Fifty-five to fifty-six

by Natsume Sōseki

My heart, which had decided to live as if I were dead, occasionally jumped in response to external stimuli. However, whenever I began to think about which direction to take, a terrifying force appeared from nowhere, tightening around my heart and rendering me completely immobile. That force seemed to suppress me as if to say, "You have no right to do anything." With that one phrase, I immediately deflated. When I tried to stand up again after a while, I was tightened once more. I grit my teeth and yelled at it, asking why it was interfering with me, but that mysterious force laughed with a cold voice. "You know it well yourself."

Within me, who has continued a monotonous life without any upheaval or twists, there has always been such a painful war. It is unimaginable how much frustration I have accumulated, far beyond what my wife can see and feel frustrated about. When I could no longer endure being trapped in this prison, and when I could no longer break through that prison, I began to feel that the easiest option for me was only suicide. You might wonder why I think that way, but that terrifying force that always tightens my heart limits my activities in every aspect while leaving the path of death open freely for me. If I were to remain still, that would be one thing, but the moment I tried to move even a little, I had no choice but to walk down that path.

Up until today, I have tried several times to go in the easiest direction guided by fate. However, I have always been drawn to my wife. Of course, I had no courage to take my wife with me. Since I cannot fully confide in her, the thought of taking away my wife's natural lifespan as a sacrifice for my own fate was terrifying just to think about. Just as I have my own destiny, my wife has her own fate as well. To put the two of us together and let us smolder in the fire seemed to me a painfully extreme measure from any rational perspective.

At the same time, imagining my wife after I am gone felt truly pitiful. I still cannot forget what she said when my mother passed away: that from now on, I was the only one she could rely on in this world. I always hesitated. There were times when I looked at my wife's face and thought it was good that I stopped, but then I would quickly become disheartened again. And sometimes, I would be looked at by my wife with a somewhat dissatisfied gaze.

Please remember. I have lived this way. When I first met you in Kamakura, and when I walked with you in the suburbs, my feelings did not change much. There was always a dark shadow following me. It was as if I was dragging my life through the world for my wife's sake. It was the same when you graduated and returned to your country. I did not lie when I promised to meet you again in September. I truly intended to meet you. Autumn passed, winter came, and even after that winter ended, I was determined to meet you without fail.

However, during the height of summer, Emperor Meiji passed away. At that moment, I felt that the spirit of Meiji began and ended with the Emperor. The fact that those of us who were most strongly influenced by Meiji were still surviving afterwards struck me with a strong sense of being left behind by the times. I clearly told my wife about this. She laughed it off, but for some reason, she suddenly joked, "Well then, you might as well commit ritual suicide."

"I had almost forgotten the word 'ritual suicide.' It was a word I had no need to use in everyday life, so it had sunk to the bottom of my memory. When I heard my wife's joke, and for the first time recalled it, I replied to her that if I were to commit ritual suicide, I would do so in the spirit of Meiji. My answer was, of course, just a joke, but at that moment, I felt as if an old, unnecessary word had been imbued with new meaning.

About a month passed since then. On the night of the grand funeral, I sat in my study as usual, listening to the sound of cannon fire. To me, it resonated like a notification that Meiji had permanently departed. Upon reflection, it was also a notification that General Nogi had permanently left us. I held the extra edition and involuntarily said to my wife, "It's ritual suicide, it's ritual suicide."

I read what General Nogi left behind before he died in the newspaper. When I saw the content that he had lived thinking of dying out of remorse since the time of the Satsuma Rebellion when the enemy took his flag, I couldn't help but fold my fingers and calculate the years that Mr. Nogi lived while preparing himself for death. Since the Satsuma Rebellion was in the tenth year of Meiji, there is a distance of thirty-five years until the forty-fifth year of Meiji. It seems that during these thirty-five years, Mr. Nogi was waiting for the opportunity to die while thinking of dying. I wondered which was more painful for such a person, the thirty-five years of living or the moment of thrusting a sword into his belly.

Then, after two or three days, I finally made up my mind to commit suicide. Just as I cannot fully understand the reason for Mr. Nogi's death, you may not clearly understand the reason for my suicide, but if that is the case, it cannot be helped as it stems from the differences in human nature brought about by changes in the times. Perhaps it might be more accurate to say it is a difference in the characteristics that each individual is born with. I have tried my best to express everything I have mentioned so far so that you can understand this mysterious self of mine as much as possible.

I will leave my wife behind. Even after I am gone, it is fortunate that my wife will not have to worry about food, clothing, or shelter. I do not wish to give my wife a cruel surprise. I intend to die without showing her the color of blood. I plan to quietly disappear from this world without my wife's knowledge. After I die, I want her to think that I died suddenly. I would be satisfied even if she thought I had gone mad.

It has been more than ten days since I made the decision to die. Please think that most of this time has been spent writing this long passage of my autobiography for you. At first, I thought about talking directly in person, but when I actually tried writing, I felt that I could express myself more clearly through writing, and it made me happy.

This is not something I am writing under the influence of alcohol. My past is what gave birth to me, and as part of the human experience, it is something that no one else can narrate. I believe that the effort to record it truthfully is not in vain for you or for others in understanding humanity. Recently, I heard a story about Watanabe Kasan extending his life by a week to paint a picture called "Kantan." It may seem like a waste to others, but I can understand that he must have had his own reasons. My effort here is not only to fulfill my promise to you but is also driven more than half by my own demands.

However, I have now fulfilled that demand. There is nothing more to do. By the time this letter reaches you, I will no longer be in this world. In particular, I will be dead. My wife has been staying at my aunt's place in Ichigaya for about ten days. I suggested it because my aunt is ill and needs help. While my wife has been away, I have written most of this long piece. Whenever my wife returns, I quickly hide it.

I intend to provide my past as a reference for others, regardless of good or evil. However, please understand that my wife is the only exception. I do not want to inform her of anything. My only hope is to keep her memories of the past as pure as possible. Even after I am gone, as long as my wife is alive, please keep everything I have confided to you as my secret in your heart.