THE LOVE SUICIDES AT AMIJIMA (SHINJŪ TEN NO AMIJIMA, 1721)
Chikamatsu Monzaemon’s Love Suicides at Amijima is widely considered to be his best contemporary-life play. It was first performed at the Takemoto Theater in Osaka in 1721, during the Kyōhō era (1716–1736) when the restrictions on urban commoner society had become even more rigid than they had been in the Genroku era. The historical source for the play is unclear, but the incident inspired a number of later sewamono, and The Love Suicides at Amijima itself was subsequently revised. In the play, Kamiya (literally, paper merchant) Jihei, an Osaka paper merchant with a wife and children, falls in love with Koharu, a prostitute under contract to the Kinokuniya House in Sonezaki (a licensed quarter in Osaka). Forced into tragic circumstances, the two of them commit suicide at a temple in Amijima, in Osaka.
About half Chikamatsu’s twenty-four contemporary-life plays focus on an incident concerning an Osaka urban commoner. Almost all the male protagonists are young and of low social station, either an adopted son or a shop clerk, and most of them become involved with a low-level prostitute. In that the lovers have already decided to commit double suicide at the beginning, The Love Suicides at Amijima differs from such double-suicide plays as The Love Suicides at Sonezaki which show the tragic chain of events that lead to death. Instead, the focus in Amijima is on those who attempt to prevent the suicide of the two lovers, with the climax coming in the middle of the famous second act when Osan sacrifices everything she can, including her dignity, in an attempt to save her husband’s life. Chikamatsu places the tragedy in a tight web of urban commoner social relationships and obligations, particularly the hierarchical relations between master and apprentice, parent and child, and husband and wife, as well as in the context of the new monetary economy and commercial life of Osaka. The Love Suicides at Amijima follows the pattern established by The Love Suicides at Sonezaki, with Jihei and Koharu outwardly resembling Tokubei and Ohatsu in Sonezaki, but Jihei and Koharu bear a much greater social burden, particularly Jihei as a pillar of the family business (the owner of a paper shop, as opposed to Tokubei, a shop clerk), and the result is a greater tragedy, which pulls down not only the two lovers but others in the family—including Magoemon, Osan, the children, and Osan’s parents. Here Chikamatsu develops one of the central themes of his contemporary-life plays: the conflict between those who try to preserve the family and the individual, driven by his or her own desires, who works against that social order.
Chikamatsu introduces a new kind of giri, that between women, between Osan and Koharu. Koharu breaks off her relationship with Jihei out of obligation to Osan, and Osan sacrifices herself and her property for Koharu. One result is that both Jihei and Koharu feel giri toward Osan, and as they prepare for death at the end, they remain apart out of obligation to Osan. Not only does Chikamatsu create complex conflicts between ninjō (desire/emotion) and giri (responsibility, obligation), but he also focuses on conflicts between giri and giri that result in extreme ninjō, or pathos. Osan, for example, is caught between her giri toward Koharu (whom she cannot let die) and her giri toward Jihei (as devoted wife). Ninjō and giri also are reflected in the settings: the first act occurs in the pleasure quarters, a world of desire, passion, and the individual; and the second act takes place in the paper shop, a world of responsibility, reason, and the family, with Jihei caught between the two. The third act focuses on a journey in which the lovers leave behind both these places and travel toward death. As critics have noted, there is a double movement in this poetic journey (michiyuki): a downward movement, the Buddhist cycle of samsara, of birth and death, of suffering, which leads to hell; and an upward movement, leading from hell to possible salvation. The fundamental assumption behind the two movements, which is symbolically mapped out, is that awakening is the result of some profound crisis or suffering. Accordingly, the lovers initially pass such places as Tenma Bridge and the River of the Three Fords—which represent places in hell—before they cross over Kyō (Sutra) Bridge and Onari (Becoming a Buddha) Bridge. The complexity of their fate is reflected in the ten no ami (net of heaven) of the play’s title (Shinjū ten no Amijima), which alludes to both the place Amijima and a phrase in the Laozi, “The net of heaven is wide; coarse are the meshes, yet nothing slips through,” which means that even though heaven is vast, it does not allow evil (here the destruction of the family and social order) to go unpunished. At the same time, the “net of heaven” is implicitly the generous vow of the Amida Buddha to save all. In Chikamatsu’s double suicides, the final scene has the added function of praying for the spirits of the dead—that is, the play implicitly recalls to this world the spirits or ghosts of the two lovers, who have recently died a gruesome death, and now sends them off again to the world of the dead.
CHARACTERS
JIHEI, aged twenty-eight, a paper merchant
MAGOEMON, his brother, a flour merchant
GOZAEMON, Jihei’s father-in-law
TAHEI, a rival for Koharu
DENBEI, proprietor of the Yamato House
SANGORŌ, Jihei’s servant
KANTARŌ, aged six, Jihei’s son
KOHARU, aged nineteen, a courtesan belonging to the Kinokuniya House in Sonezaki, a new licensed quarter in the north part of Osaka
OSAN, Jihei’s wife
OSAN’S MOTHER (who is also Jihei’s aunt), aged fifty-six
OSUE, aged four, Jihei’s daughter
Act 1
In scene 1, which is rarely performed and is omitted here, Koharu makes her way to the Kawashō Teahouse in the Sonezaki licensed quarter to meet Tahei, a samurai customer. We learn that Koharu is in love with Jihei and that Tahei, a man that she dislikes immensely, is trying to buy out her contract. Koharu sees Tahei in the street and flees.
The Kawashō, a teahouse in Sonezaki.
CHANTER: Koharu slips away, under cover of the crowd, and hurries into the Kawashō Teahouse.
[PROPRIETRESS]: Well, well, I hadn’t expected you so soon—It’s been ages since I’ve even heard your name mentioned. What a rare visitor you are, Koharu! And what a long time it’s been!
CHANTER: The proprietress greets Koharu cheerfully.
[KOHARU]: Oh—you can be heard as far as the gate. Please don’t call me Koharu in such a loud voice. That horrible Ri Tōten73 is out there. I beg you, keep your voice down.
CHANTER: Were her words overheard? In bursts a party of three men.
[TAHEI]: I must thank you first of all, dear Koharu, for bestowing a new name on me, Ri Tōten. I never was called that before. Well, friends, this is the Koharu I’ve confided to you about—the good-hearted, good-natured, good-in-bed Koharu. Step up and meet the whore who’s started all the rivalry! Will I soon be the lucky man and get Koharu for my wife? Or will Kamiya Jihei ransom her?
CHANTER: He swaggers up.
[KOHARU]: I don’t want to hear another word. If you think it’s such an achievement to start unfounded rumors about someone you don’t even know, go ahead; say what you please. But I don’t want to hear.
CHANTER: She steps away suddenly, but he sidles up again.
[TAHEI]: You may not want to hear me, but the clink of my gold coins will make you listen! What a lucky girl you are! Just think—of all the many men in Tenma and the rest of Osaka, you chose Jihei the paper dealer, the father of two children, with his cousin for his wife and his uncle for his father-in-law! A man whose business is so tight he’s at his wits’ end every sixty days merely to pay the wholesalers’ bills! Do you think he’ll be able to fork over nearly ten kanme to ransom you? That reminds me of the mantis who picked a fight with an oncoming vehicle!74 But look at me—I don’t have a wife, a father-in-law, a father, or even an uncle, for that matter. Tahei the Lone Wolf—that’s the name I’m known by. I admit that I’m no match for Jihei when it comes to bragging about myself in the Quarter, but when it comes to money, I’m an easy winner. If I pushed with all the strength of my money, who knows what I might conquer?—How about it, men?—Your customer toni
ght, I’m sure, is none other than Jihei, but I’m taking over. The Lone Wolf’s taking over. Hostess! Bring on the saké! On with the saké!
[PROPRIETRESS]: What are you saying? Her customer tonight is a samurai, and he’ll be here any moment. Please amuse yourself elsewhere.
CHANTER: But Tahei’s look is playful.
[TAHEI]: A customer’s a customer, whether he’s a samurai or a townsman. The only difference is that one wears swords and the other doesn’t. But even if this samurai wears his swords, he won’t have five or six—there’ll only be two, the broadsword and dirk. I’ll take care of the samurai and borrow Koharu afterward. (To Koharu) You may try to avoid me all you please, but some special connection from a former life must have brought us together. I owe everything to that ballad-singing priest—what a wonderful thing the power of prayer is! I think I’ll recite a prayer of my own. Here, this ashtray will be my bell, and my pipe the hammer. This is fun.
Chan Chan Cha Chan Chan.
Ei Ei Ei Ei Ei.
Jihei the paper dealer—
Too much love for Koharu
Has made him a foolscap,
He wastepapers sheets of gold
Till his fortune’s shredded to confetti
And Jihei himself is like scrap paper
You can’t even blow your nose on!
Hail, Hail Amida Buddha!
Namaida Namaida Namaida.
CHANTER: As he prances wildly, roaring his song, a man appears at the gate, so anxious not to be recognized that he wears, even at night, a wicker hat.75
[TAHEI]: Well, Toilet Paper’s showed up! That’s quite a disguise! Why don’t you come in, Toilet Paper? If my prayer’s frightened you, say a Hail Amida!76 Here, I’ll take off your hat!
CHANTER: He drags the man in and examines him: it is the genuine article, a two-sworded samurai, somber in dress and expression, who glares at Tahei through his woven hat, his eyeballs round as gongs. Tahei, unable to utter either a Hail or an Amida, gasps “Haaa!” in dismay, but his face is unflinching.
[TAHEI]: Koharu, I’m a townsman. I’ve never worn a sword, but I’ve lots of New Silver77 at my place, and I think that the glint could twist a mere couple of swords out of joint. Imagine that wretch from the toilet paper shop, with a capital as thin as tissue, trying to compete with the Lone Wolf! That’s the height of impertinence! I’ll wander down now from Sakura Bridge to Middle Street, and if I meet that Wastepaper along the way, I’ll trample him under foot. Come on, men.
CHANTER: Their gestures, at least, have a cavalier assurance as they swagger off, taking up the whole street. The samurai customer patiently endures the fool, indifferent to his remarks because of the surroundings, but every word of gossip about Jihei, whether for good or ill, affects Koharu. She is so depressed that she stands there blankly, unable even to greet her guest. Sugi, the maid from the Kinokuni House, runs up from home, looking annoyed.
[SUGI]: When I left you here a while ago, Miss Koharu, your guest hadn’t appeared yet, and they gave me a terrible scolding when I got back for not having checked on him. I’m very sorry, sir, but please excuse me a minute.
CHANTER: She lifts the woven hat and examines the face.
[SUGI]: Oh—it’s not him! There’s nothing to worry about, Koharu. Ask your guest to keep you for the whole night, and show him how sweet you can be. Give him a barrelful of nectar!78 Good-bye, madam, I’ll see you later, honey.
CHANTER: She takes her leave with a cloying stream of puns. The extremely hard baked79 samurai is furious.
[SAMURAI]: What’s the meaning of this? You’d think from the way she appraised my face that I was a tea canister or a porcelain cup! I didn’t come here to be trifled with. It’s difficult enough for me to leave the residence even by day, and in order to spend the night away I had to ask the senior officer’s permission and sign the register. You can see how complicated the regulations make things. But I’m in love, miss, just from hearing about you, and I wanted very badly to spend a night with you. I came here a while ago without an escort and made the arrangements with the teahouse. I had been looking forward to your kind reception, a memory to last me a lifetime, but you haven’t so much as smiled at me or said a word of greeting. You keep your head down as if you were counting money in your lap. Aren’t you afraid of getting a stiff neck? Madam—I’ve never heard the like. Here I come to a teahouse, and I must play the part of night nurse in a maternity room!
[PROPRIETRESS]: You’re quite right, sir. Your surprise is entirely justified, considering that you don’t know the reasons. This girl is deeply in love with a customer named Kamiji. It’s been Kamiji today and Kamiji tomorrow, with nobody else allowed a chance at her. Her other customers have scattered in every direction, like leaves in a storm. When two people get so carried away with each other, it often leads to trouble, for both the customer and the girl. In the first place, it interferes with business, and the owner, whoever he may be, must prevent it. That’s why all her guests are examined. Koharu is naturally depressed—it’s only to be expected. You are annoyed, which is equally to be expected. But speaking as the proprietress here, it seems to me that the essential thing is for you to meet each other halfway and cheer up. Come, have a drink.—Act a little more lively, Koharu.
CHANTER: Koharu, without answering, lifts her tear-stained face.
[KOHARU]: Tell me, samurai, they say that if you’re going to kill yourself anyway, people who die during the Ten Nights80 are sure to become Buddhas. Is that really true?
[SAMURAI]: How should I know? Ask the priest at your family temple.
[KOHARU]: Yes, that’s right. But there’s something I’d like to ask a samurai. If you’re committing suicide, it’d be a lot more painful, wouldn’t it, to cut your throat rather than hang yourself?
[SAMURAI]: I’ve never tried cutting my throat to see whether or not it hurt. Please ask more sensible questions.—What an unpleasant girl!
CHANTER: Samurai though he is, he looks nonplussed.
[PROPRIETRESS]: Koharu, that’s a shocking way to treat a guest the first time you meet him. I’ll go and get my husband. We’ll have some saké together. That ought to liven things up a bit.
CHANTER: The gate she leaves is lighted by the evening moon low in the sky; the clouds and the passers in the street have thinned.
For long years there has lived in Tenma, the seat of the mighty god,81 though not a god himself, Kamiji,82 a name often bruited by the gongs of worldly gossip, so deeply, hopelessly, is he tied to Koharu by the ropes83 of an ill-starred love. Now is the tenth moon, the month when no gods will unite them;84 they are thwarted in their love, unable to meet. They swore in the last letters they exchanged that if only they could meet, that day would be their last. Night after night Jihei, ready for death, trudges to the Quarter, distracted, as though his soul had left a body consumed by the fires of love.
At a roadside eating stand he hears people gossiping about Koharu. “She’s at Kawashō with a samurai customer,” someone says, and immediately Jihei decides, “It will be tonight!”
He peers through the latticework window and sees a guest in the inside room, his face obscured by a hood. Only the moving chin is visible, and Jihei cannot hear what is said.
[JIHEI]: Poor Koharu! How thin her face is! She keeps it turned away from the lamp. In her heart she’s thinking only of me. I’ll signal her that I’m here, and we’ll run off together. Then which will it be—Umeda or Kitano?85 Oh—I want to tell her I’m here. I want to call her.
CHANTER: He beckons with his heart, his spirit flies to her; but his body, like a cicada’s cast-off shell, clings to the latticework. He weeps with impatience. The guest in the inside room gives a great yawn.
[SAMURAI]: What a bore, playing nursemaid to a prostitute with worries on her mind!—The street seems quiet now. Let’s go to the end room. We can at least distract ourselves by looking at the lanterns. Come with me.
CHANTER: They go together to the outer room. Jihei, alarmed, squeezes into the patch of s
hadow under the lattice window. Inside they do not realize that anyone is eavesdropping.
[SAMURAI]: I’ve been noticing your behavior and the little things you’ve said this evening. It’s plain to me that you intend a love suicide with Kamiji, or whatever his name is—the man the hostess mentioned. I’m sure I’m right. I realize that no amount of advice or reasoning is likely to penetrate the ears of somebody bewitched by the god of death, but I must say that you’re exceedingly foolish. The boy’s family won’t blame him for his recklessness, but they will blame and hate you. You’ll be shamed by the public exposure of your body. Your parents may be dead, for all I know, but if they’re alive, you’ll be punished in hell as a wicked daughter. Do you think you’ll become a buddha? You and your lover won’t even be able to fall smoothly into hell together! What a pity—and what a tragedy! This is only our first meeting, but as a samurai, I can’t let you die without trying to save you. No doubt money’s the problem. I’d like to help, if five or ten ryō would be of service. I swear by the god Hachiman and by my good fortune as a samurai that I will never reveal to anyone what you tell me. Open your heart without fear.
CHANTER: He whispers these words. She joins her hands and bows.
[KOHARU]: I’m extremely grateful. Thank you for your kind words and for swearing an oath to me, someone you’ve never had for a lover or even a friend. I’m so grateful that I’m crying.—Yes, it’s as they say, when you’ve something on your mind it shows on your face. You were right. I have promised Kamiji to die with him. But we’ve been completely prevented from meeting by my master, and Jihei, for various reasons, can’t ransom me at once. My contracts with my former master86 and my present one still have five years to run. If somebody else claimed me during that time, it would be a blow to me, of course, but a worse disgrace to Jihei’s honor. He suggested that it would be better if we killed ourselves, and I agreed. I was caught by obligations from which I could not withdraw, and I promised him before I knew what I was doing. I said, “We’ll watch for a chance, and I’ll slip out when you give the signal.” “Yes,” he said, “slip out somehow.” Ever since then I’ve been leading a life of uncertainty, never knowing from one day to the next when my last hour will come.
Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600–1900 Page 46