"My face is slightly pock-marked I know; but when painted and dressed
in the court jewels I looked remarkably well as Sita, with my hair
floating away over my shoulders and down to my feet, bound only by an
exquisite crown of gold, such as Sita is supposed to have worn. On
the very first occasion of my performing before the king I had to take
part in this drama. As soon as we had got through the first scene, the
king inquired my name and age. This set my heart beating in great wild
throbs all through the rest of the play. But after this weeks passed
by, and I heard nothing more from his Majesty. He had forgotten me.
"I grew tired of reciting, and keeping time, and singing my sweetest
songs for no one's amusement but that of the old hag, who made me work
like a slave for the benefit of the rest of her pupils.
"I began to wish there would be some great _fête_ outside of the
palace, where all the court, nobles and princes, and the king, would
assemble, and where I could act Sita and sing like Narawèke,[12] and
dance like Thawadee.[13]
"Then father and mother might see me too, and O, how pleased they would
be! I thought. You do not know how dull it is to be acting before
women, and with women only, dressed in robes of kings and princesses.
If it were only a real king, or a prince, or even a noble, it would not
be quite so bad; but all that mockery of love, bah! it is too stupid.
I was sick of my life. I wished mother had kept me at home, instead of
Chand. I could then have done just what I had a mind to, and have been
just as gay and idle as she was.
"Well! the day came at last. I was all but sixteen when that great and
eventful day arrived. The _fête_ was in honor of the king's grandson's
hair-cutting.
"Though I had performed several times at the court, his Majesty had
taken no further notice of me, and I was sorely discontented with
myself, piqued at the indifference of the king, and enraged against the
old ladies, who seized every opportunity to snub me, and take down my
pride, declaring that a pock-marked face was not a fit offering for the
king.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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