 | Adzuma : or The Japanese Wife |  |
ACT III.
Scene 1.
The Gateway of a “Yashiki,” or city mansion in Kyôtô.Enter Morito and Sakamune.
Morito.
Will you still say she cast eyes of pleasure
upon me?
Sakamune.
What else? what else?
Mor.
Since I heard the truth of Koromogawa's
ungratefulness I bear another and a more angry
mind.
Saka.
She owed you, for your father's kindness,
not Adzuma only, but her own good name, her happy
days, her easy life.
Mor.
That is so indeed. Except for my mother
temple.
Saka.
And that is a crime for the executioner.
Mor.
I have her thus at my mercy.
Saka.
Yet you would have drawn sword upon me
in the tea-house, for saying a lighter thing.
Mor.
I did not know. Forgive it! I thought kin
must be kind. It was a bitter deed to deny Adzuma
to my father's son, when Dôsen asked for her.
Saka.
Never was knight worse used. But Adzuma
had no part in it.
Mor.
Would it have fallen otherwise, had she
known?
Saka.
It must have fallen otherwise.
Mor.
Were I but sure of that, the wrath which
smoulders in me, would become flaming fury. If
she, too, might have desired me, the twenty thousand
devils of Echizen shall not keep her from my arms.
What would you do, if you had it from her
own hand that she saw a better man than Wataru
the day she met you in the Temple?
Mor.
She will never go to that.
Saka.
But if she make you know it, so that blind
eyes might read the book of her heart?
Mor.
How mean you? If Adzuma avowed it
would please her well that I had Wataru's place?
Saka.
Aye, I say that.
Mor.
Why, then I tell thee again hell should not
daunt me, nor honour hold me, nor friendship fetter
my hand; nor pity stay me for my father's sister,
who hath cheated his son. I would pluck Adzuma
from Wataru, though I soaked my sleeve in blood.
Saka.
'Tis the fitting spirit.
Mor.
Oh, but you dream.
Saka.
Some dreams come true. Have patience in
this great love, which deserveth recompense. She
place for a woman's wit to work in. Those that cage
such bright-feathered birds cannot hinder them from
singing through the bars.
Mor.
To what end are these words of hope? I
shall not even cast eyes on her again. My Aunt will
look to that.
Saka.
Sayo ka? Wilt thou, this very week, see
her face to face anew; nay, touch her robe, drink
perchance from the same cup with her?
Mor.
Ask rather whether the famished would eat.
I am mad to sit beside her once more.
Saka.
Be patient, then. Wataru comes back soon
from Nara, with treasure of the Emperor. Afterward
falls the feast in the Maple Gardens, when folks go to
gaze on the bright colours of the autumn. If I know
of a surety that Adzuma will be there, ask me not how.
For thy sake I adventure much.
Thou art a faithful friend. We will go to the
Maple Gardens.
[Exeunt Morito and Sakamune.
Scene 2.
Garden of Adzuma's house, with Pavilion opening upon it. Adzuma is sitting upon the mats there with her maids, O Yoshi and O Tama.Adzuma.
Our bravest garments, Girls! We'll not be shamed
Even by maple-leaves. To-morrow falls
The great feast in the groves of momiji
Where all the city flocks to see the year
Put on its autumn dress, golden and green,
Scarlet and purple, saffron, russet, rose:
If all men lived as those should live who own
A house to dwell in, so embellishëd.
O Tama.
Okusâma! What robe shall we lay for you?
Adz.
The pearl-grey one with obi of pink silk
Sewn with white stars, because my Lord likes that;
But you, my Tama! You, O Yoshi San!
Be splendid like the autumn butterflies,
Like Autumn's self, though 'tis your time of Spring:
Fetch forth such silks, such crapes, such girdle-cloths
Jiban, and kanzashi, the maple-leaves
Shall flutter out of jealousy. My girls!
We will be glad and gay. Wataru comes.
Be sure you take my writing-box and reeds;
I shall make poetry.
Madam, you can
With any that are best. That last you wrote—
The uta of the moon—every one sings.
Adz.
O Yoshi
sings to her samisen—
“Moon of the autumn-sky!
Sentinel, silver and still,
Where are the dear ones that die?
Is it well?—is it ill?”
Adz.
Ah, Yoshi! that was in the sombre mood
Which sometimes comes upon my dreaming string;
Now all's for lightness—since my Lord returns
On honoured errand of the Emperor,
And we'll make sunshine for him in the house
And sunshine out of doors, if it be scant;
But, sure, I think a day all blue and gold
Will paint Takawo for us. Give me here
The samisen: I'll strike a happier strain.
In the reeds of Ono's moorlands do;
And none should know me, or see:
But the Asajiu gleam, by their blooms revealed;
And the gladness of love in my bosom concealed
Shines forth in despite of me!”
There's an ill league to travel in those woods.
O Tama.
Dear Mistress! he is safe. What wicked men
Would stand to see Wataru's sword flash forth?
Adz.
I think so, Tama! though he had but two.
Besides, I still remember what he said:
There comes no evil to the man that's good;
So is he safe, plated against all harm
By that which cannot fear, a soul serene
Count the slow minutes, when he is not nigh.
[Exeunt Omnes.
Scene 3.
Night-time. A lane of bamboos in the outskirts of Kyôtô.Enter Wataru armed, with two attendants. One carries a package.
Wataru.
Give me the Emperor's packet. I do
not greatly like this place at night for those that are
upon honest business.
1st Attendant.
Methought I spied the shine of
a lantern just now, my Lord, in the thorn-bushes
yonder.
Aye! we had done wiser, perchance, to pass
with more help through this wolf's mouth. Give me
the bag, I say, and look that your swords are free in
their scabbards.
[Noises are heard.]
2nd Attend.
Oh, Sir! I am hit in the side with
an arrow.
Wat.
Stand fast, now, with your backs to this
clump. We will make it warm work for the knaves.
[A rush of armed robbers takes place upon the little party. Sharp fighting ensues, in which one of Wataru's men falls dead, and the other is wounded, while several of the robbers are put hors de combat.]
1st Att.
Master! Good Sir! look to yourself. My
fellow is slain, and I can give you help no longer.
Wat.
Lie safe here between my feet. They shall
not come at thee, nor at the charge we carry, while
this blade can bite.
[He strikes dead an assailant.]
grass by thy blood. Now for another,—and
another!
[He wounds two more, but is very hard pressed, when Morito enters, with an armed servant. They engage the robbers.]
Mor.
Hott, hott! A knight of the Court beset,
and at long odds! Stand behind me a moment, Sir!
and take your breath, while I carve my swordmaker's
name on these scoundrels.
Wat.
Nay, but I will stand at thy side, valiant
gentleman! 'Tis a new sword-arm to me to see thee.
Naruhodo! well struck!
[Morito hews a robber
down, and the rest take to flight.]
The rogues are
all away. They have stomach for no more steel!
Mor.
Are you hurt, Sir?
Wat.
Not a scratch, but one of my poor servants
is, I fear, dead, and the other sorely wounded. You
have saved, Sir! the Emperor's private letters and
grateful servant Wataru Watanabe.
Mor.
Wataru!
Wat.
The same, albeit more scant of breath than
is wont with him. Most welcome friend! I beseech
you raise your face-piece that I may see the man
whom I must henceforth love.
Mor.
Be pleased to pardon me. I desire not to be
known.
Wat.
You are as modest, Sir, as you are brave,
which is to say much.
Mor.
It is not that, Sir! Indeed I do not
deserve your praise. Any soldier would do as I
did.
Wat.
Came you by hazard, then, upon my one-handed
battle?
Mor.
By hazard only, Lord Wataru; I and my
servant were returning to the city.
Had you dropped from Heaven, it could not
have been more timely.
Mor.
I am glad—and sorry! Beseech you, let
me pass unquestioned. The way is safe now,
and I will send those who shall succour your
man.
Wat.
I would dare believe I know your voice,
gallant Sir! This is a service, look you, done to
the Emperor's Majesty, who will demand of me the
name of so worthy a knight. Suffer me to be able
to extol you to him.
Mor.
Of your kindness hold me excused! By
your honourable leave I will now sheathe my sword,
and be gone.
Wat.
Ah! that sword! Surely I remember the
hilt! If it be now in its master's hand,—and more
other in Japan could so well wield it—you are Morito
Musha Endo.
[uncovering his face.]
Since you will know
me, Wataru, it must be so. I am Morito.
Wat.
Now can I tell of thy valour in the Court;
as well as of thy knightly silence. If thou must
depart, take with thee my truest thanks. Nay, I pray
thee, if thou goest to-morrow to the Maple-valley,
deign entrance into my tent there, and drink a cup
of rice-wine with us; when Adzuma, my wife, shall
speak better gratitude for me. I must now lead my
poor vassal to a shelter.
[Exit Wataru, supporting his servant.
Mor.
[wiping his sword blade and slowly sheathing it.]
Sword! thou hast paid thy master's heavy debt;
For that his better part gives thee good praise;
Sword! thou hast saved the life which, like a stream,
Runs broad and strong between my love and me,
Ah dearest, deadliest beauty! Hoped I not
That this Lord's wife would fain be fere of mine
Then,—at that minute,—when his heart was large
With generous heat, I would have caught his neck
And cried: “Help me! if I have holpen thee!
Take now my blade and stretch me stark and dead
With these less guilty carcasses; or take
Thy wife away out of my eyes, and ways,
And mind and life, lest I go mad for her.”
Then Sword! I could have worn thee worthy still,
But now what must and will be—must, and will!
Scene 4.
A. beautiful valley outside Kyôtô, full of maple-trees, displaying various rich colours of the autumn. A stream runs down the valley, and on either side of it, holiday-makers sit in groups, enjoying the air and landscape. The wealthier and more exclusive have established tents or booths, by hanging curtains of many hues from tree to tree, or suspending them upon bamboo poles. Such an enclosure is seen to the left of the stage, beside the stream, with near at hand a maple-tree, under which the party of Adzuma and Wataru is lodged.Adzuma.
[lifting the curtain and coming forth, with her two Attendants.]
Oya! my maids! I gave you leave to match
Your prettiest gowns with Autumn's dying dress,
Yet she outglories you. O Yoshi, look!
Would you not say the evening had dropped down
And dyed it sunset-colours? Tama, look!
Would you not say—if not the sky of eve
Fall'n, to fix so its purples, pinks, and greens,
Which else are fled before the eyes can feast
Full of their wonder—then, a fairy grove
Planted by peoples of the under-world
Out of the treasures of their under-world
Red gold, and burning brass, and starry gleam
Of silver, and swart copper's sombre glow,
With soft lights, here and there, of sard and jade,
And hard, of coral and of carbuncle?
How fair it is! how fresh the air! how glad
These city folks!
O Yoshi.
Okusâma! So it is;
Yet best I like the tender time of the Spring
When the plum covers all our hills with snow,
And afterwards the rosy cherry breaks.
Ah! but they fade so soon, the blooms of Spring,
One is so sorry, seeing them, to know
We shall not see them long.
Adz.
Why, that's a song
“Hana no irowa,” and it ends thus—
She touches the samisen and sings—
Did you come for pleasure or pain?”
O Tama.
I like the Summer best, when no one fears
The wind will plunder what the sunshine gave,
Or Winter's snow come back, for jealousy,
To shroud the cherry boughs. Then no one goes
One day without delight of scent and tint.
First there's the yamabuki, lacquers us
The hill-sides with its gold; and next there bloom
Rain-roses, silvering them; and then there's flush
Of pink-eyes in the rice-fields; and the lanes
Of red azaleas; and, when those burn down,
Why, there's the fuji swinging lilac links
Of sweetness; and the kiri,—sweeter still;
And there's the iris, floating purple flags,
Zakuro with red coral blooms; screw-flowers,
Moon-flowers and crane-flowers, and the tiger-tree;
With lilies—silver, golden, blue and rose—
The hime-yuri one, that hath her dress—
Fair ‘princess’ as she is—all white and gold;
And kanoko, red-dappled like a deer,
And ajisai, which never knows its mind
Whether to blow sea-blue, or pink, or green;
And lotus cups that come, clean as the dawn
Out of dark mire; let be green leagues of rice
Waving pearled feathers; with the kiku last,
The Emperor's blossom, filling up the year.
Why, you have made a garden of your words!—
But Tama! 'tis an Emperor's blossom, too,
The cherry. Oh! a thousand years ago
There fell into King Richiu's cup a leaf
Of the wild cherry-flower, and Richiu said:
“This is the fairest flower in all the world,
Cover my kingdom with it!”
O Yoshi.
Every time
Is good, if we have eyes.
Adz.
Yes, every time!
Now, girls! we'll go within, and warm the wine,
And set the saké-cups. By turn of the sun
Wataru will be here, and I've a thought
To make to a verse.
O Yoshi.
Madam! 'tis strange our Lord
Was so beset last night, and Morito
The knight to help him.
Adz.
Yes! O Yoshi San,
With dints of wicked weapons on his mail,
But safe, oh, safe! Grace to the goddess, safe!
Grace, too, to that brave friend who stood by him.
'Tis strange my mother loves not Morito;
But I, until I utter all my heart
Will not touch food. Oh! a true knight, I deem,
And goodly—and my cousin. 'Twere not well
We stinted kindliness if he should come.
[Adzuma and her Maids re-enter behind the curtains.]
Enter Morito and Sakamune.
Sakamune.
'Tis an odd matter, truly, that you
should have lighted last night upon Wataru, in his
need.
Morito.
Iya! I little wished for it. I was returning
with my servant from the hills, thinking much
more of his fair wife than of him.
Naruhodo! Had I been Morito Endo,
Wataru Watanabe should have been left to his
chances.
Mor.
Doubtless, doubtless! You love him less
even than I; but I saw not plainly his face in the
mélee, and my blade leaps of itself from the sheath,
when it hears the music of steel upon steel.
Saka.
If the thieves had slain him, how easy had
been your way to Adzuma's arms.
Mor.
Tempt me not to ill thoughts, Samurai! I am
desperate enough as it is, and already on the straight
road to evil, as I deem, with thee for guide. But I
am not yet come to that mind where I could stand by
and see a knight of Japan fight alone against half-a-dozen
villains.
Saka.
As thou wilt. Know you who sits yonder
in that tent with the purple and green hangings?
Mor.
Nay! how should I know?
There is little need to tell thee; for, look!
of herself she cometh forth. Did I not promise to
thee another sight of thy Adzuma?
[Adzuma comes out of the tent; and, not observing Morito and Sakamune, fastens upon a bough of the maple-tree, according to Japanese custom, a poem written in the native manner upon a long strip of gilded paper, which she leaves there, and then again retires.]
Mor.
(greatly agitated).
My Adzuma?
Ah! if she were! Again, again, that face
Like nothing in this world, because this world
Owns nothing else so heavenly; that fair shape
Which when I thought I had learned it, line for line,
Shines forth afresh, and lo! I find myself
Marvelling I never knew my star so bright!
My Adzuma! Ah, yes! My Adzuma
If great love had his rights, and kin were kind.
But not to-day, and not to-morrow “mine”
Who filched such sweetness from me! His to have,
And his to keep, and his to clasp and stroke,
And feast upon, whom I sent home alive
Safe to her outstretched arms and opened breast
Yesternight; nay, not I!—this honester sword.
My Adzuma! No! never, never mine
Except she wills so. Then, death should not keep,
Nor hell, nor any terrors, mine from me;
My Adzuma! Where is that liar fled?
I'll find, and make him fear to mock at me.
[Sakamune has withdrawn, to gather up secretly the tanzaku or poem affixed to the maple-bough by Adzuma, which has been blown away by the wind across the stream, and picked up by him. He now returns, taking the concealed manuscript from his sleeve.]
Sakamune.
Morito gone? that's well! Let the
proud fool cool, while I look at my treasure-trove.
By the right hand of the Mikado, what neat
characters she forms, and how clever at verses the
pretty little poetess really is! See how glibly she has
made them run!
He reads—
The river gold and red;
Come quick, dear Love! my heart is faint!
If spotted deer should tread
This bright brocaded pattern out,—
Trampling the crystal ford—
Those deer to me not dear would be,
But brutes I hate, my lord!”
Saka.
Now, by the thirty-three thousand poets of
Choshiu, she falls ripe into my hands like a dry kaki!
See here. It is but to break her last line with one
alter a little this letter, and, zutto! it reads plain and
blunt “I hate my Lord.” Ha! ha! ha! What's
that except to avow to Morito in her own charming
hand, that she is sick of Wataru, and lives but
to have her new fancy cross the stream to her?
Now win I Morito, body and soul, by so small a
revision!
[He takes his ink-case from his girdle and marks the manuscript.]
There! that is deftly done! And here comes
again the love-sick knight who shall swallow my
philtre.
Morito.
I sought thee to say plainly I will
bear no more of this torment. I go mad upon each
new sight of her, but have thrust her now farther
away from me than ever, by rescuing Wataru, whom
alone she loves.
Sakamune.
Art thou so sure of it?
Mor.
As I am that thou hast lied.
Saka.
It is more than she herself is.
Mor.
Play no more with me, Samurai! I am ill to
jest with.
Saka.
Nay, but cast a glance at that.
[Morito reads the poem.]
Mor.
Whence hadst thou this?
Saka.
It is the tanzaku which you saw Adzuma
hang upon the maple-branch. A friendly breeze rent
message.
Mor.
How precious?
Saka.
Hast thou eyes? If thou hast, perpend the
delicate wit of this. She composes, writes, and then
affixes her verses where the wind shall be messenger
for her; since, doubt not that she did spy us. If they
had fallen into Wataru's hands, small matter! The
husband reads past this little mark, and kisses the
pretty conceit. But should it come, as it hath duly
come, to your undeserving eyes; why, she gives you
credit for sense to stay upon this word “brutes,” and
to read her frank confession, “I hate my Lord.”
Mor.
Naruhodo! There seems something in
this!
Saka.
Something! There is everything! there is
the woman you love hungering and thirsting for you;
casting herself at your feet.
Sakamune! I will stay here. Nay, if I be
bidden, I will go into their tent.
Saka.
You cannot do wiselier. Spake I not well
that she needed only time and place?
Enter Wataru.
Wataru.
Ah, fair Sirs, you are honourably early!
Morito Endo! that I have eaten fish and rice to-day,
and drunk saké—a living man with good appetite—is
the gift of thy valiancy. Please you—if will serves,
and you have gazed enough on the maple-leaves—
repair to our booth yonder—'tis that one with purple
and green cloths,—and suffer my wife and my mother-in-law
to disburden their hearts of the gratitude which
will not let them eat.
Mor.
Indeed, I merit not their thanks.
Wat.
Come and try to persuade them of that; but
you will not succeed. I pray you both deign to grace
Nay, but condescend!
Mor.
I will come with you.
[All three enter the tent together.]
In the Japanese versions of this story the play upon words, by which Sakamune effects his devilish stratagem, is untransferable. Adzuma had written Fumi na chirashi so, meaning “do not disturb by trampling it.” Sakamune substituted for this, Wataru wo itou, which has much the same signification. “I do not wish you to cross,” but also reads, “I hate Wataru,” wataru in Japanese meaning “to cross.” Thus it was necessary to imitate the trick.
Scene 5.
Interior of Wataru's tent. Wataru and Adzuma are discovered seated on carpets, entertaining Morito and Sakamune. The feast is served after the Japanese manner in small bowls and trays, with saké-cups and pots, a maid-servant kneeling before each guest.Adzuma.
I say it again most gratefully, Sir Morito,
it was the deed of a true and noble knight.
Morito.
Indeed, you do overpraise me.
Adz.
It cannot be overpraised. My humble words
are too poor to tell your rich desert.
Words from so sweet a mouth would make
death itself an easy thing.
Adz.
Oh, Sir! you are courteous as you are brave.
Saidst thou, Wataru San! there were still six robbers
attacking when Sir Morito drew sword?
Wataru.
I did not closely number the dogs, but
there seemed too many left for me alone. Nay, 'twas
as friendly, and as timely, and as gallant a help as
ever thou canst declare. Bring hither the saké-pot,
Adzuma! I would fain pledge you, Sir Morito, in a
cup of love.
Mor.
Beseech you, excuse me. I do not drink
to-day. I did not see your honour's countenance
in the confusion. I deserve not such high kindliness.
Wat.
It was all the more soldierly! For a friend
one risks much; but you say that you knew me not.
Oh! a cup, a cup; ippai kudasai!
Pray you, forgive me! I do not drink
to-day.
Adz.
But, Sir! you will drink a cup with me?
Mor.
[impulsively.]
Aye, Lady, if you poured me
poison!
Adz.
Truly, I love not our strong rice-wine better
than yourself. But we owe you so much!
Sakamune.
How much, madam?
Wat.
Well, Samurai! that depends upon the value
to be put on the life of your most unworthy host,
with the Emperor's letters and treasure thrown into
the account.
Mor.
I am to be too much overpaid, Lady, by the
honour of drinking from the same cup with you.
Wat.
O Yoshi! fill up the wine-cup of your
mistress.
[In receiving the cup, and holding it to be filled, Adzuma lets it fall and spill.
Adz.
Ah, my stupidity! Be pleased to grant me
shake so.
[Koromogawa calls from within: “Adzuma! Adzuma!”]
Nay, mother! anon.
[Sakamune whispers Morito in the ear.]
Mor.
O Yoshi San! fill again the Lady Adzuma's
cup.
Adz.
No, Sir! your gracious forgiveness. I, too,
will not now drink. I have a strange feeling at my
heart, Wataru. Ask the honourable guests to allow
my departure.
Saka.
Our loss will be great, Lady! You are a
renowned poetess, and I was dying to inquire if you
have wrought any little thing to-day for our city
samisens, in honour of the maples?
Adz.
Oya! oya! I made, indeed, a very trifling
tanzaku—a foolish verselet upon the colours of the
autumn.
If we might but hear it, before you go; it
would be better than the cakes and saké.
Adz.
I am ashamed. I wrote such a thing, and
hung it on the tree by the stream, but a gust of wind
carried it away.
Wat.
Then you also, Adzuma-chan! have been
robbed, and no Sir Morito near at hand to aid
you.
Saka.
Truly, rather it is we who are robbed, Lord
Wataru! losing so sweet a song.
Adz.
[smiling.]
Ah, Sirs, it was not worth so
much as one of the red maple-leaves, which flew over
the river with it.
Saka.
The wise wind was of another mind, and
stole it away to sing to the maple-trees. Is this also
a piece of yours?
[Taking up a strip of writing.]
Adz.
It is, Sir.
In your own very hand, dare I ask?
Adz.
Even so.
Saka.
May I turn robber like the wind, and take
it, in remembrance of this fortunate occasion?
Adz.
Sir Samurai! nothing can be refused to-day
to Lord Morito, or to his friend.
Saka.
I humbly thank you.
[Koromogawa, from within, calls again “Adzuma! Adzuma!” Adzuma kneels before each guest, and salutes him with her hands and forehead on the ground: then rises, and passes within.]
O Tama
[entering.]
I am to say to the august
presence that the Okusâma has gone home with her
mother. They beg honourable excuses.
Mor.
We, too, will now take our leave.
Wat.
Nay, but drink! drink!
Mor.
Your honourable forgiveness. Already we
have stayed too long.
Wat.
Well then, at another time. I heartily pray
by visiting it.
Mor.
I shall come.
Wat.
Fare you well! And you, Sir! Come,
again, at your august leisure.
[Exeunt Omnes.
Scene 6.
A bridge, leading by steps through a cemetery.Enter Morito and Sakamune.
Sakamune.
I say to thee, but for those present,
she had embraced thee then and there.
Morito.
Certainly she was much stirred.
Saka.
Did'st thou mark her let fall the saké-cup!
Yes! and the colour burning in her cheeks
at that moment!
Saka.
Yea, but most when I spake of the uta,
which she made the wind carry to our hands. Oh,
she is thine, if thou wilt have her.
Mor.
I think so. Almost I think so!
Saka.
It is Koromogawa alone that hinders.
Did'st thou not note how she twice looked through
the curtains, and twice called Adzuma away? Go
to her house, at Toba. Be not denied. Be resolute;
be pitiless; be terrible! Tell her what thou hast
learned; what thou hast determined. Bid her bring
Adzuma to thee there, or abide thine anger, and the
shame of thy denunciation as the robber of Shiraito's
robe in a holy temple. The penalty of such a deed
is to have both hands cut off, and the thief's name
erased from the family-line. Go! if thou would'st
have Adzuma all thine own—go!
If I would have her! Samurai! Yon Dead,
That keep such settled silence in the mould,
Lie not more still under their graven tombs
Than, in my breast, the sense of pity sleeps.
I will not spare. I will avenge my wrong.
I have been plundered of a precious thing;
Hatefully scorned; set by; shorn of a wife—
Willing, as now I think, to have spent on me
The treasure of her tenderness, but chained,
Gagged, cheated, sold to slavery for gain—
Whose prison I will break. If I would have?
I tell thee Death, Hell, Danger, shall yield now
To the awakened fury of my love
As the thin airs part, and the filmy clouds
Before the swooping Eagle's stiffened wings.
They shall bewail who flouted Morito,
And I will lie with loveliest Adzuma.
[Exit Morito.
Now I have set them fairly at each
others' throats. There will be sport out of it all,
before the end. Meantime here is my pretty Lady's
handwriting, which I have narrowly studied. She
makes her “I-ro-ha” very beautifully, and it is hard
to match such fair penmanship, yet I have been at so
much pains, that I do think this love-letter, which I
will deliver to Morito, might pass with Adzuma herself
for her own handwriting. Let us see how it runs:
“I lift to your most honourable eyes this my very
humble letter, believing you the true friend of Lord
Morito Endo. I saw you gather up my tanzaku, and
he will know therefore what I did write at the close of
it. I am not, indeed, so wicked as to ‘hate’ Wataru,
but I have heard that our parents would have united us
in marriage, and of late I have seen the comeliness of
Morito, and have learned his valour; wherefore the
heaviness of my heart to be separated from him by that
me to write such a verse. I pray you to let Morito
understand this little of my very loving and sorrowful
soul.”
So!—holding this, Morito cannot well miss to frighten
Aunt Koromogawa into consent. I am proud, in truth,
of my lady-like writing. Ah! but here comes one of
the few whom I have to fear.
Enter Kameju.
Kameju.
The day to you, Samurai! Where is my
Lord Morito?
Saka.
When I am omba
to him I will stand ready
to tell you of his comings and goings.
Kam.
It suits you to be uncivil. Where is Morito?
Saka.
What if I say I know not?
I should say you lied. He was with you
here a little while ago.
Saka.
If you knew so much you wasted breath
to ask.
Kam.
I waste breath, indeed, to ask truth from you,
Samurai! or trust, or honour.
Saka.
Were you of my rank, Heimin!
it is
with tongue of sword that such insolence should be
answered.
Kam.
Were you of my rank, Sir Sakamune! I
had long ago obliged you to draw that steel which
you defame by wearing. It is your present safety,
look you, that I am only the retainer of my master.
But I love him, and I serve him faithfully; and it is
sorrow to me and trouble to see him day by day in
your evil company. He hath of late lost his gallant
of the Court, nor for the manly exercises of a Japanese
nobleman.
Saka.
What is all this to me, fellow?
Kam.
Nothing to-day, perhaps. But it is a score
I watch, knowing not yet how the account will come
forth. Have a care, I bid thee, as to what thou dost
contrive with my Master, and whither thou dost push
his feet. Those that love him watch thee, Samurai!
Saka.
The meddling peasant! It would stain a
bright blade past cleaning to wet it in such vulgar
blood. Otherwise—otherwise!
Scene 7.
An apartment in the house of Koromogawa, at Toba, near Kyôtô. Koromogawa is sitting with her maids, who are embroidering.Koromogawa.
Draw the threads thus, Tora San,
if you would have your dragon stand forth finely
from the silk. What are you doing, O Tatsu?
O Tatsu.
I am designing birds and trees, Go Inkyô
Sama! for an over-gown.
Koromo.
This is well; but you must have the
proper birds and creatures with the proper trees.
Do you not know that the sparrow goes with the
bamboo; the lion and the peacock with the peony;
the dove with the wistaria; the crow with the pine;
and ducks and fishes with the lotus.
O Tatsu.
I thank you, madam! I will make it so.
Musumé.
Okusâma! The Lord Morito Endo
stands at the gate, asking to speak with you.
Koromo.
Beg of him the august pardon. To-day
I receive no guests.
Musumé.
Your honourable forgiveness! He bade
me say he prayed not to be denied.
Enters Morito abruptly.
Morito.
Nay! but he said that he would not be
denied. As you see, Aunt Koromogawa, I have
admitted myself. Dismiss the serving-girls. I would
talk with you alone.
[The Musumés all retire.
Koromo.
Do you not even salute me, Morito?
Mor.
No, kinswoman! And take heed that none
of thy servants eavesdrop, for what I must say is for
thy private ear.
Thy manner pleaseth me not, Morito!
Mor.
It is not meant for liking. Listen! If there
should be one among a man's relations to whom his
father showed great kindness, saving and restoring
her after a heinous fault, and if she repaid that
kindness with slight and despite to the son, were
it becoming in that son—a soldier—to restrain his
wrath?
Koromo.
I do not understand.
Mor.
But thou shalt! Dost thou remember who it
was—desolate and disregarded—that prayed long and
hard for a husband in the Hase-dera at Kyôtô, and
afterwards stole from a sleeping woman there a blue
haori spotted with chrysanthemums?
Koromo.
It was the will and way of the goddess
that I should take it. Long ago was it given
back.
Mor.
Thy crime served thee well, I know—but it
law is mutilation and degradation.
Koromo.
Dost thou dare to speak such words to
the sister of thy father?
Mor.
I dare, because my father's sister hath
wrought me bitter wrong. I dare, because she can
atone for it, and shall atone for it; or I myself will
denounce her to the justice of the Mikado.
Koromo.
What wrong, Morito? I have feared
thee, but never misliked thee before.
Mor.
This wrong: you married Yasuhira, and
became a well-reputed and happy wife. But you had
deceived your Lord when he questioned you, touching
your kinsfolk in Kyôtô, and you would have stood
declared a liar—as already you were secretly a thief
—except for the chance which brought you into my
father's house, and the grace shown by Morimitsu and
Shiraito to the concubine's daughter.
I have my dagger here. Morito! I will
not endure such words.
Mor.
Aye, Obâsan! That dagger is part of the
story. Morimitsu saw and recognised it, as the
gift of his father to thy mother, and, freely admitting
thee his sister by blood, forgave thy sin
and the robe stolen from my mother, Shiraito—for it
was she whom thou didst rob—took thee to peace
and honour; and died thy benefactor, friend, and
brother.
Koromo.
I deny nothing of this, save that my
taking the robe was by a dream from the goddess.
We must obey Heaven—but indeed I sought long and
hard to restore the blue kirtle.
Mor.
Dost thou deny that, being left alone, but
well-provided, by favour of my dead father, thou
didst refuse to me, his son—through Dôsen—the fair
daughter thou gladly gavest to rich Wataru?
Yes, but for thy sake and for hers, if
thou knewest all.
Mor.
How meanest thou?
Koromo.
They that hate thee and me, and have
set thee on to this, have not told thee of the old beginnings
of thy life, and Adzuma's. They have not
told thee of the dreams which brought my lovely child
to me from the snake's bank, and thee to thy mother's
womb from the eagle's eyrie. There was between
you a destiny of mutual ruin, only to be overcome by
virtue, and the mercy of the Compassionate One. I
did thee true service keeping Adzuma from thine eyes.
Mor.
To the priests and the country-gossips with
such folly!
Koromo.
It is no folly. We do not touch the
sleeve of another person in this existence, but it
imports contact heretofore and mingling fortunes.
Morito, I even loved thee. I would have desired that
not again meet, and, moreover, my child's heart was
already given. The goddess had, of herself, brought
together Adzuma and Wataru.
Mor.
You lie, my Aunt! And, if you lie not, I
will not now be lulled with nursery tales, like a
chikusai, a child that smells of milk. If this be true,
did not my father know it, who wished Adzuma for
me? You refused her. The unsatisfied longing of
spirits holds them from their repose, and these many
years Morimitsu's soul hath wandered indignant. Hear
me! I love Adzuma! With all my body and my
blood I do desire her sweet beauty. With all my wit
and will I do seek possession of it. I will not live
without her; nor will I suffer thee to live, unless
thou dost comply with my demand. Help me to have
Adzuma!
Koromo.
Oh, unhappy and unknightly one! Adzuma
faithful wife of a noble Lord, to whose ears I bid thee,
if thou dar'st, speak these base words. Could I be
vile enough to fear and to aid thee, she would never
be. Thou dost lose thy shameful labour!
Mor.
Nay! I know what I ask. Adzuma also
desires me.
Koromo.
Though thou slay me I call thee liar,
saying so.
Mor.
I will show thee sure proof, and to spare, of
it. Moreover, she shall herself avow in thine hearing
that she loves me only, and that thou didst commit a
second great crime, keeping her from my bed.
Koromo.
A second crime?
Mor.
Aye, for the first awaits the executioner's
knife, upon a word from me in the ear of justice.
Koromo.
Coward, as base as liar!
Mor.
I will not kill thee now. I will kill thee if
same room. She shall confirm what I have told thee;
and then thou shalt give her to me, or die.
Koromo.
I fear thee not. I can die by my own
dagger if what thou sayest were true. But I fear thy
evil spirit. There is some miserable plot herein which
her truth shall shame. Adzuma shall come hither tomorrow
to answer thee, and afterwards it is Wataru
Watanabe to whom thou thyself shalt answer. Begone!
lest a knight's widow smite thee on the mouth
for her daughter's name. To-morrow; in the afternoon!
[Exit Morito.
| Adzuma : or The Japanese Wife | |