ACT FIFTH
Scene.—A Room in the Palace
The King Dushyanta and the Jester Máthavya are discovered seated.
MÁTHAVYA [listening].—Hark! my dear friend, listen a minute, and you will hear sweet sounds proceeding from the music-room. Someone is singing a charming air. Who can it be? Oh! I know. The queen Hansapadiká is practising her notes, that she may greet you with a new song.
KING.—Hush! Let me listen.
A VOICE [sings behind the scenes].—
How often hither didst thou rove,
Sweet bee, to kiss the mango's cheek;
Oh! leave not, then, thy early love,
The lily's honeyed lip to seek.
KING.—A most impassioned strain, truly!
MÁTHAVYA.—Do you understand the meaning of the words?
KING [smiling].—She means to reprove me, because I once paid her great attention, and have lately deserted her for the queen Vasumatí. Go, my dear fellow, and tell Hansapadiká from me that I take her delicate reproof as it is intended.
MÁTHAVYA.—Very well. [Rising from his seat.] But stay—I don't much relish being sent to bear the brunt of her jealousy. The chances are that she will have me seized by the hair of the head and beaten to a jelly. I would as soon expose myself, after a vow of celibacy, to the seductions of a lovely nymph, as encounter the fury of a jealous woman.
KING.—Go, go; you can disarm her wrath by a civil speech; but give her my message.
MÁTHAVYA.—What must be must be, I suppose. [Exit.
KING [aside].—Strange! that song has filled me with a most peculiar sensation. A melancholy feeling has come over me, and I seem to yearn after some long-forgotten object of affection. Singular, indeed! but,
Not seldom in our happy hours of ease,
When thought is still, the sight of some fair form,
Or mournful fall of music breathing low,
Will stir strange fancies, thrilling all the soul
With a mysterious sadness, and a sense
Of vague yet earnest longing. Can it be
That the dim memory of events long past,
Or friendships formed in other states of being,
Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit?
[Remains pensive and sad.
Enter the Chamberlain.
CHAMBERLAIN.—Alas! to what an advanced period of life have I attained!
Even this wand betrays the lapse of years;
In youthful days 'twas but a useless badge
And symbol of my office; now it serves
As a support to prop my tottering steps.
Ah me! I feel very unwilling to announce to the King that a deputation of young hermits from the sage Kanwa has arrived, and craves an immediate audience. Certainly, his majesty ought not to neglect a matter of sacred duty, yet I hardly like to trouble him when he has just risen from the judgment-seat. Well, well; a monarch's business is to sustain the world, and he must not expect much repose; because—
Onward, forever onward, in his car
The unwearied Sun pursues his daily course,
Nor tarries to unyoke his glittering steeds.
And ever moving speeds the rushing Wind
Through boundless space, filling the universe
With his life-giving breezes. Day and night,
The King of Serpents on his thousand heads
Upholds the incumbent earth; and even so,
Unceasing toil is aye the lot of kings,
Who, in return, draw nurture from their subjects.
I will therefore deliver my message. [Walking on and looking about.] Ah! here comes the King:—
His subjects are his children; through the day,
Like a fond father, to supply their wants,
Incessantly he labors; wearied now,
The monarch seeks seclusion and repose—
E'en as the prince of elephants defies
The sun's fierce heat, and leads the fainting herd
To verdant pastures, ere his wayworn limbs
He yields to rest beneath the cooling shade.
[Approaching.] Victory to the King! So please your majesty, some hermits who live in a forest near the Snowy Mountains have arrived here, bringing certain women with them. They have a message to deliver from the sage Kanwa, and desire an audience. I await your Majesty's commands.
KING [respectfully].—A message from the sage Kanwa, did you say?
CHAMBERLAIN.—Even so, my liege.
KING.—Tell my domestic priest, Somaráta, to receive the hermits with due honor, according to the prescribed form. He may then himself introduce them into my presence. I will await them in a place suitable for the reception of such holy guests.
CHAMBERLAIN.—Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. [Exit.
KING [rising and addressing the Warder].—Vetravatí, lead the way to the chamber of the consecrated fire.
WARDER.—This way, Sire.
KING [walking on, with the air of one oppressed by the cares of government].—People are generally contented and happy when they have gained their desires; but kings have no sooner attained the object of their aspirations than all their troubles begin.
'Tis a fond thought that to attain the end
And object of ambition is to rest;
Success doth only mitigate the fever
Of anxious expectation; soon the fear
Of losing what we have, the constant care
Of guarding it doth weary. Ceaseless toil
Must be the lot of him who with his hands
Supports the canopy that shields his subjects.
Two HERALDS [behind the scenes].—May the King be victorious!
FIRST HERALD.—Honor to him who labors day by day
For the world's weal, forgetful of his own.
Like some tall tree that with its stately head
Endures the solar beam, while underneath
It yields refreshing shelter to the weary.
SECOND HERALD.—Let but the monarch wield his threatening rod
And e'en the guilty tremble; at his voice
The rebel spirit cowers; his grateful subjects
Acknowledge him their guardian; rich and poor
Hail him a faithful friend, a loving kinsman.
KING.—Weary as I was before, this complimentary address has refreshed me. [Walks on.
WARDER.—Here is the terrace of the hallowed fire-chamber, and yonder stands the cow that yields the milk for the oblations. The sacred enclosure has been recently purified, and looks clean and beautiful. Ascend, Sire.
KING [leans on the shoulders of his attendants, and ascends]. Vetravatí, what can possibly be the message that the venerable Kanwa has sent me by these hermits?—
Perchance their sacred rites have been disturbed
By demons, or some evil has befallen
The innocent herds, their favorites, that graze
Within the precincts of the hermitage;
Or haply, through my sins, some withering blight
Has nipped the creeping plants that spread their arms
Around the hallowed grove. Such troubled thoughts
Crowd through my mind, and fill me with misgiving.
WARDER.—If you ask my opinion, Sire, I think the hermits merely wish to take an opportunity of testifying their loyalty, and are therefore come to offer homage to your Majesty.
Enter the Hermits, leading Śakoontalá, attended by Gautamí; and, in advance of them, the Chamberlain and the domestic Priest.
CHAMBERLAIN.—This way, reverend sirs, this way.
ŚÁRNGARAVA.—O Śáradwata,
'Tis true the monarch lacks no royal grace,
Nor ever swerves from justice; true, his people,
Yea such as in life's humblest walks are found,
Refrain from evil courses; still to me,
A lonely hermit reared in solitude,
This throng appears bewildering, and methinks
I look upon a burning house, whose inmates
Are running to and fro in wild dismay.
SÁRADWATA.—It is natural that the first sight of the King's capital should affect you in this manner; my own sensations are very similar.
As one just bathed beholds the man polluted;
As one late purified, the yet impure:—
As one awake looks on the yet unwakened;
Or as the freeman gazes on the thrall,
So I regard this crowd of pleasure-seekers.
ŚAKOONTALÁ [feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid, and suspecting a bad omen],—Alas! what means this throbbing of my right eyelid?
GAUTAMÍ.—Heaven avert the evil omen, my child! May the guardian deities of thy husband's family convert it into a sign of good fortune! [Walks on.
PRIEST [pointing to the King].—Most reverend sirs, there stands the protector of the four classes of the people; the guardian of the four orders of the priesthood. He has just left the judgment-seat, and is waiting for you. Behold him!
ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Great Bráhman, we are happy in thinking that the King's power is exerted for the protection of all classes of his subjects. We have not come as petitioners—we have the fullest confidence in the generosity of his nature.
The loftiest trees bend humbly to the ground
Beneath the teeming burden of their fruit;
High in the vernal sky the pregnant clouds
Suspend their stately course, and hanging low,
Scatter their sparkling treasures o'er the earth:—
And such is true benevolence; the good
Are never rendered arrogant by riches.
WARDER.—So please your Majesty, I judge from the placid countenance of the hermits that they have no alarming message to deliver.
KING [looking at Śakoontalá].—But the lady there—
Who can she be, whose form of matchless grace
Is half concealed beneath her flowing veil?
Among the sombre hermits she appears
Like a fresh bud 'mid sear and yellow leaves.
WARDER.—So please your Majesty, my curiosity is also roused, but no conjecture occurs to my mind. This at least is certain, that she deserves to be looked at more closely.
KING.—True; but it is not right to gaze at another man's wife.
ŚAKOONTALÁ [placing her hand on her bosom. Aside].—O my heart, why this throbbing? Remember thy lord's affection, and take courage.
PRIEST [advancing].—These holy men have been received with all due honor. One of them has now a message to deliver from his spiritual superior. Will your Majesty deign to hear it?
KING.—I am all attention.
HERMITS [extending their hands].—Victory to the King!
KING.—Accept my respectful greeting.
HERMITS.—May the desires of your soul be accomplished!
KING.—I trust no one is molesting you in the prosecution of your religious rites.
HERMITS.—Who dares disturb our penitential rites
When thou art our protector? Can the night
Prevail to cast her shadows o'er the earth
While the sun's beams irradiate the sky?
KING.—Such, indeed, is the very meaning of my title—"Defender of the Just." I trust the venerable Kanwa is in good health. The world is interested in his well-being.
HERMITS.—Holy men have health and prosperity in their own power. He bade us greet your Majesty, and, after kind inquiries, deliver this message.
KING.—Let me hear his commands.
ŚÁRNGARAVA.—He bade us say that he feels happy in giving his sanction to the marriage which your Majesty contracted with this lady, his daughter, privately and by mutual agreement. Because
By us thou art esteemed the most illustrious
Of noble husbands; and Śakoontalá
Virtue herself in human form revealed.
Great Brahmá hath in equal yoke united
A bride unto a husband worthy of her:—
Henceforth let none make blasphemous complaint
That he is pleased with ill-assorted unions.
Since, therefore, she expects soon to be the mother of thy child, receive her into thy palace, that she may perform, in conjunction with thee, the ceremonies prescribed by religion on such an occasion.
GAUTAMÍ.—So please your Majesty, I would add a few words: but why should I intrude my sentiments when an opportunity of speaking my mind has never been allowed me?
She took no counsel with her kindred; thou
Didst not confer with thine, but all alone
Didst solemnize thy nuptials with thy wife.
Together, then, hold converse; let us leave you.
ŚAKOONTALÁ [aside].—Ah! how I tremble for my lord's reply.
KING.—What strange proposal is this?
ŚAKOONTALÁ [aside].—His words are fire to me.
ŚÁRNGARAVA.—What do I hear? Dost thou, then, hesitate? Monarch, thou art well acquainted with the ways of the world, and knowest that
A wife, however virtuous and discreet,
If she live separate from her wedded lord,
Though under shelter of her parent's roof,
Is mark for vile suspicion. Let her dwell
Beside her husband, though he hold her not
In his affection. So her kinsmen will it.
KING.—Do you really mean to assert that I ever married this lady?
ŚAKOONTALÁ [despondingly. Aside].—O my heart, thy worst misgivings are confirmed.
ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Is it becoming in a monarch to depart from the rules of justice, because he repents of his engagements?
KING.—I cannot answer a question which is based on a mere fabrication.
SÁRNGARAVA.—Such inconstancy is fortunately not common, excepting in men intoxicated by power.
KING.—Is that remark aimed at me?
GAUTAMÍ.—Be not ashamed, my daughter. Let me remove thy veil for a little space. Thy husband will then recognize thee. [Removes her veil.
KING [gazing at Śakoontalá. Aside].—What charms are here revealed before mine eyes!
Truly no blemish mars the symmetry
Of that fair form; yet can I ne'er believe
She is my wedded wife; and like a bee
That circles round the flower whose nectared cup
Teems with the dew of morning, I must pause
Ere eagerly I taste the proffered sweetness.
[Remains wrapped in thought.
WARDER.—How admirably does our royal master's behavior prove his regard for justice! Who else would hesitate for a moment when good fortune offered for his acceptance a form of such rare beauty?
SÁRNGARAVA.—Great King, why art thou silent?
KING.—Holy men, I have revolved the matter in my mind; but the more I think of it, the less able am I to recollect that I ever contracted an alliance with this lady. What answer, then, can I possibly give you when I do not believe myself to be her husband, and I plainly see that she is soon to become a mother?
ŚAKOONTALÁ [aside].—Woe! woe! Is our very marriage to be called in question by my own husband? Ah me! is this to be the end of all my bright visions of wedded happiness?
ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Beware!
Beware how thou insult the holy Sage!
Remember how he generously allowed
Thy secret union with his foster-child;
And how, when thou didst rob him of his treasure,
He sought to furnish thee excuse, when rather
He should have cursed thee for a ravisher.
ŚÁRADWATA.—Śárngarava, speak to him no more. Śakoontalá, our part is performed; we have said all we had to say, and the King has replied in the manner thou hast heard. It is now thy turn to give him convincing evidence of thy marriage.
ŚAKOONTALÁ [aside].—Since his feeling towards me has undergone a complete revolution, what will it avail to revive old recollections? One thing is clear—I shall soon have to mourn my own widowhood. [Aloud.] My revered husband—[Stops short.] But no—I dare not address thee by this title, since thou hast refused to acknowledge our union. Noble descendant of Puru! It is not worthy of thee to betray an innocent-minded girl, and disown her in such terms, after having so lately and so solemnly plighted thy vows to her in the hermitage.
KING [stopping his ears].—I will hear no more. Be such a crime far from my thoughts!
What evil spirit can possess thee, lady,
That thou dost seek to sully my good name
By base aspersions? like a swollen torrent,
That, leaping from its narrow bed, overthrows
The tree upon its bank, and strives to blend
Its turbid waters with the crystal stream?
ŚAKOONTALÁ.—If, then, thou really believest me to be the wife of another, and thy present conduct proceeds from some cloud that obscures thy recollection, I will easily convince thee by this token.
KING.—An excellent idea!
ŚAKOONTALÁ [feeling for the ring].—Alas! alas! woe is me! There is no ring on my finger!
[Looks with anguish at Gautamí.
GAUTAMÍ.—The ring must have slipped off when thou wast in the act of offering homage to the holy water of Śachí's sacred pool, near Śakrávatára.
KING [smiling].—People may well talk of the readiness of woman's invention! Here is an instance of it.
ŚAKOONTALÁ.—Say, rather, of the omnipotence of fate. I will mention another circumstance, which may yet convince thee.
KING.—By all means let me hear it at once.
ŚAKOONTALÁ.—One day, while we were seated in a jasmine bower, thou didst pour into the hollow of thine hand some water, sprinkled by a recent shower in the cup of a lotus blossom—
KING.—I am listening; proceed.
ŚAKOONTALÁ.—At that instant, my adopted child, the little fawn, with soft, long eyes, came running towards us. Upon which, before tasting the water thyself, thou didst kindly offer some to the little creature, saying fondly—"Drink first, gentle fawn." But she could not be induced to drink from the hand of a stranger; though immediately afterwards, when I took the water in my own hand, she drank with perfect confidence. Then, with a smile, thou didst say—"Every creature confides naturally in its own kind. You are both inhabitants of the same forest, and have learnt to trust each other."
KING.—Voluptuaries may allow themselves to be seduced from the path of duty by falsehoods such as these, expressed in honeyed words.
GAUTAMÍ.—Speak not thus, illustrious Prince. This lady was brought up in a hermitage, and has never learnt deceit.
KING.—Holy matron,
E'en in untutored brutes, the female sex
Is marked by inborn subtlety—much more
In beings gifted with intelligence.
The wily Köil, ere towards the sky
She wings her sportive flight, commits her eggs
To other nests, and artfully consigns
The rearing of her little ones to strangers.
ŚAKOONTALÁ [angrily].—Dishonorable man, thou judgest of others by thine own evil heart. Thou, at least, art unrivalled in perfidy, and standest alone—a base deceiver in the garb of virtue and religion—like a deep pit whose yawning mouth is concealed by smiling flowers.
KING [aside].—Her anger, at any rate, appears genuine, and makes me almost doubt whether I am in the right. For, indeed,
When I had vainly searched my memory,
And so with stern severity denied
The fabled story of our secret loves,
Her brows, that met before in graceful curves,
Like the arched weapon of the god of love,
Seemed by her frown dissevered; while the fire
Of sudden anger kindled in her eyes.
[Aloud.] My good lady, Dushyanta's character is well-known to all. I comprehend not your meaning.
ŚAKOONTALÁ.—Well do I deserve to be thought a harlot for having, in the innocence of my heart, and out of the confidence I reposed in a Prince of Puru's race, intrusted my honor to a man whose mouth distils honey, while his heart is full of poison.
[Covers her face with her mantle, and bursts into tears.
ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Thus is it that burning remorse must ever follow rash actions which might have been avoided, and for which one has only one's self to blame.
Not hastily should marriage be contracted,
And specially in secret. Many a time,
In hearts that know not each the other's fancies,
Fond love is changed into most bitter hate.
KING.—How now! Do you give credence to this woman rather than to me, that you heap such accusations on me?
ŚÁRNGARAVA [sarcastically].—That would be too absurd, certainly. You have heard the proverb—
Hold in contempt the innocent words of those
Who from their infancy have known no guile:—
But trust the treacherous counsels of the man
Who makes a very science of deceit.
KING.—Most veracious Bráhman, grant that you are in the right, what end would be gained by betraying this lady?
ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Ruin.
KING.—No one will believe that a Prince of Puru's race would seek to ruin others or himself.
ŚÁRADWATA.—This altercation is idle, Śárngarava. We have executed the commission of our preceptor; come, let us return. [To the King.
Śakoontalá is certainly thy bride;
Receive her or reject her, she is thine.
Do with her, King, according to thy pleasure—
The husband o'er the wife is absolute.
Go on before us, Gautamí. [They move away.
ŚAKOONTALÁ.—What! is it not enough to have been betrayed by this perfidious man? Must you also forsake me, regardless of my tears and lamentations?
[Attempts to follow them.
GAUTAMÍ [stopping].—My son Śárngarava, see, Śakoontalá is following us, and with tears implores us not to leave her. Alas! poor child, what will she do here with a cruel husband who casts her from him?
ŚÁRNGARAVA [turning angrily towards her].—Wilful woman, dost thou seek to be independent of thy lord?
[Śakoontalá trembles with fear.
ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Śakoontalá!
If thou art really what the King proclaims thee,
How can thy father e'er receive thee back
Into his house and home? but, if thy conscience
Be witness to thy purity of soul,
E'en should thy husband to a handmaid's lot
Condemn thee, thou may'st cheerfully endure it,
When ranked among the number of his household.
Thy duty, therefore, is to stay. As for us, we must return immediately.
KING.—Deceive not the lady, my good hermit, by any such expectations.
The moon expands the lotus of the night,
The rising sun awakes the lily; each
Is with his own contented. Even so
The virtuous man is master of his passions,
And from another's wife averts his gaze.
ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Since thy union with another woman has rendered thee oblivious of thy marriage with Śakoontalá, whence this fear of losing thy character for constancy and virtue?
KING [to the Priest],—You must counsel me, revered sir, as to my course of action. Which of the two evils involves the greater or less sin?
Whether by some dark veil my mind be clouded,
Or this designing woman speak untruly,
I know not. Tell me, must I rather be
The base disowner of my wedded wife,
Or the defiling and defiled adulterer?
PRIEST [after deliberation].—You must take an intermediate course.
KING.—What course, revered sir? Tell me at once.
PRIEST.—I will provide an asylum for the lady in my own house until the birth of her child; and my reason, if you ask me, is this. Soothsayers have predicted that your first-born will have universal dominion. Now, if the hermit's daughter bring forth a son with the discus or mark of empire in the lines of his hand, you must admit her immediately into your royal apartments with great rejoicings; if not, then determine to send her back as soon as possible to her father.
KING.—I bow to the decision of my spiritual adviser.
PRIEST.—Daughter, follow me.
ŚAKOONTALÁ.—O divine earth, open and receive me into thy bosom!
[Exit Śakoontalá weeping, with the Priest and the Hermits. The King remains absorbed in thinking of her, though the curse still clouds his recollection.
A VOICE [behind the scenes].—A miracle! a miracle!
KING [listening].—What has happened now?
PRIEST [entering with an air of astonishment].—Great Prince, a stupendous prodigy has just occurred!
KING.—What is it?
PRIEST.—May it please your Majesty, so soon as Kanwa's pupils had departed,
Śakoontalá, her eyes all bathed in tears,
With outstretched arms bewailed her cruel fate—
KING.—Well, well, what happened then?
PRIEST.—When suddenly a shining apparition, In female shape, descended from the skies, Near the nymphs' pool, and bore her up to heaven. [All remain motionless with astonishment.
KING.—My good priest, from the very first I declined having anything to do with this matter. It is now all over, and we can never, by our conjectures, unravel the mystery; let it rest; go, seek repose.
PRIEST [looking at the King].—Be it so. Victory to the King! [Exit.
KING.—Vetravatí, I am tired out; lead the way to the bed-chamber.
WARDER.—This way, Sire. [They move away.
KING.—Do what I will, I cannot call to mind
That I did e'er espouse the sage's daughter—
Therefore I have disowned her; yet 'tis strange
How painfully my agitated heart
Bears witness to the truth of her assertion,
And makes me credit her against my judgment.
[Exeunt.