University of Virginia Library

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
Out of its sky upon this lovely vale,
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.

O Tama.
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—

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
Are lighted with the fire-fly buds and flame
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.

Adz.
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,
Scarce have I slept for joy, since he came back
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.

Saka.

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?

Saka.

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”
Nor ever, as I think. His Adzuma,
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.

What have we here? Adzuma's uta to the maple-leaves.
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—

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

touch of my ink-brush at that word “brutes,” and to
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.

Re-enters Morito.
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

it away, and carried it where I found the precious
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.

Mor.

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

us. We have within a little country feast toward.
Nay, but condescend!

Mor.

I will come with you.

[All three enter the tent together.]