 | Adzuma : or The Japanese Wife |  |
ACT IV.
Scene 1.
A Street, with temple-gate and steps.Enter Wataru and Kameju.
Wataru.
I like the Samurai as little as thou thyself,
Kameju! yet, sooth to say, with no very good
reasons for it.
Kameju.
There is reason enough in the looks and
the ways of Sakamune. What mischief he is working
with my Lord I have not yet discovered; but Morito
Endo is no more himself. He sleeps not, eats not,
drinks not, fights not. His war-horse grows gross at
the manger for want of use; and since the festival
bow for the practice.
Wat.
Thou and I, good Kameju! will arouse him.
A new war is gathering in the East, and we will take
him there. After what he wrought for me and for
the Emperor's treasure, the Court is well disposed
to Morito.
Domo! what spy I here? The crest of my house upon
the bearers, and Adzuma's litter borne so quickly?
Enter Adzuma in her kago. Seeing Wataru, she alights, and respectfully salutes her husband.
Wataru.
Whither, in such high haste, my Adzuma?
Adzuma.
Oh, not to pleasure if not where thou art!
My mother sends me word some trouble irks,—
A little ache, I hope—prays me repair
With all the speed I may. One must not keep
A mother long expectant—must we, dear?—
When thou art there, and this too burning noon
Melts to the purple peace of evening.
Wat.
Nay, but be back long ere the evening!
I have a thing to show thee—ah! a piece
Wonderful for its fancy—newly wrought.
Art thou so hurried, wife? List! there's a hill—
'Tis done in pearl and ivory on a plate
Of silver—there's a hill, and on the hill
An ancient castle; and the castle's held
By rebels; and the reigning Emperor's troops
Must take it, if they take the place at all,
Soon; since there comes an army of relief
Will raise the siege; but 'tis of utmost need
The place be yielded to his Majesty,
Therefore the question stands, “Have these men food,
Or must they open, starved, if siege be held!”
Yes; my sweet Lord?
Wat.
So they send in a spy
In woman's clothes, young Genjiro, the knight,
Who enters safe; and seeks, and hears, and sees
There's provend but for two days in the fort,
And that such stuff as dogs would sniff and leave:
Whom, as he steals back with his precious news,
They mark, detect, unguise—'tis Genjiro!
Oh! every rebel knows him,—Genjiro,
The best bow of the enemy! fierce hands
Seize him and thrust him to their rampart-edge.
Adz.
Ah, how I long to see this piece of work!
What will they do?
Wat.
Yonder's his tent, his wife,
His comrades, and the friendly, pleasant camp,
All that life means; and at his back spear-blades
“Shout ‘Friends! they have taken me! the fort is full,
Victualled for twenty days—best raise the siege!’”
Adz.
Is that what the plate pictures?
Wat.
Not just that;
The point's a little later. Genjiro,
Upon the wall, hears what they say to him;
Feels the pushed spears sting; knows that he may live
If he will lie, and let his duty go:
But, all too loyal to buy life with shame,
He thunders, “Ere the week is out they starve!
Keep leaguer still!” whereon a sheaf of spears
Pierce him; but Genjiro has saved his Lord.
That's what the craftsman shows.
Adz.
Oh, I'll come home
Quickly to see it. 'Tis a noble thing
As well as Genjiro.
Wat.
Adzuma-chan,
The “would-dos” and the “have-dones” differ so!
Yet, 'tis the next best thing to Honour's self
To love high deeds and honourable deaths,
And keep glad memory of them. Hasten back,
And see my silver knight rejoice to die
Where death was duty.
Adz.
Keep it for me, Lord!
I praise the tale. Like a glad bird I'll come
Whose wings know of themselves the way to home.
[Exeunt Omnes.
Scene 2.
The Apartment in Koromogawa's house. Koromogawa and Morito are seated together. She holds a letter, the pretended letter from Adzuma which Sakamune has given to Morito. She is weeping, and deeply agitated.Koromogawa.
Who brought thee this letter?
Morito.
It is idle to ask me that. Thou seest it
is her own. Thou hast thyself said, “This is Adzuma's
handwriting.”
Koromo.
That was before I read the shameful
words.
Mor.
I care not. Wataru's wife loves me, as thou
seest. So thou art twice condemned for the wrong
thou didst, denying her for me to Dôsen.
Koromo.
I tell thee she was pledged to Wataru
by the will of the goddess, when Dôsen asked her.
She was given in a dream, but I will have
her back awake. With what false pretences dost thou
still cover thy ingratitude? If Adzuma be not now
yielded to me, when she herself desires it, thou shalt
die, and thy name be defamed.
Koromo.
I am not afraid to die, but I am afraid
to be dishonoured. Adzuma must answer. I think
this letter is a lie, forged by some enemy.
Mor.
Wilt thou say so, looking at it? Are these
not her own characters, both of the poem and the
letter?
Koromo.
Odorokimashita! they are very like. Yet
it could not; it cannot be!
Mor.
But it is!—Why cometh not Adzuma?
Koromo.
I shall wrong her to let her ears listen
to such wickedness. Yet she will come. She will
make thee know thou hast fed upon falseness and
fancies. Oh, my Daughter! if this shame could be!
I say, again, it is! Adzuma shall tell thee
how she loves me. Why comes she not?
Koromo.
Even now I hear her dear voice. Oh,
would I were a man, and not of thy blood, that, at the
first word of her denial, I might strike thee with the
scorn of sword-blade.
Mor.
Vex me not, shrew! I am dangerous.
Koromo.
Aye, to women, Morito, it seems. But
thou shalt answer hereafter to those who can do better
than weep.
Mor.
I shall be ready.
Enter Adzuma, who makes respectful salutations, and then gazes with troubled countenance on the angered faces of Koromogawa and Morito.
Adz.
I feared you were sick, dear Mother! Why
is this gentleman here?
Koromo.
Do you know him?
Oh yes! it was he who brought rescue to my
Lord in the lane.
Koromo.
It is he who now brings shame to us,
and sin, and the sorrow of wicked words and wishes,
and cruel threats to slay and disgrace me, if I yield
thee not up to him, away from Wataru.
Adz.
[starting up to her feet.]
Mother!
Koromo.
I should crave pardon, I know, for speaking
so to thee, but thou must hear me—and him.
Adz.
I cannot understand!
Koromo.
How shouldest thou understand? Nor
know I in what way least to wound thine ears with
the understanding.
Adz.
Away—from Wataru?
Koromo.
Aye!
Morito.
Aye, Adzuma! for I must find my tongue,
though thy beauty, at first entrance, hath struck it
dumb. I love thee, and do long for thee, as never yet
upon the Bridge, and afterwards again at the Temple,
and yet again at the Feast of the Maples, my heart
hath been filled with thee, and my soul sick for thine
embraces. Thou wert designed mine by the will of
the dead, by secret destinies, by thine own hidden
desires; but this evil woman robbed me of thy love,
and gave thee to another. Now, with a sword and a
will nowise to be gainsaid, I am come here to claim
and take thee. If thou sayest “Yea,” as thy pen hath
already sweetly promised, and if thy Mother, being
assured of thy mind, hinder not, have thou no fear!
There is neither danger nor blame that I will not
answer and crush. If I am crossed or denied, I will find
my way to my purpose in wrath and ruin, and blood.
Adz.
My pen hath promised thee? Morito Endo!
I am Wataru's wife!
Mor.
By wrongfulness, as thy Mother knows.
By rightfulness, as love, and honour, and
true faith witness. Oh! what is all this wild wickedness?
Mor.
With twenty times Wataru's fondness for
thee I love thee, Adzuma!
Adz.
'Tis twice twenty times false! And, were it
true, thy disgrace is measureless to tell it, and my
shame speechless to hear it said.
Koromo.
Then it is false, Daughter! to say that
this letter came to Morito from your hand?
Adz.
What letter, Mother?
[She receives the forged scroll, and slowly peruses it, reading from it at the end.]
“I pray you to let Morito understand this little of
my very loving and sorrowful soul”—
And that signed “Adzuma!” Ah! what enemy has
invented against me such impossible sinfulness?
Koromo.
It is not of thy writing, child?
Oh, no! no! no! no! no! Could you deem
so, Mother? Have you, Morito Endo, believed a
Japanese wife would be so vile, so false, so wanton?
Mor.
Wilt thou deny the characters? Is it not
exactly thus thy hand goes?
Adz.
Alas, yes! it is indeed my manner. It is
done with a bitter cunning.
Koromo.
You are assured it is false, nevertheless!
Adz.
Good Mother, yes! I wrong myself and
my Lord to look so closely at the lying scroll. But
see now, this ink is paler than I use, and here is
a letter not of my habit.
Mor.
Oh, Adzuma, Adzuma! will you take back
the promise of your eyes, your words, your written
mind, because Koromogawa frowns and weeps? Here
is your name as none but you yourself can write
the precious letters of it. Here is your seal, which
only you yourself possess. If you deny this letter,
the wind blew into my hands?
Koromo.
What tanzaku?
Mor.
This!
[drawing the poem from his girdle.]
Here is what Adzuma wrote, and hung upon a
maple-branch at the festival. Read it! See if she
did not plainly tell me, “I hate my Lord.”
Koromo.
[after reading the poem.]
Adzuma!
Adz.
Give it me here, Mother. Ah, yes! that
is my writing.
Koromo.
But see'st thou—at the end?
Adz.
I see.
Koromo.
And this is not false, then?
Adz.
No, not this.
Koromo.
And you made the wind your messenger
to tell this knight—and all—that you were weary of
your husband?
Adz.
Mother! Mother! It is the accursed device
that mark which I never set, an evil hand hath broken
the sense of my innocent song, and made the loving,
wifely words I wrote rank and guilty as a harlot's.
Koromo.
But the writing so alike! And two of
them! And this, you do confess, your own hand.
Adz.
Aye! aye!
Koromo.
And I bethink me, now, how you have
lately praised Morito Endo to me; and called him
comely and gallant; and how I was forced twice to
summon you away from him at the feast in the tent.
Adz.
Aye!
Mor.
Oh, it is only the dread of you which forces
her to belie herself and her heart. Adzuma! my
Desire, my Delight, my Destiny! Fear nothing, and
fear none, but give thyself up to thy sweet will and
to me!
Adz.
Wataru! Wataru!
Nay, name not him, lest I lose patience.
Adz.
Wataru! Lord Wataru!
Koromo.
Criest thou to thy husband for anger,
or in shame, Adzuma?
[Adzuma is silent.]
Koromo.
Wilt thou have Wataru see these writings?
[Adzuma is silent.]
Koromo.
Adzuma! Hast thou no better speech
than barely to call these writings false, which fit so
well together, and fall in with thy entertainment in
the tent; and thy talk, of late, about this knight;
and his own persuasion of thy strong desire for
him.
[Adzuma still maintains silence.]
Koromo.
This is sharper than thy disgraced
sword, Morito! This is harder than any dishonour
thou couldst put on me! Here, for the house of
Yasuhira, begins ruin, infamy, death, unless thou
canst better answer, Daughter!
[Adzuma, with bowed head, still preserves silence.]
Thou speakest nought? Then I call thee
“daughter” no more. I call thee strumpet, Yotaka,
plucker of strangers' sleeves. Ah, thou dishonoured
wife;—thou defamed Lady! Let me look no longer
on thy guilty cheeks and downcast eyes. There is
the proper punishment for thy offence writ in the
law against the wicked wives that sin. But I denounce
thee not to that. Live on with thy mippu
here, thy fancy, thy knight who makes war upon
women, and gathers up love-messages from the gutter!
I disown thee, I am done with thee. Adulteress!
Thus! thus! and thus!
[She strikes Adzuma three times and goes out.]
Mor.
Comfort thee! this is but a passing spleen.
Adz.
Hold down thine evil voice! let me be still!
Mor.
Now she is gone wilt thou not turn to me?
Adz.
Aye! I will turn, to bid thee hate thyself.
As I do hate, and scorn—and pity thee.
I am not used to pity.
Adz.
Well, begin!
See thy sick honour as my sad eyes see;
Conceive thy knighthood as my virtue doth,
Loathsome, attainted, foul with lust and pride!
Measure thyself by what thou wert, or no!—
Since that was falsely honest—mete thyself
By such brave stature as my husband's worth;
So learn, how low and petty thou art sunk
That plott'st against his frank nobility.
Mark how, in this hard strait and gathering gloom,
That which thou call'st thy love is vile to me,
And sweet my Mother's anger. Oh, I praise
The hand which struck the guilty Adzuma;
If Adzuma were guilty. Though I see
No way to escape the anguish of these snares,
I pity thee more than myself. Now, go!
Compassionate thine own state, judging so!
Didst thou not write the letter?
Adz.
Why, no! no!
Mor.
Nor yet the trick of the verse?
Adz.
The knave who did
Laughs at his easy dupe's simplicity.
I love Wataru to the last live drop
Of this true body's blood. Were it not so
Should I be mad enough to bid the wind
Puff my shame hither and thither. Go! thou fool!
Mor.
Why wert thou silent, when thy Mother cursed?
Adz.
The plot's too deep; no words could do me good.
Mor.
I do begin to fear myself deceived.
Adz.
But thy fell folly ruins more than thee.
Mor.
I have pushed thee, Lady, to a troublous place.
Adz.
Thou hast not wit enough to know how hard.
Mor.
Aye! and I have not will to have the wit.
So near, so sure; never so deeply drenched
With this strong sea of love, which, from thy form,
Thy face, thy grace, thy wrath, floods and reflows,
And sweeps my soul away—that soul, which drowns,
Clutches at thee as sinking sailors will
At what they hold, and will not let thee go;
Nay, cannot let thee go. Hark, now! I swear
Thou shalt be mine; either by willing love,
When I will compensate with tenderness
These terrors; or because of darker dreads;
Since, if I have thee not, I'll hold thee up
A scorn-mark, and thy dam a temple-thief;
And those that called thee honest, shall go by
Holding the nose: Wataru most of all.
[Adzuma does not reply.]
Mor.
Answerest me not?
[She is still silent.]
I say, answerest me not?
Adz.
[speaking to herself.]
If I should tell
All to Wataru, and he killed this beast,
His whole life long cold doubt would torture him.
Mor.
I cannot hear thee; wilt thou answer not?
Adz.
Yea! Yea! I'll answer. I did meditate.—
There seems no other way.—Truly, it seems
You cannot but be somehow recompensed.—
You have done much for me, have sold your soul
To ruin, ruining me. Well, I must pay
As women pay. Your wild will wills it so.
Who knows? It may be this is destiny.
I yield—I give myself:—it must be thus.
But one condition!—thou shalt slay my Lord.
Mor.
Aye, I will slay him.
Adz.
While I live, and he,
This could not be; so thou must slay my Lord.
Mor.
I'll slay him. Tell me how.
Come thou, to-night;
A little after midnight, to my house.
I shall go back there. When Wataru sups
I'll fill his wine-cups fast, then wash his hair,
And lull him into sleep. His room will be
The easternmost, that gives upon the lane.
I'll set a lamp in it; and, when I hear
Thy foot for certain, I'll extinguish it.
Have thou a care: the serving-men lie thick
In the fore-court. When thou passest in the dark
Safe to his mat, thou shalt know well his head,
Being moist with washing, and the locks tied back
In the noble's way. Cut off the head—and go!
And—afterwards—
Mor.
Ah, afterwards—I see
Sweet bliss together, and no fears to mar.
Adz.
Afterwards, as it shall be. Come to-night!
Mor.
Surely I will.
[Exit Morito.
There was no other way!
I never could have laid these plots quite bare;
He never would have lulled a lingering doubt;
My mother's honour, life, peace, love for me;
My husband's name, his trust in Adzuma;
My own true innocence, go safe that way
And by no other road. If I should tell
All to Wataru, and this wretch should fall
Under his vengeful sword, how would he know
I wrote no wanton word? how could men part
Mine honesty from fear? It must be done!
Aye! I must make him kill me. Killing me
Blindly he sets wrong right. Yet, ah! I ache,
My dearest Lord! chiefly I ache for thee
So lonely when my pillow is not there
O' nights—(perchance he'll always keep it by
For thoughts!) But thou wilt know, dear, wilt thou not?
Yes! this must be; Adzuma dead shall free
Adzuma living from all calumny!
Scene 3.
A street in Kyôtô. A lamp and candle-seller's shop in foreground. The dealer is seated among his goods.Enter Fisherman.
Fisherman.
Komban! Mr. Lamp seller, a candle
for my lantern, please.
Lamp Seller.
Do you do such a business, Ryoshi!
that you sell fish by night?
Fisher.
Naruhodo! one must sell when the fish
come; and besides, folks like a fresh tai or tara for
Wataru's house with some aji.
Lamp S.
What is this token on your lantern?
Fisher.
I bought it for the sign of good-luck, but
I am like Kichibei's dog, I cannot read.
Lamp S.
What about Kichibei's dog?
Fisher.
Well, he was drowned for not knowing
his letters. He was always barking at people, and
biting them, until somebody said that if you wrote the
China letter for “tiger” in the palm of your hand, and
held it out to an angry dog, it would become gentle.
Lamp S.
Ha! ha! did they try it?
Fisher.
A learned man did, and the dog bit a piece
of silk out of his hakama, with much of the leg inside
it. Oh, it is ill to be without letters, like me and
Kichibei's dog. Now what really means my lantern-writing?
Lamp S.
It means Temmei—“Destiny.”
Nay! that is well enough for a fisherman!
Lamp S.
How so?
Fisher.
Domo! See you not we are the very signs
and servants of destiny? Here am I, Kôzô, the
hawker, in your honourable shop buying this candle,
and there in the river is a fat koi, eating worms.
And to-morrow, though we have never seen each
other, we shall meet, and I shall catch him, and sell
him for half a kuban. And all because it was destiny.
Lamp S.
So it is! you are honourably right! Fish
and men, we cannot escape Temmei.
Fisher.
For the candle, how much, Danna?
Lamp S.
Nay, nay! give me a little fish, and go
thy way.
Fisher.
There is a bunch of aji, then. Now who
would have guessed Destiny would turn them into a
candle for Kôzô. Naruhodo!
Scene 4.
The sleeping-room in Wataru's house. Adzuma and Wataru together. Adzuma has been playing and singing: she lays aside the samisen, and approaches Wataru, who is finishing his evening repast.Wataru.
Why that's my sun-bright wife, again!
Methought to-night there hung a cloud upon the fair
brow, but the pretty song hath chased it away.
Adzuma.
Have you supped well?
Myself I dressed those aji that you like;
Let me fill up your cup.
Wat.
The wine tastes good
With such a hand to pour it. Th'Okkasan—
The honourable Mother—what was ill
This forenoon with her?
Nought—save what will mend
Before to-morrow. Taste these saffron-balls
With some wild honey.
Wat.
No! enough—enough!
Adz.
Ah, just one bean-cake more, or I shall think
My cooking's out of favour.
Wat.
Why, you witch!
I should eat out of such deft palms as yours
Fresh come from dinner with the Emperor.
Adz.
How kind you are! In the good days gone by
Have I been what a Nippon wife should be
Wed to so dear a Lord?
Wat.
My Adzuma!
Hast seen the fisher-folk, in Ise, hunt
The green sea for its wealth? A hundred plunge,
And fetch up wrinkled shells, sea-ears, sea-fans,
Awabi, akagai. And this man gets
Out of his fish a little pearl; and this
Save slime and mud; and that one—why, a pearl
But black and ill-shaped. Till the one with the luck,—
Not best of the band, may be—finds, in his shell,
A pearl like the full moon, faultlessly white,
Round, lucent, lovely—oh! the pride of the Sea!
Fit treasure to be button to the neck
Of our Mikado's self; and all the crew
Envy their fellow, but no other gem
Comes like it from the secrets of the wave.
I am that fisher, sweetheart! you that pearl.
Adz.
Oh, how I thank you! For such pretty words
A cup of saké, Sir!—What happy days
Our days have been, since at the wedding-feast
We drunk nine cups together.
Wat.
Have been, sweet?
That's but beginning! What's to hinder us
From growing grey together, every day
Better than yesterday—till, when 'tis willed
There's to be no to-morrow, side by side,
As 'twere a-bed again, we sleep content
Under the fir-trees, in the Temple's peace?
Adz.
Dear Lord! if that had been—if that might be!
But some day comes the day which doth not have
Any to-morrow, and—sometimes it comes
So soon, so sudden. Did folks understand
Why Genjiro gave his life upon the wall?
Wat.
Oh, very well.
Adz.
They would not deem he died
So fond of honour that he could forget
How some must weep for him?
No! I am sure
'Twas well perceived.
Adz.
You think the living do
The dead ones justice? Ah! it seems so hard
To hold in mind what wrongs the grave endures
When lips which had so much to say are closed,
And full hearts finish beating!
Wat.
Nay, my girl!
Surely a great death's like the calm that broods
At sea, after the storm. Rude waves, ashamed,
Leave raging; peaks and cliffs in the true shape
Rise clear out of their shadows; hidden reefs
Reveal their treachery, envy's chill mist
Rolls from the prospect, and the mariner
Sees where he steered amiss. But oh! we talk
Like bitterns croaking. Fill my cup again,
And fetch my robe: I have a mind to sleep.
Yes, sleep, dear Lord!
[She brings in, and puts on, the night-robe of Wataru; and then prepares his pillow, and bed-covering; while herself sitting by him, and taking writing materials.]
Wat.
Will you not sleep yet, wife?
Adz.
I'll write a little.
Wat.
Then no makura!
I'll make your lap my pillow, till you come.
[He lies down on the sleeping-rugs, with his head on Adzuma's knees, and presently falls to slumber, while Adzuma writes.]
Adz.
He is asleep. Kind Lord! Sweet Lord! I'll talk
Soft to thy spirit through the unhearing ears.
Wataru! I am dying for thee, dear!
To-night, this night. Thou didst not, couldst not, know
The ache of my heart, which almost cracked its strings,
At such kind words. I dared not answer right,
‘Wataru! 'tis thy dead Adzuma speaks!’—
Husband, oh, husband! I am loath to leave
These strong true arms, this tender breast,—but, dear!
I must die! There's no other way! Thereby
I clear all, and I quit thee well-assured
I was thy pure wife; body and soul thy wife,
Clean to the core in my fidelity.
How thou wilt grieve! yet not so much, so much
As if I lived, and there fell now and then—
When people talked our story o'er again—
That one drop in Love's cup which poisons Love.
Now it can never come. When tears half dry
Thou'lt see through them that I did this thing well,
And thou wilt know there was no other way
To die, I think, and have me all again,
Beyond this world. Oh, what a little while
Is left to look upon his sleeping face!
If I dared kiss it!
[Kissing him, a tear from Adzuma's eyes falls upon Wataru's cheek, and awakens him.]
Wataru
(starting up).
What, my golden girl! my flower!
Weeping? I dreamed you sate in Heaven, and sent
Rain down upon us.
Adz.
Ah, forgive me, Sir:
I have wet your beard with foolish tears. Indeed,
You should be angry, but my heart was sad
With one day's separation, and I mused
How full of change life is, and how more hard
To part for many a day.
We will not part!
Comfort thee, wife! and come to bed.
Adz.
Aye, Lord!
I'll finish these, and come. Do thou, meanwhile
Lie easier.
[She arranges his pillow.]
Sleep! But dear Wataru! Lord!
If I should die, and thou should'st please to take
Another happy lady in my place—
It would be rightful—it would be thy due!—
Alas! how then the soul of Adzuma
Would wander restless, watching whilst thou gave
Adzuma's kisses not to Adzuma.
If I did dare to ask—
Wat.
See now; ask not!
'Tis idle torment, sweet! this peeping-work
Into what is to be. But I have sworn—
And I do swear again—none never shall
Lie in thy place.
Now gentle Heaven thank
That gracious word! Be't the last word to-night
Dear, dearest Lord! That kind speech on thy mouth
I seal with mine. Good-night! good-bye! good-night!
[Wataru once more falls asleep.]
Now 'tis time!
He slumbers sound: my scrolls are ended: now
'Tis time! my murderer comes, whose sword shall save
My name, Wataru's peace, my Mother's life,
And make them see Adzuma did not sin.
Haste, thou foiled fool, whose love was bloody lust,
And learn how Adzuma rights Adzuma.
First I must shear my hair away, and tie
The short ends back—Samurai-way.
[She cuts her hair close, and fastens the ends with a string.]
My head is like Wataru's. Next's to wet
Nape, crown, and brow.
[She puts water upon her head and hair.]
He cannot miss to feel
This soaked hair! Next, to leave by my Lord's head
The letter on his pillow.
[She places the letter.]
So! that's done!
And here's for Mother; she will find it there.
[Places another letter.]
Now all is wrought! I'll to the Eastern room
And set the signal-lamp, and lie down still
In dear Wataru's place, and fold my hands,
And wait the wicked steel of Morito.
[Exit Adzuma.
Scene 5.
Exterior of Adzuma's house. Night time. A lamp is shining through a lattice.Enter Morito, holding a naked sword.
Morito.
Aye! there's the light! And, when I slide the door,
She'll put it out, to show all's well. “All's well?”
“All's ill”—say rather! Oh, I know, I know
What cursed work I do, what bloody road
I follow to the fruitage of my love;
And yonder light shines out of Hell, I know,
To show my way. Well! if it gleam from Hell
It guides to Heaven, my Heaven with Adzuma.
Cut quick, fierce sword! I spit upon thy hilt
[Morito enters; and, after a brief interval, emerges again, carrying a head in a bloodstained cloth.]
Devils of Hell! how easy 'twas to do,
This coward murderous deed! The head was wet,
The hair cropped close. I took his girdle-purse,
That it might seem a robber's deed. Now, naught
Lives 'twixt my love and me. How sound he slept
Who doth sleep sounder now; how soft it was,
That soldier's neck! I'll to the moon-light there,
And tie my burden better.
[Morito goes near to a corner in the street, and sitting down, opens the cloth; when there rolls out a severed head, which is seen to be that of Adzuma.]
[Morito starts to his feet: covers his face with his hands, and staggers paralysed to the wall.]
Morito
[re-approaching, after a time, the head.]
Not his! But Adzuma's! Adzuma's head!
What! have I murdered Adzuma? Hell's light!
To damnable perdition! Eyes! soft eyes!
Shut, lest they blight themselves with glimpse of me,
Yes, ye are Adzuma's; the pale cheeks her's;
The blanched, locked lips her's—her's the black hair cropped,
And tied Wataru's way. Oh, I see well
What snare she laid. The savage eagle's trussed
By the white dove's small foot. Fiends that do tempt,
You, Sakamune! chief—come hither and grin!
Your utter worst is wrought! Why then, she's true!
She never wrote the script! Gods! all reads plain
Writ in this pure bright blood. She could not put
Our cursed plots aside, unless she died,
And so she died, making of Morito
Oh, miserable Morito! Oh, spite
Of sinfulness, mocked, to set Virtue right!
[Exit Morito, carrying the head.
Scene 6.
Time, early morning. An apartment in Wataru's house. Kameju and a group of lamenting people discovered. Wataru apart, lost in grief.[Morito is seen forcing the entrance by an inner door.]
Kameju.
Nay, Sir! you cannot come in. There
is great woe here.
Morito.
Give me way!
Kam.
Enter not, for your own comfort! You do
this morning most foully murdered.
Mor.
Give me way! Stand aside, I say! Where
is Wataru?
Kam.
He cannot speak with you.
Mor.
Stand back! give way! Oh, Watanabe! Sir!
Let me have leave, and listen just so long
Till I have spoke enough to force thy blade
Make bloody period to my speech and me.
Wataru.
What can'st thou say, in this fate-stricken house,
Such heavy sorrow as to-day's could hear?
Mor.
This! I am he who murdered Adzuma!
Here is her beauteous, gentle, bleeding head
Severed, in place of thine, by this vile hand!
I—fool, and beast, and butcher—being misled,
Being gone mad with passion, being beguiled,
Took her white purity for wantonness,
With that, by hateful words, and cruel threats,
Perplexed her for her mother's sake, and thine,
Drove her to edge of dreadful precipice
Where no way seemed how Virtue could come safe.
Sudden resolved (—oh! as I now do know
Whispered by Heaven, which helps fidelity—)
She turns: bids me break in; slay thee; and then,
It should be as it should be. Look, what's come!
How, dying, she hath shamed me. Sir! she lay
Meek, unafeared, in thy bed, for thy sake;
Hair cropped, head wet, on a man's pillow put;
And so I killed her, thinking to kill thee;
And so I killed stone-dead the calumny
Wherewith we smirched her stainless nobleness;
And so I killed my name, and fame, and peace,
And thy peace and the sweet joy of thy life.
And I am come, with naked breast, to lay
Which struck it off; and to beseech of thee
Now, with its edge, to lop my head away,
Which here I bend in broken humbleness.
Wat.
Thou miserable Lord, whose great sin mates
The greatness of my sorrow,—sheathe the steel!
I'll use it not. Had I encountered thee
Knowing one tittle of this before she died,
I had cloven thee, like a wolf, from chin to chine.
Hadst thou come thus, when first I found her dead,
With such a prayer,—before the half was out
I had split thy heart, if underneath such breast
Beats any heart. But now, thy punishment
Must be to live! Thou art crept penitent,
Ashamed, judging thyself, before my feet,
I cannot therefore kill thee. Live! I say!
Ask no large grace like death! Nay, see what's left
Worse than sword could thy body.
He reads Adzuma's last letter.
“To my most noble and loving Lord—Wataru
Watanabe!—I was already dead for thy peace and
honour, while we talked together this night. When I
took boldness to ask that thou wouldest never marry
again after my death, it was my heart's deep love spoke,
rather than my duty. I beseech you, forgive this, but
take my thanks and blessings for thy most sweet words.
Yet do thy will, and be happy. Here, and in all the
worlds, my heart is thine, and my soul. I have very
much more to say, but tears will not suffer me to write
it. Farewell! thy true and unspotted wife—in fast
fidelity,
“I have, indeed, heard that wedded wives can be
false, but I have never understood it—loving nothing so
much as my husband's love, and my duty to him, and
to you, mother! The nets woven around me by wicked
men were very strong, and therefore I have cut them
I was of evil; and your life and good name will be safe,
and my Lord will live in peace and honour, assured of
Adzuma. I kiss the kind hand which struck me, for
it was rightly done had I indeed failed so shamelessly
from my fidelity. I am very sorrowful to leave you,
mother, now so old and lonely; but Wataru this night
—not understanding why I asked it—hath promised
always to protect you. Now I die; glad because I
know you will again call me your daughter Adzuma.
Kam.
Oh, heart of gold! Oh! noble Nippon wife!
Oh! tender Daughter! Thou too lonely Lord,
What thinkest thou to do?
Wat.
The funeral o'er
For this dear dead, I shall lay wholly down
Armour and swords, and, from to-day's hard time,
With shorn head, in the holy Temple's shade
A Priest I'll live, 'till good hap come to die.
Mor.
I, whom thou biddest live, humbly obey,
And, with my face in the dust, take thy vow, too,
For this pure soul.
Wat.
Why, be it so! And she
May thus, in Heaven, find prayers to make for thee.
Exeunt Omnes.
Scene 7.
Front of a Buddhist Temple. Prayers for the dead are proceeding, and incense-sticks being burned. Buddhist monks go about the shrine; among them are seen Wataru and Morito with shaven heads, and wearing the priestly robes. Kameju stands at the foot of the Temple-steps, carrying two swords. Seeing Sakamune pass the front of the Temple, he beckons to Morito, who descends.Kameju.
Master! look yonder, underneath the trees!
The Samurai!
What Samurai?
Kam.
Why, he!
Damned Sakamune! Wilt thou take my sword?
[Morito takes the sword and draws back his priestly gown—but, with an effort, gives up again the weapon.]
Mor.
Kameju! tempt me not. My vow is made
To spill no blood. I were a priest forsworn
Doing this thing,—which must be done! Go to!
[Morito retires into the Temple. Kameju, drawing his sword, follows Sakamune, who is slowly passing in the foreground.]
Kam.
Ho! Sakamune!
Saka.
Heimin! ha!—good-day!
Kam.
No good day dawns which thou art by to blast.
Art thou come here to pray with Morito?
Saka.
I come where I do please.
Kam.
But you go not
Save by another road.
What road?
Kam.
The road
To hell, where devils expect thee. Draw thy sword!
Saka.
I fight not with a peasant.
Kam.
Oh, for that
The hangman's knife were edge too clean for thee;
Yet ease thy conscience. I am Samurai,
Named yesterweek.
Saka.
(with agitation).
I have come without my sword.
Kam.
I'll lend you mine. See, here's another one!
Thy dupe, my Master, with this fateful steel
Murdered thy victim, guiltless Adzuma.
Saka.
Let me choose blades.
[Pretending to examine the weapons, Sakamune tries to take advantage of Kameju, and to stab him.]
Ah! Villain to the last!—too base to slay
By soldier's stroke. Dog of the Samurai!
I'll rid the earth of thee. Stand, fight, and die!
[They fight. Sakamune is fatally wounded, and falls.]
Saka.
Curse thee, I fall! Tell the bald-pates I die
Mocking at simpletons.
[Sakamune dies.]
Kam.
[slowly wiping his blade, and looking down upon the dead man.]
Good sword! forgive
I stained thee so! But, see, he could not live!
| Adzuma : or The Japanese Wife | |