Page:The Sanskrit Drama.djvu/207

202 contrasted with that of Kālidāsa belongs to the Gauḍi type, which loves compounds in prose, and aims at the grandiose rather than sweetness and grace. The adoption of such a style, possibly under the influence of the reputation of Bāṇa, is wholly unjustified in drama; the prose, which normally in the plays moves freely and easily, is hampered by compounds of ridiculous length which must have been nearly as unintelligible to his audiences as they are now without careful study. The defect, it is true, gradually diminishes; the Uttararāmacarita is far freer from sins of this type. In the verse the theory does not make such demands for compounds, so that the poetry is often better than the prose; especially in his latest drama it gains clearness and intelligibility. Sanskrit, however, was clearly in large measure an artificial language to Bhavabhūti; he employs far too freely rare terms culled from the lexicons, honourable to his scholarship but not to his taste, and the same lack of taste is displayed in the excess of his exaggerations. Of the sweetness and charm of Kālidāsa he has as little as of the power of suggestion displayed by his predecessor; but he excels in drawing with a few strokes the typical features of a situation or emotion. He seeks propriety in his characters' utterances; Janaka shows his philosophical training, as do the two ascetics in Act IV; Lava manifests his religious pupilship under Vālmīki; Tamasā as a river goddess uses similes from the waters. Effective is the speech of the old chamberlain who addresses the newly-crowned Rāma as 'Rāma dear' to remember the change and fall back on 'Your Majesty'. It may be admitted also that in many passages Bhavabhūti does produce effective concatenations of sounds, but only at the expense of natural expression and clearness of diction. The appreciation which he has excited in India is often due not to his real merits, but to admiration of these linguistic tours de force, such as the following:

dordaṇḍāñcitacandraçekharadhanurdaṇḍāvabhan̄godyataṣ

tan̄karadhvanir āryabālacaritaprastāvanādiṇḍimaḥ

drākparyastakapālasampuṭamiladbrahmāṇḍabhāndodara –

bhrāmyatpiṇḍitacaṇḍimā katham aho nādyāpi viçrāmyati.

The twang, emanating from the broken staff of Çiva's bow, bent by his staff-like arms, is the trumpet sound proclaiming to the