Mensura Zoilia
Ryūnosuke Akutagawa
I am seated in the middle of a ship's saloon, facing a strange man across the table.
Wait a moment. I am not so certain that this is the saloon of the ship. I finally am struck by an assumption based on the condition of the room and the sea outside the window, but I am concerned that it may be a more mundane place. No, it could be a ship's saloon. Otherwise, it would not be rolling in such a manner. I am not Mokutaro Kinoshita, so I cannot say how many centimetres it shakes at what rate, but it certainly shakes. If you think I'm lying, watch the horizon outside the window as it rises and falls. Because the sky is overcast, the sea is an endless expanse of a pale green-blue colour, but where it joins with the ashen clouds, the circular shape of the window frame has been cut into varying arcs. In the middle of it, something the same colour as the sky is flying in the air, most likely a seagull.
The strange man I am presently facing is reading a newspaper with a pair of short-sighted glasses on the end of his nose, as if he is greatly bored. He has a thick moustache and a square jaw, and he looks familiar, but I cannot for the life of me remember where I've seen him before. The long, shaggy hair on his head suggests that he might be a writer or an artist. However, the brown suit he is wearing is somehow out of place for either of these professions.
I am sipping sweet Western wine from a small glass for a while while furtively observing this man. I, too, am bored and wish to speak to him, but he looks so unattractive that I hesitate for a while.
Then the man with the square jaw stretches forward and says, in a voice that sounds as if he is biting back a yawn, "Oh, I'm bored. I'm bored." Then he looks at me briefly from under his short-sighted glasses and reads the newspaper again. It is then that I finally realise that I must have certainly met this man somewhere before.
There is no one else in the saloon but the two of us.
After a while, this strange man says again, "Oh, I'm bored." Then, this time, he puts the newspaper down on the table and vacantly watches me drinking.
"How do you like it? Would you like to join me for a drink?" I say.
"No, thank you very much." He does not indicate whether he would like a drink or not, but bows his head and says, "Thank you, I'm dreadfully bored. I might die of boredom before I get there."
I assent.
"It will still be more than a week before we set foot on Zoilia. I am weary of this ship already."
"Zoilia?"
"Indeed, the Republic of Zoilia."
"Is there a country called Zoilia?"
"This is a surprise. I am surprised that you have not heard of Zoilia. I don't know where on earth you think you're going, but it has been the custom for some time now for this ship to call at the port of Zoilia."
I am puzzled and excited. I don't even know why I am on this ship, let alone why I've never heard of Zoilia.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, that's right. Zoilia has been famous for a long time. You know that it was a scholar from this country who gave Homer the most vicious epithets. Even today, I believe, there is a magnificent ode to him in the Zoilian capital."
I am amazed at the apparent erudition of the man with the square jaw.
"So this must be a very old country?"
"Yes, it is old. According to mythology, in the beginning the country was inhabited only by frogs and toads, but Pallas Athene turned them all into human beings. Some people say that this is why the Zoilians sound like frogs, but this is not very reliable. The earliest recorded appearance of a Zoilian is that of the great warrior who vanquished Homer."
"So is it still a fairly civilised country?"
"Of course. The University of Zoilia in particular, which is located in the capital, is second to none in the world in terms of the quality of the country's scholars. In fact, the value-measuring instrument recently devised by a group of professors is reputed to be a modern marvel. But this is just according to a copy of the Zoilia Daily News, which appears in Zoilia."
"What is a value measuring instrument?"
"Literally, an instrument that measures value. It is mainly used to measure the value of novels and paintings."
"What sort of value?"
"Mainly artistic value. Of course, other values can also be measured. The Zoilians named it Mensura Zoili in honour of their ancestors."
"Have you ever seen it?"
"No, I have only seen it in an illustration in the Zoilia Daily Gazette. It looks like a rather ordinary scale or meter. In the place where a man stands they put the book or canvas. I hear that frames and book bindings also interfere with the measurement a little, but that's fine, because they'll correct for that later."
"Anyway, that's very convenient."
"It's what's known as a convenience of civilisation."
The man with a square jaw takes an Asahi cigarette out of his pocket, puts it in his mouth, and says, "When something like this comes along, writers and artists who hold up a sheep's head and sell dog meat will have no choice but to close their eyes. After all, the size of the value is clearly expressed in figures. Especially the fact that the Zoilian people immediately put it up at customs is, I think, the wisest thing they could have done."
"And why is that?"
"All pictures and all literature imported from abroad are valued on the scale. Those without worth are absolutely verboten. At this time, works from Japan, Great Britain, Germany, Austria, France, Russia, Italy, Spain, America, Sweden, and Norway are all being tested at least once, but apparently the Japanese works don't seem to fare so well. However, from our patronage, it seems to us that Japan has some very good writers and artists."
While we are conversing about this, the saloon door opens and in walks a young coloured man. Wearing an indigo-blue summer suit, he is an agile and lively-looking man, and he deposits several newspapers atop our table. He then immediately disappears again behind the door.
The man with the square jaw then takes up one of the newspapers, brushing off the ashes of the Asahi. It is the so-called Zoilia Nippo, with a procession of strange cuneiform-like characters. I am again surprised by the man's erudition in being able to read these strange characters.
"As usual, it's all about Mensura Zoili," he says. "Here you can see the value of a novel published in Japan last month," he continues, reading the newspaper. It even includes a description of the measuring scale."
"Is there a man called Kume?"
I am curious about my friend, so I ask him.
"Kume? Yes, there is a story by him."
"How is he? What is it worth?"
"It's worth very little. After all, the motive for his creation is the discovery of the trivialities of life. And, in addition, it says that the tone, which is so quick to lead to adulthood, makes the whole work low and vulgar."
I am offended.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he scornfully laughs. "There's your 'Smoking Pipe,' too."
"What does it say?"
"The same sort of thing, isn't it? Nothing but common sense, I hear."
"Really?"
"It also says. --"This author has already made an abusive piece of writing." ......."
"Oh, dear."
I am beyond offended and feel somewhat foolish.
"No, not only you, but all writers and artists are subject to the measuring instruments of life and death. Any intellectual deception is useless. No matter how much you praise your own work, it's no good, because its value is actually reflected in the measuring instruments. Of course, even if you praise each other amongst your colleagues, you cannot change the facts on the evaluation table. At best, you have to work hard and write something that actually has value."
"But how do you know that the instrument's assessment is reliable?"
"You can tell by looking at the masterpieces. Put Maupassant's 'The Life of a Woman' on it and the needle will immediately point to the highest value."
"Is that so?"
"That's all."
I fall silent, because I feel that this line of conversation is becoming a bit of a logical dead end. But then another question arises.
"So, are the objects made by Zoilian artists also subjected to the measuring instrument?"
"That is forbidden by Zoilian law."
"Why is that?"
"The people of Zoilia do not accept the question of why. Zoilia has always been a republic, a country that literally abides by Vox populi, vox Dei."
The man with the square jaw smiles oddly as he says this.
"There is a theory, however, that when their works are put on a measuring instrument, the needle points to the lowest value. If so, they are suffering from dilemma. Whether they deny the accuracy of the measuring instruments or the value of their works, it's not a very pleasant thing to say. --But it's a rumour, mind you."
The ship is shaken so violently that the man falls out of his chair in a flash. The table falls on top of him. A bottle of wine and a glass are overturned. The newspaper falls. The horizon outside the window disappears. The sound of plates breaking, chairs toppling over, and then the sound of waves crashing against the ship's hull - a collision. A collision. Or perhaps the explosion of a subterranean volcano.
When I come to my senses, I find myself napping in a rocking chair in my study, reading St. John Ervine's 'The Critics.' I believe I was on a ship, mostly because of the rocking of the chair.
The man with the square jaw feels like Kume and not Kume. I still cannot know who he is.
(23 November 1916)