Yoichibei. No, no, sir. I took some small coin out of this pouch, it is true, to buy straw-sandals a while ago; but there is now in it only a few lumps of rice for luncheon and medicines my daughter gave me for bilious attacks. Please, let me go, sir.
Recitative. And he snatches back the pouch and tries to escape; but Sadakuro runs before him and intercepts him.
Sadakuro. What an obstinate fellow, to be sure! I speak you fair, because I do not wish to do anything cruel; and you take advantage of it. Come, fork out the money. If you hesitate, I will kill you at one blow.
Recitative. He draws his sword and raises it for a downward stroke; and before Yoichibei can cry out, he strikes at him as at a dry bamboo-pole. Did the sword deflect or the hands err? He misses his mark, and Yoichibei grasps the naked blade with both his hands.
Yoichibei. Do you, then, really mean to kill me?
Sadakuro. Of course I do. I kill you because I saw your money; and so give up the ghost without more complaint.
Recitative. He points the sword at his breast.
Yoichibei. Please, just wait, sir. There is no help for it. Yes, this is money. But I have an only daughter; and she has a husband who is more dear to her than life itself. That husband is in want of money. He is, for certain reasons, a ronin at present. It was through her, says my daughter, that he became a ronin, and she has asked me and my wife to help him to return to his former samurai’s position. But as we are poor, we could do nothing. At last, after long consultation with my wife, we hit upon a plan; we made our daughter agree to it and have kept it absolutely secret from our son-in-law. And this is the money we got after we three, father, mother, and daughter, had truly wept tears of blood. And if you take it away, what will become of my daughter? See, I clasp my hands to you; please, let me go. You, too, appear to have been a samurai; and the samurai should help each other. Without this money, my daughter and her husband cannot hold up their heads in the world. He is my only daughter’s husband; and you will guess how I pity and love him. Have compassion on me, sir, and let me go. You are still young and I suppose you are childless; but when the time comes and a child is born to you, you will know how natural are the words I have spoken to you. So, please, let me leave this place in safety. Only a ri[1] from here is my home. You may kill me when I have handed the money to my son-in-law. Please, sir, I should like to die after I have seen my daughter’s face light up with joy. Please, please, sir. Oh, help, help!
Recitative. But his cries only resound with piteous echoes in the hills around.
Sadakuro. Oh, that is indeed sad. Cry on. Hear me, old dotard. If I rise in the world with that money of yours, the blessing of this act of charity will raise your son too. For charity never makes an evil return to the donor. Poor fellow!