Five Women Who Loved Love

by Ihara Saikaku

  And so she determined to write a movingly tearful appeal to him, this time breaking down all his reserve and making him her fool. . . .

  Thus it is through pride and loss of face (whether felt personally, or as an insult to one’s sex) that both women seal their fate.

  Osan’s seduction represents one of the most interesting facets of Saikaku’s studies in female psychology. Let us analyze the scene:

  Osan, an oversexed young wife; her doting husband away in the distant city of Edo. An exciting affair afoot: tonight the handsome clerk Moemon is (though somewhat begrudgingly) to seduce the maid Rin. By Osan’s scheme, however, he is to be tricked and made fun of, finding, instead, his mistress in the bed!

  Here is all the “excitement of an affair of gallantry” that La Rochefoucauld knew so well. Such pranks, clearly a sexual outlet, could hardly fail to arouse Osan’s sexual curiosity and required very little to divert them toward the real act.

  And this leads us to inquire: Was Osan really asleep? On the surface, Saikaku’s text would seem to indicate that she was. Yet to Saikaku’s readers the situation of a beautiful and proud young wife left alone in the midst of temptation connoted certain logical conclusions—which Boccaccio’s readers would have understood well enough, though today we prefer to consider such as “exceptions.” By the same token, to us the word “widow” brings to mind a kindly-faced lady struggling to support starving infants. In Saikaku’s time there was already a proverb: “Show me a widow not engulfed in the mists of passion!” In effect, “widow” connoted “nymphomaniac.”17

  Having said this much, the final decision regarding Osan’s behavior may be left to the reader. In the end, this may depend more upon experience and philosophy of life than upon a reanalysis of Saikaku’s text. Whichever the case, Osan’s reaction is immediate: “There can be no hope of keeping this matter secret. The best that can be done now is to abandon my life to the affair, embrace the name of scandal for what time remains, and in the end find Moemon my companion on the road to hell.”

  Raised with care in a wealthy bourgeois family and wed at the age of thirteen or fourteen to a middle-aged stranger, Osan is yet possessed of a strong will of her own. Now, at the age of sixteen she finds her first opportunity—albeit perhaps a fortuitous one—to follow a love of her own accord. With both Osan and Osen, it is this need for self-assertion that proves their undoing. And therein doubtless lies the true meaning of the kōshoku (“in love with love”) of Saikaku’s title.

  Once having made her decision and expecting death at any minute, Osan for the first time finds what love is really like, and is no longer so ready to quit life. Thus, when the lovers journey to Lake Biwa, in the back of their minds hovers the shadow of death. Yet when Osan broaches the subject, she is lacking in resolution; and when Moemon suggests they run away instead, Osan is delighted and shows him the five hundred ryō in gold which she had brought along with that very course in mind.18

  In the fourth chapter the principal subject is the depiction of the degree to which this passion for love has taken hold of Osan’s heart. Thus as the lovers struggle through the unknown wilds in their flight, when Osan drops from exhaustion it is the pleading words of Moemon that revive her.

  Again later, warned in a dream (or in her own conscience) of the consequences of her folly, Osan hears herself answering the god: “Please do not concern yourself with what becomes of us; for this is our delight: a love, however criminal, for which we’d pay our very lives. . . .”

  That end is not far distant; but first Saikaku shows something more of the character of Moemon, drawn into this love despite himself and now longing to see the capital again.

  It is soon after that the two are discovered. Their end is depicted simply, with compassion: “It was the twenty-second day of the Ninth Month, their final moments like a swiftly evanescent dream at dawn; yet never ignoble nor soon forgotten by the world. Even now her form, sheathed in the pale-blue gown she wore that day, lingers in the inner eye together with her name of love.”

  Sources and background. The affair of Osan and Moemon occurred only two or three years prior to Saikaku’s novel, the date of execution being given variously as 1683 or 1684. The Nishijin tengu hikki cites the latter date, recording that Osan was of a poor family in Tamba Province and was eighteen at the time of her marriage. At the execution grounds, Dōjō, the head priest of the Kinzan Tennō Temple, attempted to intercede for the lovers, but the calendar maker’s strong opposition rendered this impossible.19

  Another semi-historical source gives the date as the Ninth Month of 1683, the calendar maker’s name as Ishun, the lover’s name as Mohei, and the servant girl’s name as Tama.20 The lovers are said to have fled with the maidservant to Tamba, where they were captured, brought back to the capital, led around the streets as a warning to others, and then executed. As for the degree of punishment, Osan and Mohei were crucified, whereas Tama was decapitated and her head exposed to view. Mohei’s three brothers, who had given the criminals shelter, were banished. On account of the scandal, the calendar maker was forced to abandon his profession.

  The utazaimon ballad version is in this case less melodramatic than usual: When the calendar maker Ishun went on a journey to Edo, Mohei, with the servant Tama as go-between, became intimate with his wife Osan. When Osan became noticeably pregnant, the lovers fled to Tamba; but they were soon discovered, brought back to Kyoto, and executed.

  Despite certain differences of detail in these versions, it seems clear that most of the incidents of Saikaku’s novel are entirely imaginative, following only the general outline of the actual events. It is probably for this reason that he is more successful here in developing a unified plot than in some of the other stories of the collection. As a heroine, Osan is perhaps the most remarkable of his creations.

  This story, treated also by Chikamatsu in his Jōruri drama Daikyōji mukashi-goyomi21 of 1715, has long been a favorite among students wishing to compare the differing characteristics of these two great writers. Since Chikamatsu’s work is available in English, we need not elaborate the point here and will simply outline his version briefly:

  The clerk Mohei, grateful for assistance rendered him by the maidservant Tama, visits her bedroom. Osan, to rebuke her lustful husband Ishun (who is trying to force his attentions on the maid Tama) is waiting in Tama’s bed for her husband, but unwittingly receives Mohei. Knowing concealment of their mistake to be impossible, the two flee together. After various complications they are captured, but when about to be executed are saved by an influential priest.

  Chikamatsu’s play is an excellent work of the Jōruri genre and should be judged with the particular requirements of the puppet theatre in mind. It is clear, however, that Chikamatsu—though considerably influenced by Saikaku’s version of the story—has frequently substituted theatrical artificiality for realistic motivation. In Saikaku’s novelette the initial mistake, whether intentional or not, has definite implications and roots in the mind of Osan; it is not just a comedy of errors. Chikamatsu’s final deus ex machina twist may be highly gratifying to the anxious audience of the puppet drama; but to the realistic Saikaku the characters would lose significance if they missed the fate they had so long dreaded.

  The legal implications of the affair involve the edicts already quoted concerning Osen. Here, however, the crime is greater as being perpetrated by a servant upon his master’s wife, and this doubtless accounts for the extreme penalty of death by crucifixion. As noted earlier, Tama, as go-between, was liable also to capital punishment.

  Book Four: Oshichi the Greengrocer’s Daughter

  The story of Oshichi excels particularly in its depiction of adolescent first love. Oshichi’s freshness and innocence are felt all the more, coming directly after the adulterous stories of Osen and Osan; and even the maiden Onatsu seems a brazen coquette by comparison. Not that Oshichi is any less passionate than the other three girls; but rather that love is all so new to her. Instinct is her sole guide in this,
her first and only love.

  In the two opening chapters the lovers are brought together in the midst of disaster; their love flowers timidly, reaching a consummation only for them to be separated all too soon. Here it is the maiden Oshichi who forces the final act of love: to her it is vitally important, in order that they may become really complete lovers. It is a matter of guileless instinct, set in an age when the dichotomy of love into the sexual and the platonic was unknown. At the same time, the reader begins to feel that extreme absorption and single-mindedness of Oshichi’s love, which forms the psychological background for her final act of folly.

  The third chapter, featuring one brief meeting with Kichisaburo, shows clearly the despair and longing in Oshichi’s heart, and leads directly to her crime and execution in the fourth. Oshichi is fully composed as she is led about the streets of Edo by her executioners; she dies at the stake unwavering, for she never felt her guilt.

  Meanwhile Oshichi’s young lover became ill and wasted away from longing for her. It was only weeks later that he stumbled upon her grave and learned of her fate. He grieved that he had not joined her sooner. Restrained from suicide, however, he was reminded of his obligations as a samurai, and so had to bide his time until conferring with his protector. When this was done, he entered the priesthood, as Oshichi had hoped he would.22

  In this novelette Saikaku’s attention has lain, not in the development of new facets of the plot, but in the poetic beauty of shy young love and terrible young death. He has told his tale simply, as it actually transpired. There are no artificial or melodramatic elements; and if Oshichi’s act of arson seems illogical, it is because her heart had no room for logic on that fateful day.

  Sources and background. The execution of the maiden Oshichi took place in Edo in the Third Month of the year 1682, just four years before the publication of Saikaku’s novel. The most reliable account of Oshichi’s story is that found in the Tenna shōishū, a miscellaneous record of events that occurred in Edo during the second and third years of the Tenna period, 1682—1683.

  According to this source, the fire that dispossessed Oshichi’s family broke out on the twenty-eighth day of the Twelfth Month of 1681, at the Daien Temple in Komagome, spreading from there to the Hongō district, and forcing the family to flee to their temple, the Shōsen-in. There, through the mediation of the maidservant Yuki, Oshichi and the temple page Ikuta Shōnosuke became lovers. But soon the family house was rebuilt, and Oshichi was forced to leave the temple. The lovers continued to correspond, and the young page even succeeded once in visiting Oshichi. But after that, unable even to see her lover, Oshichi concluded that if her house were burnt down again they would be able to meet freely. And so on the evening of the second day of the Third Month she tried to set fire to a building nearby but was captured. Oshichi determined not to implicate her lover at any cost. She was paraded around the streets of Edo on the eighteenth day of the same month, in the company of five other arsonists. On the twentieth day she was burned at the stake on the execution grounds of Suzugamori. Dressed in fine garments, she met her end bravely, and there were none present who did not mourn her death. Her lover had attempted to appeal to the authorities at the time Oshichi was captured, but was stopped by the maidservant Yuki, who told him of Oshichi’s resolution not to implicate him. In the Fourth Month the young man journeyed to the monasteries of Mt. Kōya and there entered the priesthood.

  It will be seen that Saikaku’s story differs from this semi-historical account only in the addition of minor incidents. He doubtless felt the event impressive enough without elaborations of plot complication, and concentrated his efforts on a poignant retelling of the simple story. Saikaku’s main revision lies in the ending, which intensifies and idealizes the lover’s emotions and grief.

  It is of interest to add that, according to the aforementioned Tenna shōishū, in the Second Month of 1682—only a month before Oshichi’s death—a maidservant named Ohara, fifteen, from a certain household in the Akasaka district, was paraded through the streets of Edo for the same crime of arson and was then burned at the stake at Suzugamori. Further, as we have seen, five other incendiaries accompanied Oshichi to the stake. It would appear that the crime of arson was very much in vogue at this time, either as a means of personal revenge, or as an outlet for frustrated indignation at the government. Most probably the disastrous fire of late 1681 set off this reaction, one scene of violence suggesting another.

  It remains only to record the legal background of Oshichi’s punishment:23

  Regarding sentences for arson: As for the person who sets the fire: Burning at the stake. However, in a case where no fire results: Death by decapitation. As for a person who sets a fire at the direction of another: Death by decapitation. However, as for he who gave the direction: Burning at the stake.

  When we recall that Oshichi is still fifteen years of age as Saikaku’s novel opens, the following edict lends a particular poignancy to her story:

  Even though a fire is set, should the criminal be fourteen years of age or under: Banishment to a distant island. But when fifteen years of age and over: Burning at the stake.

  From what we know of Oshichi’s character, burning was far preferable to lifelong separation from her lover. She would but have echoed the words of Dante’s Francesca, to whom she bears so much resemblance:

  Nessun maggior dolore

  Che ricordarsi del tempo felice

  Ne la miseria.

  There is no greater sorrow

  Than to be reminded of a joyous time

  While in the midst of misery.

  —Inferno, Canto V

  Book Five: Oman and Gengobei

  Taking his lead from the preceding novelette concerning the fair young rōnin Kichisaburō, Saikaku opens the concluding book of Five Women Who Loved Love with an intimate picture of the homosexual side of love. The setting is Satsuma, the southernmost province of Japan, a secluded region with its own special customs and dialect and a lively sense of the Spartan code of the samurai. Even Saikaku, though widely traveled, had never penetrated this far south, and an exotic mistiness envelops his depiction of life in this land he had never seen.

  The Satsuma samurai—whether justifiably or not—had a reputation for pederasty exceeding that of any other clans, and Saikaku devotes some detail to a description of Gengobei and the joys of “manly love.” In the first chapter Gengobei is depicted in an idyllic love scene with his paramour, whose life-flame flickers out before his very eyes. Gengobei enters the priesthood, but on a pilgrimage loses his heart to an even fairer samurai lad. The boy dies before Gengobei’s return, but his love is strong enough to bring him back from the dead for one last meeting.24 This, then—priest, confirmed pederast, and mourner for two dead loves—is the formidable man upon whom the maiden Oman has set her heart!

  Here Saikaku pauses for a moment to comment on the fickleness of human beings, whether women or men, in keeping the vows they have made to departed loved ones. Gengobei, however, seriously intends to keep his vows, and it is only the appearance of Oman in the flesh, disguised moreover as a pretty lad, which proves his downfall.25 Once his passions are aroused, however, even the discovery of Oman’s true sex is not enough to deter Gengobei, and he is summarily converted to normal ways of love. In the final chapter the lovers are made to suffer for a time, but in the end they receive their reward of wealth and joy.

  In the story of Oman and Gengobei will be found the only happy ending in this volume. Although such might facetiously be considered but a proper reward for Oman’s determination against all odds to get her man, actually this is quite in keeping with the theatrical conventions of the time.

  The division of each story into five chapters has been explained in terms of the Nō drama, but in fact, it is the five-act form of the contemporary Jōruri drama that was most probably Saikaku’s source.26 For although Saikaku possessed a considerable and detailed knowledge of the Nō, it was only the year before this that he himself had written two Jōrur
i plays, both in five acts. Further, the inclusion of five separate stories in the volume itself may perhaps reflect this convention. With these factors in mind, the completion of the series with a comedy is clearly seen to reflect current theatrical conventions. The reader leaves the book with a temporarily light heart, free to ponder the preceding four tragedies at his leisure.27

  In addition, it will be seen that this last story is the only one where no crime is involved and where the lovers are on an entirely equal level. All of these factors doubtless influenced Saikaku in his choice of a happy conclusion, where the actual event appears to have ended in the suicide of both lovers.28

  Sources and background. The only factual information we possess regarding this story appears in a chronology of the mid-nineteenth century, which simply records: “1663: In Satsuma, the love-suicide of Gengobei and Oman.” Besides this, there is only the reference in the passage of Chikamatsu’s drama on the subject, The Song of Satsuma (Satsuma-uta), of 1704: “It is said to be some time around Kambun. . . .”29

  Gengobei was also the subject of a humorous popular song of the period. This song, extant only in fragments, is quoted first in the poet Bashō’s Kai-ōi of 1672, then in Saikaku’s novel, and finally in Chikamatsu’s drama. It refers humorously to Gengobei’s penniless condition: “With a scabbard worth three cents, a sword-knot worth two cents, and inside, a piece of rough-hewn cypress wood.” The original Gengobei may well have been one of the otokodate townsman-gallants of Edo—probably a native of Satsuma—whose personality subsequently became linked in the popular theatre with the story of Oman.

  It is thus impossible to ascertain the extent of Saikaku’s knowledge of the actual events in the story of Oman and Gengobei. It seems probable that he had few specific details to work from, and handled the story freely—the more so in that it was an event of more than twenty years earlier, set in a distant and little-known province.

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