Pathway to Japanese Literature

Characters

Chikamatsu Hanji

Takemoto Sodayu

Tsurusawa Yoshiharu

Takemoto-za's assistant Shōkichi

Gion teahouse daughter Osaku

Maid Okiyo

Doctor

Attendant

Tenmei 3, a late February afternoon.

In Yamashina, Kyoto: the house of Chikamatsu Hanji.
Though not particularly spacious, it was a house built with refined taste, featuring a tokonoma in the upper area where hung a single scroll portrait of Chikamatsu Monzaemon.
Next came staggered shelves—old Hina dolls displayed above, Jōruri scripts and other materials laid below.
In the lower area stood an entryway sliding door.
At the central focal point where Hanji’s sickbed had been placed, folding screens stood arranged around it.
In the upper area was a small tatami room with its engawa veranda set back behind closed shoji screens.
The garden’s upper portion was a bamboo thicket.
Near the veranda stood a cherry tree with a shapely trunk, its blossoms beginning to bloom sparsely.
In the lower area stood a low wicket gate serving as the entrance.
Beyond the wicket gate ran a small stream from upper to lower ground, spanned by a plank or two where a budding willow stood. The faint sound of water flowed. A bush warbler’s song carried through the air.

(Crossing the plank bridge from below, the Doctor appeared with his Attendant.)

Attendant (calls from outside the wicket gate): "Coming through!"

Okiyo: "Yes, coming!"

(Okiyo the maid slid open the inner fusuma door, stepped out, immediately descended into the garden to open the wicket gate, and bowed deferentially upon seeing the doctor.)

“How is the patient?”

“He’s still at his desk today as well.”

“Still at his desk today...”
(Frowning) “I must say, he’s utterly careless about his health.”
“In any case, let me pay my respects.”

(Enters)

Okiyo (outside the screen): “The doctor has arrived.”

(Hanji remained silent.)

“Pardon me, but the honorable doctor is here for his visit.”

Hanji (irritably): "I'm rather occupied at the moment."
"Tell him to come another time."

The doctor chuckled. "Still as stubborn as ever, this patient."
To Okiyo: "Now then—open the screen."

As Okiyo opened the screen, Chikamatsu Hanji, fifty-nine years old, sat upon his sickbed facing his desk, continuing to write Jōruri despite his illness.

The doctor said, “Unfortunately the weather has turned a bit cloudy, but the air has grown quite springlike.”

Hanji (reluctantly set down his brush) “Since it’s already late February, I suppose spring grows more pronounced with each passing day.”

(Okiyo entered the inner room.)

The doctor said, "This year's lingering cold has lasted longer than usual—it might suddenly turn warm again."
(Looking at Hanji's face) "So how are we?"
"You seem slightly improved."

Hanji laughed. "Better or worse, even I can't tell. But this unfinished work preys on my mind—I've been up since morning again today."

"That's precisely the problem," said the doctor. "As I've told you repeatedly these past days, these next ten days or half-month are critical. You must avoid straining yourself."
"Your body had already weakened considerably since last autumn, and this prolonged cold has taken its toll. Once the season gradually improves and flowers begin blooming, you'll recover naturally."
(With a forced chuckle) "Until then, you'll simply have to heed your doctor and stay obediently abed—or we'll have trouble."

“If I behave myself, will I recover?”

“You’ll recover, you’ll recover,” said the Doctor. “You’ll surely recover.”

“I’d like nothing more than to recover—” Hanji replied. “But since that seems increasingly unlikely, I’ve resolved to at least complete what I’ve begun writing—that’s why I’m sitting up like this at my desk. Please don’t scold me as a willful fool.”

“This is truly troublesome,” the Doctor muttered. “Well, well—let me take your pulse.”

Hanji reluctantly extended his hand. The Doctor took his pulse.
Okiyo emerged carrying a copper washbasin and hand towel, placed them beside the Doctor, and retreated into the inner room.
(The song of a bush warbler.)

Hanji: “How is it? Has it worsened since yesterday?”

The doctor: “Well…”
(Hesitating) “It’s not that you’ve grown particularly worse, but when the patient sits up in bed writing day and night like this, even Qibo and Bian Que would have to abandon hope.”
“You’re indispensable to Bunraku.”
“Please take proper care of yourself, recover quickly, and show us something magnificent.”

As the doctor washed his hands, Okiyo emerged from the inner room carrying tea.

"No need for that now," said the doctor.
"I know I sound tiresome, Master Hanji."
"If you can't endure ten days, at least take three or five days off work and stay abed."
"You mustn't push yourself under any circumstances."

Hanji replied irritably, "Yes, yes."

"Then please take care…"

(The doctor, escorted by Okiyo, exited through the wicket gate with his attendant.)
Hanji immediately turned back toward the desk and took up his brush.
Okiyo entered the inner room carrying the copper washbasin and hand towel.

Attendant: "Where shall we go now?"

Doctor: "Same as yesterday."

As the two were about to head off, Osaku—eighteen or nineteen years old, daughter of a Gion teahouse, dressed in showy attire—emerged from below holding peach blossoms.

Osaku called out, “Excuse me, excuse me…”

Doctor (turning back): “Oh, Miss Osaku.”

Osaku approached. "This is rather abrupt of me, but…" She peered inside. "How is the patient’s condition?"

The doctor sighed. "I'm afraid it's not looking good at all."

Osaku asked sorrowfully: "Is it... so bad?"

"It only worsens with each passing day." The doctor wiped his hands on a towel. "With such a gravely ill patient up and about, there’s simply nothing to be done." He lowered his voice. "If he keeps pushing himself like that, I don’t think he’ll last much longer."

Osaku stared at her peach blossoms. "That must be so."

“He’s too precious a man to lose now—that’s why I’ve been exhausting every possibility.”
“The man’s simply incorrigibly stubborn.”
“At any rate—you must press your counsel upon him too.”

“Yes.”

(The doctor departed with his attendant.)
Osaku watched them leave, then peered inside from outside the wicket gate.
(The song of a bush warbler.)

Osaku: "May I beg your pardon?"

(Hanji did not look back, continuing to write with single-minded focus.)

Osaku (calling out again): “May I beg your pardon?”

Okiyo (emerging from inner room): “Oh, you’ve arrived, Miss.”
“Please come this way…”

(Osaku enters the room.)

Okiyo (to Hanji): “Miss Osaku has arrived.”

(Hanji remained silent as before.)
When Osaku signaled with her eyes for her to finish up, Okiyo cleared away the teacups there and retreated into the inner room.
Osaku silently arranged the peach blossoms she had brought in the tokonoma alcove.

Hanji (finally noticing): “Oh, Miss Osaku... You came without my noticing.”

“How are you feeling?”

Hanji: “I don’t feel well at all.”
“No—it seems I’m truly unwell.”
(Looking at the tokonoma alcove) “Did you bring peach blossoms?”
“Oh—they bloom splendidly.”
(Pointing to staggered shelves) “With March Festival nearing—even childless homes deck their alcoves with Hina dolls.”

Osaku (gazing at dolls): “These Hina dolls seem quite ancient.”

Hanji: “I received them from Sodayu twelve—thirteen years back...”
“But there’s humor in it.”
“When Sodayu gifted those dolls—soon after I penned Imoseyama—he wound up performing Yoshinogawa’s third act with Harutayu.”
“In Imoseyama’s mansion—during March Festival—nestlings strike doll heads clean off.”
“Post-recital—Sodayu sidles up smirking—‘Master—no sooner I gift Hina dolls than you repay me with this fiendish passage!’”
“‘Most arduous recitation!’—clutching his skull all while.”
“Heh heh heh.”

“I’ve heard since childhood that your Imoseyama Jōruri was a tremendous hit in recent years.”
“Last year as well, when I heard Imoseyama was being performed again at Takeda’s theater, I made a special trip to Osaka to see it, and this time too, it received tremendous acclaim.”

Hanji: “Even so, compared to when I first wrote it, I can’t even secure half as many days.”
“Though it’s only been twelve or thirteen years, Bunraku’s decline with each passing year is painfully clear to see.”
“As I always say...”
(Glancing back at the portrait in the tokonoma) Of course during Master Monzaemon’s lifetime, and then when Izumo and Shōraku inherited his legacy to write Chūshingura and Sugawara, Bunraku stood at the height of prosperity.
(With radiant eyes as if recalling that era) From all of Osaka, patrons and entertainment districts would send offerings—before the theater banners stood like a forest, piled decorations arranged like mountains.
Audiences from nearby villages would come crowding in before dawn broke.
In Dotonbori, all the crowds gathered for Bunraku, leaving Kabuki as if it didn’t exist...
(He suddenly sighed again.) “And look at it now.”
“Nowadays it’s turned inside out—Kabuki grows more prosperous each year while Bunraku might as well vanish?”
“When I think of that, Izumo died at the right time.”
“Shōraku lived long enough to support me until I wrote Imoseyama, but he too is gone from this world.”
“No—such grumbling gets me nowhere.”
“Even alone, I had to drive off those Kabuki bastards and restore Bunraku’s golden age—that’s what I told myself while working with all my might.”
“I worked myself to the bone.”
“I worked, wringing out every last drop of my intellect.”
“I fought frantically—with Tomomori and Noritsune’s spirit at Dan-no-ura.”

(Hanji began to speak but was overcome by a coughing fit.)
(Osaku approached and stroked his back.)

Hanji: "This desk..."
"This desk is Master Monzaemon’s legacy."
"At this desk he wrote Kokusen'ya, composed Tenmatsu, and created Hakata Kojorou."
"Thirty-three years have passed since I inherited it."
"If Master Monzaemon founded puppet theater only for his disciple like me to bring about Bunraku’s ruin, I could never face him with an explanation."
Every morning and evening when I bowed before that portrait, Master Monzaemon’s face—so gentle in life—somehow grew terrifying to me.
Those kind eyes seemed to glare at me.
(Another violent coughing fit.)

“In your illness, it wouldn’t be good for you to fret like that.”
“Granted that Kabuki thrives and Bunraku declines, there are still plenty of Jōruri lovers across the land.”

“There may still be those who listen to Jōruri,” Hanji said, “but audiences for Bunraku dwindle by the day. Proof over theory—aren’t both Takemoto and Toyotake now half-ruined despite their grand theater names? This shame forced me to retreat from Osaka where I’d lived so long—here I hide in Yamashina, as if being seen would brand me with disgrace. Even sharing this mountain refuge, Ōishi Kuranosuke achieved his glorious vendetta—but Chikamatsu Hanji? No good! No good! However I rage and thrash against Kabuki—” (Another violent cough.)

(From therear,Okiyo emerged carrying medication.)

Okiyo:“It seems you’re coughing quite alot.”

Osaku:“Just intime...”

(Shereceived themedication)“Here—themedicineisready.”

(Osaku administered medicine to Hanji.)

Okiyo (to Osaku): “The honorable doctor says you should cease working for a time.”

Osaku: “I share that sentiment...”
(To Hanji) “You’ve appeared thoroughly wearied since earlier.”
“Please take some rest.”

(When Osaku and Okiyo attempted to lay Hanji down, he weakly shrugged them off.)

Hanji: “No—lying abed proves impossible.”
“Let physicians prattle—to expire clutching my brush would crown my life’s purpose.”
“Away now! Cease hindering me!”
I knew my remaining breaths grew numbered.
While air yet filled these lungs, my unfinished labor demanded completion.

The two women, unable to press further, exchanged glances and loosened their grip; Hanji leaned against the writing desk, drawing labored breaths.
Osaku stroked his back.
From below came Takemoto Sodayu, around fifty years old; Tsurusawa Yoshiharu, around forty; and Shōkichi, the assistant of the Takemoto troupe, over thirty.
All had come from Osaka in formal attire, and the attendant youth emerged carrying a shamisen and a box of sweets.

Attendant: “Pardon my intrusion.”
Okiyo: “Yes, yes.”

(As Okiyo stepped down from the veranda to go out, Shōkichi also came forward.)

Shōkichi: “Oh, maid! Here comes your favorite jester from Dōtonbori once again!”

Okiyo (laughing): “Hoho, my apologies for the other day... Now, please do come through.”

(Okiyo opens the wicket gate.)
(At the mention of “Dōtonbori,” both Hanji and Osaku turn to look.)

Hanji: “What? Dōtonbori... Oh, Mr. Shōkichi?”

Shōkichi: “Today I have brought Tonnase and Konami to your Yamashina retreat.”

“Tonnase and Konami...” Hanji murmured. “Who might that be?”

“Master,” Sodayu announced with a bow.
“’Tis I.”

Hanji’s eyes brightened weakly. “Ah, Mr. Sodayu... And is Mr. Yoshiharu among you?”

Yoshiharu stepped forward, plucking his shamisen. “Rather than Tonnase and Konami, perhaps Kudayū and Bannai would be more fitting roles?”

Sodayu glanced meaningfully at Shōkichi hovering behind them. “Nay—Bannai here claims his rightful part.” He jabbed a thumb at the grinning theater assistant.

(Sodayu, Yoshiharu, and Shōkichi laughed as they stepped up onto the veranda.)
(Osaku and Okiyo tidied up the surrounding area.)

“As you can see, a sick man lies here in this cramped space.”
“Well, please bear with this and sit down.”

(The three settled themselves and sat.)

Hanji: "Mr. Sodayu."
"We were just speaking of you."

Sodayu (laughing): "Was it favorable talk or otherwise?"

Shōkichi: "I daresay they called me some pest gnawing at the lion's innards."

Sodayu: "Enough."
"Hold your tongue."

Hanji: "Nonsense—we were reminiscing about those Hina dolls from the Imoseyama days."
(Pointing to staggered shelves) "That old tale about those figures."

Sodayu (nodding): "To think they still keep vigil here."
"Feels like another age now."

Yoshiharu: “So, how is your illness…? Back in Osaka, everyone worries…”

Shōkichi: “Though the manager himself ought to have paid his respects, with the New Year’s production still tangled in disarray, this Rikimaru humbly attends in his stead.”
(Formally) “The manager bade me convey his deepest regards.”
“A trifling token for your convalescence.”
(Instructing the attendant) “Nothing remarkable—I’ve had them bring some Toraya manju.”
“Pray accept this meager offering, if only as squid relish for our master’s memorial vigil.”

“Ah, Toraya manju...” Hanji’s eyes lingered on the confections. “Seeing these makes Osaka feel so distant now.” He formally inclined his head. “I have duly received your thoughtful gift.”

Shōkichi: “Your courtesy overwhelms me.”
(To the attendant youth) “As we’ll likely be detained here, take this letter and make haste to Kiyomizu.”

Attendant youth: “Understood.”

Shōkichi: “Ensure you return with a reply!”
“And mind you don’t forget the message I had you memorize earlier.”

Attendant youth: “Understood, understood.”
“Though wounded, this Honzō remains unbroken—every detail lies within my grasp.”
(With a bow, he withdrew toward his subordinate.)

Shōkichi: “That guy’s a joker who outdoes even me.”

Hanji: “You’ve kindly come all this way, but I’m afraid I can offer you no proper hospitality in this state.”
“Bring out their gift of manju and serve some tea.”

Okiyo: “Yes, yes.”

(Okiyo and Osaku enter the back.)

Shōkichi (watching them leave): “The maid has long been familiar to us, but that young, beautiful lady…”

Sodayu: “Ha ha, Mr. Shōkichi has sharp eyes.”

Yoshiharu: “When he sees a woman, it’s always like this.”

Shōkichi: “I was surprised to hear that Konami had gone ahead to Mr. Rikimaru’s residence.”

Hanji (laughing): “That’s the daughter of a Gion-machi teahouse—her name is Osaku.”

Shōkichi: “Ah, the daughter of a Gion-machi teahouse...”
“No wonder I thought she was such a flashy, beautiful girl.”
“Is she the one attending to your care, Master?”

“You seem terribly concerned—this is quite the interrogation.”
“Her father passed away some years back, and now it’s run by a woman—but both her mother and daughter are devoted to Jōruri. The daughter writes Jōruri plays for amusement during breaks from her own practice, and from time to time comes to me seeking corrections.”

Shōkichi: “Does that girl actually write Jōruri herself?”
“That’s truly remarkable!”
“I’d love to have a girl like that try writing some passionate love suicide drama.”
“And what pieces has she written before?”

Sodayu: “No—this man has a bad habit; once he starts talking about women, there’s no stopping him. Why don’t you hurry up and discuss the crucial matter instead?”

Shōkichi (scratching his head): “Yes, yes.”
“Well then, without delay, I must bring this matter before you, Master.”
“You’ve likely heard already, but our New Year’s productions were Shin Usuyuki Monogatari and Kagamiyama.”
“Between Shin Usuyuki being a revival piece and Kagamiyama’s Edo-style composition—neither quite suited Kamigata’s sensibilities, I fear. They fared rather poorly.”

Sodayu: “A pity—the theater manager took quite a blow and seems at sixes and sevens over the aftermath...”

Shōkichi: “As you’ve rightly surmised, that’s precisely why I sent the attendant out earlier—this matter of securing funds.”

Yoshiharu: “To burden the theater manager with such losses atop an already stagnant season… truly pitiable.”

Sodayu: “Though we’ve been struggling tirelessly to revive our fortunes—crushed as we are by that great adversary Kabuki—regrettably nothing avails us. It’s Dan-no-ura for the Heike all over again.”

Hanji sighed. "I know Dan-no-ura all too well."
He sighed again. "So this New Year’s season was another failure too."

(From the back, Osaku and Okiyo carried out tea bowls and a sweet dish and served tea to everyone.)

Osaku: "Is there anything else you require?"

(Hanji nodded.)
The two women entered the back.

Sodayu and the others sat in silence for a time, sipping their tea.
(A bush warbler sang.)

Sodayu: “Oh, the bush warbler sings.”
“This place remains quiet and pleasant.”
“Living in a place like Osaka makes one restless—I can’t settle my mind.”
“Perhaps I should quit this Tayū business and retire to some peaceful spot like this.”

Yoshiharu: “That irritation of yours comes from brooding too deeply over Bunraku’s decline.”
“Artists must never abandon the mindset of playful engagement with their craft.”
“Not that I’m saying we should ignore box office fortunes entirely—but live for today, live for tomorrow, and find joy in perfecting your art.”

Sodayu: “I’ve always admired your enlightenment, but even at my age, that understanding still eludes me.”

Shōkichi: “Whether enlightenment comes or not, Mr. Sodayu quitting the business is strictly forbidden—we must have you work even harder from now on.”
“And regarding our current matter—given how things stand, we truly have no choice but to rely on you alone, Master.”
“Specifically concerning the Iga revenge we’ve been requesting since last winter...”
(Scratching his head awkwardly again) “To press this matter while you’re ill seems heartless beyond measure, and I scarcely know how to broach it...”
(Hesitating once more, unable to continue)

Sodayu: “Knowing your condition, we initially tried to stop them from making such a selfish request—forcing you beyond reason. But with the theater manager in dire straits, they insist on staging your new Jōruri this time.”
“They say otherwise there’s no hope of lifting the curtain on the next production.”

Yoshiharu: “Since Mr. Shōkichi alone found it too awkward to broach the matter, we were practically dragged here—using this visit as both well-wishing and petition…”
“Given your current state…”
(Exchanging glances with Sodayu)

Hanji (excitedly): “No—hearing that makes it all the more imperative that I write!”
“As for that Jōruri play, I had submitted the draft up to the sixth act by the end of last year, and was supposed to have completed the entire work by New Year’s—but as you can see, I gradually fell behind schedule.”
“Even in this state, that’s all I can think about—so not minding being scolded by the doctor, I had a desk placed by my bedside and somehow managed to write the seventh and eighth acts.”

Shōkichi (leans forward and peers at the desk): "So, have the seventh and eighth acts been completed already?"

Hanji: “I haven’t been able to make a clean copy yet, but the draft of the eighth act was completed by around noon today.”
(Laughing) “The eighth act is the Okazaki scene where we must make Mataemon’s puppet demonstrate its full capabilities.”
“Precisely because of that requirement, it proved rather challenging to compose—but it seems I’ve managed to write it as envisioned.”
“Next comes Fushimi’s inn and the climactic revenge…”
“With that, the ten-act structure will coalesce without obstruction.”

Shōkichi (placing his hands on the floor): “Thank you profoundly, Master.”
“My deepest gratitude.”
“‘Giving thanks to heaven and earth’ perfectly describes this moment—I too can finally breathe easy.”
“The theater manager will surely be overjoyed.”
“Upon returning, I intend to immediately erect at least the main signboard to stir anticipation—but what has been decided regarding the title?”

Hanji: “The title is...”
“How about ‘The Iga Pass Journey Sugoroku’?”

Shōkichi: “‘The Iga Pass Journey Sugoroku’...”
“I see, that sounds splendid.”

Sodayu: “Hmm. This Journey Sugoroku makes for compelling storytelling.”

Yoshiharu: “Brilliant, simply brilliant. While I can’t speak to what comes after Act Seven, even through Act Six alone this stands as Bunraku’s finest recent achievement—every soul at the script reading marveled at its craft.”

(Hanji sat silent, laughter trembling at his lips.)

Sodayu: “So this time, Mr. Yoshiharu and I will be handling the sixth act’s Numazu scene.”
(Glancing at Yoshiharu) “He’s had quite some difficulty with the musical composition too.”
“Taking advantage of visiting today, we thought we’d go over the critical musical passages together—that’s why we both came prepared.”

Yoshiharu: “I can’t say if it’ll please you, but I’ve done my utmost to craft it.”
“Would you at least hear O-Mai’s Sawari passage once?”

“I will listen.”
(Sitting up formally) “Please let me hear it.”

Yoshiharu: “However，this place seems rather cramped.”
“Particularly at the patient’s bedside—it would prove far too boisterous.”
“Might there be another reception room available?”

Shōkichi (pointing to the upper small room): "Then, how about over there?"

Yoshiharu: Hmm, that should be fine.
“You there, please show us the way.”

Shōkichi: Yes, yes.
(Holding a shamisen, he leads the way.)

Yoshiharu: “Well then, Mr. Sodayu.”

Sodayu: “Yes.”
“I’ll follow shortly.”

(Yoshiharu and Shōkichi moved along the veranda and entered the upper small room.)
(Sodayu began to rise but settled back down.)

Sodayu: “Master.”
“Master, I’ve been observing since earlier—your complexion seems quite unwell. Is it truly wise to push yourself so hard? As I’ve said repeatedly, Bunraku now stands at its Dan-no-ura. Should we lose someone like you at this critical hour, the Heike clan’s fate—utter ruin—is what we all fear awaits us.”

Hanji: “That goes without your saying—I too have been considering it all along.”
“From Master Monzaemon came Izumo and Shōraku.”
“Inheriting that legacy and managing to sustain it this far—through my own efforts, inadequate though they may be—when I survey the world of Bunraku, there remains no author capable of replacing me.”

Sodayu: “That is precisely why your current illness concerns us doubly.”

Hanji: “In Bunraku playwrights—I stand as Chikamatsu Hanji, the last remaining one—and what follows my passing can only be imagined.”
“Against the flowing current, we’ve rowed our way thus far—but without a helmsman hereafter…”
“Whether the oar breaks or the ship sinks—I see that outcome clear before me…”
(With a sigh) “Well then—you all must labor with utmost diligence.”

Sodayu: “Even were chanters and puppeteers to work themselves raw… without a worthy playwright…”
“If we keep reheating old Jōruri fare time and again—the audience will only grow ever more weary.”

(Shōkichi opens the upper shoji and calls out.)

“Mr. Tayu—Mr. Sodayu.”

“Yes, yes.”

(The faint sound of rain. Sodayu stood up and gazed at the sky.)

Sodayu: “Oh—at last it begins to fall.”

Hanji: “If it rains tonight—stay.”

“Spending the night in Yamashina Village while listening to the spring rain might not be so ill-advised,” said Sodayu. “Truly, this place maintains such serene quiet.”

Shōkichi: Mr. Sodayu, Mr. Sodayu.

Sodayu: “My, what an impatient man.”

(Sodayu entered the upper small room.)

The faint sound of rain.
The song of a bush warbler.
Before long came the sound of a Gidayū-style shamisen being tuned behind the shoji screens.

Hanji was leaning against the desk.
(Osaku emerges from the rear.)

Osaku: “Is the Jōruri performance beginning over there?”

Hanji: “Hmm. Since the musical notation for this Iga Pass piece I’m writing has been completed, Sodayu and Yoshiharu will perform the sixth act for us.”

Osaku: “What excellent timing to have arrived at this point.”

Shōkichi (opening the shoji again): “Master, we shall now present a brief passage from the Numazu scene for your consideration.”
(He closed the shoji.)

(From this point onward, with Yoshiharu playing the shamisen and Sodayu narrating in performance style, the Jōruri of Numazu from The Iga Pass could be heard.)

〽Along the Eastern Road lies Numazu village—renowned for Fujimishiro sake! "Taste once! Taste in the palanquin!" they cry. "Shall I bring your palanquin? Palanquin! Palanquin!" Like spiders weaving nests beneath rice stacks lying in wait—this was called the spider's custom.
〽Through this floating world's manifold paths—seeds of grass unseen by mortal eyes—with luggage properly stowed and retinue in attendance, two travelers hurry toward their night's rest――

Hanji: “Ah, the string’s broken.”

“It truly appears the string has snapped.”

Shōkichi (opening the shoji once more): “My deepest apologies.”
“The string has broken—please wait a moment longer.”
(He closes the shoji.)

Hanji: (To Osaku) That broken string made me realize—there’s something I must tell you.
“I’ve forced myself to write through the eighth act... but whether I can finish the finale intact—even I can’t say for certain.”

Osaku: “Huh?”
“Why would such a thing…?”

Hanji: “No matter what anyone says, I know this body best.”
“Should I collapse tonight…”
“If I abandon my brush midway—you must write the rest.”

Osaku: “Oh! Such an outrageous notion…”
“As you know full well—how could an untrained hand add to your work?”
“The world’s very proverb about grafting bamboo to a tree—this would be its living example.”
“Would it not be better to summon some writer from Osaka…?”

“No—there’s no one in Osaka worth summoning. Better to entrust it to you than have some half-baked writer tack on additions.”
“I’m asking you—write it.”
“The outline for the ninth act should have already been explained to you.”
“Using that as your foundation, carry it through to the revenge in the finale…”
“This Jōruri will likely be my final work.”
“If it were left unfinished midway, the theater manager would undoubtedly be troubled—and I too would regret it.”
“I’ve already informed Shōkichi about you, so there’s no need for hesitation.”
(After a moment’s thought) “That’s right.”
“Your name being Osaku, and that being added to my work—Chikamatsu Kasaku…”
“In the official script, place my name Chikamatsu Hanji alongside yours and sign as Chikamatsu Kasaku—that would be best.”

Osaku (moved): "Yes."

Hanji: "Understand? I'm counting on you."

Osaku: "Yes, if the worst should happen, I will do my utmost to write."

(From within the shoji screens came again the sound of the shamisen being tuned.)
(Hanji was seized by a coughing fit.)

Shōkichi (opening the shoji once more): "This time we wish to present O-Mai's Sawari section for your ears."
(Peering in while starting to speak) "Your cough seems quite severe now."

Hanji: "No—never mind that."
"Hurry up and let me hear it."
(Hanji was seized by another coughing fit.)

“Shall I bring the medicine?”

Hanji: “No—you stay here and listen.”

(From beyond the shoji screens came again the sound of Jōruri narration.)

〽When questioned, O-Mai lifted her face and said with embarrassment, “Pray listen.”
“Circumstances compelled us to exchange words—though I cannot speak my husband’s name—and a disturbance arose because of me. In that confrontation I sustained a hand injury. Though once healed, lately it pains me incessantly, and despite every manner of care attempted, nothing avails. Those who stop by are but travelers under transient skies, so here in this vicinity I pray for recuperation.”
“Over the long days, our travel funds were exhausted; as offerings, even my personal belongings—down to combs and hairpins—were sold off. As you heard earlier, these pitiful schemes for money were all for the man’s desperate desire to cure his illness.”
“As in the earlier tale—rumors whispered it was no matter of gold or silver—since the lamp’s light died, I thought to try that strange medicine… alas, my own cursed fate.”
〽“I beg your mercy for what I now confess—let tonight’s matter end here. To have burdened even you, my aged guardian, with this unfilial sin—how often have I thought, ‘Shall I die today? Or cast this body into Sekigawa tomorrow night?’ Yet I pass my days in this hand-to-mouth existence, knowing even my death would prolong your grief.”
〽“Pray grant your merciful judgment—her eastern-bred stiffness now shed, her very body shattered for love’s pride—this heart alone bears imagining.”

(While listening to this Jōruri, Hanji intermittently coughed violently.)
When Okiyo emerged from the inner room with medicine, he pushed it away—"I don’t need it"—and leaned against his desk while listening intently.
As he seemed to grow gradually weaker, Osaku and Okiyo watched with unease until Hanji suddenly slumped forward onto the desk.
Osaku and Okiyo, startled, tried to prop him up.
The faint sound of rain fell.
In the small room, unaware of this, they continued to perform the Jōruri.)

――Curtain――

(October 1928, "Bungeishunju")