contracted, And specially in secret. Many a time, In hearts that know not each the other's fancies, Fond love is changed into most bitter hate.

KING.—How now! Do you give credence to this woman rather than to me, that you heap such accusations on me?

SARNGARAVA [sarcastically].—That would be too absurd, certainly. You have heard the proverb— Hold in contempt the innocent words of those Who from their infancy have known no guile:— But trust the treacherous counsels of the man Who makes a very science of deceit.

KING.—Most veracious Brahman, grant that you are in the right, what end would be gained by betraying this lady?

SARNGARAVA.—Ruin.

KING.—No one will believe that a Prince of Puru's race would seek to ruin others or himself.

SARADWATA.—This altercation is idle, Sarngarava. We have executed the commission of our preceptor; come, let us return. [To the King. Sakoontala is certainly thy bride; Receive her or reject her, she is thine. Do with her, King, according to thy pleasure— The husband o'er the wife is absolute. Go on before us, Gautami. [They move away.

SAKOONTALA.—What! is it not enough to have been betrayed by this perfidious man? Must you also forsake me, regardless of my tears and lamentations? [Attempts to follow them.

GAUTAMI [stopping].—My son Sarngarava, see, Sakoontala is following us, and with tears implores us not to leave her. Alas! poor child, what will she do here with a cruel husband who casts her from him?

SARNGARAVA [turning angrily towards her].—Wilful woman, dost thou seek to be independent of thy lord? [Sakoontala trembles with fear.

SARNGARAVA.—Sakoontala! If thou art really what the King proclaims thee, How can thy father e'er receive thee back Into his house and home? but, if thy conscience Be witness to thy purity of soul, E'en should thy husband to a handmaid's lot Condemn thee, thou may'st cheerfully endure it, When ranked among the number of his household.

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

KING.—Deceive not the lady, my good hermit, by any such expectations. The moon expands the lotus of the night, The rising sun awakes the lily; each Is with his own contented. Even so The virtuous man is master of his passions, And from another's wife averts his gaze.

SARNGARAVA.—Since thy union with another woman has rendered thee oblivious of thy marriage with Sakoontala, whence this fear of losing thy character for constancy and virtue?

KING [to the Priest],—You must counsel me, revered sir, as to my course of action. Which of the two evils involves the greater or less sin? Whether by some dark veil my mind be clouded, Or this designing woman speak untruly, I know not. Tell me, must I rather be The base disowner of my wedded wife, Or the defiling and defiled adulterer?

PRIEST [after deliberation].—You must take an intermediate course.

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

PRIEST.—I will provide an asylum for the lady in my own house until the birth of her child; and my reason, if you ask me, is this. Soothsayers have predicted that your first-born will have universal dominion. Now, if the hermit's daughter bring forth a son with the discus or mark of empire in the lines of his hand, you must admit her immediately into your royal apartments with great rejoicings; if not, then determine to send her back as soon as possible to her father.

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

PRIEST.—Daughter, follow me.

SAKOONTALA.—O divine earth, open and receive me into thy bosom!

[Exit Sakoontala weeping, with the Priest and the Hermits. The King remains absorbed in thinking of her, though the curse still clouds his recollection.

A VOICE [behind the scenes].—A miracle! a miracle!

KING [listening].—What has happened now?

PRIEST [entering with an air of astonishment].—Great Prince, a stupendous prodigy has just occurred!

KING.—What is it?

PRIEST.—May it please your Majesty, so soon as Kanwa's pupils had departed, Sakoontala, her eyes all bathed in tears, With outstretched arms bewailed her cruel fate—

KING.—Well, well, what happened then?

PRIEST.—When suddenly a shining apparition, In female shape, descended from the skies, Near the nymphs' pool, and bore her up to heaven.

[All remain motionless with astonishment.

KING.—My good priest, from the very first I declined having anything to do with this matter. It is now all over, and we can never, by our conjectures, unravel the mystery; let it rest; go, seek repose.

PRIEST [looking at the King].—Be it so. Victory to the King! [Exit.

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

WARDER.—This way, Sire. [They move away.

KING.—Do what I will, I cannot call to mind That I did e'er espouse the sage's daughter— Therefore I have disowned her; yet 'tis strange How painfully my agitated heart Bears witness to the truth of her assertion, And makes me credit her against my judgment. [Exeunt.



PRELUDE TO ACT SIXTH

Scene.—A Street

Enter the King's brother-in-law as Superintendent of the city police; and with him two Constables, dragging a poor fisherman, who has his hands tied behind his back.

BOTH THE CONSTABLES [striking the prisoner].—Take that for a rascally thief that you are; and now tell us, sirrah, where you found this ring—aye, the King's own signet-ring. See, here is the royal name engraved on the setting of the jewel.

FISHERMAN [with a gesture of alarm].—Mercy! kind sirs, mercy! I did not steal it; indeed I did not.

FIRST CONSTABLE.—Oh! then I suppose the King took you for some fine Brahman, and made you a present of it?

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

SECOND CONSTABLE.—Scoundrel, who ever asked you, pray, for a history of your birth and parentage?

SUPERINTENDENT [to one of the Constables].—Suchaka, let the fellow tell his own story from the beginning. Don't interrupt him.

BOTH CONSTABLES.—As you please, master. Go on, then, sirrah, and say what you've got to say.

FISHERMAN.—You see in me a poor man, who supports his family by catching fish with nets, hooks, and the like.

SUPERINTENDENT [laughing].—A most refined occupation, certainly!

FISHERMAN.—Blame me not for it, master. The father's occupation, though despised By others, casts no shame upon the son, And he should not forsake it. Is the priest Who kills the animal for sacrifice Therefore deemed cruel? Sure a lowborn man May, though a fisherman, be tender-hearted.

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

FISHERMAN.—One day I was cutting open a large carp I had just hooked, when the sparkle of a jewel caught my eye, and what should I find in the fish's maw but that ring! Soon afterwards, when I was offering it for sale, I was seized by your honors. Now you know everything. Whether you kill me, or whether you let me go, this is the true account of how the ring came into my possession.

SUPERINTENDENT [to one of the Constables].—Well, Januka, the rascal emits such a fishy odor that I have no doubt of his being a fisherman; but we must inquire a little more closely into this queer story about the finding of the ring. Come, we'll take him before the King's household.

BOTH CONSTABLES.—Very good, master. Get on with you, you cutpurse. [All move on.

SUPERINTENDENT.—Now attend, Suchaka; keep you guard here at the gate; and hark ye, sirrahs, take good care your prisoner does not escape, while I go in and lay the whole story of the discovery of this ring before the King in person. I will soon return and let you know his commands.

CONSTABLE.—Go in, master, by all means; and may you find favor in the King's sight! [Exit Superintendent.

FIRST CONSTABLE [after an interval].—I say, Januka, the Superintendent is a long time away.

SECOND CONSTABLE.—Aye, aye; kings are not to be got at so easily. Folks must bide the proper opportunity.

FIRST CONSTABLE.—Januka, my fingers itch to strike the first blow at this royal victim here. We must kill him with all the honors, you know. I long to begin binding the flowers round his head. [Pretends to strike a blow at the fisherman.

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

SECOND CONSTABLE [looking].—There's our Superintendent at last, I declare. See, he is coming towards us with a paper in his hand. We shall soon know the King's command; so prepare, my fine fellow, either to become food for the vultures, or to make acquaintance with some hungry cur.

SUPERINTENDENT [entering].—Ho, there, Suchaka! set the fisherman at liberty, I tell you. His story about the ring is all correct.

SUCHAKA.—Oh! very good, sir; as you please.

SECOND CONSTABLE.—The fellow had one foot in hell, and now here he is in the land of the living. [Releases him.

FISHERMAN [bowing to the Superintendent].—Now, master, what think you of my way of getting a livelihood?

SUPERINTENDENT.—Here, my good man, the King desired me to present you with this purse. It contains a sum of money equal to the full value of the ring. [Gives him the money.

FISHERMAN [taking it and bowing].—His Majesty does me too great honor.

SUCHAKA.—You may well say so. He might as well have taken you from the gallows to seat you on his state elephant.

JANUKA.—Master, the King must value the ring very highly, or he would never have sent such a sum of money to this ragamuffin.

SUPERINTENDENT.—I don't think he prizes it as a costly jewel so much as a memorial of some person he tenderly loves. The moment it was shown to him he became much agitated, though in general he conceals his feelings.

SUCHAKA.—Then you must have done a great service———

JANUKA.—Yes, to this husband of a fish-wife. [Looks enviously at the fisherman.

FISHERMAN.—Here's half the money for you, my masters. It will serve to purchase the flowers you spoke of, if not to buy me your good-will.

JANUKA.—Well, now, that's just as it should be.

SUPERINTENDENT.—My good fisherman, you are an excellent fellow, and I begin to feel quite a regard for you. Let us seal our first friendship over a glass of good liquor. Come along to the next wine-shop and we'll drink your health.

ALL.—By all means. [Exeunt.



ACT SIXTH

Scene.—The Garden of the Palace

The nymph Sanumati is seen descending in a celestial car.

SANUMATI.—Behold me just arrived from attending in my proper turn at the nymphs' pool, where I have left the other nymphs to perform their ablutions, whilst I seek to ascertain, with my own eyes, how it fares with King Dushyanta. My connection with the nymph Menaka has made her daughter Sakoontala dearer to me than my own flesh and blood; and Menaka it was who charged me with this errand on her daughter's behalf. [Looking round in all directions.] How is it that I see no preparations in the King's household for celebrating the great vernal festival? I could easily discover the reason by my divine faculty of meditation; but respect must be shown to the wishes of my friend. How then shall I arrive at the truth? I know what I will do. I will become invisible, and place myself near those two maidens who are tending the plants in the garden. [Descends and takes her station.

Enter a Maiden, who stops in front of a mango-tree and gazes at the blossom. Another Maiden is seen behind her.

FIRST MAIDEN.—Hail to thee, lovely harbinger of spring! The varied radiance of thy opening flowers Is welcome to my sight. I bid thee hail, Sweet mango, soul of this enchanting season.

SECOND MAIDEN.—Parabaitika, what are you saying there to yourself?

FIRST MAIDEN.—Dear Madhukarika, am I not named after the Koeil?[41] and does not the Koeil sing for joy at the first appearance of the mango-blossom?

SECOND MAIDEN [approaching hastily, with transport].—What! is spring really come?

FIRST MAIDEN.—Yes, indeed, Madhukarika, and with it the season of joy, love, and song.

SECOND MAIDEN.—Let me lean upon you, dear, while I stand on tip-toe and pluck a blossom of the mango, that I may present it as an offering to the god of love.

FIRST MAIDEN.—Provided you let me have half the reward which the god will bestow in return.

SECOND MAIDEN.—To be sure you shall, and that without asking. Are we not one in heart and soul, though divided in body? [Leans on her friend and plucks a mango-blossom.] Ah! here is a bud just bursting into flower. It diffuses a delicious perfume, though not yet quite expanded. [Joining her hands reverentially.

God of the bow, who with spring's choicest flowers Dost point thy five unerring shafts; to thee I dedicate this blossom; let it serve To barb thy truest arrow; be its mark Some youthful heart that pines to be beloved.

[Throws down a mango-blossom.

CHAMBERLAIN [entering in a hurried manner, angrily].—Hold there, thoughtless woman. What are you about breaking off those mango-blossoms, when the King has forbidden the celebration of the spring festival?

BOTH MAIDENS [alarmed].—Pardon us, kind sir, we have heard nothing of it.

CHAMBERLAIN.—You have heard nothing of it? Why, all the vernal plants and shrubs, and the very birds that lodge in their branches, show more respect to the King's order than you do. Yon mango-blossoms, though long since expanded, Gather no down upon their tender crests; The flower still lingers in the amaranth, Imprisoned in its bud; the tuneful Koeil, Though winter's chilly dews be overpast, Suspends the liquid volume of his song Scarce uttered in his throat; e'en Love, dismayed, Restores the half-drawn arrow to his quiver.

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

FIRST MAIDEN.—It is but a few days since Mitravasu, the king's brother-in-law, sent us to wait upon his Majesty; and, during the whole of our sojourn here, we have been intrusted with the charge of the royal pleasure-grounds. We are therefore strangers in this place, and heard nothing of the order until you informed us of it.

CHAMBERLAIN.—Well then, now you know it, take care you don't continue your preparations.

BOTH MAIDENS.—But tell us, kind sir, why has the King prohibited the usual festivities? We are curious to hear, if we may.

SANUMATI [aside].—Men are naturally fond of festive entertainments. There must be some good reason for the prohibition.

CHAMBERLAIN.—The whole affair is now public; why should I not speak of it! Has not the gossip about the King's rejection of Sakoontala reached your ears yet?

BOTH MAIDENS.—Oh yes, we heard the story from the King's brother-in-law, as far, at least, as the discovery of the ring.

CHAMBERLAIN.—Then there is little more to tell you. As soon as the King's memory was restored by the sight of his own ring, he exclaimed, "Yes, it is all true. I remember now my secret marriage with Sakoontala. When I repudiated her, I had lost my recollection." Ever since that moment, he has yielded himself a prey to the bitterest remorse. He loathes his former pleasures; he rejects The daily homage of his ministers. On his lone couch he tosses to and fro, Courting repose in vain. Whene'er he meets The ladies of his palace, and would fain Address them with politeness, he confounds Their names; or, calling them "Sakoontala," Is straightway silent and abashed with shame.

SANUMATI [aside].—To me this account is delightful.

CHAMBERLAIN.—In short, the King is so completely out of his mind that the festival has been prohibited.

BOTH MAIDENS.—Perfectly right.

A VOICE [behind the scenes].—The King! the King! This way, Sire, this way.

CHAMBERLAIN [listening].—Oh! here comes his majesty in this direction. Pass on, maidens; attend to your duties.

BOTH MAIDENS.—We will, sir. [Exeunt.

Enter King Dushyanta, dressed in deep mourning, attended by his Jester, Mathavya, and preceded by Vetravati.

CHAMBERLAIN [gazing at the King].—Well, noble forms are certainly pleasing, under all varieties of outward circumstances. The King's person is as charming as ever, notwithstanding his sorrow of mind. Though but a single golden bracelet spans His wasted arm; though costly ornaments Have given place to penitential weeds; Though oft-repeated sighs have blanched his lips, And robbed them of their bloom; though sleepless care And carking thought have dimmed his beaming eye; Yet does his form, by its inherent lustre, Dazzle the gaze; and, like a priceless gem Committed to some cunning polisher, Grow more effulgent by the loss of substance.

SANUMATI [aside. Looking at the King].—Now that I have seen him, I can well understand why Sakoontala should pine after such a man, in spite of his disdainful rejection of her.

KING [walking slowly up and down, in deep thought].— When fatal lethargy overwhelmed my soul, My loved one strove to rouse me, but in vain:— And now when I would fain in slumber deep Forget myself, full soon remorse doth wake me.

SANUMATI [aside].—My poor Sakoontala's sufferings are very similar.

MATHAVYA [aside].—He is taken with another attack of this odious Sakoontala fever. How shall we ever cure him?

CHAMBERLAIN [approaching].—Victory to the King! Great Prince, the royal pleasure-grounds have been put in order. Your Majesty can resort to them for exercise and amusement whenever you think proper.

KING.—Vetravati, tell the worthy Pisuna, my prime minister, from me, that I am so exhausted by want of sleep that I cannot sit on the judgment-seat to-day. If any case of importance be brought before the tribunal he must give it his best attention, and inform me of the circumstances by letter.

VETRAVATI.—Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. [Exit.

KING [to the Chamberlain].—And you, Vatayana, may go about your own affairs.

CHAMBERLAIN.—I will, Sire. [Exit.

MATHAVYA.—Now that you have rid yourself of these troublesome fellows, you can enjoy the delightful coolness of your pleasure-grounds without interruption.

KING.—Ah! my dear friend, there is an old adage—"When affliction has a mind to enter, she will find a crevice somewhere"—and it is verified in me. Scarce is my soul delivered from the cloud That darkened its remembrance of the past, When lo! the heart-born deity of love With yonder blossom of the mango barbs His keenest shaft, and aims it at my breast.

MATHAVYA.—Well, then, wait a moment; I will soon demolish Master Kama's arrow with a cut of my cane.

[Raises his stick and strikes off the mango-blossom.

KING [smiling].—That will do. I see very well the god of Love is not a match for a Brahman. And now, my dear friend, where shall I sit down, that I may enchant my sight by gazing on the twining plants, which seem to remind me of the graceful shape of my beloved?

MATHAVYA.—Do you not remember? you told Chaturika you should pass the heat of the day in the jasmine bower; and commanded her to bring the likeness of your queen Sakoontala, sketched with your own hand.

KING.—True. The sight of her picture will refresh my soul. Lead the way to the arbor.

MATHAVYA.—This way, Sire.

[Both move on, followed by Sanumati.

MATHAVYA.—Here we are at the jasmine bower. Look, it has a marble seat, and seems to bid us welcome with its offerings of delicious flowers. You have only to enter and sit down. [Both enter and seat themselves.

SANUMATI [aside].—I will lean against these young jasmines. I can easily, from behind them, glance at my friend's picture, and will then hasten to inform her of her husband's ardent affection. [Stands leaning against the creepers.

KING.—Oh! my dear friend, how vividly all the circumstances of my union with Sakoontala present themselves to my recollection at this moment! But tell me now how it was that, between the time of my leaving her in the hermitage and my subsequent rejection of her, you never breathed her name to me! True, you were not by my side when I disowned her; but I had confided to you the story of my love and you were acquainted with every particular. Did it pass out of your mind as it did out of mine?

MATHAVYA.—No, no; trust me for that. But, if you remember, when you had finished telling me about it, you added that I was not to take the story in earnest, for that you were not really in love with a country girl, but were only jesting; and I was dull and thick-headed enough to believe you. But so fate decreed, and there is no help for it.

SANUMATI [aside].—Exactly.

KING [after deep thought].—My dear friend, suggest some relief for my misery.

MATHAVYA.—Come, come, cheer up; why do you give way? Such weakness is unworthy of you. Great men never surrender themselves to uncontrolled grief. Do not mountains remain unshaken even in a gale of wind?

KING.—How can I be otherwise than inconsolable, when I call to mind the agonized demeanor of the dear one on the occasion of my disowning her? When cruelly I spurned her from my presence, She fain had left me; but the young recluse, Stern as the Sage, and with authority As from his saintly master, in a voice That brooked not contradiction, bade her stay. Then through her pleading eyes, bedimmed with tears, She cast on me one long reproachful look, Which like a poisoned shaft torments me still.

SANUMATI [aside].—Alas! such is the force of self-reproach following a rash action. But his anguish only rejoices me.

MATHAVYA.—An idea has just struck me. I should not wonder if some celestial being had carried her off to heaven.

KING.—Very likely. Who else would have dared to lay a finger on a wife, the idol of her husband? It is said that Menaka, the nymph of heaven, gave her birth. The suspicion has certainly crossed my mind that some of her celestial companions may have taken her to their own abode.

SANUMATI [aside].—His present recollection of every circumstance of her history does not surprise me so much as his former forgetfulness.

MATHAVYA.—If that's the case, you will be certain to meet her before long.

KING.—Why?

MATHAVYA.—No father and mother can endure to see a daughter suffering the pain of separation from her husband.

KING.—Oh! my dear Mathavya, Was it a dream? or did some magic dire, Dulling my senses with a strange delusion, Overcome my spirit? or did destiny, Jealous of my good actions, mar their fruit, And rob me of their guerdon? It is past, Whatever the spell that bound me. Once again Am I awake, but only to behold The precipice o'er which my hopes have fallen.

MATHAVYA.—Do not despair in this manner. Is not this very ring a proof that what has been lost may be unexpectedly found?

KING [gazing at the ring].—Ah! this ring, too, has fallen from a station which it will not easily regain, and deserves all my sympathy. O gem, deserved the punishment we suffer, And equal is the merit of our works, When such our common doom. Thou didst enjoy The thrilling contact of those slender fingers, Bright as the dawn; and now how changed thy lot!

SANUMATI [aside].—Had it found its way to the hand of any other person, then indeed its fate would have been deplorable.

MATHAVYA.—Pray, how did the ring ever come upon her hand at all?

SANUMATI.—I myself am curious to know.

KING.—You shall hear. When I was leaving my beloved Sakoontala that I might return to my own capital, she said to me, with tears in her eyes, "How long will it be ere my lord send for me to his palace and make me his queen?"

MATHAVYA.—Well, what was your reply?

KING.—Then I placed the ring on her finger, and thus addressed her— Repeat each day one letter of the name Engraven on this gem; ere thou hast reckoned The tale of syllables, my minister Shall come to lead thee to thy husband's palace. But, hard-hearted man that I was, I forgot to fulfil my promise, owing to the infatuation that took possession of me.

SANUMATI [aside].—A pleasant arrangement! Fate, however, ordained that the appointment should not be kept.

MATHAVYA.—But how did the ring contrive to pass into the stomach of that carp which the fisherman caught and was cutting up?

KING.—It must have slipped from my Sakoontala's hand, and fallen into the stream of the Ganges, while she was offering homage to the water of Sachi's holy pool.

MATHAVYA.—Very likely.

SANUMATI [aside].—Hence it happened, I suppose, that the King, always fearful of committing the least injustice, came to doubt his marriage with my poor Sakoontala. But why should affection so strong as his stand in need of any token of recognition?

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

MATHAVYA [aside].—He is going stark mad, I verily believe.

KING.—Hear me, thou dull and undiscerning bauble! For so it argues thee, that thou couldst leave The slender fingers of her hand, to sink Beneath the waters. Yet what marvel is it That thou shouldst lack discernment? let me rather Heap curses on myself, who, though endowed With reason, yet rejected her I loved.

MATHAVYA [aside].—And so, I suppose, I must stand here to be devoured by hunger, whilst he goes on in this sentimental strain.

KING.—O forsaken one, unjustly banished from my presence, take pity on thy slave, whose heart is consumed by the fire of remorse, and return to my sight.

Enter Chaturika hurriedly, with a picture in her hand.

CHATURIKA.—Here is the Queen's portrait. [Shows the picture.

MATHAVYA.—Excellent, my dear friend, excellent! The imitation of nature is perfect, and the attitude of the figures is really charming. They stand out in such bold relief that the eye is quite deceived.

SANUMATI [aside].—A most artistic performance! I admire the King's skill, and could almost believe that Sakoontala herself was before me.

KING.—I own 'tis not amiss, though it portrays But feebly her angelic loveliness. Aught less than perfect is depicted falsely, And fancy must supply the imperfection.

SANUMATI [aside].—A very just remark from a modest man, whose affection is exaggerated by the keenness of his remorse.

MATHAVYA.—Tell me—I see three female figures drawn on the canvas, and all of them beautiful; which of the three is her Majesty, Sakoontala?

SANUMATI [aside].—If he cannot distinguish her from the others, the simpleton might as well have no eyes in his head.

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

MATHAVYA.—She who is leaning, apparently a little tired, against the stem of that mango-tree, the tender leaves of which glitter with the water she has poured upon them. Her arms are gracefully extended; her face is somewhat flushed with the heat; and a few flowers have escaped from her hair, which has become unfastened, and hangs in loose tresses about her neck. That must be the queen Sakoontala, and the others, I presume, are her two attendants.

KING.—I congratulate you on your discernment. Behold the proof of my passion; My finger, burning with the glow of love, Has left its impress on the painted tablet; While here and there, alas! a scalding tear Has fallen on the cheek and dimmed its brightness. Chaturika, the garden in the background of the picture is only half-painted. Go, fetch the brush that I may finish it.

CHATURIKA.—Worthy Mathavya, have the kindness to hold the picture until I return.

KING.—Nay, I will hold it myself. [Takes the picture. Exit Chaturika.

KING.—My loved one came but lately to my presence And offered me herself, but in my folly I spurned the gift, and now I fondly cling To her mere image; even as a madman Would pass the waters of the gushing stream, And thirst for airy vapors of the desert.

MATHAVYA [aside].—He has been fool enough to forego the reality for the semblance, the substance for the shadow. [Aloud.] Tell us, I pray, what else remains to be painted.

SANUMATI [aside].—He longs, no doubt, to delineate some favorite spot where my dear Sakoontala delighted to ramble.

KING.—You shall hear——— I wish to see the Malini portrayed, Its tranquil course by banks of sand impeded— Upon the brink a pair of swans: beyond, The hills adjacent to Himalaya, Studded with deer; and, near the spreading shade Of some large tree, where 'mid the branches hang The hermits' vests of bark, a tender doe, Rubbing its downy forehead on the horn Of a black antelope, should be depicted.

MATHAVYA [aside].—Pooh! if I were he, I would fill up the vacant spaces with a lot of grizzly-bearded old hermits.

KING.—My dear Mathavya, there is still a part of Sakoontala's dress which I purposed to draw, but find I have omitted.

MATHAVYA.—What is that?

SANUMATI [aside].—Something suitable, I suppose, to the simple attire of a young and beautiful girl dwelling in a forest.

KING.—A sweet Sirisha blossom should be twined Behind her ear, its perfumed crest depending Towards her cheek; and, resting on her bosom, A lotus-fibre necklace, soft and bright As an autumnal moon-beam, should be traced.

MATHAVYA.—Pray, why does the Queen cover her lips with the tips of her fingers, bright as the blossom of a lily, as if she were afraid of something? [Looking more closely.] Oh! I see; a vagabond bee, intent on thieving the honey of flowers, has mistaken her mouth for a rose-bud, and is trying to settle upon it.

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

MATHAVYA.—That's your business. Your royal prerogative gives you power over all offenders.

KING.—Very true. Listen to me, thou favorite guest of flowering plants; why give thyself the trouble of hovering here? See where thy partner sits on yonder flower, And waits for thee ere she will sip its dew.

SANUMATI [aside].—A most polite way of warning him off!

MATHAVYA.—You'll find the obstinate creature is not to be sent about his business so easily as you think.

KING.—Dost thou presume to disobey? Now hear me— An thou but touch the lips of my beloved, Sweet as the opening blossom, whence I quaffed In happier days love's nectar, I will place thee Within the hollow of yon lotus cup, And there imprison thee for thy presumption.

MATHAVYA.—He must be bold indeed not to show any fear when you threaten him with such an awful punishment. [Smiling, aside.] He is stark mad, that's clear; and I believe, by keeping him company, I am beginning to talk almost as wildly. [Aloud.] Look, it is only a painted bee.

KING.—Painted? impossible!

SANUMATI [aside].—Even I did not perceive it; how much less should he?

KING.—Oh! my dear friend, why were you so ill-natured as to tell me the truth? While, all entranced, I gazed upon her picture, My loved one seemed to live before my eyes, Till every fibre of my being thrilled With rapturous emotion. Oh! 'twas cruel To dissipate the day-dream, and transform The blissful vision to a lifeless image. [Sheds tears.

SANUMATI [aside].—Separated lovers are very difficult to please; but he seems more difficult than usual.

KING.—Alas! my dear Mathavya, why am I doomed to be the victim of perpetual disappointment? Vain is the hope of meeting her in dreams, For slumber night by night forsakes my couch: And now that I would fain assuage my grief By gazing on her portrait here before me, Tears of despairing love obscure my sight.

SANUMATI [aside],—You have made ample amends for the wrong you did Sakoontala in disowning her.

CHATURIKA [entering].—Victory to the King! I was coming along with the box of colors in my hand———

KING.—What now?

CHATURIKA.—When I met the Queen Vasumati, attended by Taralika. She insisted on taking it from me, and declared she would herself deliver it into your Majesty's hands.

MATHAVYA.—By what luck did you contrive to escape her?

CHATURIKA.—While her maid was disengaging her mantle, which had caught in the branch of a shrub, I ran away.

KING.—Here, my good friend, take the picture and conceal it. My attentions to the Queen have made her presumptuous. She will be here in a minute.

MATHAVYA.—Conceal the picture! conceal myself, you mean. [Getting up and taking the picture.] The Queen has a bitter draught in store for you, which you will have to swallow as Siva did the poison at the Deluge. When you are well quit of her, you may send and call me from the Palace of Clouds,[42] where I shall take refuge. [Exit, running.

SANUMATI [aside].—Although the King's affections are transferred to another object, yet he respects his previous attachments. I fear his love must be somewhat fickle.

VETRAVATI [entering with a despatch in her hand].—Victory to the King!

KING.—-Vetravati, did you observe the Queen Vasumati coming in this direction?

VETRAVATI.—I did; but when she saw that I had a despatch in my hand for your Majesty, she turned back.

KING.—The Queen has too much regard for propriety to interrupt me when I am engaged with state-affairs.

VETRAVATI.—So please your Majesty, your Prime Minister begs respectfully to inform you that he has devoted much time to the settlement of financial calculations, and only one case of importance has been submitted by the citizens for his consideration. He has made a written report of the facts, and requests your Majesty to cast your eyes over it.

KING.—Hand me the paper. [Vetravati delivers it.

KING [reading].—What have we here? "A merchant named Dhanamitra, trading by sea, was lost in a late shipwreck. Though a wealthy trader, he was childless; and the whole of his immense property becomes by law forfeited to the King." So writes the minister. Alas! alas! for his childlessness. But surely, if he was wealthy, he must have had many wives. Let an inquiry be made whether any one of them is expecting to give birth to a child.

VETRAVATI.—They say that his wife, the daughter of the foreman of a guild belonging to Ayodhya, has just completed the ceremonies usual upon such expectations.

KING.—The unborn child has a title to his father's property. Such is my decree. Go, bid my minister proclaim it so.

VETRAVATI.—I will, my liege. [Going.

KING.—Stay a moment.

VETRAVATI.—I am at your Majesty's service.

KING.—Let there be no question whether he may or may not have left offspring; Rather be it proclaimed that whosoe'er Of King Dushyanta's subjects be bereaved Of any loved relation, an it be not That his estates are forfeited for crimes, Dushyanta will himself to them supply That kinsman's place in tenderest affection.

VETRAVATI.—It shall be so proclaimed.

[Exit Vetravati, and reenter after an interval.

VETRAVATI.—Your Majesty's proclamation was received with acclamations of joy, like grateful rain at the right season.

KING [drawing a deep sigh].—So then, the property of rich men, who have no lineal descendants, passes over to a stranger at their decease. And such, alas! must be the fate of the fortunes of the race of Puru at my death; even as when fertile soil is sown with seed at the wrong season.

VETRAVATI.—Heaven forbid!

KING.—Fool that I was to reject such happiness when it offered itself for my acceptance!

SANUMATI [aside].—He may well blame his own folly when he calls to mind his treatment of my beloved Sakoontala.

KING.—Ah! woe is me? when I forsook my wife— My lawful wife—concealed within her breast There lay my second self, a child unborn, Hope of my race, e'en as the choicest fruit Lies hidden in the bosom of the earth.

SANUMATI [aside].—There is no fear of your race being cut off for want of a son.

CHATURIKA [aside to Vetravati].—The affair of the merchant's death has quite upset our royal master, and caused him sad distress. Had you not better fetch the worthy Mathavya from the Palace of Clouds to comfort him?

VETRAVATI.—A very good idea. [Exit.

KING.—Alas! the shades of my forefathers are even now beginning to be alarmed, lest at my death they may be deprived of their funeral libations. No son remains in King Dushyanta's place To offer sacred homage to the dead Of Puru's noble line: my ancestors Must drink these glistening tears, the last libation A childless man can ever hope to make them. [Falls down in an agony of grief.

CHATURIKA [looking at him in consternation].—Great King, compose yourself.

SANUMATI [aside].—Alas! alas! though a bright light is shining near him, he is involved in the blackest darkness, by reason of the veil that obscures his sight. I will now reveal all, and put an end to his misery. But no; I heard the mother of the great Indra, when she was consoling Sakoontala, say, that the gods will soon bring about a joyful union between husband and wife, being eager for the sacrifice which will be celebrated in their honor on the occasion. I must not anticipate the happy moment, but will return at once to my dear friend and cheer her with an account of what I have seen and heard. [Rises aloft and disappears.

A VOICE [behind the scenes].—Help! help! to the rescue!

KING [recovering himself. Listening].—Ha! I heard a cry of distress, and in Mathavya's voice. What ho there!

VETRAVATI [entering].—Your friend is in danger; save him, great King.

KING.—Who dares insult the worthy Mathavya?

VETRAVATI.—Some evil demon, invisible to human eyes, has seized him, and carried him to one of the turrets of the Palace of Clouds.

KING [rising].—Impossible! Have evil spirits power over my subjects, even in my private apartments? Well, well— Daily I seem less able to avert Misfortune from myself, and o'er my actions Less competent to exercise control; How can I then direct my subjects' ways, Or shelter them from tyranny and wrong?

A VOICE [behind the scenes].—Halloo there! my dear friend; help! help!

KING [advancing with rapid strides].—Fear nothing—

THE SAME VOICE [behind the scenes].—Fear nothing, indeed! How can I help fearing when some monster is twisting back my neck, and is about to snap it as he would a sugarcane?

KING [looking round].—What ho there! my bow.

SLAVE [entering with a bow].—Behold your bow, Sire, and your arm-guard.

[The king snatches up the bow and arrows.

ANOTHER VOICE [behind the scenes].—Here, thirsting for thy life-blood, will I slay thee, As a fierce tiger rends his struggling prey. Call now thy friend Dushyanta to thy aid; His bow is mighty to defend the weak; Yet all its vaunted power shall be as nought.

KING [with fury].—What! dares he defy me to my face? Hold there, monster! Prepare to die, for your time is come. [Stringing his bow.] Vetravati, lead the way to the terrace.

VETRAVATI.—This way, Sire. [They advance in haste.

KING [looking on every side].—How's this? there is nothing to be seen.

A VOICE [behind the scenes].—Help! Save me! I can see you, though you cannot see me. I am like a mouse in the claws of a cat; my life is not worth a moment's purchase.

KING.—Avaunt, monster! You may pride yourself on the magic that renders you invisible, but my arrow shall find you out. Thus do I fix a shaft That shall discern between an impious demon And a good Brahman; bearing death to thee, To him deliverance—even as the swan Distinguishes the milk from worthless water. [Takes aim.

Enter Matali, holding Mathavya, whom he releases.

MATALI.—Turn thou thy deadly arrows on the demons; Such is the will of Indra; let thy bow Be drawn against the enemies of the gods; But on thy friends cast only looks of favor.

KING [putting back his arrow].—What, Matali! Welcome, most noble charioteer of the mighty Indra.

MATHAVYA.—So, here is a monster who thought as little about slaughtering me as if I had been a bullock for sacrifice, and you must e'en greet him with a welcome.

MATALI [smiling].—Great Prince, hear on what errand Indra sent me into your presence.

KING.—I am all attention.

MATALI.—There is a race of giants, the descendants of Kalanemi, whom the gods find difficult to subdue.

KING.—So I have already heard from Narada.

MATALI.—Heaven's mighty lord, who deigns to call thee "friend," Appoints thee to the post of highest honor, As leader of his armies; and commits The subjugation of this giant brood To thy resistless arms, e'en as the sun Leaves the pale moon to dissipate the darkness.

Let your Majesty, therefore, ascend at once the celestial car of Indra; and, grasping your arms, advance to victory.

KING.—The mighty Indra honors me too highly by such a mark of distinction. But tell me, what made you act thus towards my poor friend Mathavya?

MATALI.—I will tell you. Perceiving that your Majesty's spirit was completely broken by some distress of mind under which you were laboring, I determined to rouse your energies by moving you to anger. Because To light a flame, we need but stir the embers; The cobra, when incensed, extends his head And springs upon his foe; the bravest men Display their courage only when provoked.

KING [aside to Mathavya].—My dear Mathavya, the commands of the great Indra must not be left unfulfilled. Go you and acquaint my minister, Pisuna, with what has happened, and say to him from me, Dushyanta to thy care confides his realm— Protect with all the vigor of thy mind The interests of my people; while my bow Is braced against the enemies of heaven.

MATHAVYA.—I obey. [Exit.

MATALI.—Ascend, illustrious Prince. [The King ascends the car. Exeunt.

[41] The Koeil is the Indian cuckoo. It is sometimes called Parabhrita (nourished by another) because the female is known to leave her eggs in the nest of the crow to be hatched. The bird is a great favorite with the Indian poets, as the nightingale with Europeans.

[42] Palace of King Dushyanta, so-called because it was as lofty as the clouds.



ACT SEVENTH

Scene.—The Sky

Enter King Dushyanta and Matali in the car of Indra, moving in the air.

KING.—My good Matali, it appears to me incredible that I can merit such a mark of distinction for having simply fulfilled the behests of the great Indra.

MATALI [smiling].—Great Prince, it seems to me that neither of you is satisfied with himself— You underrate the service you have rendered, And think too highly of the god's reward: He deems it scarce sufficient recompense For your heroic deeds on his behalf.

KING.—Nay, Matali, say not so. My most ambitious expectations were more than realized by the honor conferred on me at the moment when I took my leave. For, Tinged with celestial sandal, from the breast Of the great Indra, where before it hung, A garland of the ever-blooming tree Of Nandana was cast about my neck By his own hand: while, in the very presence Of the assembled gods, I was enthroned Beside their mighty lord, who smiled to see His son Jayanta envious of the honor.

MATALI.—There is no mark of distinction which your Majesty does not deserve at the hands of the immortals. See, Heaven's hosts acknowledge thee their second saviour; For now thy bow's unerring shafts (as erst The lion-man's terrific claws) have purged The empyreal sphere from taint of demons foul.

KING.—The praise of my victory must be ascribed to the majesty of Indra. When mighty gods make men their delegates In martial enterprise, to them belongs The palm of victory; and not to mortals. Could the pale Dawn dispel the shades of night, Did not the god of day, whose diadem Is jewelled with a thousand beams of light, Place him in front of his effulgent car?

MATALI.—A very just comparison. [Driving on.] Great King, behold! the glory of thy fame has reached even to the vault of heaven. Hark! yonder inmates of the starry sphere Sing anthems worthy of thy martial deeds, While with celestial colors they depict The story of thy victories on scrolls Formed of the leaves of heaven's immortal trees.

KING.—My good Matali, yesterday, when I ascended the sky, I was so eager to do battle with the demons, that the road by which we were travelling towards Indra's heaven escaped my observation. Tell me, in which path of the seven winds are we now moving?

MATALI.—We journey in the path of Parivaha; The wind that bears along the triple Ganges, And causes Ursa's seven stars to roll In their appointed orbits, scattering Their several rays with equal distribution. 'Tis the same path that once was sanctified By the divine impression of the foot Of Vishnu, when, to conquer haughty Bali, He spanned the heavens in his second stride.

KING.—This is the reason, I suppose, that a sensation of calm repose pervades all my senses. [Looking down at the wheels.] Ah! Matali, we are descending towards the earth's atmosphere.

MATALI.—What makes you think so?

KING.—The car itself instructs me; we are moving O'er pregnant clouds, surcharged with rain; below us I see the moisture-loving Chatakas In sportive flight dart through the spokes; the steeds Of Indra glisten with the lightning's flash; And a thick mist bedews the circling wheels.

MATALI.—You are right; in a little while the chariot will touch the ground, and you will be in your own dominions.

KING [looking down],—How wonderful is the appearance of the earth as we rapidly descend! Stupendous prospect! yonder lofty hills Do suddenly uprear their towering heads Amid the plain, while from beneath their crests The ground receding sinks; the trees, whose stems Seemed lately hid within their leafy tresses, Rise into elevation, and display Their branching shoulders; yonder streams, whose waters, Like silver threads, but now were scarcely seen, Grow into mighty rivers; lo! the earth Seems upward hurled by some gigantic power.

MATALI.—Well described! [Looking with awe.] Grand, indeed, and lovely is the spectacle presented by the earth.

KING.—Tell me, Matali, what is that range of mountains which, like a bank of clouds illumined by the setting sun, pours down a stream of gold? On one side its base dips into the eastern ocean, and on the other side into the western.

MATALI.—Great Prince, it is called "Golden-peak,"[43] and is the abode of the attendants of the god of Wealth. In this spot the highest forms of penance are wrought out. There Kasyapa, the great progenitor Of demons and of gods, himself the offspring Of the divine Marichi, Brahma's son, With Aditi, his wife, in calm seclusion, Does holy penance for the good of mortals.

KING.—Then I must not neglect so good an opportunity of obtaining his blessing. I should much like to visit this venerable personage and offer him my homage.

MATALI.—By all means! An excellent idea. [Guides the car to the earth.]

KING [in a tone of wonder].—How's this? Our chariot wheels move noiselessly. Around No clouds of dust arise; no shock betokened Our contact with the earth; we seem to glide Above the ground, so lightly do we touch it.

MATALI.—Such is the difference between the car of Indra and that of your Majesty.

KING.—In which direction, Matali, is Kasyapa's sacred retreat?

MATALI [pointing].—Where stands yon anchorite, towards the orb Of the meridian sun, immovable As a tree's stem, his body half-concealed By a huge ant-hill. Round about his breast No sacred cord is twined, but in its stead A hideous serpent's skin. In place of necklace, The tendrils of a withered creeper chafe His wasted neck. His matted hair depends In thick entanglement about his shoulders, And birds construct their nests within its folds.

KING.—I salute thee, thou man of austere devotion.

MATALI [holding in the reins of the car].—Great Prince, we are now in the sacred grove of the holy Kasyapa—the grove that boasts as its ornament one of the five trees of Indra's heaven, reared by Aditi.

KING.—This sacred retreat is more delightful than heaven itself. I could almost fancy myself bathing in a pool of nectar.

MATALI [stopping the chariot].—Descend, mighty Prince.

KING [descending].—And what will you do, Matali?

MATALI.—The chariot will remain where I have stopped it. We may both descend. [Doing so.] This way, great King, [Walking on.] You see around you the celebrated region where the holiest sages devote themselves to penitential rites.

KING.—I am filled with awe and wonder as I gaze. In such a place as this do saints of earth Long to complete their acts of penance; here, Beneath the shade of everlasting trees, Transplanted from the groves of Paradise, May they inhale the balmy air, and need No other nourishment; here may they bathe In fountains sparkling with the golden dust Of lilies; here, on jewelled slabs of marble, In meditation rapt, may they recline; Here, in the presence of celestial nymphs, E'en passion's voice is powerless to move them.

MATALI.—So true is it that the aspirations of the good and great are ever soaring upwards. [Turning round and speaking off the stage.] Tell me, Vriddha-sakalya, how is the divine son of Marichi now engaged? What sayest thou? that he is conversing with Aditi and some of the wives of the great sages, and that they are questioning him respecting the duties of a faithful wife?

KING [listening].—Then we must await the holy father's leisure.

MATALI [looking at the King].—If your Majesty will rest under the shade, at the foot of this Asoka-tree, I will seek an opportunity of announcing your arrival to Indra's reputed father.

KING.—As you think proper. [Remains under the tree.

MATALI.—Great King, I go. [Exit.

KING [feeling his arm throb].—Wherefore this causeless throbbing, O mine arm? All hope has fled forever; mock me not With presages of good, when happiness Is lost, and nought but misery remains.

A VOICE [behind the scenes].—Be not so naughty. Do you begin already to show a refractory spirit?

KING [listening].—This is no place for petulance. Who can it be whose behavior calls for such a rebuke? [Looking in the direction of the sound and smiling.] A child, is it? closely attended by two holy women. His disposition seems anything but childlike. See, He braves the fury of yon lioness Suckling its savage offspring, and compels The angry whelp to leave the half-sucked dug, Tearing its tender mane in boisterous sport.

Enter a child, attended by two women of the hermitage, In the manner described.

CHILD.—Open your mouth, my young lion, I want to count your teeth.

FIRST ATTENDANT.—You naughty child, why do you tease the animals? Know you not that we cherish them in this hermitage as if they were our own children? In good sooth, you have a high spirit of your own, and are beginning already to do justice to the name Sarva-damana (All-taming), given you by the hermits.

KING.—Strange! My heart inclines towards the boy with almost as much affection as if he were my own child. What can be the reason? I suppose my own childlessness makes me yearn towards the sons of others.

SECOND ATTENDANT.—This lioness will certainly attack you if you do not release her whelp.

CHILD [laughing].—Oh! indeed! let her come. Much I fear her, to be sure. [Pouts his under-lip in defiance.

KING.—The germ of mighty courage lies concealed Within this noble infant, like a spark Beneath the fuel, waiting but a breath To fan the flame and raise a conflagration.

FIRST ATTENDANT.—Let the young lion go, like a dear child, and I will give you something else to play with.

CHILD.—Where is it? Give it me first. [Stretches out his hand.

KING [looking at his hand].—How's this? His hand exhibits one of those mystic marks which are the sure prognostic of universal empire. See! His fingers stretched in eager expectation To grasp the wished-for toy, and knit together By a close-woven web, in shape resemble A lotus-blossom, whose expanding petals The early dawn has only half unfolded.

SECOND ATTENDANT.—We shall never pacify him by mere words, dear Suvrata. Be kind enough to go to my cottage, and you will find there a plaything belonging to Markandeya, one of the hermit's children. It is a peacock made of China-ware, painted in many colors. Bring it here for the child.

FIRST ATTENDANT.—Very well. [Exit.

CHILD.—No, no; I shall go on playing with the young lion.

[Looks at the female attendant and laughs.

KING.—I feel an unaccountable affection for this wayward child. How blessed the virtuous parents whose attire Is soiled with dust, by raising from the ground The child that asks a refuge in their arms! And happy are they while with lisping prattle, In accents sweetly inarticulate, He charms their ears; and with his artless smiles Gladdens their hearts, revealing to their gaze His tiny teeth, just budding into view.

ATTENDANT.—I see how it is. He pays me no manner of attention. [Looking off the stage.] I wonder whether any of the hermits are about here. [Seeing the King.] Kind Sir, could you come hither a moment and help me to release the young lion from the clutch of this child, who is teasing him in boyish play?

KING [approaching and smiling].—Listen to me, thou child of a mighty saint. Dost thou dare show a wayward spirit here? Here, in this hallowed region? Take thou heed Lest, as the serpent's young defiles the sandal, Thou bring dishonor on the holy sage, Thy tender-hearted parent, who delights To shield from harm the tenants of the wood.