Chapter 1
One of those nights of early autumn, when already the whisper of winter maketh itself heard. To what purpose cometh all this remembrance unto me? A light zephyr, the first mists and the perfumes, penetrating even into the dwelling, and all — beneath the roofs, hiding itself... and bringing with it certain forgotten memories. Thus it ever befalleth. (At this season of the year). The streets, as though for this alone they were destined — to bear witness.
Yes, this was already decreed. And this night shall lead me unto them... Or perchance, I may awaken already yonder, at the very confine of the city. For the darkness in the fields recognizeth no man, and the reed is the same —... and each wasteland keepeth watch only for itself.
...But yes, so long as this city shall endure, the earth shall breathe forth the scent of memories forgotten forevermore. Though the deluge should yet come — and the water flood likewise the housetops, — if only the moon remain, — and then someone yet from a boat shall gaze upon them.
— For it is not of the gulls, nor of any nocturnal fowl, — it is the song of the swans. Only I yet, and even now, remember her.
