University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene 1.

An open public place in Kyôtô, upon which abuts a broad newly-built bridge, of red lacquer and gilding. The bridge and neighbouring buildings are gaily decorated with national flags and painted lanterns. Crowds of citizens, in various dress, throng the approaches, which are kept by armed men.
Enters Sakamune, apart; in full Samurai costume.
Sakamune.
What is't the grey-beards mean by “happiness”?—
Time was I thought no peace could be, no joy,
Outside the amber arms of Adzuma;
That all the days of all my richest years
Would be well pawned to buy one night with her,
Spent in a million kisses on her mouth.
But now another joy! a different joy!
The hunter's, not the lover's—yet as great,
Oh, greater, keener, deeper; tingling more
The vigilant sense—for I shall see to-day
Destiny dance while I do pipe. He—she—
Will blindly meet, eagle-hot Morito,
And subtle, lovely, snake-bright Adzuma
Whose beauty—will she, nill she—draws men's hearts
As on a bank in Spring the mamushi
Brings round her shining coils the dazzled birds.
What's after, I will heed: enough to-day
The snare's spread, and here comes my witless prey!

Enters Morito, armed, and splendidly apparelled.
Morito.

Is all well-set? Are our soldiers posted?
Have the roadways for the procession been sprinkled
with fresh sand and flowers? And the upper rooms

of the houses,—are they cleared of such as would dare
to stand higher than the Son of Heaven?

Saka.

All the worshipful commands have been fulfilled.

Mor.

Bare thy bright sword, then, Sakamune, and
lay it across thy knee. Good lieges, all, Shita ni oru!
Down upon your faces, quick! for the Majesty of
Japan cometh.

[The populace prostrates itself, and the Imperial Procession enters by the bridge; the Emperor riding in a gilded and painted kago, borne by footmen, fantastically attired; the Ladies of the palace, Court Nobles, Samurai, Attendants, Dancing Girls, &c., &c., following. Banners, hatamochi, &c., &c.
A troop of young Girls dance the Echigo-jishi, with accompanying song and chorus.]
Chorus.
A junk came in with silks and spice,
Oh, the land of Japan is long!
My lover is hoeing the rows of the rice,
What shall we sing for a song? &c., &c.

[At the departure of the Imperial train, the citizens raise loyal cries of “banzai! banzai!” (“May you live ten thousand years!”) and, amongst the departing crowd, Adzuma and her Mother, with their attendants, are seen entering their kago, to return home; and presently disappear by the bridge. Sakamune and Morito remain alone.]
Sakamune.

Come, my Lord Morito! It is well performed!
Deign now to wash the dust of the vulgar
from thy throat with a cup of red-fish saké, in my
quarters.

Morito.

Sakamune! Sawest thou yonder Lady?

Saka.

What Lady, Trifler!

Mor.

Why, her! her!—that most lovely woman
who passed hence a moment ago in her chair?

Saka.

Nay, indeed, I saw none. Yet, again, that is
false, for I saw scores, hundreds! Naruhodo! Every
petticoat in the City was out upon us, I think, to
gaze at the show.

Mor.

Aho! nonsense! This one was to all the

others as the full moon to a paper-lantern, as the
white crane on Arashiyama to the sparrow in the
bamboos; as, as, as—

Saka.

Good Morito! hath a flash from some black
eye pierced at last that corselet where an enemy's
point could never yet find its way? We thought you
proof against such light assaults.

Mor.

If thou didst not mark her, it matters not.
But I must know her name, and house. I will ride
after them. Take back the soldiers for me, and bid an
officer lead my horse to the lane of the persimmon-tree,
for she passed thereby.

Saka.

Kashi komarishita! I obey! [Aside]
Now
fluttereth my foolish eagle straight to his poisoned
meat!

[Exit Sakamune.

Mor.
[alone.]
Have I my selfsame eyesight, reason, will?
Am I that man who this morn buckled on,
Over a careless heart, breast-piece and belt
Whose tough steel hardly keeps the beat of the heart
From bursting them this hour? Oh She! but She!
Was ever such form seen, such heavenly grace,
Such eyes of loveliest light beneath a brow
So even-arched, so smoothly shadowing back
Into that twilight, where the black silk hair
Shuts in the soft fair face? Yet 'twas not that!
Something beyond her glorious beauty drew.
Where have I seen her? In what spot before
Were we encountered? Nowhere!—Once beheld
Would be to be in mind for aye. What voice
Whispers me, then, that she is Destiny?
I rave, and waste my words: but I must go
Whither she goes, be it for weal or woe!
[Exit Morito.

Scene 2.

Back gateway of Adzuma's house. People, of various classes, passing and repassing. A Fisherman, with his tubs, comes out from the entrance of the house, as Morito approaches.
Enter Morito.
Morito

Here she went in. How may I discover
her name? Ah! doubtless, this simple fellow will
know it.

The Fisherman, while repacking his tubs, and adjusting his yoke, sings:
“The spot where one may hear
The nightingale sing clear
Is three ‘ri’ from the saké-shop
And bean-curds not too near!”

Mor.

Oi, ryoshi! hast sold all thy fish to the
mistress of this house that thou chirpest so merrily?

Fisherman.

Your pardon, Danna! Oh, your high
forgiveness, most worshipful Knight! I spied not the
august presence. My bones are become as water for
such boldness.

Mor.

Nay! there is no offence.

Fisher.

That is by reason of your Honour's goodness.
Why! there be knights, lording it up and
down our city now, with two swords sticking out of
their belts, would hack a poor man to little pieces, as
I slice a tai, if they liked not his song.

Mor.

The Emperor's justice should be done upon such.

Fisher.

Naruhodo! Kind Lord, it is far from the
mouths of the poor to the ears of the Mikado. As for
justice, we are like the peoples of the sea. The great
fish eat the little fish, and to splash too much only
makes the other big ones come. Our best safety lies
in silence, and the shallows.

Mor.

How, the shallows?

Fisher.

I mean, worthy Sir! to be one of a million
minnows in a finger's breadth of muddy water. Thus
may a poor man live, perchance, until such time as
he doth die. Shall I bear a fresh fish, Sir, to your
honourable abode?

Mor.

Thou shalt earn the price of a whole tub-full
of tara, if thou wilt truly answer a question. Hold
up thy hand; here be silver bu.

Fisher.

Domo! 'tis a week's good fish-selling to
me. I will tell thee as much truth for this, as ever
honest words can compass.

Mor.

Whose house is this?

Fisher.

Why, everybody knows that much; 'tis the
yashiki of the Lord Wataru Watanabe.

Mor.

Didst thou mark a lady enter in her litter,
even as thou camest forth?

Fisher.

Truly I did. 'Twas Wataru Sama's wife,
the lady Adzuma. And a most gentle, and a most
noble, and a most worthy lady she is! 'Tis a piece
of sunshine to encounter her on the way, or to sell
even an iwashi into her hands. Nay, if she buy not
so much as a single awabi from me, I am always
richer by the sweet words of her mouth.

Mor.

I thank thee! Go thy ways in peace, and
Kompira Sama, the god of fishing-nets, send thee
customers.

Fisher.

I would they might all be like thee. Then
would I let flat-fish and shell-fish for ever alone, and
sell only the truth. Truly, it is a good commodity

for the markets. Worshipful Knight! I take very
humble leave.

Mor.
Fare thee well.
[Exit Fisherman.]

Adzuma! Adzuma! She,
then, is this Star of women—the daughter of my
aunt Koromogawa, whom, as I do remember, my old
guardian, Dosen, sought for me in marriage; wedded
now to Watanabe, my friend and my fellow-knight.
Here therefore doth Honour stay my steps. Yet, ah,
her face, and her form! Ah, to know she is now
within those lattices, desirable as Heaven, dearer than
life—but, since all this is so, farther removed from me
than the moon from the bird of the night who cries
to her.

Enter Kameju.
Kameju.

Are you here, dear Lord! They seek you
all over the city.

Mor.

Good Kameju! do you know this gate?

Kam.

Very well. It is the gate of Wataru Watanabe's
house.

Mor.

Call it not a house. 'Tis a treasure-shrine
that holds a golden goddess; a shell that shuts in a
most priceless pearl! I have seen enter here, just
now, Kameju, one that has taken with her the heart
out of my bosom, the peace out of my days, the
strength out of my sword, and well-nigh the honour
out of my knighthood. Oh! Kameju, I have seen
Adzuma, who should have been my wife.

Kam.
You know I love you, Morito. Long since,
My father Dosen, dying—to whose care
Lord Yasuhira left you—spake, at brink
Of that world whence our still ones speak no more,
Son Kameju! there is thy liege, thy chief,
Thy breast-brother, thy charge! See that thou giv'st
Core of thy heart, and spirit of thy soul,
Strength of thy arm, and service of thy blood
To Morito Endo, as thy father gave,
Till death unbuckles this my blade from thee.
And, Morito! I have given;—and I give.

Mor.
Right well I wot, brave Kameju and true!

Kam.
So shall you better bear me, saying this:—
All deadly as is sweep of steel, and dark
The chance of battle to the soldiermost,
I had liever see you, sweet Lord! thick beset
With thirsty, sparkling swords; encompassed in
By reek and rattle of a losing fight—
So I were there—than standing safe and sound,
But love-smit, at the door of Adzuma.

Mor.
Your reasons, my Kameju!

Kam.
Half, my Lord
Are reasonless: the chill that steals the heat
Out of men's veins, when secret shadows pass,
When nameless perils creep: the sense we have—
Keenest for what we love, and quite outside
Work-a-day wit—of some twist in the path
Which leads to woe and fate. I shall not fright
Morito with what's womanish. Well, then,
Be my plea thus: here thou and Duty stand
Friends yet, and nobly linked; thy fair days smirched
With nothing misbecoming, thy young name
Writ splendid on the scroll of chosen youth,
The Emperor's trusted. For those eyes of hers,
Those arms of hers, those beckoning breasts of hers—
(Which, being given, are no more to give)—
For one of many a fair one in this world
(This one not yours to have)—wilt set all by,
And let them write you down the Knight that sold
Fame, name, and virtue for a plundered bliss?

Mor.
Your words are strong. So is her loveliness.

Kam.
Who brought you hither; was't the Samurai?

Mor.
She brought, Adzuma brought! The man you mean
Never so much as marked. On sight of her—
Like whose delightful beauty in this world
Nothing hath been, or can be,—I was fain
To follow, as the leaf rolls with the wind,
As the stream hastens where the valley slopes.
I had no will save what the green sea hath
Obeying the white moon.

Kam.
Oh! be thyself—
Morito Musha Endo. Did she note
The trouble that her fair face wrought on thee,
This Lady?

Mor.
Not a whit! her modest eyes
Kept the ground meekly, curtained off from all
By veil of long-dropped lashes.

Kam.
Come away,
Dear Master, and forget! A war is toward,
The Palace keeps a charge of note for thee:
Nothing's yet done amiss! Think that you see
Your Father's spirit softly from his tomb
Win you to come, laying his hand in yours;
While I, this other hand, thy henchman true,
Humbly constrain. Come! Do what none else dares,
Make thy proud heart yield—conquer Morito!

Mor.
(gloomily.)
What hast thou in the sword-bag, Kameju?

Kam.
I did forget. I hold a message here;
Wataru sent it. At the gaming-bout
Last week you played too rash; you lost a fief
To Sakamune, and, for present lack
Of coin, you pawned your sword, the Bizen one;
'T was not well done, dear Lord: you know that too!
Of this heard Watanabe, so he took
Gold in a bag, and bought the good blade back:
'Tis here, and with it, a scroll. Morito reads—

“To the very true Knight and his Friend, Morito
Endo, Wataru Watanabe sends this, asking pardon for
too bold a good-will,—his sword, to wit. 'Tis too rare
a piece to be in any hands save those which have
oftentimes wielded it manfully. The sender craves
leave still to live Lord Morito's creditor, until such
time as he be weary of giving Wataru pleasure, or
luckier at the hazard.”

[Morito turns away impetuously from the door of Adzuma.]
Mor.
Hold fast my other; I'll go with thee!

Scene 3.

A Banquet-room in a Tea-house, opening on a Garden. Many high officers and Samurai seated upon the mats, drinking saké, and conversing. Dancing girls perform, with music, singing, &c. Painted lanterns and lamps illuminate the Banquet-room and Garden. Morito, Sakamune, Kameju, and the Lord of Idzu are among the company, with Hojo, Doi, and Adachi, all Samurai.
Hojo.

I tell you the old days were the good days.
It was merry in Japan before we fetched in from China
the outlandish letters and ways.

Doi.

Oh, a cup of saké with you, Sir! You are
augustly right! The good old times went out with
the Shinto times.

Lord of Idzu.

Yes, and the worst is tha the pretty

women have all passed away with the ancient poetry,
faith, and manners. Minamoto Genji was well advised
to spend his rainy nights railing at the ugly
faces of our modern Japan girls.

Sakamune.

O Yuki! [to a Waiting-maid]
fill up
again my Lord of Idzu's sakazuke, and let him see
your black eyes sparkle over the rim of it. He will
perchance think better of his land then.

L. of Idzu.

Oh, she is all very well for a maiko.
But where are gone the famous beauties of Kyôtô?
Who is there now left to match Inishiyi with the
moon-face, or Soto-öri the desire of her day, or
Komachi, who wrote the verses, and was so beauteous
that people bought the mirrors into which she
had looked, to get dreams from them?

Saka.

Think you there are none such now?

L. of Idzu.

I say it, Sir! Here sit I, a Hokumen
of the Court, that hath two swords, and am of repute;

yet her Ladyship my wife!—well, she hath not indeed
six fingers, and is not exactly shark-skinned; but,
since she hears me not, I will honestly tell you, she
hath the eyes of a monkey, the nose of a fox, and the
mouth of a frog.

Adachi.

Truly, in old times a great nobleman had
better fortune.

Saka.

She is doubtless an excellent Lady in the
dark, and a good blade mends a bad scabbard. It
won't do, however, to tell us that Kyôtô holds no
perfect beauty while Wataru's wife dwells in the
city.

L. of Idzu.

Is she so fair?

Saka.

Nay, ask Morito. He galloped away from
us all, last week at the Bridge, only to get a second
look at an angel he had spied, which angel, I heard,
was Wataru's wife.

Hojo.

I have seen her; and truly she is of a rare

comeliness. Wataru's destiny is to be envied. But
a most holy Lady! Oh, she hath no eyes except for
her husband, and goes not abroad once in a moon,
save to pray at the shrine of Kwannon, or to write
poetry to the plum and cherry blossoms.

Saka.

She is fair enough. But she is only a
woman, after all, like the rest. Who wants may have,
if he only knows the right road.

Hojo.

What are you saying, Sir Samurai? She
hath a husband whom she adores. Dream you she
is of the flesh that makes a geisha or a joro? Why,
naruhodo! you set us laughing.

Saka.

O warai nasaruna! Don't laugh till you
know! I am saying what is true. The woman is
well enough: I speak naught against her, specially
since Morito has cast his eyes that way. But her
mother Koromogawa possesses an extremely base
mind. While Adzuma was yet unpromised many a

good man sought her for wife; but Koromogawa
spurned them all, rejected even our noble Morito,
looking about for a rich husband, with plenty of rice-bags
and gold koban.

Hojo.

You have drunk too much saké, Sakamune.

Saka.

Nay! I am talking sooth. Forgetting justice
and shame, she sold her pretty daughter to Watanabe;
and she would sell her over again to you, my Lord of
Idzu; or to Morito; if there were only money enough
forthcoming to gild the palm of the old bargainer.

Mor.
[starting up, and half drawing his sword.]

That is a lie, Sakamune! And, were it not a lie,
what intend you, to speak so before this honourable
company of one who was my father's sister? It is
much if I do not smite you.

L. of Idzu.

Morito, good Morito! sweet Lord
Morito! be patient! He is thy friend, and only a
little drunk. Remember, if you draw point from

sheath, a Samurai's sword cannot go back without
blood upon it.

[They succeed in restraining Morito.
Saka.

I was to blame; I lay my head at your feet,
Endo Morito! The wine had loosened my tongue
too much. I was a fool to forget that one like your
worship bears an aunt no grudge for discarding him
as a breeder does a half-bred stud-horse. It is not
well, I see, to be faithful to friends. If you are angry,
take my head; I will not defend it.

Mor.

Nay! but thou shalt not say Adzuma hath
a price.

Saka.

Oh, I doubt not she herself is innocent
enough. I was incensed against her mother for
despising you. If it is for that you would kill me,
strike! I will not even lift up my hand.

L. of Idzu.

We think he meant no wrong, Morito!

Saka.

How should I mean wrong to Morito Endo,

the best of all my friends? If you forgive Koromogawa,
forgive me also. I was to blame; I beg
forgetfulness.

Mor.

Why, then, let it be forgotten. I think,
indeed, thou art honest. I am over-quickly moved.
Thou, too, shalt pardon my hot blood.

L. of Idzu.

Sa, sa! this is well! And now let us
walk under the stars, and cool our heads. There was
never trouble yet between good fellows, but some
woman's name brewed it. Sa! sa! sa!

[Exeunt Omnes.

Scene 4.

A Garden-room in Adzuma's house. Wataru and Adzuma together. She is perusing a Chinese book.
Wataru.
What read you, Sweetheart?

Adzuma.
Oh, a foreign scroll
About a far-off land,—quite far, I think,
Where, when they would adjudge some one accused,
The man, or woman, was close blindfolded,
And red-hot shards of brass from the furnace fire
Being then scattered in a Temple-ground,
This he, or she, arraigned, must bare-foot walk
In the fierce labyrinth of that ordeal.

Wat.
A dreadful test! And, if the naked feet
Touched the hot brass?

Adz.
Then that was guiltiness;
And guiltlessness showed only from good luck
To thread the perilous pathway harmlessly.

Wat.
I hope just Heaven would guide the true feet safe.

Adz.
Ah, if it did! but I must think—alas!
That, oftentimes, the false foot came through well,
While th'innocent stumbled 'gainst the blazing bars.
Life sometimes seems to me like that hard test.

Wat.
Wherein, my Pearl?

Adz.
Because,—tread as we will,
With never so much heed, the path of the years,—
Fate, or our foes, or relics of old faults
Sow the way with so many snares for us.
Oh, dost thou deem that gentle Heaven, indeed,
Would find a safe road 'mid the fires for those
Whose feet were clean of wrong?

Wat.
Surely I do;
At last—far-off—nothing befalls the good
Save good. That I hold firm.

Adz.
If you did see
My feet burned by the brass?

Wat.
Why, I should know
The dull brass blundered, though a thousand tongues
Called thy hurts justice.

Adz.
Dear and loving Lord!
Hold fast to that! Go you on guard to-day?

Wat.
'Till th'afternoon.

Adz.
Then shall I—by your leave
Ride with my mother to the holy shrines,
And pray the goddess that she keep you well,
Nor weary yet of granting Adzuma
Comfort and courage of Wataru's love.

Scene 5.

The Court-yard of the Hase Temple of the Goddess Kwannon, at Kyôtô, showing front of the Temple, with steps leading to shrine; the praying-rope, and bell; the tank of purificatory water, &c., &c.
Enter Morito and Sakamune.
Morito.

To what end dost thou bring me hither?

Sakamune.

I will answer that anon. I vexed you
sorely at the Tea-house lately. I am sorry for it.

Mor.

I was too hot. But thou spakest lightly of
one so sweet, that, seeking to forget her, I still ever
steadfastly remember. Oh, Adzuma! why did my idle
eyes ever fall upon thee?

Saka.

To take pleasure in a fair face. It is what
eyes were made for.

Mor.

I have forsworn all further seeing of her. I
have received kindness from her husband, who is a
gallant and worthy knight; and Kameju says there
is no Lady in the land more cherished by her Lord,
or happier in her chastity. Oh, that the wars would
come again! I would find peace in the front of them.

Saka.

One can be a soldier without dying, and
lover without sighing. Adzuma, thou should'st know,
belongs to thee by right.

Mor.

How sayest thou that?

Saka.

You will draw blade on me if I tell the
truth.

Mor.

No! no! 'Twas when you spoke ill of my
kinswoman before those saké-bibbers.

Saka.

And if I speak ill of her again?

Mor.

Oh, say your say.

Saka.

I am foolish to be so friendly, but you shall
hear. There is none oweth more to you than your

Aunt Koromogawa. She owed you Adzuma, and
cheated you out of payment.

Mor.

If I thought that!

Saka.

If you thought that, would you sit tamely
down, and suffer the lily planted for you to bloom in
another's garden. You—named hokumen at twenty—
would you let the fox eat what was meant for the tiger?

Mor.

No! no!

Saka.

You have seen Adzuma. You know what
has been lost—the Jewel of her time; the Star of
women; the fairest spouse that ever lay on a man's
breast. But if you have sworn patience, why should
I speak more?

Mor.

Nay, go on! go on!

Saka.

Well, then, Koromogawa, I say, owes everything
to your father. She was poor, friendless, and
the daughter of a concubine, praying daily to the
goddess for a husband. One night she fell asleep in

the Temple and dreamed that Kwannon appeared,
and bade her take the haori from a woman slumbering
beside her. She awoke, and saw, indeed, a lady sleeping
near, from whom she stole the garment, and
departed. On the road a knight was riding, Jiro
Yasuhira, who, looking in her face, courteously saluted
her, and said: “I had a dear wife, who is dead: and
I have sworn never to take another, until I found one
exactly resembling her in countenance and figure.
Last night I dreamed I should encounter such an one
dressed in a blue haori, and, in truth, you are just
like my lost wife.” Upon this Koromogawa confessed
what she had asked from the goddess, and how
she also had dreamed; after which, thinking it all the
decree of destiny, they went to Oshû together, and
Yasuhira took her for wife.

Mor.

'Twas that same Lord who slew the great
white eagle?

Saka.

That same! Well! very happily dwelled
they together, until they came again to Kyôtô, and
then a little thing turned out for Koromogawa a
large matter.

Mor.

It is often so; naruhodo.

Saka.

A tame dove, pursued by a kite, flew for
refuge into Koromogawa's litter. Having rescued
and returned it, the mistress of the dove invited your
Aunt to come within and take repose; and she was
hospitably entertained by this Lady, who was none
other than Shiraito, the wife of Endo Morimitsu—your
mother. Growing friendly, your Aunt told all the
story of the dream, and of the blue haori which she
had stolen; and what shame she still felt, though it
had obtained her a husband; so that—spake she,
“I would give a thousand ryo to find the owner, and
restore it.”

Mor.

That is not like the bad spirit you alleged.

Saka.

Oh, it is to you alone that she is so evil.
Shiraito inquired if the garment was of blue silk,
with gold chrysanthemums upon it, and Koromogawa
answering “Yes,” they bade a servant bring it from
the litter; whereupon, steadfastly regarding it, Shiraito
exclaimed, “That is my haori! I was she who
slumbered in the Temple!”

Mor.

Is this all certain?

Saka.

Oh, it is true. Koromogawa was both rejoiced
and ashamed. But your mother comforted her,
saying it was the way and will of the Mi-Hotoke, and
your father, Morimitsu—entering just then—made
her also courteous cheer. Presently, observing the
silver dagger which she had laid aside, he asked:
“Whence got you this?” Koromogawa replied, “It
was the keepsake of my mother, from my father,
when he sent her away.” “Right well I know it,”
said Morimitsu, “it was the parting gift of my father

to his concubine, and you are my younger sister!
How wondrously have we met! I see, indeed, in you
the features of my sire.” Presently, in came Yasuhira
also, having found out where his wife was entered;
and they all made good cheer together, and drunk the
“three cups” of relationship.

Mor.

'Tis very strange!

Saka.

Afterwards they lived affectionately in one
place, and thou wast born of Shiraito, and afterwards
Adzuma of Koromogawa. So it was designed by your
father and uncle to marry you to your cousin. But
Yasuhira died, and Morimitsu too, and the Lady
Shiraito. Your aunt alone survived; and Dôsen, your
guardian, when you came to age begged Adzuma from
her for your wife. Now 'tis certain she should have
given her.

Mor.

Why, I think that, too.

Saka.

It was a vile thing, and a wrongful—I say—

to set thee aside; son of her brother, who had
wrought her such benefits. Adzuma was bestowed
on Watanabe for his gold, and his great estates—
but she was thine by will of the dead—and thou didst
but desire thine own when thine eyes fell lately upon
her loveliness. Howbeit, since thou hast now resigned
her, our priests will praise thee, if not our soldiers.

Mor.

This is new to my ears. To all the devils
with the praise of the priests! I am not he whom
any one can wrong without paying for it.

Saka.

Nay! but Kameju hath told thee how
sweetly they dwell together—what love-beds; what
warm times; what secret comforts Wataru hath with
thy lost wife.

Mor.

Hold, Sakamune! or I shall strike thee, whom
I should rather thank. Doth Adzuma know of this?

Saka.

Not one whit! They have kept it very
heedfully from her and from thee. Had she once

seen thee, Watanabe would soon find her kisses grow
colder. The bond of past existences is strong!

Mor.

Would that I might yet again gaze upon her
sweet face!

Saka.

Art in earnest? dost then, indeed, desire
that?

Mor.

As dry throats desire water; or blind eyes
light; or dying men breath.

Saka.

Why, turn thee round, then, and look who
repairs hither to prayers. I brought thee here, believing
she would come.

Enters Adzuma, with her Mother and Attendants, not perceiving Morito and Sakamune. She takes water from the Saikai font, and, washing her hands, ascends the temple-stairs, sounds the prayer-bell, and stands awhile praying before the shrine, with head bowed, and clasped palms.
Mor.
(watching her with a rapt air).
Thou marvel! thou fair joy!
Framed of delightfulness and finished sweet
From brow to foot with what's desirable!—
Thee they have stolen from me! And, what's left?
What's left—having seen such loss—but desperate will
To win thee back, though twenty furious swords
Deny; though gods forbid; though fates forecast
Sorrow, and horror, and the end in shame?
What's left—in all the lesser things on earth
Ambition, honour, greatness, pride of praise,
Pleasures of life, joy of glad battle, gold,—
Save dust and ashes, matched with that one gain
Of one good moment in those heavenly arms?
They have stol'n thee from me, star-bright Adzuma!
But I'll have back my treasure, if I thrust
Souls to perdition for my wrongful right!

Adzuma now descends, with her Mother; and, observing Sakamune, they salute him.
Sakamune.
Good morrow! noble Ladies. To your prayers
The Gods must listen. [To Koromogawa]
'Tis your kinsman here,
Lord Morimitsu's son. [To Adzuma]
Fair Adzuma,
This is your husband's friend, Sir Morito;
The best sword of our Court.

Adz.
Hajimemashite!
I am much honoured to encounter you.

Mor.
I pray you, at this first you see of me,
To hold me in your kindness.

Adz.
I, in yours
Would rather ask. My husband's friend must be,
In simple sequence, friend of Adzuma.

Mor.
I am happy with but that one word from you.
Come you with Lord Wataru, oft, to Court,
Cousin—and friend?

Koromogawa.
Nay! we are stay-at-homes,
Good Nephew, getting news of your great world
As it sifts through the shoji. Pardon us
If we crave leave: our little household waits.

Mor.
Farewell!
[Adzuma and Koromogawa walk aside with their attendants.
So have I seen Heaven's gateway gleam again!

Saka.
Gate with a key! Didst thou not mark her look?
She would have tarried, but the mother drew.

[Exeunt Morito and Sakamune.
[Adzuma and Koromogawa come forward to take departure.
Adz.
Oh! Mother, in my veins I feel a thrill
As if my blood iced. What is ill with me?

Koromo.
Let us haste homeward, Daughter! This is ill,
And happens not, except by Fate's hard will.