# Anthology of Japanese Literature/The Love Suicides at Sonezaki

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​The Love Suicides at Sonezaki
[Sonezaki Shinju] by Chikamatsu Monzaemon
During the fourth moon of 1703 an assistant in the Osaka firm of Hirano committed suicide with a prostitute named Ohatsu within the grounds of the Sonezaki Shrine. Within a fortnight Chikamatsu’s play based on this incident was being performed by puppets at the Takemoto Theatre. This is the first of his plays about love suicides, and one of his greatest works. The poetry of the journey of the two lovers is particularly famous, and is in fact one of the most beautiful passages in all of Japanese literature. In this translation the parts sung by the chanter are rendered in verse with a few minor exceptions, while the parts spoken by him for the puppets are in prose.
Scene I: The Ikutama Shrine Narrator: A graceful young man who had served his term As an apprentice in the firm of Hirano, His breast burning with passion concealed Lest billowing scandal should spread, Given sometimes to one cup of wine, And known for his elegant locks, Renowned as expert in matters of love, But now like fragrant wood buried, A mere clerk selling sauces and oil, And making the round of his clients Followed by a boy who bears a dripping cask, Now comes he to Ikutama Shrine. From inside a teahouse, a woman’s voice Cries, “Tokubei, Tokubei, is it not you?” She claps her hands; he nods in recognition.
​Tokubei (to the boy): Chōzō, I’ll be following presently, but I want you now to call on the temples in Tera Street, make the round of the uptown mansions, and then go back to the shop. Tell them that I’ll be back soon. Don’t fail to call at the dyer’s in Azuchi Street and collect the money he owes us. And stay away from Dōtombori.
Narrator: He watches as long as the boy remains in sight Then lifts up the bamboo blinds.
Tokubei: Ohatsu, did you call me? What’s the matter?
Narrator: He starts to remove his bamboo hat.
Ohatsu: Please don’t take off your hat. I have a customer today from the country, who’s making the round of the Thirty-three Temples of Kwannon. He’s been telling everyone that he won’t stop drinking before night. At the moment he’s off at the theatre, but if he should return and find you here, he might cause trouble. Even the chair-bearers all recognize you, so please keep your face covered.
I’ve been so worried of late, not having had a single word from you. I couldn’t very well go to your shop to ask what had happened to you, but I must have called a hundred times at the other teahouses. They didn’t have any news of you either, but one of the musicians asked his friends about you, and they told him you had gone back to the country. I couldn’t believe it was true. It has really been a terrible experience. Didn’t you even wish to learn what had happened to me? Was that the way you wanted things to end between us? I’ve been sick with worry. If you think I’m making it up, just feel this swelling!
Narrator: His hand she takes and clasps against her breast, And weeps reproachful and entreating tears Exactly like a proper wedded wife: Man though he is, he also weeps aloud.
Tokubei: All that you say is true, perfectly true, but what good would it have done to tell you and make you unhappy? The misery I’ve suffered since we met last is such that even if New Year and every other holiday in the calendar came all at once they ​couldn’t cause more commotion. My mind has been in a turmoil; my finances are in complete chaos. That is why I went to Kyoto and couldn’t get in touch with you. By some miracle my life has been prolonged, but in such a way that if they put it on the stage the audiences would weep.
Narrator: His words run out, and he can only sigh.
Ohatsu: Are you joking? Why have you kept so trivial a thing from me? You must have had some more serious reason for hiding. Why don’t you tell me?
Narrator: She clings to his knees and bitter tears Soak her dainty handkerchief.
Tokubei: Stop your weeping. It wasn’t that I was hiding anything. Even if I had told you, it wouldn’t have served any useful purpose. At any rate, my worries have now largely been settled, and I can tell you about them.
My master has always treated me with particular kindness because I’m his nephew, and for my part I’ve served him with absolute honesty. There’s never been a penny’s discrepancy in the accounts. It’s true that recently when I bought on credit a couple of yards of silk, I used his name, but that’s the one and only time I’ve done so, and even if I have to return the money at once, I can sell the clothes back without a loss. My master, noticing how honest I am, proposed that I marry his wife’s niece. He said he would give me a dowry of two kamme of silver, which would permit me to set up in business for myself. But how could I shift my affections to somebody else when I have you? While things were still undecided, my mother—she’s really my stepmother—talked things over with my uncle without my knowing about it, and then went back to the country with the money in her clutches. Innocent fool that I am, I hadn’t the slightest suspicion of this.
The trouble began last month when they tried to force me to marry. I got angry and said, “Master, I don’t understand you. In spite of my unwillingness to get married, you’ve bribed my old mother into giving her consent. You’ve gone too far. Master. I can’t understand the mistress’s attitude either. Just imagine if I were to accept this young lady, whom I’ve always treated with the utmost ​deference, as my wife, with dowry and all—I should spend my whole life fawning on her. How could I possibly assert myself? It goes against me so much that even were my dead father to rise from his grave and command me to marry, I should still be unwilling.”
The Piaster was furious at my long argument and angrily said, “I know your real reasons. You’re involved with Ohatsu, or whatever her name is, from the Temma Teahouse, and that’s why you are so averse to marrying my wife’s niece. Very well—after what’s been said, I’m no longer willing to give you the girl, and since there’s to be no marriage, return the money. Settle the account by the seventh of April at the latest. Now get out of here and never set foot in Osaka again.”
I too felt my manhood rise. “Right you are!” I cried and left at once for my village. But when I got there I found that my so-called mother wouldn’t release the money from her grasp, not even if this world turned into the next. I went to Kyoto to borrow from the wholesale sauce and oil merchants in the Fifth Ward, who are friends of mine and would normally be glad to lend me money, but as ill luck would have it, they didn’t have any to spare. I went back again to the country, and finally, by getting the whole village to plead on my behalf, I managed to extract the money from my mother. Now I intend to pay back the dowry and settle things once and for all. But if I can’t stay here in Osaka, how shall I be able to meet you?
Though my bones be crushed to powder, though my flesh be torn away, and like an empty shell I sink in the slime of Shijimi River, if I am parted from you, what shall I do?
Narrator: Thus suffocated by his grief he weeps. Ohatsu seeks to hold the tears that well, Imparting to him all the strength she has.
Ohatsu: How you’ve suffered! And when I think that it’s all been on account of me, I’m happy, sad, and most grateful all at once. But you must be more courageous. Even if your uncle has forbidden you to set foot in Osaka, you haven’t committed robbery or ​arson—there must be some way for you to stay here, and I shall discover it. And if a time should come when we can no longer meet, did our promises of love hold only for this world? There have been those before us who have chosen death. At the Mountain of Death, by the River of Three Ways, none will hinder and none will be hindered in love.
Narrator: Amidst these words of strong encouragement She falters, choked by tears, and then resumes
Ohatsu: The seventh is tomorrow. Return the money quickly, since you must hand it over in any case. In that way you may get into your uncle’s good graces again.
Tokubei: I agree with you, and I’m impatient to give it back. But on the twenty-eighth of last month Kuheiji the oil merchant, whom you know, implored me to lend him the money. He said he needed it just for one day, and promised to return it on the morning of the third. I decided to lend the money to him since I didn’t need it until the seventh, and it was for a friend as close to me as a brother. He didn’t get in touch with me on the third or the fourth, and yesterday he was out and I couldn’t get to see him. I intended to call on him this morning, but I’ve spent the whole time making the rounds of my customers in order to wind up all my business by tomorrow. I’ll go see him tonight and settle things. He’s a decent fellow and he knows the predicament I’m in. I can’t imagine that anything will go wrong. Don’t worry, Ohatsu!
Narrator: “Hatsuse is far away, So is Naniwa-dera; The sounds of the temple bells At many famous places Are voices of the Eternal Law. If, on an evening in spring One visits a mountain shrine One sees …” but who comes now singing?
​Tokubei: Oh, Kuheiji! You certainly are a bold rascal! What business have you running off on pleasure excursions when you still haven’t got in touch with me? Today we settle accounts.
Narrator: He takes Kuheiji’s arm and holds him back. Kuheiji’s face betrays his irritation.
Kuheiji: What are you talking about, Tokubei? These people with me are all residents of the ward, and we’ve just been to a meeting to raise funds for pilgrimages to Ise. We had a bit to drink, but now we’re on the way home. What do you mean by grabbing my arm? Don’t be rowdy.
Tokubei: I’m not being rowdy. All I want is for you to return the two kamme of silver you borrowed from me on the twenty-eighth of last month, which you were supposed to repay on the third.
Narrator: Before he can even finish his words Kuheiji bursts into a roar of laughter.
Kuheiji: Have you gone crazy, Tokubei? In all the years I’ve known you I can’t remember having borrowed a penny from you. Don’t accuse me of anything or you’ll regret it.
Narrator: He shakes himself loose, then he and his friends Whip off their bamboo hats. Tokubei changes color in amazement.
Tokubei: None of that, Kuheiji! You came wiping to me, saying that if you couldn’t borrow the money to tide you over the end of the month you would go bankrupt, and so, even though the money is indispensable to me in my present predicament, I lent it to you to prove my friendship. I thought that it was one of those occasions we always used to talk about. I told you that I wouldn’t even need a receipt, but you insisted on putting your seal to one, just to keep things straight. Don’t deny it, Kuheiji!
Narrator: Tokubei with bloodshot eyes upbraids him.
Kuheiji: What’s that? I’d like to see just which seal it is.
Tokubei: Do you think I’m afraid to show you?
Narrator: He draws it forth from his inside pocket.
Tokubei: If these gentlemen are from the ward, I am sure that they will recognize your seal. Will you still dispute it?
Narrator: When he unfolds the paper and displays it Kuheiji claps his hands in recollection.
Kuheiji: Yes, it’s my seal all right. Oh, Tokubei, I never thought that you would do such a thing, not even if you were starving and forced to eat dirt. Know then, that on the twenty-fifth of last month I lost a wallet containing my seal. I put up notices everywhere advertising for it, but without any success, so as of this month—as I’ve already informed these gentlemen—I changed my seal. Could I possibly have affixed my seal to a paper on the twenty-eighth when I lost it on the twenty-fifth? No—what happened was that you picked it up, wrote a promissory note, and then put my seal to it. And now you are trying to extort money from me. That makes you a worse criminal than a forger. You would do better, Tokubei, to commit out-and-out robbery. You deserve to have your head cut off, but for old times’ sake, I’ll forgive you. Now see if you can get any money out of this.
Narrator: He throws the note in Tokubei’s face And glares at him in feigned innocence. Tokubei is filled with rage and cries aloud.
Tokubei: You’ve been damned clever. You’ve put one over on me. Oh, what mortification! What am I to do? Am I supposed to let you get away shamelessly with my money? You’ve planned everything so cleverly that even if I go to court I’m sure to lose. I’ll take it back with my fists!
Look here! You’re dealing with Tokubei of the firm of Hirano, a man with a sense of honor. Do you get me? I’m not someone to cheat a friend out of his money. Come on, let’s have it out!
Narrator: He seizes hold of Kuheiji.
Kuheiji: You insolent little apprentice! I’ll knock that out of you.
Narrator: Kuheiji grabs him by the front of his kimono, And they exchange some hard and heavy blows. Ohatsu, barefoot, rushes up to them.
Ohatsu: I beg you everybody, help stop them! I think I know the men who are fighting. Where are my chair-bearers? Why doesn’t somebody stop them? Oh—it’s Tokubei!
Narrator: She writhes in anguish but is powerless. Her customer, country bumpkin that he is, Bundles her into a palanquin and says, “There’s no point in your getting hurt.”
Ohatsu: No, please, just wait a moment! Oh, I’m so unhappy.
Narrator: Leaving only her tearful voice behind, The palanquin is rushed back to her house. Tokubei is all alone; Kuheiji has his five companions. The teahouse owners, anxious for their trade, Drive them with sticks as far as Lotus Pond. Who tramples him? Who beats him? One cannot tell. His hair is disheveled, his sash undone, Again and again he stumbles and falls.
Tokubei: Kuheiji, you swine! Do you think you’re going to escape alive?
Narrator: He staggers about searching for him, But Kuheiji has fled and vanished. Tokubei falls heavily in his tracks, And weeping bitter tears, he cries aloud.
Tokubei (to the bystanders): I no longer have the face to appear before you. I’m ashamed of myself. I didn’t say a word about Kuheiji but was the truth. I’ve always thought of him as a brother, and when he came weeping to me, saying he would never forget my kindness as long as he lived, I gave him the money so that it would help both of us, even though I knew that if I didn’t have it tomorrow, the seventh, I would have no choice but death. He made me write the note in my own hand and put his seal to it, but it was a seal which he had already reported as lost. Now he has turned the tables on me. Oh, it’s humiliating and mortifying to be thus kicked and beaten, unable to assert my manhood or to redeem my debt. I wouldn’t have regretted it if I had died after tearing and biting him to death.
Narrator:He strikes the ground and gnashes his teeth, Clenches his fists and laments aloud, And all who watch are struck with sympathy.
​Tokubei: There is no sense in my going on talking like this. Before three days have passed I, Tokubei, will make amends and show to all of Osaka the purity of my heart.
Narrator: The meaning of these words is later known.
Tokubei: I have bothered you all a great deal. Please forgive me.
Narrator: He speaks these words apologetically, Picks up his battered hat and puts it on, His face downcast in the sinking rays of the sun Clouded by the tears in which he is plunged, Dejectedly he makes his way back home, A sight so sad that all avert their eyes.
Scene II: Inside the Temma Teahouse Narrator: The breezes of love are clamorous Where Shijimi River flows, and the denizens Like empty shells, bereft of their senses, Wander the dark ways of love lit each night By burning lanterns, fireflies that glow The four seasons, stars that shine every night, By Plum Bridge, which blossoms even in summer, Rustics on a visit, city connoisseurs All following the twisting roads of love, Where wise men may get lost and fools get by; Behold the new gay quarter’s liveliness!
But pitiful indeed is Ohatsu Of Temma Teahouse, after she returns, Nought can she think of but the day’s events, She cannot drink her saké, her spirits are low, And as she sits weeping, some courtesans And others of the quarter come up to her.
First Courtesan: Ohatsu, have you heard about it? They say that Tokubei was given a thrashing for something bad he did. Is it true?
​Second Courtesan: No, I had it from a customer that he was trampled to death.
Narrator: They say Tokubei was fettered for fraud, Or trussed for counterfeiting someone’s seal, Not one decent thing have they to report: Every question of condolence brings her grief.
Ohatsu: Oh, please don’t say any more. The more I hear the worse my breast pains me. I think that I’ll be the first to die. I wish that I were dead already.
Narrator: She gives herself to tears, then with one hand She brushes them away and looks outside— There in the dark, with covered face, is Tokubei. At just a glimpse of his anxious, furtive form Her heart leaps and she wants to rush to him, But in the back room are the master and his wife, And by the front gate stands the cook, While in the garden sharp-eyed waits the maid.
Ohatsu: I’m feeling so oppressed. I think I’ll step out for a breath of air.
Narrator: She steals out softly.
Ohatsu: What has happened to you? I’ve heard all kinds of rumors and I’ve been so worried I’ve almost gone crazy.
Narrator: She lifts his hat and gazes at his face, And weeps without a sound, in silent grief, Sad and painful tears—he too is lost in tears.
Tokubei: I’ve been the victim of a clever plot, as no doubt you’ve heard, and the more I resist it the worse off I am. Everything has turned against me now. I can’t survive this night. I’ve made up my mind to it.
Narrator: As he whispers voices come from inside.
Voices: Come on in, Ohatsu. You don’t want people to start gossiping about you.
Ohatsu: We can’t talk here any longer. Do as I show you.
Narrator: She hides him in the skirts of her great-robe: He crawls behind her to the central door Then slips beneath the porch next to the step.
Ohatsu sits inside next to the door, And nonchalantly lights her tobacco.
Just at this juncture Kuheiji bursts in, With two or three of his foulmouthed friends And a couple of blind musicians.
Kuheiji: Hello, girls. You’re looking lonesome. How about it if I become a customer? Hello, boss. I haven’t seen you in a long time.
Narrator: He strides arrogantly into the room.
Host: Bring the tobacco tray and some saké cups.
Kuheiji: No, don’t bother with the saké. I’ve had all I want to drink. There’s something I’ve got to discuss with you. You know Tokubei, the number one customer of your Ohatsu? Well, he found a seal I lost, and tried to cheat me with a forged note for two kamme of silver. The facts were too much for him, and he was lucky to get out of it alive. Now he’s completely discredited. Everybody will tell you that what I say is the truth, so even if Tokubei says the exact opposite, don’t you believe him for a minute. You’d best not let him in at all. Sooner or later he’s going to wind up on the scaffold.
Narrator: He volleys forth his words convincingly. Beneath the porch Tokubei gnashes his teeth, And trembles all over in helpless rage. Ohatsu, afraid he might reveal himself, With her foot calms him, calms him splendidly. The host is loath to answer yes or no, For Tokubei’s a customer from old. Instead he asks, “How about some soup?” And covering his confusion leaves the room. Ohatsu lost in tears exclaims.
Ohatsu: You’re very clever, but I can’t let you get away with it. I know everything about Tokubei. We’ve told each other all our inmost secrets ever since we became lovers years ago. He doesn’t have the least particle of deceit in him—unfortunately for him. His generosity has been his undoing. He’s been tricked by you, but he doesn’t have the evidence prove it. Now Tokubei has no ​choice but to die. I wish I could hear him say that he is resolved to die.
Narrator: She says these words as if but to herself, Then questions with her foot: he nods his head, And taking her ankle strokes his throat To let her know that he willed to die.
Ohatsu: I knew it. I knew it. No matter how long one lives it comes to the same thing. Only death can wipe put the disgrace.
Kuheiji: What’s Ohatsu talking about? What’s all this about Tokubei dying? Well, if he does die, I’ll take good care of you after he’s gone. I think you’re really soft on me too!
Ohatsu: You’re most solicitous, I’m sure. If you bestow your favors on me, I’ll kill you for your pains. Is that agreeable? Do you imagine that I could go on living even for a moment if I were separated from Tokubei? Kuheiji, you dirty thief! Nobody could hear your nonsense without being amazed. No matter what happens, I’m going to die with Tokubei. I shall die with him.
Narrator: She taps him with her foot; beneath the porch He reverently takes it in his hands, Then embracing her knees he weeps for love. She too can scarcely keep her features calm, And though no word is spoken, heart to heart Answering each other they softly weep. That no one knows makes it sadder still.
Kuheiji: This place gives me the creeps. Let’s get out of here. It’s a funny thing how the whores here seem to dislike customers like us with lots of money to spend. Let’s head for the Azaya and have a drink there. By the time we’ve tossed around a couple of gold pieces we’ll be ready to go home to bed. Oh, my wallet is so heavy I can hardly walk!
Narrator: Thus spewing forth all manger of abuse They noisily depart.
Host (to the servants): It’s time already to put out the lights. Lay out beds for the guests who are spending the night. Ohatsu, you sleep upstairs. Get to bed early.
Ohatsu: Master, Mistress. I shall probably never see you again. ​Farewell to you both. And farewell to you too, all of you who work here.
Narrator: Thus lightly taking leave she goes to bed. They fail to mark her words and only later know That this was her farewell to them for life. The foolishness of men is sad indeed.
Host: Look after the fire under the kettle. Don’t let the mice get at the relishes.
Narrator: They shut the place for the night and bar the gate, Then soon asleep are snoring merrily. So short the night, before they’d time to dream The second hour of the morning comes. Ohatsu dressed for death in robes of spotless white And black kimono dark as are the ways of love, Tiptoes to the staircase and looks below. Tokubei appears from underneath the house, Beckons, nods, and points, speaking with his heart. Below the stairs a servant girl is sleeping; A hanging lantern brightly lights the room. Ohatsu, wondering how to escape, Attaches to a palm-leaf broom her fan, And from the second step of the staircase Attempts in vain to blow away the flame. At last by stretching every inch she puts it out, But tumbles from the stairs with a crash. The lamp is out and in the darkness The servant girl turns over in her sleep. Trembling, they grope for each other. The host awakens in his private chamber.
Host: What was that noise just now? Servants! The night lamp has gone out. Get up and light it!
Narrator: The servant sleepily rubbing her eyes Gets up from bed stark naked.
Servant: I can’t find the flint box.
Narrator: While she wanders about searching for it, Ohatsu dodges back and forth avoiding her,
And in the nightmare darkness gropes for Tokubei. At last they catch each other’s hands And softly creep out to the entranceway. The latch is open, but the hinges creek, And frightened by the noise they hesitate. Just then the maid begins to strike the flints; They time their actions to the rasping sound, And with each rasp the door is opened more, Until, sleeves twisted round them through they push, And one after the other pass outside, As though they tread upon a tiger’s tail. Exchanging glances then, they cry for joy, Rejoicing that they are to go to death. The life left to them now is just as brief As sparks that fly from blocks of flint.
Scene III: The Journey Narrator: Farewell to the world, and to the night farewell. We who walk the road to death, to what should we be likened? To the frost by the road that leads to the graveyard, Vanishing with each step ahead: This dream of a dream is sorrowful. Ah, did you count the bell? Of the seven strokes That mark the dawn six have sounded. The remaining one will be the last echo We shall hear in this life. It will echo The bliss of annihilation. Farewell, and not to the bell alone, We look a last time on the grass, the trees, the sky, The clouds go by unmindful of us, The bright Dipper is reflected in the water, The Wife and Husband Stars inside the Milky Way.
Tokubei: Let’s think the Bridge of Umeda The bridge the magpies built and make a vow That we will always be Wife and Husband Stars. Narrator: “With all my heart,” she says and clings to him: So many are the tears that fall between the two, The waters of the river must have risen. On a teahouse balcony across the way A party in the lamplight loudly discuss Before they go to bed the latest gossip, With many words about the good and bad Of this year’s crop of lovers’ suicides. Tokubei: How strange! but yesterday, even today, We spoke as if such things didn’t concern us. Tomorrow we shall figure in their gossip— Well, if they wish to sing about us, let them. Narrator: This is the song that now we hear: “Why can’t you take me for your wife? Although you think you don’t want me …” However we think, however lament, Both our fate and the world go against us. Never before today was there a day Of relaxation, and untroubled night, Instead, the tortures of an ill-starred love. “What did I do to deserve it? I never can forget you. You want to shake me off and go? I’ll never let you. Take me with your hands and kill me Or I’ll never let you go,” Said the girl in tears. Tokubei: Of all the many songs, that it should be that one, This very evening, but who is it that sings? We are those who listen; others like us Who’ve gone this way have had the same ordeal. Narrator: They cling to one another, weeping bitterly,
And wish, as many a lover has wished, The night would last even a little longer. The heartless summer night is short as ever, And soon the cockcrows chase away their lives. Tokubei: Let us die in the wood before the dawn. Narrator: He takes her hands. At Umeda Embankment, the night ravens. Tokubei: Tomorrow our bodies may be their meal. Ohatsu: It’s strange this year is your unlucky year Of twenty-five, and mine of nineteen too. That we who love should both be cursed this way Is proof how close the ties that join us. All the prayers that I have made for this world To the gods and to the Buddha, I here and now Direct to the future, and in the world to come, May we remain together on one lotus. Narrator: One hundred eight the beads her fingers tell On her rosary; her tears increase the sum. No end to her grief, but the road has an end. Their heart and the sky are dark, the wind intense: They have reached the wood of Sonezaki.
Shall it be there, shall it be here? And when they brush the grass the dew which falls Vanishes even quicker than their lives, In this uncertain world a lightning flash— A lightning flash or was it something else?
Ohatsu: Oh, I’m afraid. What was that just now?
Tokubei: Those were human spirits. I thought that we’d be the only ones to die tonight, but others have gone ahead of us. Whoever they may be, we’ll journey together to the Mountain of Death. Namu Amida Butsu. Namu Amida Butsu.
​Ohatsu: How sad it is! Other souls have left the world. Namu Amida Butsu.
Narrator: The woman melts in helpless tears of grief.
Ohatsu: To think that other people are dying tonight too! That makes me feel wretched.
Narrator: Man that he is, his tears are falling freely.
Tokubei: Those two spirits flying together over there—they can’t be anyone else’s! They must be ours, yours and mine!
Ohatsu: Those two spirits? Are we already dead then?
Tokubei: Ordinarily, if we were to see a spirit we’d knot our clothes and howl to save our lives, but now instead we are hurrying toward our last moments, and soon are to live in the same place with them. You mustn’t lose the way or mistake the road of death!
Narrator: They cling to each other, flesh against flesh, Then fall with a cry to the ground and weep. Their strings of tears unite like grafted branches, Or a pine and palm that grow from a single trunk. And now, where will they end their dew-like lives?
Tokubei: This place will do.
Narrator: The sash of his jacket he undoes; Ohatsu removes her tear-stained outer robe, And throws it on the palm tree with whose fronds She now might sweep away the sad world’s dust. Ohatsu takes a razor from her sleeve.
Ohatsu: I had this razor ready just in case we were overtaken on the way or got separated. I made up my mind that whatever might happen I would not give up our plan. Oh, how happy I am that we are to die together as we had hoped!
Tokubei: You make me feel so confident in our love that I am not worried even by the thought of death. And yet it would be a pity if because of the pain that we are to suffer, people said that we looked ugly in death. Wouldn’t it be a good idea if we fastened our bodies to this twin-trunked tree and died immaculately? Let us become an unparalleled example of a beautiful way of dying.
Ohatsu: Yes, as you say.
Narrator: Alas! she little thought she thus would use Her sash of powder blue. She draws it taut, And with her razor slashes it in two.
Ohatsu: My sash is divided, but you and I will never part.
Narrator: Face to face they sit, then twice or thrice He ties her firmly so she will not move.
Tokubei: Is it tight?
Ohatsu: Yes, it’s very tight.
Narrator: She looks at him, he looks at her, they burst into tears.
Both: This is the end of our unfortunate lives!
Tokubei: No, I mustn’t weep.
Narrator: He raises his head and joins his hands.
Tokubei: When I was a small child my parents died, and it was my uncle who brought me up. I’m ashamed of myself that I am dying this way without repaying my indebtedness to him, and that I am causing him trouble that will last after my death. Please forgive me my sins.
Now soon I shall be seeing my parents in the other world. Father, Mother, come welcome me there!
Narrator: Ohatsu also joins her hands in prayer.
Ohatsu: I envy you that you will be meeting your parents in the world of the dead. My father and mother are still alive. I wonder when I shall meet them again. I had a letter from them this spring, but the last time I saw them was at the beginning of autumn last year. When they get word tomorrow in the village of my suicide, how unhappy they will be. Mother, Father, brothers and sisters, I now say good-bye to the world. If only my thoughts can reach you, I pray that I may be able to appear in your dreams. Dearest Mother, beloved Father!
Narrator: She weeps convulsively and wails aloud. Her lover also sheds incessant tears, And cries out in despair, as is most natural.
Ohatsu: There’s no use in talking any longer. Kill me, kill me quickly!
Narrator: She hastens the moment of death.
Tokubei: I’m ready.
​Narrator: He swiftly draws out his dagger.
Tokubei: The moment has come. Namu Amida. Namu Amida.
Narrator: But when he tries to bring the blade against the skin Of the woman he’s loved, and held, and slept with So many months and years, his hands begin to shake, His eyes cloud over. He attempts to stay His weakening resolve, but still he trembles, And when he makes a thrust the point goes off, Deflecting twice or thrice with flashing blade, Until a cry tells it has reached her throat.
Tokubei: Namu Amida. Namu Amida. Namu Amida Butsu.
Narrator: He presses the blade ever deeper And when he sees her weaken he falters too. He stretches forth his arms—of all the pains That life affords, none is as great as this.
Tokubei: Am I going to lag on after you? Let’s draw our last breaths together.
Narrator: He thrusts and twists the razor in his throat Until it seems the handle or the blade must snap. His eyes grow dim, and his last painful breath With the dawn’s receding tide is drawn away. But the wind that blows through Sonezaki Wood Transmits it, and high and low alike, Gather to pray for them who beyond a doubt Will in the future attain to Buddhahood. They thus become a model of true love.
Translated by Donald Keene
* ↑ A street in Osaka famed for its theatres and houses of pleasure.
* ↑ The word shijimi means a kind of small shellfish, and the name of the river should be understood in that sense here and at the beginning of Scene II.
* ↑ A mountain and a river in the Japanese afterworld.
* ↑ A passage from the Nō play “Miidera,” here quoted mainly because the first word, “Hatsuse,” echoes the name Ohatsu in the preceding line. Most of this passage would be sung not by one chanter but by a chorus, as in the Nō play.
* ↑ Umeda Bridge, the name of which means “plum field.”
* ↑ A Chinese legend, widespread also in Japan, tells how these two stars (also called the Herd Boy and the Weaver Girl) meet once a year on a bridge built by magpies in the sky.
* ↑ This is a popular ballad of the time describing a love suicide.
* ↑ In the yin-yang system a man’s twenty-fifth, forty-second, and sixtieth years were dangerous; for a woman her nineteenth and thirty-third years.
* ↑ In the Buddhist paradise people are born again on lotuses.
* ↑ An invocation to Amida Buddha used in Jōdo and Shin Buddhism.
* ↑ A type of exorcism practiced against spirits.
* ↑ It was believed that the spirit left the body as the tide went out.