And the pallor of their bosoms, and leaned forth Blindly to shadow faces in the north?

All these things have I dreamed, all these have come

And hardly have I broken free therefrom.

No easy triumph his victory I deem
Who wins against the beauty of a dream,
Or lays aside a vision for the light
Unseen, and ever unconceived of sight.
Yet none may tell thereof, nor ever can
See God save through the agonies of man,
And on my pillar, naked and alone,

I have made man's utter travail all my own.
Found all his torment in a fierce constraint
That made the wanton equal with the saint-
The battle that persists, the bitter cry
That separates the soul and flesh for aye;
The lust that shakes, the passions that reprove
Utterly the pure sanctities of love.

This have I found the payment and the price
The very inner soul of Paradise,

Upon my pillar the heart of all men's hearts
Set on such loneliness as breaks or parts
The shattered spirit, here apart the place
Of high and pure salvation of the race.
Utterly separate and self-cast forth

I found out loveliness and power and worth,
Might in the weakness, wisdom in the will
That falls and fails and will go onward still.
Have not the Caesars of the serried years
Forsaken their red phalanxes of spears,
And come in all their greatness of desire
To feed my soul gigantically with fire?
The loves of all the poets past and gone
Have flamed like flowered incense on my stone.
For in their glory, in the trampling sound

Of their dead music perfect light I found.

The very lineaments of my despair

Had looked upon them, and I knew their share

Of this my exile limited by death.

They drew as I the ecstasy of breath

Apart and in a shadow, and they knew

The whole gigantic toil I stumble through,

And learned to dread no evil even as I;

But to face it, though the world itself should die.

All men have stood and all men stand alone
On pylons more enduring than the stone.
And I have sought to isolate my soul

That such a banner of splendor might unroll
As when dawn shakes the standards of the sea.
And like a glory have they thronged to me,
Legions and myriads of great thoughts enthroned
Upon gigantic music thunder-toned,

Shadows of hearts that shook evanished nights
With majesties and miracles of lights,
The purple dawns of marvelous belief
Burning above the mountains of my grief.
And Simeon of the Pillar yet shall stand
Under the shadow of God's lifted hand
Against the dread of darkness and of night
Till the Lord's flagellating wrath shall smite
The armies of my trouble, yea, for aye
For man on this squared capital on high,
For mine eyes see what veil shall be withdrawn
Forever when God summons up the dawn.

SHAKUNTALA

AN ACTING VERSION IN THREE ACTS*

GARNET HOLME AND ARTHUR W. RYDER

NOTE

This version of Shakuntala represents an earnest effort to adapt for modern purposes one of the world's dramatic masterpieces. Since Shakuntala is a true masterpiece, its spirit is thoroughly modern, in spite of the fifteen centuries that have passed since its first presentation in India. Adaptation therefore means: first, cutting; and second, greater emphasis on a few points with which an Occidental audience is unfamiliar. The narrative verses which open the final scene were written for this version; the hymn in the final scene and a stanza in Act I, Scene 3, are taken from other works of Kalidasa. Otherwise, the matter of the play is that of Kalidasa's Shakuntala, with a minimum of verbal alteration.

This version has been written with a modern stage in view, though in the Indian drama the curtain was at the back of the stage, necessitating the exit of all actors at the end of each scene.

The formal bow is made as follows. The hands are placed palm to palm, then raised so that the thumbs touch the forehead, and kept in this position until the lowest point of the body's inclination.

The only character that needs explanation is Madhavya, whose title is inadequately rendered "clown." He is a man of high social station, intimate with the king, and technically a gentleman, though ignorant and gluttonous.

The inhabitants of the grove of the gods should wear a common and distinctive costume, preferably blue and white.

Permission to use this acting edition either by professionals or by amateurs should be sought from GARNET HOLME, 266 Chestnut Street, San Francisco.

*

Prepared on the basis of A. W. Ryder's translation of Kalidasa's play. Copyright, 1914, by Garnet Holme and Arthur W. Ryder. Acting rights reserved.

Hunters, hermits, hermit-women, hermit-girls, palace attendants, dancing-girls, heavenly chorus, and other celestial figures.

Act one and the first scene of act two pass in Kanva's forest hermitage; the second scene of act two in the king's palace; the first scene of act three in the street before the palace; the final scene in the grove of the gods. Between acts two and three, six years elapse.

SHAKUNTALA

PROLOGUE

BENEDICTION UPON THE AUDIENCE (spoken in Sanskrit, if possible)

Eight forms has Shiva, lord of all and king:
And these are water, first created thing;
And fire, which speeds the sacrifice begun;
The priest; and time's dividers, moon and sun;
The all-embracing ether, path of sound;
The earth, wherein all seeds of life are found;
And air, the breath of life: may he draw near,

Revealed in these, and bless those gathered here.
(During the last two lines, enter the stage-director, R.)

The stage-director. Enough of this! (Turning toward the dressing-room.) Madam, if you are ready, pray come here. (Enter an actress, L.)

Actress. Here I am, sir. What am I to do? (Both bow.)

Dir. Our audience is very discriminating, and we are to offer them a new play, called Shakuntala and the ring of recognition, written by the famous Kalidasa. Every member of the cast must be on his mettle.

Act. Your arrangements are perfect. Nothing will go wrong. What shall we do first?

Dir. First, you must sing something to please the ears of the audience.

Act. What season of the year shall I sing about?

Dir. Why, sing about the pleasant summer which has just begun. Act. (sings)

The siris-blossoms fair,

With pollen laden,

Are plucked to deck her hair

By many a maiden,

But gently; flowers like these

Are kissed by eager bees.

Dir. Well done! The whole theatre is captivated by your song,

and sits as if painted.

What play shall we give them to keep

their good-will?