BIJIYAU.—Then we will away.

NAKAMITSU.—Kauzhiyu! thou, too, shalt accompany thy master.

KAUZHIYU.—Your commands shall be obeyed.

[They depart from the temple, and arrive at Mitsunaka's palace.

NAKAMITSU.—How shall I dare address my lord? I have brought hither his lordship Bijiyau.

MITSUNAKA.—Well, Bijiyau! my only reason for sending thee up to the monastery was to help thy learning; and I would fain begin, by hearing thee read aloud from the Scriptures. And with these words, and bidding him read on, He lays on ebon desk before his son The sacred text, in golden letters writ.

BIJIYAU.—But how may he who never bent his wit To make the pencil trace Asaka's[163] line Spell out one letter of the book divine? In vain, in vain his sire's behest he hears:— Nought may he do but choke with idle tears.

MITSUNAKA.—Ah! surely 'tis that, being my child, he respecteth the Scriptures too deeply, and chooseth not to read them except for purposes of devotion. What of verse-making, then?

BIJIYAU.—I cannot make any.

MITSUNAKA.—And music? [Bijiyau makes no answer.

MITSUNAKA.—What! no reply? Hast lost thy tongue, young fool?

CHORUS.—Whom, then, to profit wentest thou to school? And can it be that e'en a father's word, Like snow that falling melts, is scarcely heard, But 'tis unheeded? Ah! 'twill drive me wild To point thee out to strangers as my child! No sooner said, than out the scabbard flies His trusty sword, and with fierce flashing eyes Forward he darts; but rushing in between, Good Nakamitsu checks the bloody scene— Firm, though respectful, stays his master's arm, And saves the lad from perilous alarm.

NAKAMITSU.—Good my lord, deign to be merciful this once!

MITSUNAKA.—Why stayed'st thou my hand? Haste thou now and slay Bijiyau with this my sword.

NAKAMITSU.—Your commands shall be obeyed. [He retires into another apartment.] What is this horror unutterable? 'Tis no mere passing fit of anger. What shall I do?—Ah! I have it! I have it! I will take upon myself to contrive some plan for his escape. Kauzhiyu, Kauzhiyu, art thou there?

KAUZHIYU.—Behold me at thy service.

NAKAMITSU.—Where is my lord Bijiyau?

KAUZHIYU.—All my prayers have been unavailing to make him leave this spot.

NAKAMITSU.—But why will he not seek refuge somewhere? Here am I come from my lord, his father, as a messenger of death! [Bijiyau shows himself.

BIJIYAU.—That I am alive here at this moment is thy doing. But through the lattice I heard my father's words to thee just now. Little imports it an' I die or live, But 'tis for thee I cannot choose but grieve If thou do vex thy lord: to avert his ire Strike off my head, and show it to my sire!

NAKAMITSU.—My lord, deign to be calm! I will take upon myself to contrive some plan for your escape.—What! say you a messenger hath come? My heart sinks within me.—What! another messenger?

[These are messengers from Mitsunaka to ask whether his orders be not yet carried into execution.

NAKAMITSU.—Alas! each joy, each grief we see unfurl'd Rewards some action in a former world.

KAUZHIYU.—In ages past thou sinned;

BIJIYAU.—And to-day

CHORUS.—Comes retribution! think not then to say 'Tis others' fault, nor foolishly upbraid The lot thyself for thine own self hast made. Say not the world's askew! with idle prate Of never-ending grief the hour grows late. Strike off my head! with many a tear he cries, And might, in sooth, draw tears from any eyes.[164]

NAKAMITSU.—Ah! young my lord, were I but of like age with thee, how readily would I not redeem thy life at the cost of mine own! Alas! that so easy a sacrifice should not be possible!

KAUZHIYU.—Father, I would make bold to speak a word unto thee.

NAKAMITSU.—What may it be?

KAUZHIYU.—'Tis, father, that the words thou hast just spoken have found a lodgment in mine ears. Thy charge, truly, is Mitsunaka; but Mitsunaka's son is mine. This, if any, is a great occasion, and my years point to me as of right the chief actor in it. Be quick! be quick! strike off my head, and show it to Mitsunaka[165] as the head of my lord Bijiyau!

NAKAMITSU.—Thou'st spoken truly, Nakamitsu cries, And the long sword from out his scabbard flies, What time he strides behind his boy.

BIJIYAU.—But no! The youthful lord on such stupendous woe May never gaze unmov'd; with bitter wail The father's sleeve he clasps. Nought may 't avail, He weeping cries, e'en should the deed be done, For I will slay myself if falls thy son.

KAUZHIYU.—But 'tis the rule—a rule of good renown— That for his lord a warrior must lay down His lesser life.

BIJIYAU.— But e'en if lesser, yet He, too, is human; neither shouldst forget What shame will e'er be mine if I survive

NAKAMITSU.—Alas! alas! and 'tis for death they strive!

KAUZHIYU.—Me deign to hear.

BIJIYAU.—No! mine the truer word!

NAKAMITSU.—Ah! this my child!

KAUZHIYU.—And there behold thy lord!

NAKAMITSU.—Betwixt the two see Nakamitsu stand:—

CHORUS.—His own brave life, an' 'twere his lord's command, Were freely giv'n; but now, in sore dismay, E'en his fierce courage fades and droops away.

BIJIYAU.—Why heed a life my sire himself holds cheap? Nought may thy pity do but sink more deep My soul in wretchedness.

KAUZHIYU.—Mistake me not! Think not 'tis pity moves me; but a blot The martial honor of our house will stain, If, when I might have bled, my lord be slain.

CHORUS.—On either side 'tis infancy that pleads.

NAKAMITSU.—And yet how well they've learnt where duty leads!

CHORUS.—Dear is thy lord!

NAKAMITSU.—And mine own child how dear!

CHORUS.—But Nakamitsu knows full well that ne'er, To save the child his craven heart ador'd, Warrior yet dar'd lay hands upon his lord. He to the left, the trembling father cries, Was sure my boy, nor lifts his tear-stain'd eyes:— A flash, a moment, the fell sabre gleams, And sends his infant to the land of dreams.[166]

NAKAMITSU.—Oh, horror unutterable! to think that I should have slain mine own innocent child! But I must go and inform my lord. [He goes to Mitsunaka's apartment. How shall I dare to address my lord? I have slain my lord Bijiyau according to your commands.

MITSUNAKA.—So thou hast killed the fellow? I trow his last moments were those of a coward. Is it not true?

NAKAMITSU.—Not so, my lord. As I stood there aghast, holding in my hand the sword your lordship gave me, your son called out, "Why doth Nakamitsu thus delay?" and those were the last words he was pleased to utter.

MITSUNAKA.—As thou well knowest, Bijiyau was mine only child. Go and call thy son Kauzhiyu, and I will adopt him as mine heir.

NAKAMITSU.—Kauzhiyu, my lord, in despair at being separated from young my lord, hath cut off his locks,[167] and vanished none knows whither. I, too, thy gracious license would obtain. Hence to depart, and in some holy fane To join the priesthood.

MITSUNAKA.—Harsh was my decree, Yet can I think what thy heart's grief must be That as its own my recreant child receiv'd, And now of both its children is bereav'd. But 'tis a rule of universal sway That a retainer ever must obey.

CHORUS.—Thus would my lord, with many a suasion fond, Have rais'd poor Nakamitsu from despond. Nor eke himself, with heart all stony hard, Might, as a father, ev'ry pang discard:— Behold him now, oh! lamentable sight! O'er his own son perform the fun'ral rite.



PART II

Scene I.—Mitsunaka's Palace

Some time is supposed to have elapsed, and Weshin, abbot of the monastery on Mount Hiyei, comes down from that retreat to Mitsunaka's palace in the capital, bringing with him Bijiyau, who had been persuaded by Nakamitsu to take refuge with the holy man.

WESHIN.—I am the priest Weshin, and am hastening on my way to my lord Mitsunaka's palace, whither certain motives guide me. [They arrive at the gate and he cries out:] I would fain crave admittance.

NAKAMITSU.—Who is it that asks to be admitted? Ah! 'tis his reverence, Weshin.

WESHIN.—Alas, for poor Kauzhiyu!

Nakamitsu.—Yes; but prithee speak not of this before his lordship. [He goes to Mitsunaka's apartment.] How shall I venture to address my lord? His reverence, Weshin, hath arrived from Mount Hiyei.

MITSUNAKA.—Call him hither.

Nakamitsu.—Your commands shall be obeyed. [He goes to the room where Weshin is waiting, and says:] Be pleased to pass this way.

[They enter Mitsunaka's apartment.

MITSUNAKA.—What may it be that has brought your reverence here to-day?

WESHIN.—'Tis this, and this only. I come desiring to speak to your lordship anent my lord Bijiyau.

MITSUNAKA.—Respecting him I gave orders to Nakamitsu, which orders have been carried out.

WESHIN.—Ah! my lord, 'tis that, 'tis that I would discourse of. Be not agitated, but graciously deign to give me thine attention while I speak. Thou didst indeed command that my lord Bijiyau's head should be struck off. But never might Nakamitsu prevail upon himself to lay hands on one to whom, as his lord, he knew himself bound in reverence through all the changing scenes of the Three Worlds.[168] Wherefore he slew his own son, Kauzhiyu, to save my lord Bijiyau's life. And now here I come bringing Bijiyau with me, and would humbly supplicate thee to forgive one who was so loved that a man hath given his own son in exchange for him.[169]

MITSUNAKA.—Then he was a coward, as I thought! Wherefore, if Kauzhiyu was sacrificed, did he, too, not slay himself?

WESHIN.—My lord, put all other thoughts aside, and if it be only as an act of piety towards Kauzhiyu's soul—curse not thy son!

CHORUS.—As thus the good man speaks, Tears of entreaty pour adown his cheeks. The father hears, and e'en his ruthless breast, Soft'ning at last, admits the fond request, While Nakamitsu, crowning their delight, The flow'ry wine brings forth, and cups that might Have served the fays: but who would choose to set Their fav'rite's bliss that, home returning, wet His grandson's grandson's still remoter line, Beside the joy that doth itself entwine Round the fond hearts of father and of son, Parted and now in the same life made one?

WESHIN.—Prithee, Nakamitsu, wilt thou not dance and sing to us awhile, in honor of this halcyon hour?

[During the following song Nakamitsu dances.

NAKAMITSU.—Water-bird, left all alone Now thy little mate hath flown, On the billows to and fro Flutter, flutter, full of woe!

CHORUS.—Full of woe, so full of woe, Flutter, flutter, full of woe!

NAKAMITSU.—Ah! if my darling were but here to-day I'd make the two together dance and play While I beat time, and, gazing on my boy, Instead of tears of grief, shed tears of joy!

CHORUS.—Behold him weep!

NAKAMITSU.—But the gay throng perceive Nought but the rhythmic waving of my sleeve.

CHORUS.—Hither and thither, flutt'ring in the wind.

NAKAMITSU.—Above, beneath, with many a dewdrop lin'd!

CHORUS.—Ah, dewy tears! in this our world of woe If any stay, the friends he loves must go:— Thus 'tis ordain'd, and he that smiles to-day To-morrow owns blank desolation's sway. But now 'tis time to part, the good priest cries— Him his disciple follows, and they rise; While Nakamitsu walking in their train, The palanquin escorts; for he would fain Last counsel give: "Beware, young lord, beware! Nor cease from toilsome study; for if e'er Thy sire again be anger'd, all is lost!" Then takes his leave, low bending to the dust. Forward they're borne; but Nakamitsu stays, Watching and weeping with heart-broken gaze, And, mutely weeping, thinks how ne'er again He'll see his child borne homeward o'er the plain.



ABSTRACTION

[The Japanese title is "Za-zen".]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

A HUSBAND.

HIS WIFE.

TARAUKUWAZHIYA, their servant.



ABSTRACTION

Scene I.—A Room in a Private House in Kiyauto

HUSBAND.—I am a resident in the suburbs of the metropolis. On the occasion of a recent journey down[170] East, I was served (at a tea-house) in the post-town of Nogami, in the province of Mino, by a girl called Hana, who, having since then heard of my return to the capital, has followed me up here, and settled down at Kita-Shira-kaha, where she expects me this evening according to a promise made by letter. But my vixen of a wife has got scent of the affair and thus made it difficult for me to go. So what I mean to do is to call her, and tell her some pretty fable that may set me free. Halloo! halloo! are you there, pray? are you there?

WIFE.—So it seems you are pleased to call me. What may it be that makes you thus call me?

HUSBAND.—Well, please to come in.

WIFE.—Your commands are obeyed.

HUSBAND.—My reason for calling you is just simply this: I want to tell you how much my spirits have been affected by continual dreams that I have had. That is why I have called you.

WIFE.—You are talking rubbish. Dreams proceed from organic disturbance, and do not come true; so pray don't trouble your head about them.

HUSBAND.—What you say is quite correct. Dreams, proceeding as they do from organic disturbance, do not come true nine times out of ten. Still, mine have affected my spirits to such an extent, that I think of making some pilgrimage or other to offer up prayers both on your behalf and on my own.

WIFE.—Then where shall you go?

HUSBAND.—I mean (to say nothing of those in the metropolis and in the suburbs) to worship at every Shintau shrine and every Buddhist temple throughout the land.

WIFE.—No, no! I won't allow you to go out of the house for a single hour. If you are so completely bent upon it, choose some devotion that can be performed at home.

HUSBAND.—Some devotion to be performed at home? What devotion could it be?

WIFE.—Burning incense on your arm or on your head.[171]

HUSBAND.—How thoughtlessly you do talk! What! is a devotion like that to suit me—a layman if ever there was one?

WIFE.—I won't tolerate any devotion that cannot be performed at home.

HUSBAND.—Well, I never! You are one for talking at random. Hang it! what devotion shall it be? [He reflects a few moments.] Ah! I have it! I will perform the devotion of abstraction.

WIFE.—Abstraction? What is that?

HUSBAND.—Your want of familiarity with the term is but natural. It is a devotion that was practised in days of old by Saint Daruma[172]—(blessings on him!) you put your head under what is called the "abstraction blanket," and obtain salvation by forgetting all things past and to come—a most difficult form of devotion.

WIFE.—About how long does it take?

HUSBAND.—Well, I should say about a week or two.

WIFE.—That won't do, either, if it is to last so many days.

HUSBAND.—Then for how long would my darling consent to it without complaining?

WIFE.—About one hour is what I should suggest; but, however, if you can do it in a day, you are welcome to try.

HUSBAND.—Never, never! This important devotion is not a thing to be so easily performed within the limits of a single day. Please, won't you grant me leave for at least a day and a night?

WIFE.—A day and a night?

HUSBAND.—Yes.

WIFE.—I don't much relish the idea; but if you are so completely bent upon it, take a day and a night for your devotion.

HUSBAND.—Really and truly?

WIFE.—Really and truly.

HUSBAND.—Oh! that is indeed too delightful! But I have something to tell you: know then, that if a woman so much as peep through a chink, to say nothing of her coming into the actual room where the devotee is sitting, the spell of the devotion is instantly broken. So be sure not to come to where I am.

WIFE.—All right. I will not come to you. So perform away.

HUSBAND.—Well, then, we will meet again after it shall have been happily accomplished.

WIFE.—I shall have the pleasure of seeing you when it is over.

HUSBAND AND WIFE.—Good-by! good-by! [She moves away.

HUSBAND.—I say!

WIFE.—What is it?

HUSBAND.—As I mentioned before, mind you don't come to me. We have the Buddhist's warning words: "When there is a row in the kitchen, to be rapt in abstraction is an impossibility."[173] So whatever you do, do not come to me.

WIFE.—Please feel no uneasiness. I shall not think of intruding.

HUSBAND.—Well, then, we shall meet again when the devotion is over.

WIFE.—When it is done, I shall have the pleasure of seeing you.

HUSBAND AND WIFE.—Good-by! Good-by!

HUSBAND [laughing].—What fools women are, to be sure! To think of the delight of her taking it all for truth, when I tell her that I am going to perform the religious devotion of abstraction for one whole day and night! Taraukuwazhiya, are you there? halloo?

SERVANT.—Yes, sir!

HUSBAND.—Are you there?

SERVANT.—At your service.

HUSBAND.—Oh! you have been quick in coming.

SERVANT.—You seem, master, to be in good spirits.

HUSBAND.—For my good spirits there is a good reason. I have made, as you know, an engagement to go and visit Hana this evening. But as my old woman has got scent of the affair, thus making it difficult for me to go, I have told her that I mean to perform the religious devotion of abstraction for a whole day and night—a very good denial, is it not? for carrying out my plan of going to see Hana!

SERVANT.—A very good device indeed, sir.

HUSBAND.—But in connection with it, I want to ask you to do me a good turn. Will you?

SERVANT.—Pray, what may it be?

HUSBAND.—Why, just simply this: it is that I have told my old woman not to intrude on my devotions; but, being the vixen that she is, who knows but what she may not peep and look in? in which case she would make a fine noise if there were no semblance of a religious practice to be seen; and so, though it is giving you a great deal of trouble, I wish you would oblige me by taking my place until my return.

SERVANT.—Oh! it would be no trouble; but I shall get such a scolding if found out, that I would rather ask you to excuse me.

HUSBAND.—What nonsense you talk! Do oblige me by taking my place; for I will not allow her to scold you.

SERVANT.—Oh sir! that is all very well; but pray excuse me for this time.

HUSBAND.—No, no! you must please do this for me; for I will not so much as let her point a finger at you.

SERVANT.—Please, please let me off!

HUSBAND.—Gracious goodness! The fellow heeds what my wife says, and won't heed what I say myself! Do you mean that you have made up your mind to brave me?

[Threatening to beat him.

SERVANT.—Oh! I will obey.

HUSBAND.—No, no! you mean to brave me!

SERVANT.—Oh no, sir! surely I have no choice but to obey.

HUSBAND.—Really and truly?

SERVANT.—Yes, really and truly.

HUSBAND.—My anger was only a feint. Well, then, take my place, please.

SERVANT.—Yes, to be sure; if it is your desire, I will do so.

HUSBAND.—That is really too delightful. Just stop quiet while I set things to rights for you to sit in abstraction.

SERVANT.—Your commands are laid to heart.

HUSBAND.—Sit down here.

SERVANT.—Oh! what an unexpected honor!

HUSBAND.—Now, then; I fear it will be uncomfortable, but oblige me by putting your head under this "abstraction blanket."

SERVANT.—Your commands are laid to heart.

HUSBAND.—Well, it is scarcely necessary to say so; but even if my old woman should tell you to take off the abstraction blanket, be sure not to do so until my return.

SERVANT.—Of course not. I should not think of taking it off. Pray don't be alarmed.

HUSBAND.—I will be back soon.

SERVANT.—Please be good enough to return quickly.

HUSBAND.—Ah! that is well over! No doubt Hana is waiting impatiently for me. I will make haste and go.

WIFE.—I am mistress of this house. I perfectly understood my partner the first time he asked me not to come to him on account of the religious devotion which he was going to perform. But there is something suspicious in his insisting on it a second time with a "Don't come to look at me! don't come to look at me!" So I will just peep through some hidden corner, and see what the thing looks like. [Peeping.] What's this? Why, it seems much more uncomfortable than I had supposed! [Coming in and drawing near.] Please, please; you told me not to come to you, and therefore I had intended not to do so; but I felt anxious, and so I have come. Won't you lift off that "abstraction blanket," and take something, if only a cup of tea, to unbend your mind a little? [The figure under the blanket shakes its head.] You are quite right. The thought of my being so disobedient and coming to you after the care you took to tell me not to intrude may justly rouse your anger; but please forgive my rudeness, and do please take that blanket off and repose yourself, do! [The figure shakes its head again.] You may say no again and again, but I will have it off. You must take it off. Do you hear? [She pulls it off, and Taraukuwazhiya stands exposed.] What! you, you rascal? Where has my old man gone? Won't you speak? Won't you speak?

SERVANT.—Oh! I know nothing.

WIFE.—Oh! how furious I am! Oh! how furious I am! Of course he must have gone to that woman's house. Won't you speak? Won't you speak? I shall tear you in pieces?

SERVANT.—In that case, how can I keep anything from you? Master has walked out to see Miss Hana.

WIFE.—What! Miss Hana, do you say? Say, Minx, say Minx. Gracious me, what a rage I am in! Then he really has gone to Hana's house, has he?

SERVANT.—Yes, he really has gone there.

WIFE.—Oh! when I hear he has gone to Hana's house, I feel all ablaze, and oh! in such a passion! oh! in such a passion! [She bursts out crying.

SERVANT.—Your tears are but natural.

WIFE.—Ah! I had meant not to let you go if you had kept it from me. But as you have told the truth I forgive you. So get up.

SERVANT.—I am extremely grateful for your kindness.

WIFE.—Now tell me, how came you to be sitting there?

SERVANT.—It was master's order that I should take his place; and so, although it was most repugnant to me, there was no alternative but for me to sit down, and I did so.

WIFE.—Naturally. Now I want to ask you to do me a good turn. Will you?

SERVANT.—Pray, what may it be?

WIFE.—Why, just simply this: you will arrange the blanket on top of me just as it was arranged on the top of you; won't you?

SERVANT.—Oh! your commands ought of course to be laid to heart; but I shall get such a scolding if the thing becomes known, that I would rather ask you to excuse me.

WIFE.—No, no! I will not allow him to scold you; so you must really please arrange me.

SERVANT.—Please, please, let me off this time.

WIFE.—No, no! you must arrange me, as I will not so much as let him point a finger at you.

SERVANT.—Well, then, if it comes to my getting a scolding, I count on you, ma'am, as an intercessor.

WIFE.—Of course. I will intercede for you; so do you please arrange me.

SERVANT.—In that case, be so good as to sit down here.

WIFE.—All right.

SERVANT.—I fear it will be uncomfortable, but I must ask you to put your head under this.

WIFE.—Please arrange me so that he cannot possibly know the difference between us.

SERVANT.—He will never know. It will do very nicely like this.

WIFE.—Will it?

SERVANT.—Yes.

WIFE.—Well, then! do you go and rest.

SERVANT.—Your commands are laid to heart.

[He moves away.

WIFE.—Wait a moment, Taraukuwazhiya!

SERVANT.—Yes, ma'am.

WIFE.—It is scarcely necessary to say so, but be sure not to tell him that it is I.

SERVANT.—Of course not, I should not think of telling him.

WIFE.—It has come to my ears that you have been secretly wishing for a purse and silk wrapper.[174] I will give you one of each which I have worked myself.

SERVANT.—I am extremely grateful for your kindness.

WIFE.—Now be off and rest.

SERVANT.—Yes, ma'am.

Enter husband, singing as he walks along the road.

Why should the lonely sleeper heed The midnight bell, the bird of dawn? But ah! they're sorrowful indeed When loosen'd was the damask zone.

Her image still, with locks that sleep Had tangled, haunts me, and for aye; Like willow-sprays where winds do sweep, All tangled too, my feelings lie.

As the world goes, it rarely happens even with the most ardent secret love; but in my case I never see her but what I care for her more and more:—

'Twas in the spring-time that we first did meet, Nor e'er can I forget my flow'ret sweet.

Ah well! ah well! I keep talking like one in a dream, and meantime Taraukuwazhiya is sure to be impatiently awaiting me. I must get home. How will he have been keeping my place for me? I feel a bit uneasy. [He arrives at his house.] Halloo! halloo! Taraukuwazhiya! I'm back! I'm back! [He enters the room.] I'm just back. Poor fellow! the time must have seemed long to you. There now! [Seating himself.] Well, I should like to tell you to take off the "abstraction blanket"; but you would probably feel ashamed at being exposed.[175] Anyhow I will relate to you what Hana said last night if you care to listen. Do you? [The figure nods acquiescence.] So you would like to? Well, then, I'll tell you all about it: I made all the haste I could, but yet it was nearly dark before I arrived; and I was just going to ask admittance, my thoughts full of how anxiously Hana must be waiting for me in her loneliness, saying, perhaps, with the Chinese poet[176]:—

He promised but he comes not, and I lie on my pillow in the fifth watch of the night:— The wind shakes the pine trees and the bamboos; can it be my beloved?

when there comes borne to me the sound of her voice, humming as she sat alone:—

"The breezes through the pine trees moan, The dying torch burns low; Ah me! 'tis eerie all alone! Say, will he come or no?"

So I gave a gentle rap on the back door, on hearing which she cried out: "Who's there? who's there?" Well, a shower was falling at the time. So I answered by singing:—

Who comes to see you Hana dear, Regardless of the soaking rain? And do your words, Who's there, who's there? Mean that you wait for lovers twain?

to which Hana replied:—

"What a fine joke! well, who can tell? On such a dark and rainy night Who ventures out must love me well, And I, of course, must be polite, And say: Pray sir, pass this way."

And, with these words, she loosened the ring and staple with a cling-a-ring, and pushed open the door with a crick-a-tick; and while the breeze from the bamboo blind poured towards me laden with the scent of flowers, out she comes to me, and, "At your service, sir," says she, "though I am but a poor country maid." So in we went, hand in hand, to the parlor. But yet her first question, "Who's there?" had left me so doubtful as to whether she might not be playing a double game, that I turned my back on her, and said crossly that I supposed she had been expecting a number of lovers, and that the thought quite spoiled my pleasure. But oh! what a darling Hana is! Coming to my side and clasping tight my hand, she whispered, saying:

"If I do please you not, then from the first Better have said that I do please you not; But wherefore pledge your troth, and after turn Against me? Alas! alas!

"Why be so angry? I am playing no double game." Then she asked why I had not brought you, Taraukuwazhiya, with me; and on my telling her the reason why you had remained at home, "Poor fellow!" said she, "how lonely he must be all by himself! Never was there a handier lad at everything than he, though doubtless it is a case of the mugwort planted among the hemp, which grows straight without need of twisting, and of the sand mixed with the mud, which gets black without need of dyeing,[177] and it is his having been bound to you from a boy that has made him so genteel and clever. Please always be a kind master to him." Yes, those are the things you have said of you when Hana is the speaker. As for my old vixen, she wouldn't let as much fall from her mug in the course of a century, I'll warrant! [Violent shaking under the blanket.] Then she asked me to pass into the inner room to rest awhile. So in we went to the inner room, hand in hand. And then she brought out wine and food, and pressed me to drink, so that what with drinking one's self, and passing the cup to her, and pressing each other to drink, we kept feasting until quite far into the night, when at her suggestion another room was sought and a little repose taken. But soon day began to break, and I said I would go home. Then Hana exclaimed:—

"Methought that when I met thee, dearest heart! I'd tell thee all that swells within my breast:— But now already 'tis the hour to part, And oh! how much still lingers unexpress'd!

Please stay and rest a little longer!" "But no!" said I, "I must get home. All the temple-bells are a-ringing." "And heartless priests they are," cried she, "that ring them! Horrid wretches to begin their ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, when it is still the middle of the night!" But for all her entreaties, and for all my own regrets, I remembered that "meeting is but parting," and,

Tearing me loose, I made to go; farewell! Farewell a thousand times, like ocean sands Untold! and followed by her distant gaze I went; but as I turn'd me round, the moon, A slender rim, sparkling remain'd behind, And oh! what pain it was to me to part!

[He sheds tears.] And so I came home. Oh! isn't it a pity? [Weeping again.] Ah well! out of my heart's joy has flamed all this long history, and meanwhile you must be very uncomfortable. Take off that "abstraction blanket." Take it off, for I have nothing more to tell you. Gracious goodness! what a stickler you are! Well, then! I must pull it off myself. I will have it off, man! do you hear me?

[He pulls off the blanket, and up jumps his wife.

WIFE.—Oh! how furious I am! Oh! how furious I am! To hoax me and go off to Hana in that manner!

HUSBAND.—Oh! not at all, not at all! I never went to Hana. I have been performing my devotions, indeed I have.

WIFE.—What! so he means to come and tell me that he has been performing his devotions? and then into the bargain to talk about "things the old vixen would never have let drop"! Oh! I'm all ablaze with rage! Hoaxing me and going off—where? Going off where?

[Pursuing her husband round the stage.

HUSBAND.—Not at all, not at all! I never said anything of the kind. Do, do forgive me! do forgive me!

WIFE.—Oh! how furious I am! Oh! how furious I am! Where have you been, sir? where have you been?

HUSBAND.—Well, then! why should I conceal it from you? I have been to pray both for your welfare and for my own at the Temple of the Five Hundred Disciples[178] in Tsukushi.

WIFE.—Oh! how furious I am! Oh! how furious I am! as if you could have got as far as the Five Hundred Disciples!

HUSBAND.—Do, do forgive me! Do forgive me!

WIFE.—Oh! how furious I am! Oh! how furious I am!

[The husband runs away.

Where's the unprincipled wretch off to? Is there nobody there? Please catch him! I won't let him escape! I won't let him escape!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 162: The reader will call to mind the extreme simplicity which distinguishes the method of representing the Japanese lyric dramas. In accordance with this simplicity, all the changes of place mentioned in the text are indicated merely by a slight movement to and fro of the actors upon the stage.]

[Footnote 163: It is said that in antiquity an ode commencing with the name of Mount Asaka was the first copybook put into the hands of children. The term is therefore now used as the "Pillow-word" for learning to write.]

[Footnote 164: The doctrine of retribution set forth in the above lines is a cardinal point of the Buddhist teaching; and, as the afflicted Christian seeks support in the expectation of future rewards for goodness, so will the pious Buddhist find motives for resignation in the consideration of his present sufferings as the consequence of sins committed in past stages of existence.]

[Footnote 165: A little further on, Kauzhiyu says it is a "rule" that a retainer must lay down his life for his lord. Though it would be difficult to find either in the Buddhist or in the Confucian teaching any explicit statement of such a duty, it is nevertheless true that the almost frantic loyalty of the mediaeval and modern Japanese was but the natural result of such teaching domiciled amid a feudal society. We may see in this drama the whole distance that had been traversed by the Japanese mind since the time of the "Manyefushifu" poets, whose means of life and duty were so much nearer to those of the simply joyous and unmoral, though not immoral, children of nature.]

[Footnote 166: Literally, "turns his child into a dream."]

[Footnote 167: During the Middle Ages it was very usual for afflicted persons to renounce secular life, the Buddhist tonsure being the outward sign of the step thus taken.]

[Footnote 168: The Past World, the Present World, and the World to Come. According to the Buddhist teaching, the relations subsisting between parents and children are for one life only; those between husband and wife are for two lives; while those uniting a servant to his lord or a disciple to his master endure for the space of three consecutive lives.]

[Footnote 169: This sentence, which so strangely reminds us of John iii., 16, is, like all the prose passages of these dramas, a literal rendering of the Japanese original.]

[Footnote 170: In Japan, as in England, it is usual to talk of going "up" to the capital and "down" to the country.]

[Footnote 171: A form of mortification current in the Shingon sect of Buddhists.]

[Footnote 172: Bodhidharma, the first Buddhist Patriarch of China, whither he came from India in A.D. 520. He is said to have remained seated in abstraction gazing at a wall for nine years, till his legs rotted off. His name is, in Japan, generally associated with the ludicrous. Thus certain legless and shapeless dolls are called after him, and snow-figures are denominated Yuki-daruma (Snow Daruma).]

[Footnote 173: Needless to say that no such text exists.]

[Footnote 174: Used for carrying parcels, and for presenting anything to, and receiving anything from, a superior. The touch of the inferior's hand would be considered rude.]

[Footnote 175: The meaning is that, as one of the two must be under the blanket in readiness for a possible visit from the wife, the servant would doubtless feel it to be contrary to their respective positions for him to take his ease outside while his master is sitting cramped up inside—a peculiarly uncomfortable position, moreover, for the teller of a long story.]

[Footnote 176: The lines are in reality a bad Japanese imitation of some in a poem by Li Shang-Yin.]

[Footnote 177: Proverbial expressions.]

[Footnote 178: Properly, the Five Hundred "Arhan," or personal disciples of Sakya. The island of Tsukushi forms the southwestern extremity of Japan.]

THE END