laka, in love with Madanika, is I have it.-Mait. Now, like a pedlar "Alas! my friend, who will believe it stolen ? A general ordeal waits me. In this Cold poverty is doom'd to wake suspicion. The enmity of fate, but now its venom Maitreya declares he will swear that the casket was never intrusted to them; but Charudatta says "He cannot condescend to shame his soul By utterance of a lie." Intelligence of the robbery has reached his wife, and she, rejoicing that her husband's life is safe, sends to him a string of jewels given her in her maternal mansion-one of the sources of the wife's peculiar wealth, over which a Hindu husband has no control. That his person is unharmed is well-but better-she exclaimsit had suffered, "than his fair fame incur disparagement. Destiny, thou potent deity, thou sportest with the fortunes of mankind, and renderest them as tremulous as the watery drop that quivers on the lotus leaves." Charudatta is quite overpowered by this kindness of his wife. "Char. Out on it-that I should be On the opening of Act Fourth, we discover Vasantasena absorbed in contemplation of a miniature picture of Charudatta. She asks her attendant if 'tis a good likeness-and on her replying "I conclude so, madam, from the affectionate looks you bestow upon it," sighs, "How do you talk of affection to a creature of our class! The woman that admits the love of many men is false to all! But tell me, girl, do not all my friends deride my passion ?-Mad. Nay, not so, madam; every woman has a feeling for the affections of her friends." Vasantasena now receives a message from her mother, desiring her to repair to the private apartments, to meet Samsthanaka; but she dismisses the messenger with repug nance and horror. "Tell her, if she would not have me dead, she must send me no more such messages." Faithful all her future life will she be-whether it be her lot to suffer or enjoy-to Charudatta. The courtezan hopes to be his handmaidaccording to law-and will be as tender and true as any wife. Servillaka now visits his mistress, Madanika, and shews her Vasantasena's own jewels, with which he proposes to purchase her manumission! The lady-overhearing all from above at first is dreadfully alarmed-fearing the robber may have murdered Charudatta; but, finding that her beloved Brahman is alive and well, she pretends to believe Servillaka's made-up tale with his mistress below, that Charudatta had sent him to her with the casket, lest his house should be broken into; and giving him some jewels to take back to her. dear Brahman, says she had arranged with Charudatta that the person who presented them should from her receive Madanika as a present from herself, for his sake! Servillaka is ready to leap out of his skin for joy, and exclaims, May all prosperity bless Charudatta! 'Tis politic in man to nurture merit, For poverty with worth is richer far Than majesty without all real excellence. Nought is beyond its reach; the radiant moon Won by its worth a seat on Siva's brow." A litter is brought to the door, and Madanika, weeping, receives manumission from her gracious mistress. Servillaka bidding her with grateful looks survey her bounteous benefactress, and bow her head in gratitude to her, to whom she owes the unexpected dignity that waits upon the title and the state of wife. That is, a wife for the nonce-or amie de maison -the marriage being such as is still sanctioned in Germany, as it would have been impossible to contract any other with a woman of Madanika's past life and servile condition. They salute Vasantasena as she departs, and ascend the car; but the honeymoon Attendant. This is the outer door, sir. is not suffered to shew her buddinghorns, for there is sound of procla mation from the Governor, in consequence of a reported prophecy that the son of a cow-herd, named Aryaka, shall ascend the throne, commanding all and sundry to apprehend him, that he may be detained in confinement. Aryaka is a bosom friend of Servillaka, and that unprincipled but spirited personage gives vent to sentiments that must have been far from pleasing to his bride. "Now the king has seized my dear friend, Aryaka, and I am thinking of a wife! This world presents two things most dear to all men : A friend and mistress; but the friend is prized Above a hundred beauties. I must hence And try to liberate him. (Alights.)" Madanika in vain beseeches him not to leave her-but he is inexorable-tells her to put herself under the protection of his friend Rebhila, the chief of the musicians, and scampers off to the rescue of the Son of the Cow-herd. By and by we shall hear more of the insurgents-for there is a double plot, and the management of it shews great ingenuity and skill -both actions being naturally interwoven, and mutually assisting each other's fulfilment in one united catastrophe. Maitreya now appears before Vasantasena's dwelling, with the jewels in lieu of the stolen casket; and the lady being informed by her attendant of his visit, exclaims, "This is indeed a lucky day!" and bids her chamberlain be called to do him honour. Maitreya is delighted with such a reception-"Here's honour! The sovereign of the Rakhasas, Ravana, travels in the car of Kuvera, obtained by the force of his devotions; but I am a poor Brahman, and no saint, yet am I conveyed about by lovely damsels." We are sure all our readers will be much interested by a complete picture of a Hindu house-it is no less than a palace. Mai. A very pretty entrance indeed. The threshold is very neatly coloured, well swept and watered; the floor is beautified with strings of sweet flowers; the top of the gate is lofty, and gives one the pleasure of looking up to the clouds, whilst the jasmine festoon hangs tremblingly down, as if it were now tossing on the trunk of Indra's elephant. Over the doorway is a lofty arch of ivory, above it again wave flags dyed with safflower, their fringes curling in the wind, like fingers that beckon me, come hither. On either side, the capitals of the door-posts support elegant The door panels crystal flower-pots, in which young mango-trees are springing up. are of gold, stuck, like the stout breast of a demon, with studs of adamant. The whole cries, away, to a poor man, whilst its splendour catches the eye of the wisest. Att. This leads to the first court. Enter, sir, enter. (They enter the first court.) Mai. Bless me! why here is a line of palaces, as white as the moon, as the conch, as the stalk of the water-lily-the stucco has been laid on here by handfuls; golden steps, embellished with various stones, lead to the upper apartments, whence the crystal windows, festooned with pearls, and bright as the eyes of a moon-faced maid, look down upon Ujayin: the porter dozes on an easy chair, as stately as a Brahman deep in the Vedas, and the very crows, crammed with rice and curds, disdain the fragments of the sacrifice, as if they were no more than scattered plaster. Proceed. Att. This is the second court-enter. (They enter the second court.) Mai. Oh here are the stables; the carriage oxen are in good case, pampered with jawasa, I declare; and straw, and oil-cakes, are ready for them-their horns are bright with grease; here we have a buffalo snorting indignantly like a Brahman of high caste, whom somebody has affronted; here the ram stands to have his neck well rubbed, like a wrestler after a match-here they dress the manes of the horses -here is a monkey tied as fast as a thief-and here the mahauts are plying the elephants with balls of rice and ghee-proceed. Att. This, sir, is the third gateway. (They enter the third court.) Mai. Oh this is the public court, where the young bucks of Ujayin assemble; these are their seats, I suppose-the half-read book lies on the gaming-table, the men of which are made of jewels-oh, yonder are some old libertines lounging about; they seem to have pictures in their hands, studying, I conclude, to improve their skill in the peace and war of love-what next? Att. This is the entrance to the fourth court. (They enter the fourth court.) Mai. Oh ho, this is a very gay scene-here the drums, whilst beaten by taper fingers, emit, like clouds, a murmuring tone; there, the cymbals beating time, flash as they descend like the unlucky stars that fall from heaven. The flute here breathes the soft hum of the bee, whilst here a damsel holds the vina in her lap, and frets its wires with her finger-nails, like some wild minx that sets her mark on the face of her offending swain-some damsels are singing, like so many bees intoxicated with flowery nectar-others are practising the graceful dance, and others are employed in reading plays and poems; the place is hung with water jars, suspended to catch the cooling breeze-what comes next? Att. This is the gate of the fifth court. (They enter the fifth court.) Mai. Ah, how my mouth waters; what a savoury scent of oil and assafoetida ! The kitchen sighs softly forth its fragrant and abundant smoke-the odours are delicious-they fill me with rapture. The butcher's boy is washing the skin of an animal just slain, like so much foul linen. The cook is surrounded with dishes-the sweetmeats are mixing-the cakes are baking. (Apart.) Oh that I could meet with some one to do me a friendly turn; one who would wash my feet, and say, Eat, sir, eat. (Aloud) This is certainly Indra's heaven, the damsels are Apsarasas-the Bandhulas are Gandharbas. Pray, why do they call you Bandhulas? Att. We inhabit the dwellings of others, and eat the bread of the stranger; we are the offspring of parents whom no tie connects; we exercise our indescribable merits, in gaining other men's money, and we sport through life as free and unrestrained as the cubs of the elephant. Mai. What do we come to next? (They enter.) Mai. The arched gateway is of gold and many-coloured gems on a ground of sapphire, and looks like the bow of Indra in an azure sky. What is going forward here so busily?—it is the jeweller's court-skilful artists are examining pearls, topazes, sapphires, emeralds, rubies, the lapis-lazuli, coral, and other jewels; some set rubies in gold, some work gold ornaments on coloured thread, some string pearls, some grind the lapis-lazuli, some pierce shells, and some cut coral. Here we have perfumers drying the saffron bags, shaking the musk bags, expressing the sandal juice, and compounding essences. Whom have we here? fair damsels and their gallants laughing, talking, chewing musk and betel, and drinking wine-here are the male and female attendants, and here are miserable hangers on-men that neglected their own families, and spent their all upon the harlot, and are now glad to quaff the drainings of her wine cup. Att. This is the seventh court-enter. (They enter the seventh court.) Mai. This is the aviary, very handsome indeed-the doves bill and coo in comfort; the pampered parrot, stuffed with curds and rice, croaks like a Brahman Pundit chanting a hymn from the Vedas; the maina chatters as glibly as a housemaid issuing her mistress's commands to her fellow-servants, while the koil, crammed with juicy fruit, whines like a water-carrier. The quails fight; the partridges cry; the domestic peacock dances about delighted, and fans the palace with his gem-emblazoned tail, as if to cool its heated walls; the swans, like balls of moonlight, roll about in pairs, and follow each graceful maid, as if to learn to imitate her walk, whilst the long-legged cranes stalk about the court, like eunuchs on guard. Some birds are in cages, either carried about or suspended from the balconies, so that the lady lives here amongst the winged race, as if she tenanted Indra's garden. Well, where do you go now? Att. Enter, sir, the eighth court. (They enter.) Mai. Pray, who is that gentleman dressed in silken raiment, glittering with rich ornaments, and rolling about as if his limbs were out of joint? Att. That, sir, is my lady's brother. Mai. Humph-what course of pious austerity in his last life, made him Vasantasena's brother? Nay, not so, for, after all, though smooth, bright, and fragrant, the champa-tree, that grows on funeral ground, is not to be approached. And pray, who is that lady dressed in flowered muslin? a goodly person truly, her ankles have drank up all the oil of her well-greased slippers; she sits in state-high on a gorgeous throne. Att. That is my lady's mother. Mai. A very portly dame indeed; how did she contrive to get in here? Oh, I suppose she was first set up here, as they do with an unwieldy Mahadeva, and then the walls were built round her. 1 Att. How now, slave? what, do you make a jest of our lady-affected too as she is with a quartan ague ? Mai. A what?-Oh mighty Siva, be pleased to afflict me with a quartan ague, if such are its symptoms. Att. You will die, slave. Mai. No, hussey; better that this bloated porpoise, swelled up with wine and years, die; there will then be a dinner for a thousand jackalls-but no matter what do you know about it? I had heard of Vasantasena's wealth, and now I find it true -it seems to me that the treasures of the three worlds are collected in this mansion. I am in doubt whether to regard it as the dwelling of a courtezan, or the palace of Kuvear. Where is your lady? (They enter the Garden.) Att. She's in the arbour. Enter. Mai. A very lovely scene: the numerous trees are bowed down by delicious fruit, and between them are silken swings constructed for the light form of youthful beauty. The yellow jasmine, the graceful Malati, the full-blossomed Mallika, the blue clitoria, spontaneous shed their flowers, and strew the ground with a carpet more lovely than any in the groves of Indra. The reservoir glows with the red lotus blossoms, like the dawn with the fiery beams of the rising sun; and here the asokatree, with its rich crimson blossoms, shines like a young warrior bathed with the sanguine shower of the furious fight. Where is your lady? Att. Look lower, and you will see her. Mai. (Approaching Vasantasena.) Health to you, lady. Vas. (Rising.) Welcome, Maitreya; take a seat. Mai. Pray keep you yours. (They sit.) Vas. I hope all is well with the son of the Sarthavaha. Mai. Is all well with your ladyship? Vas. Undoubtedly, Maitreya. The birds of affection gladly nestle in the tree, which, fruitful in excellence, puts forth the flowers of magnanimity, and the leaves of merit, and rises with the trunk of modesty from the root of honour. Maitreya tells the lady that his friend has been plundered of the Casket at the gaming-table-and produces the jewels. What! the grave Charudatta turned gambler! She knows that the Casket has been stolen-yet her Beloved says it was lost at play. "Even in this I love him!" She at once fervently seizes on the jewels, and presses them to her heart. "Maitreya-tell that sad gambler, Charudatta, I shall call upon him in the evening." He mistakes her meaning-knowing nothing of the restoration of the Casket-and whispers to himself, "So-so-she intends to get more out of him, I suppose ! wish he was rid of this precious acquaintance." But the enamoured Vasantasena cannot wait another minute, and orders her attendant to take the jewels and accompany her to Charudatta. The attendant bids her look at the gathering storm-but she cries "No matter. Let the clouds gather, and dark night And heavy fall unintermitted showers. His presence, whose loved image warms Take charge of these, and lightly trip along." Mai. And who is she? Mai, She-she-she! What are you sputtering about, like an old miser when things are dear? Who-who-who? Kum. Hoo-hoo-hoo! What are you hoo-whooing about, like an owl that has been scared from a sacrifice?" After a good deal more of the same sort of wit-better and worse-the steward condescends to inform Charudatta that his mistress is close at hand. He is there to announce her -but the scene changes to the outside of the garden, and there stands Vasantasena, splendidly dressed, attended by her Vita, a female servant, and one carrying a large umbrella. She has an establishment like that of a queen-steward-chamberlain— Vita-elephant-keepers-and many women-and now we suppose to give Charudatta time to prepare all things for her reception-she and her attendant indulge, under their umbrella, in dialogue, to the extent of some hundred and fifty lines or so, descriptive of the rainy season. We cannot afford room for their effusions-but they talk well of chattering frogs quaffing the pellucid drops. with joy of the peahen shrieking in her delight-of clouds that, like unwieldy elephants, roll their inflated masses grumbling on, or whiten with the migratory troops of hovering cranes-of the stork's shrill cry, sounding like the plaintive taborof scattered ant-hills shrinking from the shower-of lightning darting brilliant rays, like golden lamps hung in temples-of the timid moonlight peeping amidst the clouds, like the consort of an humble lord-of the confused intermixture of day and night, and the closing of all the lotus eyes of ether. These are but a few of the images poured out by the Poetesses-and Vasantasena's impassioned imagination sees many sights in the heavens, that seem to her to shadow forth her own feelings and her own fate. Act V. opens with a view of Charudatta's garden. He enters-soliloquizing on the impending stormin which his fancy sees semblances of storks, and soaring swans, of dolphins, and the monsters of the deep, and dragons vast, and pinnacles, and towers, and temples. His sublime soliloquy is broken in upon by Kumbhillaka, Vasantasena's steward, who takes a different view of the storm. "I wish," quoth he, every one to take notice, that the harder it rains the more thoroughly do I get wet, and the colder the wind that blows down my back, the more do my limbs shiver. A pretty situation for a man of my talents-for one who can play the flute with seven holes, the vina with seven strings, can sing like a jackass, and acknowledges no musical superior, except, perhaps, Tumburu" (the chief Chorister of Heaven)" or Nareda "(son of Brahma, and inventor of the Indian lute). He then flings a clod at Maitreya, who has failed to observe him -but who, on being struck, supposes the clod to have been displaced by a pigeon, and threatens " to knock him off the wall like a ripe mango from a It never rains in India but it pours tree." He then recognises the stew--and the Vita is a spunge. Vasanard-and they thus converse in pre- tasena is silent for a moment, and he sence and hearing of Charudatta: seizes on that moment to announce her "Kum. I salute you, sir. Mai. And what brings you here in such foul weather? Kum. She sent me. "Ho there! inform the worthy Charudatta A lady at his door awaits; her locks |