Eminent Authors of Contemporary Japan/Volume 2/Okuni and Gohei

by Jun-ichiro Tanizaki

Okuni and Gohei
By
Jun-ichiro Tanizaki

(A Play in One Act),

Translated by
Eric S. Bell & Yoshinobu Tada.

For a short biography and a portrait of Jun-ichiro Tanizaki the reader will kindly refer to Book I.

“Okuni and Gohei”

Characters

• Okuni. The widow of a samurai.
• Gohei. A retainer of Okuni’s husband.
• Ikeda Tomonojo. A samurai of the same clan as Okuni’s husband.

Time

The Tokugawa-shogunate age.

Place

The wilderness of Nasuno, Shimodzuke Province.

 

A lonely Autumn evening on the wild wide plain and wilderness of Nasuno.

A pine-tree avenue from right to left across the stage.

Okuni and her retainer in traveling-dress, are resting at the foot of a pine-tree. The mistress, Okuni, is the widow of a samurai of one of the Western clans. The retainer, a follower called Gohei.

• Gohei.—My lady, how do you feel? … Can’t you start again by and by?
• Okuni.—Yes, but I still feel very tired.
• Gohei.—It will soon be evening … and it will be very hard for you if we are benighted in this wilderness, so I beg you to keep up your courage for a while until we reach the next village. I know that it is very hard for you, and …
• Okuni.—Women are weak … it must be a burden for you to have a weak woman with you now?
• Gohei.—No, mistress, you must not say that. It is only two days since you set out after your long illness, so very naturally you will get easily exhausted. If I had had any consideration, I should have pressed you to stay two or three days longer at Utsunomiya.
• Okuni.—No, that would not have been right, for though I am a little weak, we cannot afford to waste any more time … for I have been ill these two months at Utsunomiya, and …
• Gohei.—You are right, but though you are very courageous at heart, you cannot help extreme weakness after such a long illness. Moreover we have walked some fifteen or sixteen miles to-day.
• Okuni.—Yes, we have walked and walked, yet we never seem to come to any village, … you say this is the wilderness of Nasuno, … ah, what a lonely place it is!
• Gohei.—I am told that beyond this wilderness there is a district called Oshu. If we go on for two or three days more across this wilderness, we shall come to the barrier of Shirakawa.
• Okuni.—Oh, the barrier of Shirakawa! I often heard that name when I was very young … when I was seven or eight years old. My grandmother used to talk about it.
• Gohei.—Yes, we are going to that distant barrier, nay, beyond that; even to the end of Oshu. It may be necessary for us to go such a distance.
• Okuni.—My Grandmother was a skilful writer of ‘waka’ poems, and she told me many things about it, … the barrier of Shirakawa became a very famous place as a subject of that art, the distance is some hundreds of miles from Hiroshima, my native castle. Beyond Osaka, beyond Kyoto, beyond Yedo which is at the end of the great Tokaido road: hundreds of miles away even from that distant city of Yedo, … and beyond that barrier, my grandmother used to tell me, there is a wide, wide country, where once a very barbarous race of people lived.
• Gohei.—Perhaps we shall be obliged even to roam through that wide, wide country, madam.
• Okuni.—Three years have already passed since we left our native castle, and the third Autumn is wearing away, yet we cannot find even a trace of my bitter enemy. What a misfortune it is for us!
• Gohei.—All your home folks must be impatient now. Your boy will be six years old this year, if I remember aright; how lovely he must have grown by now!
• Okuni.—Ah, you must not mention my boy to me. When you speak of him I feel I must fly back immediately to my home. It makes my heart ache for those I have left behind.
• Gohei.—Pray pardon me, madam; I am too often forgetful and thoughtless … I hope that we can accomplish our wish very soon.
• Okuni.—No labour or trouble is too great for me to accomplish my end, for it is for my dear husband’s sake … but … Gohei, I am deeply sorry for you.
• Gohei.—Madam, when you speak such words, it wounds my feelings very deeply. Am I not your retainer?
• Okuni.—Indeed, that is true, but you have not been our retainer from my father’s time, for only two or three years you have been our follower … While my husband was alive, he looked upon you as a retainer, and you considered yourself as such, but now I do not deem you my retainer.
• Gohei.—Your words are generous, madam, and as I was your husband’s retainer, I must do everything I can for you when you are in need of so much help. Though it was only for two or three years, I received too many gracious favours from you and your husband ever to forget …
• Okuni.—It is loyal of you to say that. There are indeed very few such loyal retainers in the world nowadays. My husband would be deeply thankful if he were alive now, and I am sure that your kind words will reach him now in the shadowy region of meido, where his spirit is living.
• Gohei.—Until we meet our enemy, I will be your faithful follower, even if I have to serve you for five, ten, or even twenty years. I believe our enemy has fled to Oshu, but if he is not in Oshu, we must go back again to Yedo, and perhaps to Kyoto and Osaka. Perhaps we must go to the out-of-the-way comers of Shikoku or Kyushu, nay, to the end of the world. I will go with you, even though it takes a lifetime.
• Okuni.—But if this bad luck of ours continues, and we have to roam through the land for years,—over the mountains, and across the wilderness, as time passes, one day we shall find ourselves a gray-headed man and woman … what a strange karma it is that binds us so closely! That I, who have left my home in order to avenge my husband fall into such a long illness on the way, and should add trouble to our already heavy burden! It is indeed making a very miserable woman of me!
• Gohei.—Madam, it is also my duty to avenge my master, and to take care of you. That your sickness should have recovered so soon must be through the divine help of the great and merciful Buddha. Our enemy Ikeda is a coward, and I fear that if we should meet him while your health is still weak, there is no knowing what he might do. I have been greatly troubled lately thinking about it, and I hope that no evil will befall us.

  (From the distance, faint music of a shakuhachi-flute is heard, and Okuni listens to it intently.)

• Okuni.—Listen, Gohei, do you hear someone playing a shakuhachi-flute in the distance?
• Gohei.—Indeed, madam, I can hear it, but the music sounds very far away … surely that komuso-priest is near.
• Okuni.—Yes, I am sure it is he that is playing, for while I was so ill at Utsunomiya, I heard that music always stealing up to my window. Yes, there is no doubt about it. It must be he!
• Gohei.—That komuso-priest seems to be roaming from one village to another, never hurrying, and it seems very strange indeed that he should always follow our tracks. He is a strange person!
• Okuni.—We met this priest, I remember, at Kumagaya, on the Nakasendo road. Sometimes he passed us, and sometimes we overtook him, but we all arrived at Utsunomiya on the same day.
• Gohei.—Yes, and at Utsunomiya, while you were lying so ill, he went each day and played his shakuhachi under your window. For two whole months he did this, and even on rainy days was there as usual.
• Okuni.—Do you know that at times I almost fancied that he was our enemy Tomonojo …
• Gohei.—I also thought this, my lady, but I never said so before. You looked at his face, didn’t you?
• Okuni.—Yes, for when I threw him money, he often looked up at me from under his overhanging hat.
• Gohei.—I also noticed his face at such times, but it never seemed to me to have any resemblance to Ikeda.
• Okuni.—Perhaps what you say is true, but I hope that I may be able to look more closely at him when we meet him again, if we ever do.
• Gohei.—He is a strange man! But he cannot be our enemy, madam, for a man who is being hunted as a bitter enemy, and who is believed by all the clansmen to be a coward, would never come so near to us without fear.
• Okuni.—But the character of a man who tried to force his immoral affections upon me, and who killed my husband so shamefully under the cover of darkness, is capable of anything, and may still be following me.
• Gohei.—Such a thing may be probable, if he is brave enough to give up his life to follow you. If you were alone, I could perhaps credit such a thing, but so long as I am escorting you, madam, such a weak coward would never dare to come so close. I cannot believe that the komuso-priest is he. Ikeda is an unskilled fencer. He is a man of graceful appearance, and as fair as a woman, but the priest was a man with a dark brown face, and with protruding cheek-bones.
• Okuni.—Yes, I know it, Gohei, but Ikeda is a great coward, and we must be on our guard, for he may suddenly attack us; you never know where he may be hiding.
• Gohei.—I am always watchful, so have no fear; moreover, our enemy is a weak samurai. As soon as we find him, we will at once kill him. But he seems to be able to keep out of our path always, and it is curious that he is able to keep in hiding from us.
• Okuni.—It will be exactly four years next month, since my husband was killed. Tomonojo is a very wicked man! Oh, that I could have revenge soon!
• Gohei.—The time will come I hope very soon, my lady, Be patient and try to bear up a little longer. Look … the twilight has come!
• Okuni.—The evening breeze feels chilly, and because I have heard that we are so near Oshu, I feel the cold more intensely. Though I have grown accustomed to these long journeys, to-night I feel a strange loneliness creeping upon me, I know not why.
• Gohei.—No one ever passes by this road, and it will become more lonely to you when it gets dark … How do you feel, madam? Are your feet very tired?
• Okuni.—I feel much refreshed. (Rubbing her toes) But the blister on my big toe has broken, and it hurts me very much indeed.
• Gohei.—Please let me look at it, madam … I had no idea … (He goes dose to Okuni, unties the strap of her sandal. She takes off her tabi-sock. The music of the shakuhachi ceases for a brief time, then starts again, coming gradually nearer.)
• Gohei.—(Still examining Okuni’s foot) Oh, this must hurt you; your toe is quite inflamed and swollen. What shall we do? Ah, let me wrap a sheet of thin paper round it carefully, so that the strap of your sandal will not touch it. (He takes some Japanese paper from his dress, and tearing it into long strips, binds it carefully round her wounded foot.) Is that easier now, madam? I think that will help you a little.
• Okuni.—Yes, it feels much easier now. You know, I have not put sandals on my feet for such a long time, and so my feet are tender, and my toes blister very easily.
• Gohei.—In two or three days you will grow accustomed to them again. Please raise your foot a little.

  (He helps her to put on her tabi, and then ties the strap of her sandals for her.)

• Okuni.—Gohei, it seems to me that the komuso-priest is coming this way …
• Gohei.—(Listening as he finishes tying her sandal) Whoever he is, he is a suspicious character. Whatever can be his reason for walking at dusk through this lonely wilderness? His movements mystify me greatly, madam …
• Okuni.—He is sure to pass here, and if he does, please look carefully at his face.
• Gohei.—Yes, madam. So I think it will be better to remain here, for as you say he will surely pass by very soon, and I will watch for a chance of examining him closely this time.
• Okuni.—Please do so, but Gohei, please take care and be on your guard.
• Gohei.—You must also be careful not to show your face. I will remain just where I am, keeping my sedge-hat well over my face, and will be smoking indifferently. (Putting on his hat) Look! He already approaches!

  (The sound of the flute comes nearer. Okuni puts a Japanese towel on her head, and Gohei hangs his head, and continues to smoke. A komuso-priest enters from the left. He wears an overhanging sedge-hat, of peculiar shape, as worn only by a komuso-priest. He passes by, piping away on his shakuhachi-flute, and is passing off to the right.)

• Gohei.—Pray, stop, your reverence! … Holy priest, stop!

  (After hearing the second call from Gohei, the priest stops playing his flute, pauses, and without turning round he stops, with the flute still to his lips.)

  Holy priest, … may I ask you … (The priest removes the flute from his lips, and slowly turns toward the place where Okuni and Gohei are seated.)

  Are you not the one who came with us from Kumagaya in the Nakasendo road as far as Utsunomiya the other day? Sometimes you were in front of us, and sometimes we overtook you. Do you remember?

• Komuso.—(In a faint voice) Yes, I remember, indeed it was I.
• Gohei.—I was not mistaken then, … I have really nothing very important to ask you, but as chance has caused us to meet so often, and so strangely, I could not help but speak to you. May I ask where you are going?
• Komuso.—I have no particular destination …
• Gohei.—But, since you pass this way, you must surely be going to some place in Oshu?
• Komuso.—(After a pause) … to the next village!
• Gohei.—If that is so, let us all go together, for as the old proverb tells us, “It is pleasant to have frieds in travelling,” as far as the next village.
• Komuso.—(Listens, but does not answer.) …
• Gohei.—O, holy man, what ails you? Why do you not answer a friendly question?
• Komuso.—A moment ago, you said that you had nothing of importance to say, … yet … oh, do not hide what you have to say, for you wish to look at my face!

  (Gohei and Okuni look up with great surprise at the priest, but do not speak.)

• Komuso.—If you wish to see me, I will let you look … (So saying, he calmly takes off his hat, and under it appears a very handsome young samurai with a clean-shaved face and exceedingly fair skin.)
• Gohei.—Oh! Oh!
• Okuni.—(Rising) You are Ikeda Tomonojo! …
• Komuso.—Yes, I am Ikeda Tomonojo … It is indeed a very long time since I last spoke to you!
• Okuni.—It must have been the will of my dear husband’s spirit that we should meet in such a place … Your time has come, Ikeda Tomonojo … Be prepared!
• Gohei.—I have been hunting for you for the past three years, escorting my lady from place to place, so that when we found you I might at last avenge my master. Ikeda Tomonojo, your star has fallen at last! Arm yourself at once as a brave man should!
• Komuso.—Oh, hold a moment. There is no need to be in such a hurry to kill me. I have always been a coward, and I am still one. I am poor in the art of fencing, and my strength is very weak; therefore, if you wish to kill me, you can do it at any time … Iori had a very good and noble wife, such as you, Madam Okuni, and a good retainer, Gohei. Iori is a far happier man than I am, for I live a shameful life.

  (He unconcernedly seats himself on the stump of a pinetree, and Okuni and Gohei stand on guard on each side of him.)

• Gohei.—What! Dare you say that my master, whom you so shamefully killed and assaulted unawares, is a happier man than you? What nonsense are you talking?
• Okuni.—Oh, Tomonojo, if you do not want to live a shameful life, why did you not give yourself up as a guilty man? You who were born the son of the principal retainer …. What a miserable figure you cut now!
• Tomo.—I know well that I cut a miserable figure. But life is still so dear to me.
• Gohei.—Though you have become so degraded, remember you were once a samurai. How dare you say that life is so dear to you?
• Tomo.—Yes, yes, you may laugh and jibe at my cowardice. But it matters not to me how much people laugh, I do not wish to die!
• Okuni.—Then, if you desire to live, why have you crossed our path? But now that it is impossible to escape from us, are you prepared to die?
• Tomo.—No, no, I am not prepared … I wished so much to see you once again, even to glance at your face for only a brief moment!
• Okuni.—What! What did you say?
• Tomo.—(With a sad smile) Oh, madam, do not be so hard and cruel to me. I must now tell you the truth … For the past four years ever since you left Hiroshima, I have followed you like a shadow, day and night. A coward in love, you know, sometimes forgets the dangers of life!
• Gohei.—Followed us for four years! You must be lying to us, for it was only a little while ago that we met you for the first time at Kumagaya!
• Tomo.—It is no lie, I speak the truth. It was on the tenth of December the year before last—I cannot forget it—that you started from Hiroshima. From there you went to Osaka by the Chugoku road, you then visited Kyoto, and at the end of that year you came down to Yedo, following the Tokaido. Am I mistaken? Oh, Madam Okuni, it was only lately that I disguised myself as a komuso-priest, but it is now the fourth year since I commenced to follow you.
• Okuni.—Why have you done such a thing? What are your intentions?
• Tomo.—That I cannot tell you, for I do not know myself. You know well that I loved you, and loved you madly, even killing my rival under the cover of darkness. Of course you will call me a coward!
• Gohei.—What are you but a coward!
• Tomo.—If you will listen to me, I will explain. Please bear with me a little. On the night that I assaulted and killed Iori I manged to escape from Hiroshima under cover of darkness. When I had found a safe place to rest, I sat down and thought over my deed, and I realised that my fate forever afterwards would be full of hopeless uncertainty, that I must wander about for years trying to escape detection. And then the wish came to my mind that I might surrender myself after I had had one more short glance at you, madam. I knew that you would avenge your husband, and that you would follow me. I even guessed that you would journey through the villages and ports of this empire until you would meet me face to face. This decision to see you once more made me cunning, so I resolved to follow you secretly until I had seen you again. The day after I had committed the murder of your husband, I disguised myself, and again entered the city of Hiroshima, and there I remained in hiding until you started on your journey.
• Okuni.—You killed my husband, and now admit that you committed such a treacherous and cunning deed as to follow me, when you knew that I was hunting for you … Oh, I hate you!
• Tomo.—But will you not give me a little of your pity, for though you say that you hate me so strongly, I love you even still more. Why, the other day while you were lying so ill at Utsunomiya, it was I played the shakuhachi under the window of your sick room. I even went there on rainy and windy days. I wished that you might hear, through the throbbing of the notes that I played, all that was in my heart.
• Okuni.—But, that komuso-priest was not you, I think …
• Tomo.—Indeed it was I, madam. I smeared my face with “sumi” paint that it might appear black, so that you would not dream who I was. Okuni, do you remember that one day you put your head through the window, and threw me a gift of money. Oh, dear lady, it was then that I was able to see your face for the first time in four whole years. But even then, I felt that it was not sufficient, and that I must see you again.
• Gohei.—You are an obstinate criminal! But now, since your wish is again fulfilled, perhaps, you have nothing more to hope for. Enough! I wish to hear no more. Rise and fight with me now as a manly samurai should!
• Tomo.—No, no, I say! I do not want to cross swords with you. You have always been admired as a most skilled fencer, even from the time when you were only a lackey, and you yourself know your great skill. I have no skill to fight with such a man as you, for I am but a cowardly and spiritless samurai. What use would there be in such a fight? I should be beaten without a doubt. So do not let us fight.
• Gohei.—Is life so dear to you still, even at this juncture?
• Okuni.—Do you wish to evade fighting by a quibble?
• Tomo.—Yes, if it is possible. I want to escape death, even if it is for ever such a little time. Call me names. Laugh at me if you like; but I must speak as my heart directs me, madam. You will perhaps take what I am going to say as an idle compliment, but your late husband, and Gohei, also are happy, for they have the true samurai spirit, and are skilled swordsmen. I cannot but envy them …
• Okuni.—If you envy them, then why do you not try to become like them, and show that you are brave and courageous, and not a coward!
• Tomo.—I have always wished that I might become a man, but I was born with an effeminate spirit, and though I fought hard to conquer myself and become manly, I have somehow failed. As I was born a son of a samurai family, I wished that I might be a great and good samurai like your husband. I wanted to be skilled with the sword, for then. Madam Okuni, you would perhaps have admired me instead of despising me. If I had conquered myself, perhaps now you might have been my dear and good wife, and my life would now be a happy one. All my unhappiness and my miseries come from my weakness of character. I am indeed a very unfortunate man.
• Okuni.—No, it was my husband that was the unfortunate one. When you were in our castle you gave yourself airs, influenced by your family. More than that, you tried to bring shame upon me even in my husband’s home. Now you defend yourself by your weakness, and you pour forth all your sweet compliments to me, but I cannot, and will not, believe what you say. It is entirely your own fault that you are despised and disliked. It is your wicked deeds, that have made me hate you now!
• Tomo.—Yes, madam, I admit that what you say is true. I was a wicked man, and unworthy of the name of a samurai. I have bean an idler, liar, and I have the weak mind of a girl. I am a good-for-nothing fellow. By these things, I have been disliked, not only by you, but by everyone. But I do not think that I am responsible for all these bad qualities. I was born into the world weak and cowardly, just as you were born to be a beautiful woman. From the very beginning I was bad, and it was in my very nature. Do you not feel that what I say is true, and is it not unreasonable to accuse me so cruelly when you know my inborn weakness?
• Okuni.—Tell me why you were so jealous of my husband’s love for me.
• Tomo.—How could I be otherwise? I was a young man like your husband then, and was I not your betrothed? But because of my weak nature you were disappointed in me, and learnt to dislike me. I was even denied by your father, and more than that, people admired you, because you were clever enough to cast aside a good-for-nothing fellow, selecting Iori as your husband. No one pitied me. I was intolerably lonely, and realising my weakness and unhappiness, I could not bear him to share your happiness, so I killed him.
• Gohei.—And did you think that by such a deed you should be any happier or that you would gain anything by such a foul act?
• Tomo.—No, madam disliked me not because she gained the love of Iori, but because I was bad. I knew it very well. But I hated Iori, and I hated all the people of our castle who admired and loved Iori. He was a great and good samurai in every way, and I was an unfortunate man hated by all. It was not only because of my wrath at my rival, but I killed him out of indignation with the people who admired him and hated me. You say that I was treacherous to have killed him under cover of darkness, but what could such a weak fellow do? Such a coward as I had to stoop to such a mean and cowardly act!
• Gohei.—It wastes our time to hear such foolish excuses. We wish to listen to you no longer—see, the day is wearing away. Ikeda, you must now prepare yourself, for you cannot escape this time. Fight as bravely as you can, so that we may tell our people that Tomonojo did his best, and died nobly, contrary to our expectations. We will speak thus of you afterwards if you will do as we ask.
• Okuni.—Tomonojo, let me tell you that I dislike you no longer, for though you have been a bad man, you have indeed loved me truly. After you are dead, I promise to have masses said for the repose of your soul, Therefore, for my sake, if you still love me, be prepared to die now like a brave man.
• Tomo.—Oh, I am so happy, and yet so sad, to hear you speak to me with such tender words. I cannot but weep. It is seven years since I heard you speak so kindly. Now, I have nothing to live for any longer, therefore if you wish it, I will die for you. It is impossible to live in this wilderness with you for ever. Oh, how I envy Gohei! If I might only be spared so that I might travel with you for years through this great empire, I would follow you and be your slave for ever … Gohei, surely you, who are a great and true samurai, must have a little sympathy for me?
• Gohei.—I have great sympathy for you; therefore, I have asked you to prepare yourself for death!
• Okuni.—And what joy can you receive by living ? It was a long, long time ago that I was your betrothed, and all the love that I ever had for you is dead. Even should you kill Gohei, I should never become your wife. I would rather die with Gohei.
• Tomo.—(Laughing coldly) Ha, ha, ha! Why should I kill him? If I wished to do so, you know, madam, that I could not. I have not the strength to match against his.
• Okuni.—Well, then, will you not die bravely for my sake, and to help me?
• Gohei.—Ikeda, again I ask you, you must prepare yourself, for I can see that you hate us both. I may be a bad man to take your life now, but as I have said it, you must prepare to die!
• Tomo.—What use is it to kill me? I shall never interfere with your love.
• Okuni.—You know well, Ikeda, that should I fail in carrying out my revenge for my husband’s death, I can never return home again. I wish to marry publicly, and could never do so if I spared your life.
• Tomo.—If you have any pity, Okuni, you will think a little deeply. If you take my life, you know well that you will never forget the past, and the memory of your cruel revenge on a weak man will always haunt you. If you spare me, I shall be content to pass the rest of my life as a komuso-priest. I will wander from place to place making my shakuhachi-flute my means of livelihood. You need never return to your home. It is far better that you live a happy life without worrying about what is going on in the world around you. Why not settle down in some strange town and find a home there where you will be free and happy? I do not know the ways and duties of a samurai, but I am sure that is what all people should do.
• Okuni.—No, no, I would never be happy then; I wish to return to my own home, for I would make Gohei an honorable samurai … Oh, you forget that my dear child is waiting at home for me.
• Tomo.—Then for pity’s sake spare my life now. I cannot die! I want to live! I entreat you, Okuni, have pity on me, for I am a miserable man!
• Okuni.—(Looks at Gohei, and then grips the handle of a small dagger.)
• Gohei.—Enough! Cease saying such things.
• Tomo.—Are you not going to kill me? Well, what is the use in hiding anything from me now, for I shall never be able to speak after I am dead. I have followed my dear one for four long years, therefore do you think that I have been blind? I do not doubt that when you first started out you were both but mistress and retainer, but I know well that your loyalty has grown into deep love, and unknowingly you both feel it. Are you aware that I was a guest in the next room to yours when you passed a night in that hotel at Kumagaya?
• Okuni.—What? Then, that night you …
• Tomo.—Yes, that night I heard what you said in the next room. But Okuni, do not let it trouble you, for there will be no one in this world who knows your secret after you have killed me here. When you go back to your castle, after having had your long-sought-for revenge, you will be able to marry publicly. I shall be the only fool then!
• Gohei.—I am very ashamed that you know our secret. Believe me when I tell you that my intentions were most honourable from the first, but we have grown to love each other very dearly indeed. I hope that you will forget it.
• Tomo.—It is not my business, but it only makes me angry with the world. I destroyed my life because I loved another man’s wife, but you are really doing just the same thing, and the world calls you loyal. You have the means to love while you are doing this wrong, but I have none. You who know the duty of a good samurai, and who, to all appearances, are living the life of a good man, are really bad and weak-minded. This just proves how unjust the world is in its summing-up of mankind. I was bad and I took the life of another fellow creature, yet I have been tormented by the memory of my deed ever since. You are about to kill me, but it will be the means of raising you in the esteem of the world. Do you think the world is fair? Do you think that you are just and good?
• Gohei.—Forgive me, Ikeda, I now see that I was wrong, I am also a wicked man.!
• Tomo.—Then, will you let me have my life?
• Gohei.—Oh … No, … ! …
• Tomo.—Neither you nor Okuni have the right to kill me. You have wronged your master’s wife too. If I were a strong man, I would make Okuni my wife even now, and would call you my enemy!
• Okoni.—Oh, Tomonojo … I can see that perhaps you are right, … but if you still love me so madly, will you not give up your life for me?
• Tomo.—No, no. I do not wish to die, for although I have to live the life of a miserable outcast, life is very dear to me still. If you decide to kill me, I must die like a dog at your hands, for I cannot defend myself, … but … I don’t wish to die yet.
• Tomo.—Remember, Gohei, that you were not so specially favoured by Iori. You only served him for two or three years, but after his death you proposed to escort your lady, and have travelled far with her in order that in the end you might avenge your master. No one will ever say that you have not been a loyal retainer, and your name will go down to posterity with admiration and honour. But if I were such a skilled fencer as you, I also would be as brave as you, and would even be willing to do much more for such a great and beautiful lady as your mistress Okuni. It must be a very happy thing for you to travel the world with such a spendid woman, and it is also true that you feel the thrill of adventure and courage to meet with your enemy, and to be able to kill him easily to gain the love and praise of your lady. Is it not true what I say, Gohei? Further, if you succeed in your wish, by avenging your good master, you will return home, and will be admired by the lord of your clan, and will even be knighted for your brave deed. Even more than that, you may be the heir to Iori, and may in the end marry your lady Okuni. Such is the advantage of being loyal. It is quite natural that the clever and wise are loyal.
• Gohei.—What are you saying? Do you dare to insinuate that I play such a part as a lady’s escort with such an idea in my mind?
• Tomo.—I do not mean that at first you had such an idea. I do not doubt for a moment that your offer to help and accompany Madam Okuni was done from your sense of duty towards your late master … I mean only that it is not very hard to be loyal under such circumstances. To have such a sweet duty, to such a man as I, would indeed make me a happy man.
• Gohei.—You have brought misery to many through your wicked act, so how can you understand our affections, or the miseries we have been through?
• Tomo.—But, Gohei, though you have suffered many hardships, you have had much to compensate you. When your lady was ill at Utsunomiya, you played the part of a nurse, you were always at her side, and you tenderly waited on all her needs.
• Gohei.—What are you saying now? What do you mean?
• Tomo.—You both seemed to me a very friendly mistress and retainer, and secretly I was most envious of your position …
• Gohei.—Your words are insinuating! Why do you talk such nonsense? Do you wish to put me to shame?
• Tomo.—Madam, it was very fortunate for you to fall ill during your long journey which you started to avenge your husband. This is what I thought when I played my shakuhachi each day under your window for two months. I thought that ever you might be happy in spite of your misfortune. I even hoped that you might forget your revenge, though I knew that when you were well you would start to hunt me again. Life, after all, is only a short dream, and happiness does not remain long with us. Gohei, I do not mean to insinuate, but I can envy you!

  (Okuni turns slightly pale, and looks significantly at Gohei.)

• Gohei.—Ikeda, it is decided, and you must abide by my mistress’s wish. Again I say, and finally … prepare yourself … and …

  (Gohei rushes at him with his drawn sword. Tomonojo defends himself with his shakuhachi flute, moving back step by step, and rails at them in a sad voice).

• Tomo.—You are wicked and unmerciful people! You have no conscience … You committed adultery … You are a false lord and retainer! (A blow of the sword wounds him in the shoulder and he falls. He continues to cry louder) Oh, how dare you try to kill me! … Wait, I tell you, wait! I have one thing to tell you before you finish me … that lady there … that … Okuni …
• Gohei.—Quick, finish quickly, what have you to say?
• Tomo.—(weakly) That Okuni … to me, to this Tomonojo that you are trying to kill … she … she once gave herself to me … and submitted herself to my passions!

  (Gohei turns suddenly upon Okuni, with a glance of suspicion.)

  (Okuni hangs her head, ashamed.)

• Tomo.—Madam Okuni, this is my last entreaty to you … Please strike the final blow, and finish me with your own hand!
• Gohei.—No, that shall never be! I shall finish what I have started, for you are the rival of my love, and you were my master’s enemy.

  (Gohei strikes the final blow, and Okuni falls in grief by the roadside, and covering her face with her sleeves, she weeps.)

  (There is a long pause, during which it is gradually becoming darker.)

• Gohei.—(bending over Okuni) My Lady, … do not weep so bitterly. All is over, and what is done is done.
• Okuni.—Oh, but my shame is more than I can bear. What must you think of me now that you have heard the truth from Ikeda.
• Gohei.—Nothing matters now. You and I have realised the desire of our hearts. Now that Ikeda is dead, we have no one to fear in all the world. Let us forget the past, and start with the future only.
• Okuni.—Then, Gohei, will you promise to love me for ever?
• Gohei.—I cannot but love you, my lady; for although I do not deserve it you are my dear wife.
• Okuni.—Now, I am anxious to return home very soon. If your love is what you say it is for me, then let us go at once … but let us take the head of Tomonojo with us.
• Gohei.—How anxious they will all be at home. After these three long years, I wish to see the pleased face of your old father, and the smile of your little son when they see you.
• Okuni.—Ah, yes, what great joy is now before me … but, look … it has been growing dark, and we have not noticed it. Now, let us sever the head from Ikeda’s body.
• Gohei.—(Goes up to the corpse accompanied by Okuni both with drawn daggers.) (Speaking to the corpse) Ikeda, our deed has been a cruel one, a disgraceful one; but we had no alternative. What we have done was done for the honour of our family, and for the sake of our clan, our love. Your body must resign itself to its sad fate!
• Okuni.—(bending over the body) What we do may be selfish, and what we have done may be cruel … Oh, Tomonojo, forgive us both!
• Gohei.—Namu Amida-Butsu!
• Okuni.—Namu, Amida-Butsu!

  (Okuni and Gohei repeat the words of the prayer faintly again, kneeling down near the body with folded hands).

 

The End