Chiushingura

Front matter

Or,

A Japanese Romance

Translated by

Book 1

Tsuruga-oka.

Book the First.

What Happened at Tsuruga-oka.

After the Shôgun of the Ashikaga dynasty, Taka-uji kô, had overthrown Nitta Yoshisada, profound peace reigned throughout the land. His Highness built a palace at Kiyôto, and the fame of his achievements penetrated into every corner of the empire.

All the people yielded to his authority, bowing down before him as the grass bends to the breeze, and the imperial might spread its protecting wings over the realm.

In commemoration of his success, the Shôgun caused a shrine to be erected to the War-God Hachiman at Tsuruga-oka, and sent his younger brother, Ashikaga Sahiyôye no kami Nahoyoshi kô, to act as his deputy at the inauguration of the newly completed building.

Towards the close of the second month of the first year of the nengo Riyakuô (A.D. 1338), Nahoyoshi accordingly arrived at Kamakura, and was received by the Lord Moronaho, Count of Musashi, and chief representative of the Shôgun at the Eastern capital, a haughty nobleman, arrogant of carriage, and overweeningly proud of his position near the person of his august master; assisted by Wakasanosuke Yasuchika, younger brother of Momonoi, Lord of Harima, and Yenya Hanguwan Takasada, a baron of Hakushiu, charged by His Highness with the duty of receiving guests, and who were keeping strict ward within the curtain before the shrine. Nahoyoshi, taking his seat under the porch of the shrine, motioned Moronaho to a place on his left, while the two younger noblemen took up their position below the steps by the great maiden-hair tree there standing. Pointing to a Chinese coffer, which the attendant had brought forward at his command, Nahoyoshi exclaimed:—“Among the helmets contained in this chest is one which belonged to Nitta Yoshisada, who was defeated by our brother Takauji, bestowed upon him by the Emperor Godaigo. Nitta, it is true, was our enemy; but he was a descendant, in the elder line of the Seiwa family, a Genji house, and it is commanded that the helmet worn by him should not be thrown aside, but placed in the treasury of the shrine.”

“His Highness’s command surprises me,” cried the Count of Musashi; “Nitta, no doubt came of the Seiwa stock, but thus to honour a helmet worn by him, seeing that scores of feudatories of high and low degree claim like descent, is hardly, I submit, a prudent policy.”

“Nay, my Lord, not so,” said Wakasanosuke; “it seems to me that His Highness hopes in this way to obtain the submission of the disbanded partisans of Nitta without having recourse to force, trusting to the effect which his generosity in thus honouring their chief will have upon them. Your counsel is lacking both in wisdom and respect.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when Moronaho exclaimed, angrily:—

“Yah! you dare to interrupt me and twit me, Moronaho, with lack of wisdom. Round the spot where Nitta was slain, forty-seven

The Audience of the Lade Kawoyo.

helmets that had fallen off the heads of their dead wearers were found; who shall tell which of them was Nitta’s? and if the wrong one should be thus honoured, what ridicule would be incurred! Away with you for an overmeddlesome raw youngster.”

The colour mounted to Wakasanosuke’s face; but Yenya Hanguwan interposed.

“Kowa! your lordship is no doubt right. Still, what Wakasanosuke says is worth consideration. His Excellency, perhaps,” he added, glad to avert a quarrel, “will assist us.”

“Let the wife of Yenya be sent for,” replied Nahoyoshi, in answer to the appeal made to him.

A messenger was accordingly dispatched in quest of her; and after a short interval the Lady Kawoyo, the beautiful wife of the Hakushiu baron, presented herself. Her face was powdered, and the brilliancy of her appearance rivalled the lustre of a gem, as, with bare feet and long sweeping train, she modestly prostrated herself at a respectful distance from His Excellency.

“Lady Kawoyo,” said Moronaho, who was an admirer of the sex, “we are much obliged to you. His Excellency has commanded your attendance, pray come nearer,” assuming a soft manner as he spoke the latter words.

Nahoyoshi, regarding her, added:—“It is true that we have sent for you. Some time since, during the rebellion in Genkô (A.D. 1331), Godaigo Tenwô bestowed a helmet that His Majesty had himself worn upon Nitta Yoshisada at the capital, and the latter doubtless wore it upon the day of his death. It is supposed to be among the helmets I have caused to be placed in yonder coffer, but there is no one here who can pick it out. We have heard that the wife of Yenya was, at the time we refer to, one of the twelve Naishi, and if she can recognise the helmet in question we bid her to point it out.”

The Lady Kawoyo listened modestly to His Excellency’s command, and replied softly:—

“Your Excellency’s command honours me beyond my merits. Every morning and evening His Majesty’s helmet was in my hands, and I was present at the bestowal of it upon Nitta. Indeed, it was from my hands that the latter received it; accompanying his grateful acceptance with the following declaration:—‘Man lasts but one generation, but his name may endure for ever. When I go forth to battle I shall burn precious ranjatai perfume in the helmet thus graciously presented to me; and if I should die upon the battle-field, the foe to whom my head will fall a prize will know by the fragrance that he has taken the head of Nitta Yoshisada.’ ”

“Your answer, lady,” exclaimed His Excellency, as the wife of Yenya ceased speaking, “is sufficiently clear. Ho! there; take out the forty-seven helmets in yonder coffer, and show them one by one to Lady Kawoyo.”

The attendants hastened to obey; and, opening the coffer, brought out the helmets one by one. After a number had been examined, they came upon a five-fold helmet with a dragon crest, which the Lady Kawoyo immediately recognised by the odour still clinging to it, as the one bestowed upon Nitta by the Emperor Godaigo. The helmet thus identified was delivered to Yenya and Wakasanosuke, who were commanded to take charge of it, and see that it was duly placed in the treasury of the shrine. Nawoyoshi then rose and withdrew, followed by the two noblemen.

The Lady Kawoyo, thus left alone with Moronaho, addressed that nobleman with some embarrassment.

“My lord, pray excuse me. My duty being performed, and permission given me to retire, it would not be fitting that I should remain here longer. I beg, therefore, to take leave of your lordship.”

Moronaho, however, coming close up to her, detained her.

“Mâ, an instant, pray. Your duties to-day are over, and I venture to ask you to look at something I have to show you. His Excellency’s sending for you was a most fortunate thing for me,—just as if he were a god desirous of bringing us together. You know that I am fond of putting my thoughts into verse, and, day after day, I have asked Yoshida Kenkô to assist me in composing some lines to you, which were to have been sent to you. You will find them in this paper,” slipping a folded letter into her sleeve-pocket. “I hope you will look upon them favourably. You might give me your answer now, by word of mouth.”

The letter was addressed to the Lady Kawoyo—different enough in face and form from the Musashi stirrup, from whom it purported to come. And the wife of Yenya, as she read the address, trembled with shame and confusion, yet feared to reproach Moronaho, lest disgrace should attach to her husband’s name. At first she thought of shewing it to her husband; but recollecting that it would only make him angry and might cause trouble, she simply threw the letter back without a word.

Moronaho picked it up, quoting a line from the Senzai collection—

“What thou hast spurn’d, is prized by me, For hath it not been touch’d by thee!”

and continued to press his suit, hoping by importunity to compel a favourable answer—but in vain.

“Know you,” he cried at last, “that I am Count of Musashi? that on my will depends the weal or woe of the Empire? that your husband’s fate hangs upon your decision?—Do you hear me?”

Kawoyo could only answer with her tears, when Wakasanosuke opportunely returned, and, seeing that some insult had been offered to her, cleverly interposed.

“Lady Kawoyo, your duty is accomplished, and permission has been accorded you to retire. Ought you not, out of respect to His Excellency, to avail yourself of it?”—motioning her to withdraw as he spoke.

Moronaho saw that Wakasanosuke suspected something; and, determined not to show any weakness, cried angrily,

“Yah! again you dare to thrust yourself in my way. If the lady Kawoyo withdraws it is by my permission, not by yours. Kawoyo desires me, according to her husband’s secret wish, to instruct him how to discharge the duties of his office with perfect propriety, without which he would be helpless. And Yenya, though a Daimiô, seeks my aid; while you, a petty fellow who got your rank through the favour of nobody knows who, take care, and remember that a word from me will suffice to bring you into the clutches of the executioner.”

The colour mounted into Wakasanosuke’s face at this insolent speech, and he grasped the handle of his sword with force enough to crush it. Remembering that he was within the grounds of the Wargod’s shrine, and within the precincts of the palace, he had restrained himself when Moronaho had previously insulted him; but this last trial overcame his utmost patience, and he was on the point of making it a life and death quarrel, when His Excellency’s fore-runners came rapidly up, clearing the way with loud shouts for their lord’s passage.

In the confusion, Wakasanosuke was obliged to defer the hour, but still treasured the hope of vengeance. Thus, Moronaho, with a good fortune the reverse of merited, escaped destruction; and the next morning Yenya, ignorant of the ill-turn which his superior had played him, followed in his suite.

Nahoyoshi, meanwhile, returned at a slow pace to the palace, and his authority was everywhere reverently acknowledged; while his servants held their heads proudly erect, and the war-helmets were laid by arranged in peace-betokening order, according to the letters of the I-ro-ha.

Thus a profound tranquillity reigned in the land; throughout which, not to harm a head-piece became an universally observed rule.

Book 2

Book the Second.

The Rage of Wakasanosuke.

On an evening in the Yayoi month, Kakogaha Honzô, a man of some fifty years of age, and of matured intelligence, shikkenshoku of Wakasanosuke almost ever since the tall pines had overshadowed the courtyard of his lord’s castle, was pacing to and fro before the sho-in, while the servants, muttering together over their task, were sweeping up the dead leaves, and putting everything in due order.

“Yesterday, at Tsuruga-oka,” said one of them, “our master was grievously insulted by the Lord Moronaho. They talk of nothing else in the servants’ quarters. Indeed, it is said that violence was used towards him.”

“Yai, yai!” cried Honzô, breaking in, “what is all this about—what have you to do with such matters? If your work is finished, away with you, every one.”

Honzô spoke good-humouredly enough; and, just as he ended, the clatter of footsteps resounded in the verandah, and his only daughter, Konami, and her mother, Tonasé, came together out of one of the apartments.

“How is this?” he exclaimed, in a sharp tone, “both of you absent from attendance on your mistress, amusing yourselves instead of looking after your duties. Shame upon you—ten thousand times shame upon you.”

“Nay, father,” said Konami, “our mistress is more than usually well to-day, she is now quietly asleep; is it not so, mother?”

“Yes,” replied the latter. “But, Honzô, our mistress has just been telling me a report she heard from Konami that our lord Wakasanosuke and Moronaho had words together after the close of yesterday’s ceremony at Tsuruga-oka. Our mistress is very anxious about it.”

“Now, now, Tonasé,” cried her husband, “why do you listen to such stupid rumours? Have a care, have a care! So our daughter here got hold of this rumour yesterday, did she ? How people talk, to be sure—but the whole thing is ridiculous; I must go and put your mistress’s mind at ease about what you have told her.”

Just as he was quitting the spot, however, a warder came up and announced “Rikiya Sama, the son of Ohoboshi Yuranosuke.”

“Ha!” said Honzô, “he will have brought instructions about the reception of the guests at court to-morrow. Tonasé, hear what he has to say, and inform our lord of his message. And stay, Rikiya and Konami are betrothed; so treat him civilly. I must away to your mistress.”

So saying, Honzô hurried off in the direction of the inner apartments.

“Ah,” cried Tonasé, approaching closer to her daughter, “your father was always a punctilious man, but in this matter I am not at all of his mind. ’Tis you ought to receive the message, not I. You and

The Meeting of the Affianced.

your affianced would, of course, like to see each other, and be with each other a little; therefore, you take my place and receive Rikiya—what say you?”

But Konami only turned red, and, although her mother repeated the question, gave no answer. The latter divining, however, her daughter’s real wishes, immediately feigned an attack of hysterics.

“Ai, ta, ta, ta,—daughter,—rub my back, please; I have been fearing this ever since the morning. It is another attack of my usual spasms. Ah! it will be impossible for me to receive the messenger. Ai, ta, ta, ta,—daughter,—I must get you to receive him instead of myself. Take care to treat him civilly, and offer refreshments. This fit quite prevents me. Mind you offer refreshments; and, when Rikiya has partaken of them, take his message carefully and make my excuses to him.”

With these words Tonasé hobbled off towards the inner apartments. Konami, bowing after her mother with an expression of entreaty, said to herself, “Of late Rikiya has become very dear to me, but what am I to say? How shall I act when I meet him?”

A timid blush dyed her soft cheek as she made these reflections, and her little heart went “pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat,” like the tiny waves breaking on the sea-shore.

Presently, Rikiya was announced, and immediately afterwards entered the apartment, saluting Konami courteously. He was a handsome youth; and, as he and Konami shyly interchanged glances, they were mutually charmed with each other. Neither could find a word to say, modesty dyeing her cheek with the hue of the plum-blossom, rivalled by the blush of the wild cherry that overspread the face of her betrothed; and, the pair being alone, there was no intermediary to bring them closer together.

“Welcome, Sir,” exclaimed Konami, with some embarrassment; “we hardly know how to thank you for the trouble you are put to on our behalf. I am charged with the duty of receiving your communication. Pray let me know what it is”—approaching her betrothed as she uttered the last words.

Rikiya, however, drew back with an offended air. “Hold!” he cried, “this is scarcely civil. All the world knows that when a message is to be received, the forms of politeness ought to be rigidly observed.” “My lord Yenya,” he continued, “informs Wakasanosuke that His Excellency’s order is, that both my lord and yours be at their posts to-morrow morning at the seventh hour precisely (4 A.M.), and in everything submit themselves, without failing in any particular, to the directions of Moronaho.”

As the words flowed softly like water from the youth’s mouth, Konami was struck with admiration, and could not find a word to say in reply: so completely was she under the charm of his address. At this juncture a partition was pushed back, and Wakasanosuke, who had heard the whole conversation from an adjoining room, entered the apartment.

“Oh, I understand—many thanks, messenger. Yesterday, when I took leave of His Excellency, I somehow missed Hanguwan. Tomorrow morning, is it? At the seventh hour precisely? Good, You may assure your master I shall not fail to be there. Commend me to your lord, and thank him for me; and I must thank you, too, messenger.”

“Your lordship, then,” said Rikiya, “will permit me to take leave. And to you, lady,” addressing Konami, “I beg to express my thanks for having received my message.”

So saying, Rikiya courteously withdrew. Tonasé who had all this time remained hidden behind a screen, where, after leaving her daughter upon a pretended plea of illness, she had concealed herself, also slipped away unperceived. Hardly had she disappeared when Honzô entered the apartment.

“Ah, your lordship is here? I am very sorry to have to remind you that your lordship’s presence at the palace is required so early as the seventh hour. It is already midnight. Will it not be well to take some rest?”

“Is it indeed so late? But hark ye, Honzô, I must have some talk with you, in private. Send your daughter away.”

“Do you hear?” cried the Shikkenshoku, addressing his daughter; “If we want you we will clap hands. Away with you.”

“I was desirous,” pursued Honzô, after she had withdrawn, approaching his lord, whose face had assumed an expression of the deepest concern, “I was desirous of being allowed to inquire what was troubling your lordship? I pray you, tell me everything without any reserve.”

“You must swear to me that you will attend to what I am about to say, whatever may be the results, without making a single objection.”

“Surely, my lord, that is a strange request to your servant; whose duty it is to do whatever he may be directed.”

“So, then, you will not give me your oath as a Bushi.”

“Nay, not so,—but first I would ask to hear the whole matter from your lordship.”

“Then you will give me your advice! Nay, but perhaps you would oppose my wishes.”

“Is not my lord assured of his servant’s respectful attention and devotedness? I will not interrupt your lordship by a single word. I pray you, therefore, tell me all, now; and be not angry with this fellow Honzô, who will treasure up in his inmost heart whatever you may deign to confide to him.”

“Well, then, I will tell you everything. As you know, the Kuwanrei Nahoyoshi came down to Kamakura a short time since, to inaugurate the shrine that has just been completed at Tsuruga-oka. Yenya and I were charged with the duty of receiving guests, and were commanded by His Highness the Shôgun to put ourselves under the orders of Moronaho, a nobleman of great experience in all ceremonial matters. Moronaho took to riding the high horse, and day by day grew harsher and stricter with me, who am one of the youngest and least experienced of all the samurahi in Kamakura. At last his insolence passed all bounds, and I would have ere now cut him in pieces, were it not that the respect due to His Highness has always forbidden me to give way to my passion, and wreak vengeance upon my enemy. But my patience is exhausted. To-morrow, come what may, I will throw back his insults in his face before the whole court. My honour as a samurahi is at stake. This hand shall strike the villain dead. And you, Honzô, beware of attempting to restrain me. My wife, and you too, have often remonstrated with me of late, because of my quick temper gaining more and more the mastery over me, and I know your counsel is good. But a samurahi, with the spirit of a samurahi, I can no longer brook these repeated insults. You will say, I am courting destruction, bringing grief upon my wife. Too true, perhaps; but the sword I wear, and the dread archer-god to whom I pray, command me to wipe out the insults to my honour. Even though I die not upon the battle-field, if I slay this Moronaho, a service will be done to the Empire, and the name of my house will be saved from infamy. I have spoken thus freely with you that my motives may be known, and that it may not be said of me afterwards that I rushed upon my fate in a mere fit of passion, like a mad fool or a stupid wild-boar.”

“Most clearly have you put the matter, my lord. You have indeed acted with wisdom throughout,—a wisdom your servant could never hope to imitate.”

“Yai! Honzô,” cried his master, interrupting him; “what say you? I have acted with wisdom, have shown forbearance. What means this? Dare you to insult me?”

“Far from your servant any such thought. Street-folk, it is true, take the shady side of the road in winter, and the sunny one in summer, to avoid disputes; but samurahi follow no such coward’s rule. I pray you excuse my ill-considered words. Search my heart, my lord, and you will find in it no thought of disrespect to your servant’s master.”

As he uttered the last words Honzô drew his short sword, and with a blow cut off a branch from a pine-tree that stood close to the verandah in front of the room where the conversation was being held: immediately returning the weapon deftly to its scabbard.

“Sa! So let the enemies of my lord perish by his hand.”

“Silence! Look well, lest there be any one about who can hear what we say.”

“And now, my lord,” said the Shikkenshoku, after having peeped into the adjoining room to satisfy his master, “it is already midnight, pray take some rest: I will myself see to the alarm-clock. Do not delay, I pray you.”

“I am glad you quite understand me. If I see my wife, I shall make some excuse for leaving her.”

Bidding Honzô good night, Wakasanosuke then withdrew. For a few moments Honzô gazed after his lord wistfully; then rousing himself, he bent his steps hastily in the direction of the servants’ quarters.

“Ho, there, some of you,” he cried in a loud tone, “saddle a horse for me, quick.”

The order was obeyed without delay, and Honzô at once swung himself into the saddle.

“Follow me, I go to the mansion of Moronaho.”

As he spoke, Tonasé and Konami came out of an apartment, and hurrying up to him, hung upon his bridle, exclaiming—“Where are you going? We have overheard everything. How, Honzô! You an old man, and yet you do not endeavour to moderate our lord’s anger by your wisdom—what can this mean? Stay, stay!”

And the two women clung beseechingly to his bridle.

“Silence, both of you,” cried the Shikkenshoku, angrily. “Our lord’s life—the existence of his house—are at stake. Mind you do not utter a word about my departure to your master. If you betray me, you, daughter, shall be turned out of my family, and you, Tonasé, shall be divorced. Ho, there (to the servants), I will give you your orders on the way.”

Tonasé and Konami uttered an exclamation of alarm.

“You are too importunate,” repeated Honzô, sharply. “Delay not (to the servants), but follow me.” So saying, he hastily rode off, clouds of dust marking his rapid passage. Tonasé and her daughter immediately afterwards betook themselves with heavy hearts to the inner apartments.

Book 3

Book the Third.

The Quarrel of Yenya with Moronaho.

Auspicious events were the completion of the Palace at Kamakura, and the arrival of Nahoyoshi Kô, the Governor-General of the eight eastern provinces; brilliant was the throng of courtiers of high and low degree, in splendid attire, that crowded the spacious apartments on the morrow of the day of which the events have been already narrated. It was as if the moon and the stars had combined to shed their radiance on the hills around Kamakura. About the Rear-gate were waiting the nô performers, who had been summoned to display their talents before the assembled court, while round the Great Gate were gathered the officials charged with the reception and entertainment of the guests.

As the seventh hour struck the assembled nobility and gentry presented a gorgeous appearance. Now loud cries of “Hai, hai, hai!” from the warders of the western gate, gave notice of a fresh arrival. Immediately afterwards, the glimmer of numerous lanterns shone in the dusky dawn, and the lord Moronaho, Count of Musashi, a proud and haughty nobleman, appeared, dressed in a court suit of blue silk, ornamented with a large mon and wearing a tall yeboshi cap on his head. His retainer, Sagisaka Bannai, causing some of the attendants to herald his master's approach, and ordering the remainder to betake themselves to the proper quarters, squared his elbows in a superb manner, for all the world just like a stork, and, puffed up with his lord's dignity at secondhand, thus addressed the great man:—

“Your lordship’s arrangements are excellent, most excellent. As to Yenya and Momonoi, however, strut about as they may with awkward pride, they are as clumsy in their attempts to carry out their duties as puppy dogs struggling to keep their footing upon a slant roof. It makes one laugh to watch them. As to that fellow Yenya,—by the by, his wife, I hear, has not yet answered your lordship,—your lordship must not let yourself be disturbed by that. Pretty though she is, she is beneath your lordship’s notice; and as to her husband, it is wrong to mention him in the same breath with your lordship, now made Shiuttô by His Highness.”

“Yai! don’t speak so loud, Kawoyo is a married woman. Pretending to be a teacher of poetry, I have again and again expressed my passion for her in verse, but hitherto without success. She has lately, however, got a new maid, I hear, named Karu; I must see if I cannot bribe the wench to assist me. I don’t abandon all hope; for if she really disliked me she would have spoken to her husband, which she has not done.”

While Moronaho and his follower thus conversed together familiarly under the portal of the four-pillared gateway, one of the Samurahi on guard came up hurriedly to them, exclaiming:

“Just now, as I was sitting on the bench by the gate, Kakogawa Honzô, the retainer of Wakasanosuke, rode up hastily and asked for an immediate audience of the lord Moronaho; saying he had been to your lordship’s house, but had been told that you had gone to the palace early. He seemed most anxious to have an interview with your lordship; and was accompanied by a number of followers on horseback. What answer shall I make him?”

“My lord Moronaho is on His Highness’ service,” cried Bannai indignantly; “such a request for an immediate interview is monstrous. I will see the man myself.”

“Stay, stay,” broke in Moronaho, detaining his follower. “I understand it perfectly. Wakasanosuke does not come himself to wreak his revenge upon me for what took place the day before yesterday at Tsuruga-oka, but sends this fellow Honzô instead, to flatten my nose for me. Ha, ha, ha! Don’t stir, Bannai, it is some minutes yet short of the seventh hour. Bring the fellow here, I will make short work with him.”

“If that is your lordship’s will,” answered Bannai. “But look out, fellows,” turning to the attendants. Moronaho and his obsequious follower then wetted with spittle the pin that held the blades of their swords in the handles; and rubbing the muscles of their arms, waited for Honzô, who presently appeared advancing slowly as he arranged carefully the folds of his dress. He was followed by several retainers bearing presents, which he caused to be set down before Moronaho; while he himself fell prostrate, at a respectful distance, from that haughty nobleman.

“Hah, if it please your lordship—His Highness the Shôgun Takauji lately honoured my master, Wakasanosuke, by entrusting him with the discharge of the duties of an office of great dignity; a good fortune far beyond my master’s desserts, who is young and inexperienced in the duties of his post. Under these circumstances, I venture in my perplexity to request your lordship to act as my master’s instructor, and to advise him in the execution of his duty, so that he may perform it satisfactorily and without failing in any point. We shall all, from our master and mistress down to your servant, be overjoyed should this request be granted, and I dare to ask your lordship’s acceptance of the presents, paltry though they be, which are enumerated in the list I hold in my hand, as a slight mark of respectful gratitude, a condescension we should treasure the memory of to our dying day.” With these words the speaker handed a paper to Bannai; who wonderstruck at the whole proceeding, received it without uttering a word, and unfolding it with circumspection, read out, after a short pause, as follows:—

“Memorandum, 30 picture rolls and 30 Ôgon. These are presented by the wife of Wakasanosuke.”

“Item, 20 Ôgon. These are presented by the chief councillor, Kakogaha Honzô.”

“Item, 10 Ôgon. These are presented by the retainers of Wakasanosuke.”

As Bannai finished reading the list, Moronaho opened his mouth wide with astonishment, unable to utter a word, and staring in a dazed way before him, while he and his follower looked at each other with the foolish expression of men who had just been told that the great mid-year feast had been put off, and were at their wits’ end what to do.

Moronaho at last found utterance:—“Really, we are ashamed to have put you to this trouble. Bannai (in a whisper), what does all this mean?”