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2023-09-16

永井荷風『曇天』The Cloudy Sky by Kafu NAGAI

 “ The Cloudy Sky ” by Kafu NAGAI


Introduction 


In the midst of a melancholic autumn afternoon, Kafu NAGAI found himself strolling through the quiet streets of  Negishi and Yanaka, Tokyo. His steps were burdened by an inexplicable sense of despondency, despite the joyous news of a dear friend's newly constructed home in Negishi for his beloved. 

This friend, once a passionate companion in discussions of literature, art, and worldly events during Kafu NAGAI's days abroad, had settled into a life of domesticity and conventional happiness. 


As the rain began to fall, Kafu NAGAI's thoughts wandered, reflecting on the transformative power of love and marriage, the passage of time, and the evolving nature of human relationships.


In this poignant narrative, the author, inspired by Baudelaire, delves into the bittersweet resonance of memories, the fading of youthful passions, and the existential question of whether one is “I wonder if I was born too early on this land of Japan. Or perhaps, I was born too late." 

Join us on this contemplative journey through the streets of Yanaka and the corridors of introspection.



*Original text from Aozora bunko.


*Here's a possible translation of the text:


The Cloudy Sky by Kafu NAGAI


Decay, emaciation, decline, failure. Nothing else can penetrate the heart as deeply. The petals on the mud, blown away by a storm, seem more beautiful in the morning sun than the budding flowers. It was only when I was abandoned, when I parted ways, that I truly tasted the bitterness of love. "The Tale of the Heike" is an immortal epic that Japan has never seen the likes of again. If, by some honor, Napoleon's empire had endured until today, would I have loved France so passionately? Behold the magnificent view of the Place de la Concorde. Covered in the shadows of defeat, adorned with bouquets of flowers, has it not become even greater and more elegant? To truly appreciate the Arc de Triomphe, one must remember the history of humiliation where a German intruder played Schubert's march beneath it. Perhaps the Greeks of later generations deliberately allowed themselves to be oppressed by the ancient Turks to emphasize the prosperity of their ancestors. I love China more than Japan, for its gloomy wretchedness. I respect Russia for the same reason. I despise the English. I find the Egyptians charming. Friends who graduated from prestigious universities, passed civil service exams, and became bureau chiefs or governors are not the ones I want to visit. Women who graduated from noblewomen's schools, transferred from their parents' hands to their husbands', and bore children to become honorary members of patriotic women's associations are not the ones I want to turn to. I want to join arms with the infamous, publicly disgraced daughter of sin. I want to drink with a man who survived a double suicide attempt after being hated. Don't go to Hibiya Park on a clear spring day. Take a walk in the mud puddles of Honjo on a rainy day. What charm can the spring and summer, filled with singing birds and fragrant flowers, add to the countryside? It's only in the dim autumn evening on a cloudy path, listening to the sound of fallen leaves beneath your feet, that your heart truly leaves the city behind...

Feeling somewhat deflated, I left my friend's house, which I had visited in the early afternoon. My friend had loved a woman for many years, and despite various worldly obstacles such as parental objections and inconvenient circumstances, he had finally managed to establish a new household in Negishi with her. I received this joyful news during my second year abroad, when spring had already arrived in Japan with plum blossoms, but in that distant land, the snow had yet to melt. If I were to return to my hometown not long from now, I thought, I would be delighted to see the young man and woman who had once wept for their unfortunate fate but were now happily married, living the beautiful life they deserved from the beginning of their journey. However, for some reason, I felt rather disappointed. I experienced a kind of melancholy and a sort of despair. Oh, why could that be? What could be the reason?

Everyday overcast skies. Mid-November. The quiet village of Negishi. A row of damp hedges along the wet road. I walked alone, using a bat-shaped umbrella to ward off the drizzle, and ascended the hilly slope covered in fallen leaves. The air in the shade of the pitch-black cedar trees, reminiscent of the sorrowful cypress trees in a Parisian cemetery, was especially humid, chilling the skin with coldness.

Gazing at the row of stone lanterns standing solemnly in lonely silence, I turned toward the viewpoint, following the gray, sandy path. Due to the threatening weather, there were hardly any pedestrians in sight. In various places, on the exposed tables of teahouses, bird droppings mingled with fallen leaves. Countless crows filled the forest from the spiritual shrine to the Sanno Platform, causing quite a ruckus in the vast Ueno woods. Their unpleasant cawing, as if suddenly drawing nearer to the approaching dusk, needlessly unsettled the hearts of people.

Walking through the dark cedar grove, I occasionally glanced curiously at groups of women wearing leggings and arm guards, donning conical hats, and wielding brooms and rakes, gathering fallen leaves and withered branches. I quickened my pace toward the torii gate. The piled-up fallen leaves, abandoned in vacant corners or at the curve of the path, resembled a graveyard, or like the roots of cedars, they crawled out eerily along the roadside like the limbs of a withered old man. They formed a towering heap in some places, left unattended and burning uncontrollably, as if ablaze. However, there were no beautiful flames flickering; only deep blue smoke billowed and surged, carrying a strong earthy scent. It rose, coiling upward, winding through the dark treetops of the small forest.

"Oh, it's a quiet day, a lonely afternoon," I thought. Unable to resist, I wished there were a cold stone nearby to sit on, so I could contemplate something unknown, even to myself.

Suddenly, the path opened up, leading to the bustling main street in front of the torii gate, where cars hurriedly passed by. Along both sides of the main street and scattered on the embankment, there were large pine trees that seemed to have witnessed countless ages. These pine trees were said to remain standing tall through any storm or earthquake. They were known to never wither, regardless of how harsh the weather became. As I gazed at these proud pine trees, they appeared to thrive in the overcast sky, almost as if they harbored an unusually strong sense of animosity toward my current feelings.

Then, amidst the detestable trunks of those trees, the view of the broken lotus leaves floating on the entire surface of the Shinobazu Pond below caught my eye. It seemed strangely poignant, almost indescribably nostalgic, in stark contrast to the current scene. In my heart, it resonated as if it were calling out, "Defeated, oh, defeated." With that cry echoing in my mind, I continued to walk, despite my exhaustion. I crossed the wide road, descended the stone steps, and crossed yet another stone bridge.

Passing through the rain-worn, somber black gate, I proceeded to the rear of the Bentendo Hall, where the once-vivid vermillion had also faded. Here, too, the area was cast into a slightly darker shade by the presence of intimidatingly large pine trees. The sounds of the world disappeared, and no human figures were in sight, on the edge of this secluded island.

Delighted to have found a suitable spot, I lowered myself onto a stone at the base of one of the pine trees. The pine tree's roots extended like rocky outcrops, covering the narrow area entirely. On top of these roots, there was a small, box-like Koshinzuka shrine. A little further away, beneath a withered wisteria trellis, stood a stone monument carved with the figure of Taishakuten (Sakra Devanam Indra).

This peculiar idol, with six arms extending from its shoulders like a spider, not only intensified the surrounding silence but also added a sense of poignant nostalgia that anyone would feel in the face of its weathered and worn sculpture amidst the traces of desolation.

The air here is even more laden with humidity than within Ueno Park. The overcast sky, which now stretches limitlessly without obstruction, seems lower and heavier than when I gazed upon it through the dark cedar and pine branches. It presses down upon the turbid waters of the pond, almost as if falling upon them. The color of the muddy water is more unpleasantly bluish-black than the lips of a dead person poisoned. 

Beyond this, the Ueno Forest stretches lower, almost flat, and people and vehicles move haphazardly along the walkways beneath it, appearing lethargic. In contrast, the buildings of the exhibition stand tall, obtrusive, close, large, angular, and annoyingly conspicuous, as if striving to make the entire view their own.

Oh, the grand architecture of the Meiji era. How can one describe it? With tremendous effort, it was established as the symbol of the new era's ideals: "disharmony" and "chaos." Its rough, grand, vulgar demeanor is akin to encountering the face of a journalist from an unethical newspaper who has come to promote concepts like justice, morality, and freedom to the slums where people live with their daughters working as geisha, resigned to ignorant customs, and drowning in guilt, all while quietly going about their days.

I truly admire the modernity of it from the depths of my heart. At the same time, I find myself feeling even more intense affection for the withered and tattered lotus leaves before this modern architecture than before.

Japanese lotus plants bear an unyielding tradition. They differ from the water lilies that frolic in Greek myths. Lotus leaves that only harmonize with five-story pagodas, stone lanterns, stone bridges, and vermilion-painted railings seem to know, just like my heart, that they cannot oppose something truly powerful. In front of this new, grand architecture, they wither and die in an instant, exposing their appearance, like resentful, dirty trash.

The overcast sky is descending lower, and the wind, which seems to blow in all directions, stirs intermittently. Each time it blows, the tattered lotus leaves sway gently on their withered stems. Many of these long stems have already broken in the middle, unable to support the movement. Amidst the swaying and touching of the torn leaves, a barely audible, soft, yet indescribably evocative sound is transmitted. Unlike the rustling of reeds in the river wind or the murmur of rain on tree leaves, this sound can only be sensed by a tired soul lurking in a weary body rather than heard by a living ear.

Groups of small birds with silvery-gray feathers, like pearls, suddenly flew up diagonally from the water hidden beneath the tattered lotus, resembling a rain of stars. The distant part of the water's surface, illuminated by the sky's light, shone brilliantly between the gaps of the torn leaves. As the light intensifies, Ueno Forest gradually appears more distant, and the cloudy sky above becomes lower and darker. Winter twilight is drawing near. A few wild ducks, almost like pitch-black shadows, appeared briefly on the shimmering water's surface and quickly disappeared. Along with their noisy wing flapping, a flock of crows, initially two, then three, four, and more, perched on the pine tree above my head and began cawing. In response, it seems that countless more are flying in from the direction of Ueno Forest. A couple of pine cones fell from a branch, gripped by sharp claws, and made a sharp sound as they landed on the water. All the shadows of tranquil objects reflected on the water's surface sway and create ripples, resembling patterns on wallpaper... It's an interesting sight. However, I was finally driven to stand up from the waterside rocks due to the noisy and raucous cawing of the crows.

Today, for the first time, I reluctantly crossed the supposedly beautiful Kangetsukyo Bridge, feeling a great sense of humiliation within. The winter sky, which had been overcast for the past four or five days, had finally turned to rain. The lotus leaves in the full pond began to play a desolate and melancholic melody, much like the music bidding farewell to my departure.

I had just turned up the collar of my coat, opting not to use my umbrella, and walked absentmindedly while thinking about my visit to a friend's house in Negishi earlier in the afternoon. The pond and the forest separated my thoughts as I walked.

The houses overlooking the pond already had their lamps lit, casting beautiful reflections on the water. I vividly imagined the shadows of my friends' faces illuminated by the lamp's light. The shadows were truly peaceful. They were quiet and, in their quietness, quite dull and dim. Oh, could it be that the happiness of a loving household in their contented marriage can make people so sluggish? 

Back when I had given up all hope that their marriage, which seemed impossible at the time, they still used my study, where they had not yet departed for a foreign country, as their meeting place. During that time, what deep light must have shone in the young woman's sad eyes? What powerful spirit of resistance must have lurked beneath the man's polished lips when he spoke? Oh, during that time, how they must have loved the moonlight and mourned the falling of the flowers! 

The two of them, who had achieved the satisfaction of love, seemed to have neglected discussions on various topics, be it the trends in Japanese clothing or the changing fashions, that they had so actively engaged in with me during their youth. Only a few years later, having achieved the contentment of love, the man and woman, who were now married, hardly spoke about anything except for the fact that the wife was currently pregnant and they hoped for a son. The husband mentioned that as long as he behaved well at his company, they wouldn't face any financial difficulties in the future. The wife lamented that they were struggling because they couldn't find a good maid.

Oh, they no longer have unbearable memories of the past or unstoppable anticipations of the future in their hearts. By now, they are likely sitting beneath the eaves, listening to the sound of drizzling rain, repeating the same things they told me earlier in the afternoon, all while pretending to be busy with Japanese customs, as they eat their dinner in the lamplight.

Where should I go now? The rain is coming down heavily. The Ueno bell, which people from the previous century listened to for hundreds of years, rings with the same voice of impermanence. Prompted by this sound, the cities of the East fall into darkness without revelry or mourning. They simply go to sleep, go to sleep quickly, go to sleep without even dreaming. I remembered a line from Verlaine. I felt that I was born in the land of Japan, "Either too early or too late."



曇天 

 永井荷風  


  衰残、憔悴、零落、失敗。これほど味い深く、自分の心を打つものはない。暴風に吹きおとされた泥の上の花びらは、朝日の光に咲きかける蕾の色よりも、どれほど美しく見えるであろう。捨てられた時、別れた後、自分は初めて恋の味いを知った。平家物語は日本に二ツと見られぬ不朽のエポッペエである。もしそれ、光栄ある、ナポレオンの帝政が、今日までもつづいていたならば、自分はかくまで烈しく、フランスを愛し得たであろうか。壮麗なるコンコルトの眺めよ。そは戦敗の黒幕に蔽われ、手向の花束にかざられたストラスブルグの石像あるがために、一層偉大に、一層幽婉になったではないか。凱旋門をばあれほど高く、あれほど大きく、打仰ごうとするには、ぜひともその下で、乱入した独逸人が、シュッベルトの進行曲を奏したという、屈辱の歴史を思返す必要がある。後世のギリシヤ人は太古祖先の繁栄を一層強く引立たせる目的で、わざわざ土耳古人に虐げられていたのではあるまいか、自分は日本よりも支那を愛する。暗鬱悲惨なるが故にロシヤを敬う。イギリス人を憎む。エジプト人をゆかしく思う。官立の大学を卒業し、文官試験に合格し、局長や知事になった友達は自分の訪ねようとする人ではない。華族女学校を卒業して親の手から夫の手に移され、児を産んで愛国婦人会の名誉会員になっている女は、自分の振向こうとする人ではない。自分は汚名を世に謳われた不義の娘と腕を組みたい。嫌われたあげくに無理心中して、生残った男と酒が飲みたい。晴れた春の日の、日比谷公園に行くなかれ。雨の降る日に泥濘の本所を散歩しよう。鳥うたい草薫る春や夏が、田園に何の趣きを添えようか。曇った秋の小径の夕暮に、踏みしく落葉の音をきいて、はじめて遠く、都市を離れた心になる…… 

 自分は何となく気抜けした心持で、昼過ぎに訪問した友達の家を出た。友達は年久しく恋していた女をば、両親の反対やら、境遇の不便やら、さまざまな浮世の障害を切抜けて、見初めて後の幾年目、やッとの事で新しい家庭を根岸に造ったのだ。その喜ばしい報道に接したのは、自分が外国へ行ってちょうど二年目、日本では梅が咲く、しかしかの国ではまだ雪が解けない春の事で、自分は遠からず故郷へ帰ったならば、何はさて置き、わが出発の昔には、不幸な運命に泣いてのみいた若い男、若い女、今では幸福な夫と妻、その美しい姿を見て、心のかぎり喜びたいと思っていた。しかし自分はどうした訳であろう。ただ何という事もなくがっかりしたのだ。一種の悲愁と、一種の絶望を覚えたのだ。ああ、どうしたわけであろう。どうしたわけであろう。

  毎日の曇天。十一月の半過ぎ。寂とした根岸の里。湿った道の生垣つづき。自分はひとり、時雨を恐れる蝙蝠傘を杖にして、落葉の多い車坂を上った。巴里の墓地に立つ悲しいシープレーの樹を見るような真黒な杉の立木に、木陰の空気はことさらに湿って、冷かに人の肌をさす。

  淋しくも静かに立ち連った石燈籠の列を横に見て、自分は見晴しの方へと、灰色に砂の乾いた往来の導くままに曲って行った。危い空模様の事とて人通りはほとんどない。ところどころの休茶屋の、雨ざらしにされた床几の上には、枯葉にまじって鳥の糞が落ちている。幾匹と知れぬ鴉の群ればかり、霊廟の方から山王台まで、さしもに広い上野の森中せましと騒ぎ立てている。その厭わしい鳴声は、日の暮れが俄かに近いて来たように、何という訳もなく人の心を不安ならしめる。自分は黒い杉の木立の間をば、脚袢に手甲がけ、編笠かぶった女の、四人五人、高箒と熊手を動し、落葉枯枝をかきよせているのをば、時々は不思議そうに打眺めながら、摺鉢山の麓を鳥居の方へと急いだ。掻寄せられた落葉は道の曲角に空地も同様に捨てられた墓場の隅、または赤土の崩れから、杉の根が痩せひからびた老人の手足のように、気味わるく這い出している往来際に、うず高く積み上げられ、番する人もなく、燃るがままに燃されている。しかし閃き出る美しい焔はなくて、真青な烟ばかりが悩みがちに湧出し、地湿りの強い匂いを漲らせて、小暗い森の梢高く、からみつくように、うねりながら昇って行く。ああ、静かな日だ、淋しい昼過ぎだ、と思うと、自分は訳もなく、その辺に冷たい石でもあらば腰かけて、自分にも解らぬ何事かを考えたくて堪らなくなった。

  しかし突然、道は開けて、いそがし気に車の馳せ過ぎる鳥居前の大通りに出た。大通の両側、土手の中腹のそこここに、幾時代を経たとも知れぬ松の大木がある。松の大木はいかなる暴風、いかなる地震が起っても倒れはせぬ。いかなる気候の寒さが来ても枯れはせぬと云わぬばかり、憎々しく曇天の空に繁り栄えて、自分がその瞬間の感想に対して、驚くほど強い敵意を示すものの如く思われた。すると、その憎らしい幹の間から、向うに見下す不忍の池一面に浮いている破れ蓮の眺望が、その場の対照として何とも云えず物哀れに、すなわち、何とも云えず懐しく、自分の眼に映じたのである。敗荷、ああ敗荷よ。さながら人を呼ぶ如く心に叫んで、自分はもはや随分歩きつかれていながらも、広い道を横切り、石段を下りて、また石橋を渡った。

  雨に剥げた渋塗りの門をくぐって、これも同じく、朱塗りの色さめた弁天堂の裏手へ進んで行くと、ここにも恐しいほどな松の大木が、そのあたりをば一段小暗くして、物音は絶え、人影は見えない浮島のはずれ。自分はいいところを見付けたと喜んで、松の根元の捨石に労れた腰を下した。松の根は巌の如く、狭い土地一面に張り出していて、その上には小さい木箱のような庚申塚、すこし離れて、冬枯れした藤棚の下には、帝釈天を彫り出した石碑が二ツ三ツ捨てたように置いてある。蜘蛛のようにその肩から六本の手を出したこの異様な偶像は、あたりの静寂を一層強めるばかりでなく、その破損磨滅の彫刻が、荒廃の跡に対して誰れもが感ずる、かの懐しい悲哀をも添えるのである。

  空気は上野の森中よりも、一層湿気多く沈んでいる。今ではひろびろと遮るものなく望まれる曇った空は、暗い杉や松の梢の間から仰ぎ見た時よりも、一段低く、一段重く、落ちかかるように濁った池の泥水を圧迫している。泥水の色は毒薬を服した死人の唇よりも、なお青黒く、気味悪い。それを隔てて上野の森は低く棚曳き、人や車は不規則にいかにも物懶くその下の往来に動いているが、正面に聳える博覧会の建物ばかり、いやに近く、いやに大きく、いやに角張って、いやに邪魔くさく、全景を我がもの顔にとがんばっている。ああ、偉大なる明治の建築。偉大なる明治の建築は、いかにせば秋の公園の云いがたい幽愁の眺めを破壊し得らるるかと、非常な苦心の結果、新時代の大理想なる「不調和」と「乱雑」を示すべきサンボールとして設立されたものであろう。その粗雑なる、豪慢なる、俗悪なる態度は、ちょうど、娘を芸者にして、愚昧なる習慣に安んじ、罪悪に沈倫しながら、しかも穏かにその日を送っている貧民窟へ、正義道徳、自由なぞを商売にとて、売りひろめに来た悪徳新聞の記者先生の顔を見るようだ、と自分は思った。

  自分は実際心の底から、その現代的なるを嘆賞する。同時に自分は、現代的なるこの建築の前に、見るも痛ましく枯れ破れた蓮の葉に対しては、以前よりも一層烈しい愛情を覚えた。日本の蓮は動し難いトラジションを持っている。ギリシヤの物語で神女が戯れ浮ぶ水百合とは違う。五重の塔や、石燈籠や、石橋や、朱塗の欄干にのみ調和する蓮の葉は、自分の心と同じよう、とうてい強いものには敵対する事の出来ない運命を知って、新しい偉大な建築の前に、再び蘇生する事なく、一時に枯れ死して、わざわざ、ふてくされに、汚い芥のようなその姿を曝しているのであろう。

  曇った空は、いよいよ低く下りて来て、西東、何方へ吹くとも知れぬ迷った風が、折々さっと吹き下りる。その度毎に、破れた蓮の葉は、ひからびた茎の上にゆらゆら動く。その動きを支え得ずして、長い茎はすでに真中から折れてしまったのもたくさんある。揺れて触れ合う破れ葉の間からは、ほとんど聞き取れぬほど低い弱い、しかし云われぬ情趣を含んだ響が伝えられる。河風に吹かれる葦の戦ぎとも、時雨に打たれる木葉の呟きとも違って、それは暗い夜、見えざる影に驚いて、塒から飛立つ小鳥の羽音にも例えよう、生きた耳が聞分けるというよりも、衰えた肉身にひそむ疲れた魂ばかりが直覚し得る声ならざる声である。   真珠のような銀鼠色した小鳥の群が、流るる星の雨の如く、破れ蓮にかくれた水の中から、非常な速度で斜めに飛び立った。空の光を受けた水の面の遠い処は、破れ蓮の間々を、眩しいほどに光っている。その光の増すにつれ、上野の森は次第に遠く見え、その上の曇った空は怪しくも低くなり、暗くなって行く。冬の夕暮が近付いて来たのだ。野鴨が二三羽、真黒な影かとばかり、底光りする水面に現れて、すぐまた隠れてしまった。けたたましい羽音と共に、烏の群れが、最初は二羽、それから三羽四羽と引きつづいて、自分の頭の上の松の木にとまって啼き出した。それに応えて、上野の森の方からは、なおも幾羽と知れず、後を追って飛んでくるらしい。松の実が二ツばかり、鋭い爪に掴まれた枝から落ちて、ピシャリと水の上に響いた。水の上に映っている沈静したすべての物の影が、波紋と共にゆらゆら動いて、壁紙の絵模様のようになる……。面白い眺である。しかし自分は余りに騒がしく鳴き叫ぶ烏の声に急き立てられて、ついに水際の捨石から立上らねばならなくなった。

  自分は今日始めて見る、名ばかし美しい観月橋をば、心中非常な屈辱を感じながらも、仕方なしに本郷の方へと渡って行く。四五日ほども引続いて、毎日曇っていた冬の空は、とうとう雨になった。満池の敗荷はちょうど自分の別れを送る音楽の如く、荒涼落寞の曲を奏ではじめる。自分は外套の襟を立て返したばかりで傘はささず、考えるともなく、池と森とを隔てて、今日の昼過ぎ訪問した根岸の友達の事を考えながら歩いた。

  池にのぞむ人家にはもう灯がついている。それが美しく水に映る。自分はありあり友達夫婦の額を照らす、ランプの火影を思い浮べた。火影は実に静かである。静かであるだけ、いかにも鈍い、薄暗い。ああ、恋の満足家庭の幸福というものは、かくまで人間を遅鈍にするものだろうか。一時二人の結婚は到底不可能だと絶望していた時分、二人はまだ外国へ旅立たなかった自分の書斎を、せめてもの会合場にしていた。その頃、彼の女の若い悲しい眼の中には、何という深い光が宿っていたであろう。彼の男の光沢ある唇から出る声の底には、何という強い反抗の力が潜んでいたであろう。ああ、その頃二人は、いかに月の光を愛したか、いかに花の散るのを見て悲んだか。二人は自分と共々、青春に幸多い外国の生活、文学、絵画、音楽、社会主義、日々起る世間の出来事、何につけても、活々した感想を以てそれらを論じた。わずか数年の後、恋の満足を遂げてしまった二人の男女は、自分が質問する日本の衣服の、その後における流行の変遷さえ多くは語らなかった。目下妊娠していて子供が男子であってくれればよいという事ばかり云っていた。夫は勤めている会社に、このまま、おとなしくさえしていれば、将来生活にこまる事はない。妻は下女のいいのが無くってこまるという事を話した。

  ああ、二人の胸には堪えがたい過去の追想も、止みがたい将来の憧憬もなくなったのだ。今頃二人は、時雨の音する軒の下で、昼過ぎ自分に話したような、同じ事を繰返しながら、ランプの光のかげに日本の習慣とてさも忙し気に、晩飯をかき込んでいるのであろう。

  自分はこれから何処に行こうか。雨はさかんに降ってくる。上野の鐘が鳴る前世紀の人達が幾百年聞き澄ましたそれと同じ寂滅無常の声。この声に促されて、東洋の都市は歓楽もなく、哀傷もなく、ただ寝よ、早く寝よ、夢さえ見る事なく寝よとて暗くなって行くのだ。自分は、ヴェルレーヌの一句を思付いた。自分は日本の国土に、「あまりに早く生れ過ぎたか。あまりに晩く生れ過ぎたか。」