Pathway to Japanese Literature

Dr. Ōkawa was a man of unflappable composure—no matter what occurred, he never showed signs of surprise or panic. When confronted with situations that would fluster ordinary people, the professor remained utterly unperturbed; his already lucid mind grew even clearer. During faculty meetings or such occasions, when problems became tangled and the dean found himself at a loss to sort them out, the professor would slowly rise and present his views in that characteristically weighty tone of his—whereupon most matters would thereby reach resolution. His arguments often possessed the quality of a sharp blade cutting through tangled threads. That was why among his friends they said it was a waste to keep that man as a professor—they’d prefer to make him an administrator and see him handle official business; no—better yet, make him a lawyer and put that mind of his to use in graft trials. Yet he himself never involved his hands in anything that reeked of politics. That was because he detested doing anything halfway. Yet the professor was easily overwhelmed by trifling matters. When it came to things like travel, he would begin to fret a full week beforehand. That was because he found the various trivial incidents entailed by travel bothersome. Packing the trunk was also one of those tasks. Now, if he were to entrust such bothersome tasks to others—well, that wasn’t the case either. When a friend would ask why he didn’t let others handle it, he’d say that if he did have others do it, they’d pack unnecessary things and cause trouble. When someone said, “If you have the necessary things, isn’t it fine if unnecessary ones get mixed in too?”—well, sure, if you’re wealthy, travel with a crowd of attendants and heaps of luggage, you might as well cart along all your household goods. But if you have others pack a single small leather bag and set off, only to open it at your destination and find what you need isn’t near the top—I can’t be bothered to dig through it all, so I’ll just abandon the search. If that’s how it’ll be, I say it’s far better to bring nothing at all.” So today, his wife was out, but even when she was home, he never let her assist him. He kept even the student lodgers and maids at a distance, handling everything alone.

The professor had packed all the reference books needed for this trip at the bottom of the bag. This trip was necessitated by a complex incident at a major Kansai-based corporation; having received unofficial instructions from the government, the professor—an authority on civil law—was departing under the official pretext of taking leave to conduct an on-site investigation. The professor let out a sigh of relief and lit an Egyptian cigarette. After taking a single puff, he placed it on the ashtray; steeling himself with the thought that just one final effort remained, he packed collars, cuffs, handkerchiefs, and such into the leather bag. Now, he clamped the half-smoked cigarette between his lips and pondered—what would be best to read on the train? Whenever the professor rode a streetcar in the city, he always brought along a book. When traveling, he read books on the train. However, he never read specialized books. When he read, he read various things. That was why when speaking with a philosopher, he discussed philosophy; when speaking with a doctor, he discussed medicine. He rarely discussed his own field of expertise. Yet his discussions spanning multiple fields were remarkably concise, which was why he was known among legal scholars as a man of extensive knowledge. The professor pondered for a while but decided it was futile to dwell on such matters; he placed into the leather bag Volume 8 of Dehmel’s Collected Works and scripts by Hardt and Schönherr, which had arrived from Germany two or three days prior. Dehmel had been arriving since last year. Volume 8 was a collection of essays; when it arrived and he opened it, the first page bore the title "Proclamation,"

Am Anfang war der Genius,

am Ende kommt der Kritikus. Zuguterletzt : wer macht den Schluss ? Zieh du ihn, Genius Publikus ! it was written. The professor shook his head and said that the final judgment on Genius Publikus was uncertain. The scripts were ones he had ordered upon hearing they had won the Schillerpreis. Because the upper part was still somewhat sparse, he stuffed in the Kölnische Zeitung—which he had bundled and sent in weekly batches—to fill the space.

At that moment, the sliding door opened, and a student lodger wearing Kokura-weave hakama prostrated himself at the threshold. “Professor. Dr. Sugimura has arrived.” Before the student lodger could guide him in, Dr. Sugimura Shigeru, professor at the medical university, entered brusquely. The student lodger withdrew immediately.

Dr. Sugimura entered the master's room and, without sitting down, fiddled with the pince-nez he had removed with his right hand while surveying the area before saying this.

“Well, well—making quite a commotion here, aren’t you? Are you going somewhere?”

“Well.” “It’s what you might call a semi-official, semi-private trip.” “Well, please have a seat.” “Since I’m taking the night train, there’s still plenty of time.”

“I see.” “Well, I hadn’t the slightest idea about that.”

The guest pulled over the cushion that was there and sat down. The master.

“It’s already been sniffed out in today’s newspaper.” “I hardly ever read newspapers or such.” “I’m much the same.” “I only heard from others that my name was mentioned.” “You actually went out for once.” “Did you go see the flowers in Ueno or something?” “I did pass through Ueno, but the flowers were already past their prime.” “I dismissed the rickshaw from Seiyōken and wandered over to Kanai’s place.” “To be honest, since your place was nearby, I stopped by on my way back.”

When the master was ordered to study civil law abroad, it had been decided that Sugimura from the medical department and Kanai from the liberal arts department would accompany him. The three of them had stayed in Berlin during their studies abroad, making them thoroughly comfortable with one another. Their temperaments were remarkably alike too. Among them, Kanai Hiroshi differed slightly in having a more neurotic disposition, while the master and Dr. Sugimura shared nearly identical broad-mindedness and relaxed natures. The master spoke: "It's good of you to come by." "You maintain your Praxis outside the university and make house calls when needed, so you can scarcely find time to visit for conversation." "I too am shackled by meaningless social obligations and lecture duties—our lack of leisure time is mutual." "If you didn't drop by on occasions like this, we'd hardly ever get to speak at all."

The maid brought tea. The master further ordered black tea. The guest. “Where is your wife?” “Since my mother-in-law in Koishikawa was unwell, I took my wife along to have her examined by Dr. Isobe.” “When I called and asked her to go together over the phone, my wife mentioned that I was departing, so she said she would go alone instead.” “Since my wife didn’t need to be here when I departed, I told her she must accompany her mother and sent my wife along.” “Even so, they should be returning any time now.”

His wife’s family was a prominent one in business circles, and they had a large villa in Koishikawa. The master’s mother-in-law lived there.

“What kind of illness is it?” “Oh, it’s nothing. Her condition doesn’t seem much different from when you examine her, but apparently someone said a nervous system specialist would be better, so it was decided she would go to Isobe.” “I see. In cases where *Klimakterium* presents like that, they should have been referred to a nervous system specialist from the start.” “Hmm, hmm, hmm. Then you would have been spared, I suppose. Since it doesn’t seem to be a particularly interesting *casus*.”

“No—” “I treat every patient with interest.” “Of course that’s likely the case.” “I think it would hold true even were I a lawyer.” “But doesn’t Isobe selectively choose his patients?” “Hmm.” “They say he handles every accepted case with utmost thoroughness.” “Naturally no physician acts carelessly, but fewer patients permit more meticulous observation—that approach demonstrates discernment.”

Black tea was served. The host and guest both drank. The guest was about to take an Egyptian cigarette when the master stopped him and said, “Hold on. This would suit you better.” What he produced was the remaining half of a Manual Garcia cigarette that he had earlier wrapped in paper and placed in his leather bag. The guest glanced at the box lid and took one.

“You’re living quite luxuriously.” “I don’t always smoke these things, you know.” “The other day, I was asked by the German Ambassador to translate something trivial, so I received this as a token of gratitude.” The guest took a sip, looked at the cigar ash that had turned pure white without crumbling, and seemed to be pondering something when he abruptly spoke out.

“Do you associate with Isobe?” “Hmm.” “It’s not as if we’re particularly close.” “Just as we were about to leave Berlin, that man arrived, so we likely only met briefly.” “Then, since he said he was going to a professor called Erb, that man immediately left for Heidelberg.” “Even after returning here, we’ve only met at banquets to exchange a few words.” “However, given that he has achieved such renown without descending into the style of a private practitioner and consistently maintains a scholarly demeanor, I must say I consider him a remarkable man by any measure.” “I hear he occasionally contributes reports to foreign journals and such.” “And it’s not mere ordinary *Casuistik* or anything like that.” “He’s venturing quite considerably into fields outside his own specialty.” “Just the other day, when I was looking through a book in my field, I recall that man’s theory being cited in a discussion of *Zurechnungsfähigkeit*.” “He seems to analyze rather minute details.” “He’s a clever man.”

“Exactly.” “In that regard, he’s counted among the top five in our circle.” “But what do you think of his character?” “I’m not closely acquainted with him.” “In social matters he’s meticulously attentive in all respects, though there’s a hint of excessive politeness.” “A small man with pale skin—perhaps owing to his agile movements—there’s something unsettlingly smooth about him.” “To put it bluntly, he has an eel-like slipperiness that defies grasping.” “Even through frequent meetings, no sense of familiarity ever develops.”

A shadow of irony flashed in Dr. Sugimura’s eyes. “Rather than someone like me, all rough edges, he may be better suited as a doctor.” “To you as well, he doesn’t seem very *sympathisch*, does he?” “He is neither *sympathisch* nor *antipathisch*. In any case, I respect him as a scholar.” “I have no objection to that.” “However—” The guest faltered slightly in his speech. “However, I dislike criticizing fellow professionals, but since this is between you and me, I feel compelled to say this.” “I would advise you not to send your wife to Isobe.”

“Hmm.”

The master stared at the guest’s face in surprise. The guest too remained silent for a time, smoking his tobacco. There came a rustling sound from the adjoining room that ceased abruptly. The guest. “You still had matters to attend to, did you not?” “I’ve lingered too long and even stooped to slander.”

“My luggage is packed, so I’ve nothing left to do until the carriage arrives.” “Since you are not one to speak ill of others without cause, I shall take care from now on.” “Oh, it’s nothing. “Your wife is steady, and since she’s with her mother and I’m not the patient, it should be fine.” “However, to navigate through the world, what must be guarded against must be guarded against after all.”

“Hmm.” “That’s exactly why I said it—though it may have been unnecessary.”

Dr. Sugimura shook off the cigar ash, took out a pipe from his pocket, inserted the shortened cigar into it, and half-rose. “You’ll be returning soon, I suppose.”

“Hmm. I don’t think it will take a week.” “I see. Then, sometime soon.”

The guest stood and stepped out into the corridor. The master escorted him to the entrance and proposed hiring a carriage, but the guest—remarking that the fine weather warranted walking—swung his cane and departed through the gate.

The master, having noticed the Chiyoda zori sandals that appeared to have been shifted aside from atop the Nebukawa stone—placed there to adjust the departed guest’s shoes within the latticed door’s threshold—turned to look at the maid kneeling behind him and inquired. “Has my wife returned?”

“Yes.” “She has just returned and entered her room.”

Dr. Ōkawa slightly furrowed his brows. He sensed something different in his wife’s demeanor. And then, slowly turning toward the parlor, he thought: So then—the one who had been murmuring beyond the sliding door earlier was his wife. At that same moment, he found himself wondering why she had not shown herself despite Sugimura’s reassuring voice being audible.

His wife’s room adjoined Dr. Ōkawa’s study and was also directly accessible from the corridor, but while pondering something, he first returned to his own study and opened the sliding door between it and her room.

“You had returned?” “Yes.” A tearful voice.

In his wife’s room, a chest of drawers stood positioned to block two of the four sliding paper doors, with a mother-of-pearl-inlaid desk pushed up against it. When he looked, his wife sat before the desk with her face buried against its surface, still wearing her outdoor clothes. Ordinarily, she would change into everyday attire immediately upon returning home and entering her room, yet today she remained dressed for going out. His gaze fell upon her hand half-buried in disheveled strands of her Western-style chignon—the ring she always wore when leaving home was absent. The one who had made her murmur earlier must have been storing the paper case and ring in the utility drawer atop the chest.

First, what Sugimura had said rose to Dr. Ōkawa's mind. Then he recalled that his wife had been pregnant for seven months. When he had unexpectedly received Sugimura's warning earlier, various imaginings had been conjured in his mind. Above all, he recalled the case of the Baden doctor reported in the German newspaper he had read two or three days prior—a man who had been practicing in Karlsruhe for years and had received some measure of respect. He had a wife and four children. It was a story about that man being arrested for performing indecent acts on female patients. After his arrest, it became known that this doctor had possessed such proclivities for quite some time. Because of this, there were women who had been led astray. There were also women who swallowed their resentment and concealed their shame. Prior to his arrest, people had only spoken of it in hushed tones, so it remained little known; but upon hearing he had indeed been taken into custody, those who had whispered before began to speak openly. It was thus discovered that this man's proclivities had existed since long before. Dr. Ōkawa recalled this matter and, in an instant, felt intense discomfort, but he endeavored to forcibly suppress such imaginings. There was no need to immediately think of extreme misfortune. Since she was a woman seven months into her pregnancy, her behavior might naturally differ from usual. Especially since she had gone to a place crowded with patients, she might have seen something unusual that stimulated her nerves. He had indeed wondered whether it was advisable to have her go with her mother from Koishikawa today, but since her pregnancy had progressed favorably with no changes in daily life, he concluded this degree of activity would pose no hindrance—thus arranging for a carriage from Koishikawa to stop by his residence in Nishikata-chō, sending his wife along as a guide. Since he had previously introduced his wife to Isobe at garden parties and such, he thought it more convenient for her to accompany him. If he had known something would occur to hurt his beloved wife's nerves, he naturally would not have sent her along. Within Dr. Ōkawa's mind, these thoughts raced back and forth with tremendous speed.

“What’s wrong?” “Are you unwell?”

The doctor’s voice was exceedingly gentle. “No.” “Since I will come over there to explain, please go ahead.” His wife raised her face and adjusted her posture. She urged Dr. Ōkawa to return to the parlor. His wife was a rare beauty. At the time of their marriage, Dr. Ōkawa had once remarked in jest that she was glass-like and thus demanding great care to handle—or so it was said. Generally among Japanese women, those considered exceptional have subcutaneous tissue with a bluish cast that appears somewhat thick and hard. Ōkawa’s wife had thin, soft skin and subcutaneous tissue through which the blood circulating beneath seemed visible. Women with such skin mostly have unattractive facial features. This wife alone was an exception. Her hair was not the thick-textured raven-black shade traditionally considered beautiful in Japan. It was slightly tinged with brown—thin, soft, and abundant. Of average build and medium height with well-proportioned features, even the unsightliness of her seven-month belly did not stand out too much. Koishikawa’s mother was not Black but the daughter of a person of low status, whom the doctor’s father-in-law had purportedly married for her beauty, providing a dowry. This wife’s beauty was inherited from her mother’s lineage. When she adjusted her posture, from beneath the gaudy two-layered quail-patterned silk crepe robe fluttered the pale grayish-blue figured crepe of her underrobe—an unusual sight that now struck Dr. Ōkawa’s eyes. Her bell-like eyes that seemed to speak revealed both anxiety and solemnity.

Dr. Ōkawa returned to the parlor and sat before the desk. Then, noticing his wife about to sit down across the brazier, he said, “There’s a zabuton there.” His wife pulled over the zabuton that Dr. Sugimura had laid out and arranged it. His wife said: “Um, will you still be departing on the seven-thirty train?” “Hmm.” “That’s the plan.” “Why?” “No. There is something I wish to inquire about, but I was wondering if it would be appropriate to bring it up while you are busy.”

“What? There’s no such thing. Since we needn’t leave until six-thirty, there’s still two hours remaining. There’s nothing left but to change into my Western clothes.” “The truth is—after returning to where Dr. Sugimura had been speaking earlier—a matter I inquired about has weighed on my mind. And today Dr. Isobe’s manner was truly unusual, so…”

“Hmm.” “What exactly was strange about Dr. Isobe’s demeanor?” “I fear such words may displease you, but since you always declare that husband and wife must never conceal matters between themselves, I shall speak.” “Today I accompanied Mother to Dr. Isobe’s office in Tsukiji, where I first met him, explained Mother’s condition, and had him examine her.” “When the examination concluded, Mother said—since he would not give clear answers no matter what she asked—‘You must inquire properly; I shall return home first,’ thus instructing me.” “As Mother gravely fears her illness, she believed that even if there were matters being concealed from the patient, they would likely be disclosed to me, and so made that request.” “I heedlessly consented and saw Mother home.” “Dr. Isobe had taken Mother to the examination room, conducted his examination, then emerged into the waiting room where I had been waiting—thus I intended to receive [the information] there before departing.” “I entreated Dr. Isobe to kindly inform me of Mother’s condition.” “Whereupon he said, ‘I shall explain—come this way,’ and opened the door opposite the examination room.” “Upon entering, it appeared to be Dr. Isobe’s study, containing a large desk and bookshelves.” “He bade me sit upon the sofa while he himself brought a chair before me.” “I asked, ‘What ought I do?’” “Dr. Isobe replied: ‘Now—it’s no grave illness per se, but somewhat slow to heal; medicine may be used as needed, but you must undergo massage—as I informed your mother earlier. Though “massage” may sound burdensome,’ he continued thus—then abruptly seized my hand and began stroking downward from my shoulders in one fluid motion.” “An unpleasant feeling arose within me—yet being an act performed by so eminent a physician—and deeming it unseemly to recoil like some foolish woman or child—I found myself uncertain how to respond.” “When I remained thus, he proceeded to stroke downward from my shoulders again and again.”

“Hmm.” “And then what happened?”

Dr. Ōkawa’s eyes gradually began to gleam. “And while he was stroking my hand, he kept gazing fixedly at my face.” “I had never considered his eyes particularly unusual before now, but today they somehow seemed to shine with cruel intensity and appeared terrifying to me.” “Thus even when I resolved to avoid looking at those eyes, I found myself utterly unable to refrain from doing so.”

“Hmm.” “And then what happened?” “As this continued, I felt myself growing faint for a moment—but even now when I try to recall what happened then, I find I cannot remember it clearly at all.”

“I see.” “What happened after that?” “When I suddenly came to my senses, Dr. Isobe had somehow settled at his desk with his elbows propped up and was writing something.” “I had a slight headache, but at that moment could think of nothing beyond somehow managing to return home quickly. As I began feeling rather unwell, I resolved to rise and take my leave after apologizing profusely.” “When I did so, Dr. Isobe set down his pen and said, ‘That must be it—such things occur because you are with child. You need not worry about your mother at all,’ then saw me out.”

When Dr. Ōkawa heard the account up to this point, the gleam in his eyes faded. He seemed to sink into deep thought, crossing his arms and falling utterly silent. The wife pressed on earnestly. "What on earth could have happened?"

The professor said slowly in a grave tone. “Well, it’s no wonder you were worried.” “You encountered danger.” “Since you are not in your usual condition, I considered whether telling you such things might be unwise. But if I were to speak ambiguously, it would only heighten your anxiety—so I will explain.” “Isobe did a truly strange thing.” “He tried to perform hypnotism on you.”

“That hypnotism.” As she spoke these words, tears welled up once more in the wife’s eyes with each passing moment. The wife took out a handkerchief from her sleeve, wiped her eyes, and continued speaking. The words emerged haltingly, as if with great effort. “That is to say… could it be that… my body was somehow violated?” “What. There’s likely nothing extraordinary. You haven’t noticed anything either, have you? There’s nothing unusual, is there?” “No. I have noticed nothing at all.”

“I see.” “No—” “In that case, there can’t be anything.” “However, from now on, you must never go to that man’s residence again.” “Not only must you not go there—” “You must avoid meeting or speaking with that man as much as possible.”

“There is no need for you to say such a thing.” “Escaping that place felt akin to fleeing the maw of a viper.” “No matter what may happen, I do not intend to meet that gentleman again.” “That is well.” “(Pause.) There is one more thing I must caution you about.” “You must not speak of today’s matter to anyone—not even your mother, nor any other person you trust.”

“Yes.” “If matters such as these were to leak to society, however misinterpreted they might be, there would be no remedy.” “Such things always leak from those involved.” “Isobe has his own interests; he would never disclose it.” “He likely does the same to many female patients.” A pained smile flickered across the professor’s face. Then he spoke. “So long as you and I remain silent, that will suffice.” “Moreover, even between us two, let us speak no more of this matter henceforth.” “We cannot make what occurred into something that never was.” “What purpose does it serve for us to exchange empty words and gradually wound each other’s feelings?” “Though this must weigh heavily upon you, strive with all your might to restrain your heart and think of it no more.” “(Pause.) Now then.” “Go quickly and change your clothes.”

“Yes.”

The wife wiped her overflowing tears once more with a handkerchief, shakily rose from her seat, and entered her own room. The professor abruptly stood up, opened the south-facing shoji, and looked out at the garden. The quince and azalea flowers bloomed crimson, and a wind carrying a deep warmth brushed against the forehead. From the wife’s room came another rustling sound. She was likely changing her clothes.

Professor Ōkawa was a man who had passed two years beyond forty—physically robust, of a disposition marked by strong self-control, and remarkably composed in his sexual desires. And especially today, now his wife’s eyes—Isobe’s eyes—came floating into his mind. From a pale, wrinkled face that appeared both youthful and aged, narrow, sharp eyes gleamed with fierce intensity, their expression as though peering at something unseen. This imagination stabbed at the professor’s chest with needle-like pain, making him want to cry out something like “Damn it all!”—an impulse he forcibly suppressed. Then he closed the shoji screen and began putting on the Western clothes laid out in the corner of the parlor.

The telephone bell rang. The student lodger appeared to be heading to answer the telephone. Sure enough, the student lodger’s voice could be heard. “Yes. (Pause.) Yes.” “That is correct.” “Just a moment, please.” “I will ask Madam.”

The student lodger came to the wife’s room and said something. The wife changed into her finest everyday kimono and entered the professor’s parlor. The wife. “Um, my mother in Koishikawa says she would like to come this evening to discuss an illness. What should I do?” Having changed into Western clothes, taken his watch and cigarette case from the disorderly box, and placed them in his pocket, the professor turned to his wife and spoke.

“Well now. “There’s no harm in her coming, but why not decline by saying we would prefer Mother to come here tomorrow instead?”

“I had also considered responding in that manner.” “I have no intention of going out while you are away.”

“That would also be good.” The wife went to the telephone herself to decline.

As the professor had his wife serve him tea and was hurriedly eating his tea-soaked rice, the carriage he had ordered arrived. The professor told his wife to take care of herself and boarded the carriage. The student lodger had offered to carry the leather bag to Shinbashi, but he had already declined this when arranging the carriage. The professor boarded the carriage with the leather bag clamped between his thighs. When he did things this way—clamping the bag between his thighs—he had felt somehow ungentlemanly and found it extremely unpleasant right after returning from the West, but lately he had come to feel nothing of it. Humans appear to find the power of milieu difficult to resist.

The professor boarded the 7:30 train. The first-class compartment was quite crowded, but there was just enough space to place the leather bag beside him.

The adjacent seat was occupied by a young Western woman. She wore a speckled gray walking suit and a gray hat adorned with ostrich feathers. She did not appear to be traveling far. When viewed up close, her face had fine peach-like fuzz, but setting aside her bright hair and Centaurea-like eyes, there was something reminiscent of the wife. She too was a glass-like beauty.

Across from him sat a ruddy-faced large man, as if fat were gushing from every pore of his skin. The buttons on his brown suit with vertical and horizontal stripes seemed about to burst off, which was concerning. Despite it being a train with a dining car, he had popped open a beer brought from home, taken a cup from his leather bag to drink it, and was voraciously devouring boxed sandwiches. The professor wanted to smoke but refrained out of consideration for his neighbor. Yet here and there, several passengers were drinking Shikishima beer or similar. He opened the leather bag and took out a book from the top—it was Hardt’s *Tantris der Narr*.

He opened to the first few pages and glanced at them without any intention to read. When he read about two pages where the type was specially enlarged, it turned out to be a song sung by the heroine Isolde as she had her maid undo her bright hair. The professor closed the volume and looked at the hair of the woman next to him. Because he read horizontal text under the dim electric light, his eyes grew slightly itchy. When he looked across, the sandwich-eating man lay with his mouth open, snoring. Outside the window was gray. Suddenly, two or three lights streamed past outside the windowpane. The train was likely passing Ōmori Station.

The professor, holding a book in hand while leaning his head against the window frame behind him and closing his eyes.

The unpleasant incident from this afternoon floated into his mind. Among the various books the professor had read, he had unfortunately come across detailed accounts of hypnotism. There was a connection here. When the professor was a child, *kokkuri-san* had been popular in Tokyo. Later, when abroad in Europe, table-tapping had become fashionable. Having long been curious about *kokkuri-san*'s mysteries, he had sought to interpret this similar practice of table-tapping by perusing books on *Spiritismus*. This had led him to study works on hypnotism. When today he heard his wife describe how Isobe had grasped her hand and stroked downward from her shoulders, Mesmer's name instantly surfaced in the professor's memory. Then upon hearing that despite trying to avoid Isobe's gaze she had been compelled to look, Braid's name now rose from memory's depths. Hypnotism had undoubtedly taken effect on his wife. If effective—what had Isobe done while she lay entranced? He told himself there had likely been nothing extraordinary regarding his wife. Yet this conclusion lacked any basis. Isobe could have suggested anything during that trance. And once awakened, his wife would retain no memory of what she'd been made to do under suggestion. To what extent had events progressed during that hypnotic interval? Isobe might have done everything within his power—at minimum, this remained possible. When hearing his wife's account, the professor found himself reasoning this far through sheer necessity. Having reached this point while feeling profound discomfort, he endeavored to prevent his wife from detecting that disquiet.

The professor, having once again reasoned this far, felt the same discomfort anew. The professor had once thought about the matter of chastity. He had thought that something like chastity might have value in matters of the heart, but when it came to the body, it was trivial. When the professor was still unmarried, someone had proposed arranging a match with the daughter of a pawnshop called Sano-ya. After some time had passed, someone else mentioned that the daughter was involved with one of the shop employees. The professor had on occasion laughed and said, "Then you should just take Hisamatsu as your bride." However, when it came to actual matters, the professor could not help but hesitate. The professor reasoned it through for himself, speaking thus: What of it? I do not reject women who are soiled out of some old-fashioned moralistic mindset. However, speaking from emotion, I find even a vessel that someone else has used distasteful. From an intellectual standpoint, I say there’s no need to have someone bring back a bad disease as some sort of souvenir. In truth, the professor too might be bound by convention. In any case, as the professor considered the possibility of what had occurred during his wife’s hypnotic trance, he felt an indescribable discomfort. Now, here was a peculiar thing. That was always the way the professor reacted when he had suffered persecution from others. While the professor felt such discomfort, the thought of hating Isobe hardly arose. In the professor’s heart, at such times, a strong sense of contempt would always arise and overpower any feelings of hatred. If he looked down upon it, there would cease to be any value in hating. The professor was often looked down upon by others because of this trait.

It was because being unable to hate was interpreted as unmanly. Or perhaps the professor himself lacked masculine qualities. He then recalled telling his wife she mustn't meet Isobe again after this. The professor remembered reading that those who had once fallen into hypnosis were prone to succumb again. Moreover, he recalled reading that a hypnotist who had previously induced trance could succeed a second time effortlessly. Furthermore, there existed another memory in the professor's mind. That whatever had been suggested during prior hypnosis would resurface in consciousness during subsequent sessions—this was what he remembered. Therefore, the professor resolved never to let his wife encounter Isobe again. He then recollected a fleeting thought he'd had upon hearing his wife's account—regarding the connection between this shocking incident and her pregnancy. It went thus: Strindberg claimed fatherhood could never be proven. Yet though my wife might bear a child, raising one of uncertain parentage would exceed what present consciousness could endure. Even if parentage were known, raising another man's child would prove equally unbearable. The notion that women never remain faithful—found in Boccaccio or satirists' works—might entertain as intellectual diversion, but even this professor who couldn't hate his enemy couldn't calmly apply such logic to his own household. In any case, the professor was hewn from different timber than those Western-style husbands deemed excessively tolerant. There had been an instance when reading adultery trial records—the professor had involuntarily laughed aloud at some vulgar wretch's testimony ("I thought it fine since she'd already been broken in"), then immediately grimaced and tossed aside the documents. While suppressing disgust and attempting forgiveness toward his wife, that phrase "already been broken in" resurfaced in his mind with peculiar force. He imagined this must resemble how savages felt when compelled to drink excrement to purge poison. Again he nearly cried "Ah! Excrement!" but clenched his jaw in silence.

The train came to a stop. It was Hiranuma Station. Three or four Western men and women got off. The bright-haired Isolde sitting next to him had been part of that group. While smoking Egyptian tobacco, the professor put away the book he had been holding into his leather bag. He resolved not to read by the dim light. And he occupied the adjacent seat, lying down still covered in his overcoat. The passengers who had been talking until now gradually stopped their conversation. The professor, having lain stretched out for some time, felt fatigue in his head—which had been stirred by unaccustomed agitation since afternoon—so he discarded the half-smoked tobacco and closed his eyes.

The professor would read Tantris der Narr in the train tomorrow. Even in a love like Tristan and Isolde’s, a man must endure his lover being another’s wife. Being a married woman was something one must still endure. Why must a malicious romantic rival like Denovalin appear to entrap the two? The fire of the faggots that was supposed to burn them to death had been extinguished by the breath of a god. They emerged by the marshes of Morois and, like beasts that had fled the hunting grounds, slept in exhaustion. Their bodies lay on the ground, separated by the length of an arm. In the very center lay Morholm’s sword. Even if the professor had ever mocked chastity, he could not help but be moved by this. In any case, this single volume of the play must have offered the professor some measure of solace.

(June 1909)