II
The working out of the ends of justice, the righting of wrongs, the trailing of a murderer for years by the entire members of a family, such were the plots that appealed to the audiences of Old Japan, and the writers of plays knew well how to serve their desires.
As the secret map describing a lost gold mine, or parchment hidden in the head of a bronze idol relating to a buried treasure starts the interminable, harrowing incidents of a modern cinematograph serial, the subject of revenge for wrong done held together the many scenes and acts of the Doll-theatre and Kabuki plays.
The greatest revenge play of Japan is Chushingura (lit., Loyal Retainers’ Storehouse), or the story of the faithful Forty-seven Ronin, who waited an opportunity to slay the miserable old villain who had caused their lord, Hangan, to commit harakiri, and when they had accomplished their end died as one man by their own hands.
Produced in 1748, Chushingura was written by Takeda Izumo in collaboration with Namiki Senryu and Miyoshi Shoraku.
Ichikawa Sadanji as Sadakura, the highwayman, in the play Chushingura.
If the final test of drama be character, then the claim of Chushingura to a first place among the plays of Japan is thoroughly justified.
First and foremost, there is Yuranosuke, the leader of the loyal Forty-seven. Both his entrance upon the harakiri scene to catch the dying request of his feudal lord, Enya Hangan, and his exit sternly resolved to avenge the death of his master, are things to remember, not only because they show the true dramatic situations born of a good dramatist, but also because the actor suggests so powerfully Yuranosuke’s emotions.
Hangan must carry out the severe decree in the presence of the officials who have announced the penalty for his offence committed within the Shogun’s palace. He hesitates, since he is anxious to see his chief retainer before he bids farewell to the world.
Yuranosuke, who has been sent for, hastening on his way from Hangan’s fief in the provinces, has not yet reached the Yedo mansion of his lord. The audience, feeling the suspense, watches the hanamichi. At the very last moment he comes along the narrow way above the heads of the playgoers without noise or clatter, dropping down on his knees humbly before he reaches the stage proper. Sorrow, anxiety, respect—all are mingled in his manner.
Not a moment too soon, he catches Hangan’s last words, and gives him the consolation he needs so sorely. Yuranosuke takes the dirk from the lifeless hand, pays the last marks of respect to the body, and places it within the palanquin to be carried to the temple for the burial service.
And what a situation it is for a good actor, as Yuranosuke with composure, yet regretfully, performs his duties in a mansion that is to know his master no longer! Grouped about are the retainers who have served the lord since childhood, and whose fathers and forefathers were employed in like capacity under the lord’s ancestors, suddenly made ronin, unattached samurai, set adrift, to wander about the land! Castle and lands confiscated, wives and children turned out-of-doors, men ready to unsheathe their swords in their lord’s defence, depending on him for their living and well-being, all to be scattered to the winds to lead poverty-stricken existences. Rough justice the men would have immediately, but the superior-minded Yuranosuke begs them to wait for a better opportunity.
The Harakiri Scene from Chushingura.
Left alone outside the red gate of his master’s yashiki, Yuranosuke suggests his future plan, as drawing forth the bloodstained dirk he gazes upon it, there being no doubt that he is prepared to sacrifice his life in the cause of righting the great wrong inflicted upon the house and all its dependents.
For contrast in character there is the self-controlled, well-bred Hangan, trying his best to behave himself as becomes his rank and station, and the unscrupulous old official Moronao, hardened in the school of intrigue. If only Hangan’s men had taken the precaution to bribe the crafty Moronao as had the representative of Wakasanosuke, Hangan’s friend! But then there would have been no play. Unconscious that he is expected to stoop so low, Hangan keeps watch over himself, as Moronao by taunt and insult tries to make him take the offensive that is to cost him so dearly.
In the fourth act, again comes the clash of good and evil. The disloyal Sadakuro in the midst of the faithful has turned highwayman, seeking his livelihood by waylaying travellers. A colour-print actor come to life, he seems to be,—his whitened legs, arms, and chest vivid against the black kimono that is tucked into his belt; the black, bushy robber’s wig against the white face,—a picture in black and white.
As though quite accustomed to put wayfarers out of commission, Sadakuro halts old Yoichibei, slays him with a sword and throws the body over the hillside, then wrings out his wet clothes. How much suggestion plays its part in Kabuki acting may be seen throughout Chushingura, but nothing is more interesting than Sadakuro’s wordless play, as he wrings the rain from his kimono and wipes the imaginary drops from his face, bringing before our eyes his wild life in the lonely places, showing the high courage of the samurai, yet the hardened soul of the criminal.
No doubt the dramatist created him to make the deeds of the loyal retainers shine forth all the more brightly. And so he stands, counting with satisfaction his booty, when a stray shot from Kanpei’s gun strikes him in the chest, dyeing him red, an evildoer gone to his just deserts.
There is, again, the erring Kanpei, Hangan’s servant, loitering about with O-Karu, a maidservant of his mistress, when he should have been attending to his duties by waiting at the Shogun’s gate. He returns to find the uproar caused by Hangan’s attack upon Moronao. Fearing that he will be censured for his neglect, he runs off with O-Karu to the home of her father, Yoichibei, in the country, hoping to return to the service of his lord when they are both pardoned.
Yoichibei, glad to aid Kanpei in his endeavour to raise funds that he may contribute towards the cause, sells O-Karu to a house in Kyoto, and is returning home with the money when struck down by Sadakuro. Kanpei, out hunting, runs after a wild boar, but finds he has killed a man instead, and takes the purse he finds on Sadakuro, reaching home to discover that O-Karu is on the point of leaving for Kyoto, and that the purse he has secreted within the folds of his kimono must be that of Yoichibei, and in consequence that he has killed his father-in-law.
When Yoichibei’s body is brought into the cottage the old widow believes Kanpei to have committed the crime. He cannot save his wife, O-Karu; he believes himself guilty, and when two of the ronin arrive, sent by Yuranosuke to return a sum of money already sent by Kanpei, as he has not yet been reinstated in the good favour of the band, Kanpei can stand it no longer and commits harakiri. Before he expires he is cleared, for Yoichibei’s wound was not made by Kanpei’s gun but Sadakuro’s sword. Ghastly and realistic is Kanpei’s end, but he is not forgotten, and is regarded henceforth as one of the band.
There is, also, that gay scene in the Kyoto tea-house where Yuranosuke leads a dissipated life in order to put the spies of Moronao off the scent, and the sadness of farewell when the leader of the Forty-seven takes leave of his wife and home, and finally the gathering together on a snowy day, and the storming of the great red gate that guards the entrance to the residence of the enemy. Swarming within they return in triumph with the head of the villain. Later they commit harakiri, and are buried together with their lord in the compound of Senkaku-ji, the Buddhist temple in Tokyo, where before their tombs the incense is still kept burning.