University of Virginia Library

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!